“Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall!” Sarutobi Sanaru roared as he slammed both palms into the ground, chakra surging violently outward.
With a thunderous boom, a massive stone wall carved with a snarling dog-head relief burst up from the earth, rising directly in the path of the charging Iwagakure jōnin.
Gravel and dust exploded into the air.
Seizing this brief reprieve, Sanaru forcibly steadied his roiling blood.
His hawk-like gaze locked onto the jōnin, who was still greedily coveting Uchiha Naion’s Sharingan.
For a moment, the battlefield’s focus returned to the high-level clash between jōnin.
But on the other side, the fate of Team 8 hung by a single thread.
“Cough… cough…” Kazama Ryū lay sprawled on the ground.
Every attempt to breathe tore at the deep wound in his back, where bone was exposed.
The agony felt like countless red-hot needles stabbing into his nerves, dragging his consciousness toward an endless abyss.
Toxins raged through his body.
A chilling numbness spread from his fingertips and toes, creeping upward with stubborn persistence.
He exhausted what little strength he had left, barely lifting his heavy head.
His blurred vision caught a thin, slightly trembling figure standing before him.
Uchiha Naion.
She had placed herself squarely between him and the enemy, shielding him with her own body.
Her crimson eyes—now burning with two black tomoe—glared fiercely at the two Iwagakure chūnin nearby.
Within those eyes churned monstrous rage, uncontrollable fear, and a stubborn refusal to retreat—emotions she herself had never realized she possessed.
Through blood-hazed vision, Ryū rapidly pieced together the battlefield.
Teacher Sarutobi was holding off the strongest enemy and couldn’t disengage anytime soon.
Naion had awakened the Sharingan, gaining extraordinary perception, but her chakra and mental stamina were like a candle flickering in the wind.
Hyūga Chihori had only just shaken off the terror of imminent death; her combat strength was barely intact.
And he himself… gravely wounded, poison gnawing at his heart, consciousness slipping away at any moment.
Their opponents were two Iwagakure chūnin, enraged by their fallen comrade, killing intent at its peak.
A desperate situation.
More desperate—darker—than anything they had faced before.
But… there was a sliver of hope.
Ryū’s gaze fixed on Naion’s crimson eyes, shimmering with an eerie light.
Sharingan.
Seeing movement trajectories.
Reading chakra flow and condensation.
If so… Couldn’t it see through their attacks?
An unprecedented—borderline insane—idea formed in Ryū’s mind, squeezed together by searing pain and a desperate will to survive.
He clenched his teeth, muscles tearing as he forced himself to think clearly.
His voice was hoarse and urgent, yet carried undeniable authority.
“Naion!” Her back stiffened, but she didn’t turn.
“Follow my lead!” Each word branded itself into her heart.
“Your eyes are my eyes!
You observe—I command!” Naion froze.
The sudden awakening of the Sharingan had left her mind buzzing, chakra draining violently.
Yet Ryū’s words struck like thunder, shattering her confusion.
She didn’t understand whether it would work.
But before her thoughts could resist, her body had already chosen to believe.
Because the one speaking was the boy who had just taken a fatal blow for her.
“Okay!” She spat out a single word.
Her voice trembled with extreme tension, yet it was unshakably firm.
“Report everything you see!
Shortest words possible!” Ryū followed up instantly, leaving no room for hesitation.
Naion inhaled sharply, suppressing the burning pain in her eyes as she poured all her focus into the Sharingan.
In that instant, the world shattered—and was rebuilt.
“Enemy left!
Chakra gathering in right hand—ninja tool!” she nearly screamed.
“Chihori!
Three steps forward-left!
Gentle Fist—seal his wrist!” The command came so fast it sounded rehearsed.
Hyūga Chihori discarded independent thought entirely, transforming into a perfect executor of orders.
She moved instantly, pale face resolute, striking with a textbook Gentle Fist.
“Smack!” The Iwagakure chūnin had just drawn a kunai when violent numbness seized his wrist.
The blade flew from his hand, spinning through the air before clattering onto the ground.
Shock froze his face.
“Right side!
Hand seals—Tiger, Snake, Dog, Dragon!
Earth Release!” Naion’s words accelerated, tomoe spinning wildly.
“Naion—Great Fireball, target his feet!
Interrupt!
Chihori, retreat—out of spike range!” “Boom—!” Naion’s fireball erupted almost in sync with the command, exploding beneath the chūnin’s feet.
Heat and shockwaves tore through the ground, forcibly disrupting the jutsu mid-formation.
In that instant, the battlefield turned upside down.
A combat system that should never have existed was born in desperation.
Naion’s two-tomoe Sharingan became a top-tier battlefield observer, continuously reporting muscle tension, chakra flow, and jutsu sequences with ruthless precision.
And the critically wounded, dying Kazama Ryū became the team’s core.
“Left—panic breathing!
Opening in his guard!” “Chihori—advance!
Strike the shoulder joint!” “Now—backstep!
Kunai incoming!” Commands flew nonstop, sharp and decisive.
Ryū’s consciousness flickered like a dying flame, but his mind was terrifyingly clear.
The two Iwagakure chūnin were driven into chaos.
Every feint was exposed before it was completed.
Every attack was countered before it fully formed.
They felt as though they were fighting an invisible puppeteer who saw everything.
“Damn it—what is this?!” Fear crept into their hearts.
Finally, one of them broke.
He turned and ran.
“Naion—now!” Without hesitation, Naion hurled a kunai.
Guided by the Sharingan’s trajectory, it pierced cleanly through the chūnin’s calf.
He crashed to the ground.
Chihori was there in the next instant, Gentle Fist striking his heart chakra point.
Silence fell.
The second chūnin stared in disbelief, then despair.
Moments later, Sarutobi Sanaru’s figure crashed down from above.
The battle ended.
The victory… was theirs.
But as the adrenaline faded, Ryū’s strength finally gave out.
The world spun, sounds stretching into distant echoes.
Before darkness swallowed him whole, he felt Naion’s trembling hands gripping his clothes, heard her broken voice calling his name.
A victory bought at a terrible price.
A pyrrhic victory.