“Checkmate.” Kazama Ryū’s voice was soft—like a falling leaf—yet it rang clearly in the ears of everyone on the battlefield.
The Iwagakure Chūnin ensnared by the steel wire felt his pupils contract to pinpoints in that instant.
A chill surged up his spine from deep within his bones.
He had been played.
From beginning to end, the Hyuga girl had never been the true target—she was bait.
This Konoha Genin had manipulated him with the simplest, most ruthless psychological trap.
“Chidori, left!” Ryū’s shout became the final push.
Hyuga Chidori staggered left almost on instinct.
The movement was clumsy and panicked, yet it perfectly exposed the Iwagakure Chūnin’s position.
“Now!” Boom—!
The explosive tag bound to the steel wire detonated with a deafening roar.
Blinding firelight swallowed the battlefield as the violent shockwave hurled dust skyward, flinging the Iwagakure Chūnin into the air like a torn sack.
“Naion.
Fire Release.” Ryū’s voice was calm—cold as steel.
Uchiha Naion did not hesitate.
Her body moved on instinct alone, hand seals snapping into place.
“Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!” The fireball she released was larger and denser than any she had ever produced in training.
That blazing mass—heavy with vengeance—tore through the air and slammed directly into the smoke cloud left by the explosion.
Fire and smoke collided with a thunderous crash, forming a churning mushroom cloud mixed with scorched earth and the stench of burning flesh.
The battlefield fell into a brief, deathly silence.
As the smoke slowly cleared, the Iwagakure Chūnin was revealed—alive, but barely.
He knelt on one knee, his body charred black like lightning-struck wood.
One leg was twisted at a grotesque angle, clearly shattered.
He gasped for breath, dark blood mixed with fragments of internal organs spilling from his mouth, his eyes filled with unwilling fury.
Then he looked up.
And that fury froze into terror.
A figure stood silently before him.
Kazama Ryū.
He looked as though he had always been there—emerging from the shadows of hell itself, not a speck of dust on his body.
His face was blank.
No triumph.
No hatred.
No indifference.
Nothing at all.
Only an absolute, hollow calm.
The Chūnin opened his mouth, perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse.
He never got the chance.
Puchi.
A soft, chilling sound rang out as the kunai in Ryū’s hand slid through flesh along a flawless, textbook-perfect arc—entering one side of the throat and exiting the other.
No hesitation.
No pause.
Warm blood sprayed out, splashing onto Ryū’s green tactical vest, staining it dark red.
The Iwagakure Chūnin’s eyes quickly lost their light, turning dull and gray.
His body collapsed heavily to the ground, twitched a few times—and went still.
For the first time, Team 8 had independently killed an enemy in real combat.
[Ding!
Basic Taijutsu proficiency +15] [Ding!
Ninja Tool Throwing proficiency +10] The cold system notifications echoed in Ryū’s mind, yet they stirred nothing within him.
There was no joy.
As the corpse lay in its pool of blood and the thick, scorched stench filled the air, something far more dangerous than battle itself began to take root.
A fatal flaw revealed itself.
“Bastard!
You killed Long!” “Slaughter these brats!” The remaining two Iwagakure Chūnin erupted in rage.
Their attacks became wild and vicious, abandoning all restraint and coordination.
One of them caught Chidori’s momentary daze.
An opening.
His eyes flashed.
Without hesitation, his arm snapped forward, launching a poisoned kunai that screamed through the air like black lightning—aimed straight at Chidori’s unguarded back.
Too fast.
So fast that Naion could only cry out in alarm.
So fast that even Sarutobi Sanaru shot them a look of shock and fury.
Ryū’s pupils shrank.
Body Flicker Technique!
His body blurred into an afterimage, moving so fast the air itself groaned under the strain.
But he knew.
It was too late.
There was no way to dodge completely while pulling Chidori clear.
In a fraction of a second, Ryū made his decision.
He abandoned defense.
He used his body as the shield.
Puchi—!
The dull, sickening sound of a kunai burying itself in flesh rang out across the battlefield.
Agonizing pain tore through Ryū’s back like a red-hot brand.
Blood burst forth instantly, soaking more than half of his vest in crimson.
“Ugh!” A muffled grunt escaped him as his body shuddered violently.
But he did not fall.
Using the force of the impact, he shoved Chidori hard, throwing her clear of the danger zone.
She stumbled forward, finally snapping out of her daze.
When she turned back, she saw Ryū’s face—twisted with pain—yet his eyes were colder than a Siberian winter.
“Don’t freeze up.” His voice was hoarse, but every word cut like ice.
“The fight isn’t over yet.” That single strike had not only inflicted severe injury— It had also brutally dragged Team 8’s hard-won advantage, paid for in blood, straight back to the edge of the abyss.