“Kazama Ryū versus Hatake Kakashi!” The moment this announcement spread, it was like dumping cold water into a boiling pot of oil—the entire Ninja Academy instantly erupted.
Almost everyone looked at Ryū with the pitying gaze reserved for someone already dead.
“It’s over.
He’s finished.
He really kicked a steel plate this time.” “Hatake Kakashi is a real genius who graduated at five.
That Kazama Ryū is just an opportunist relying on cheap tricks—his true colors are about to be exposed.” “I bet Kakashi finishes him in ten seconds!” Rumors and gossip surged like a tidal wave.
Yet Ryū, standing at the center of it all, remained calm, as if the storm had nothing to do with him.
He understood the gap between himself and Hatake Kakashi better than anyone.
It was a chasm.
The secret blade techniques of the Hatake clan.
A chakra reserve far surpassing his peers.
That terrifying, instinctive combat intuition.
A frontal clash?
That would be nothing more than an egg smashing into a rock—pure humiliation.
So from the very beginning, Ryū had never aimed for a straightforward “victory.” What he wanted was a “winning” draw—one convincing enough to silence everyone.
A carefully designed, flawless performance.
A performance meant for the high-ranking spectators.
To achieve that, he needed intelligence.
— Training Ground No.
3.
“Your Fire Release looks impressive, but the power is too scattered.” Ryū’s figure flickered like a phantom, effortlessly dodging the Great Fireball Technique launched by Uchiha Nao, his voice clearly reaching her ears.
“Shut up!” Uchiha Nao was visibly irritated, her hand seals forming even faster.
She had been in a foul mood lately.
Ever since the match between Ryū and Hatake Kakashi was announced, this guy had gone completely mad—dragging her into high-intensity paid sparring sessions every single day.
He claimed it was to help her fix her weaknesses in real combat.
But somehow, Uchiha Nao always felt like she was the one being exploited.
“When you fight Kakashi,” Ryū suddenly asked while dodging another volley of shuriken, “are you this straightforward too?” Uchiha Nao’s movements stalled for a moment.
Scenes of her repeated defeats at Kakashi’s hands flashed through her mind—the silver-haired boy tearing through all her attacks with concise, lethal efficiency.
“His blade is fast,” she said coldly, unconsciously sharing intelligence.
“He aims straight for the neck and heart.
And he’s arrogant—he never bothers using the same move twice.” Ryū’s eyes lit up.
Attack habits.
Personality flaws.
These were exactly the missing puzzle pieces he needed.
“Thanks.” His figure vanished instantly.
Uchiha Nao froze.
Before she could react, a chill crept up her spine—a cold training kunai was already pressed against the back of her neck.
“Today’s sparring ends here.
Fee’s five hundred ryō.
Don’t forget to pay.” “Kazama Ryū, you bastard!” She stomped in anger, but still pulled out a coin pouch from her ninja tool pouch and tossed it over irritably.
Seeing Ryū’s satisfied, money-grubbing expression, she couldn’t help adding, a bit awkwardly: “Don’t… don’t lose too badly.” “Relax,” Ryū said, weighing the pouch in his hand, smiling like a fox that had just stolen a chicken.
“I’ll make him pay for the ticket.” — Night fell.
In the backyard of the Kazama residence, Ryū pieced together all the intelligence he had gathered, running tactical simulations over and over in his mind.
Hatake Kakashi was a wolf—a lone wolf with razor-sharp fangs.
And he?
He had to be a top-tier hunter.
A hunter never wrestles beasts head-on.
Ryū’s combat core consisted of just two words: Delay.
Drain.
By relying on his perfected Three Basic Jutsu, he would drag the fight into a prolonged war of attrition.
Using the reserve advantage provided by his Level 2 Chakra Extraction Technique, he would steadily erode Kakashi’s stamina and patience.
When the wolf’s fangs dulled.
When its patience ran dry.
That would be when the hunter closed the net.
And the key to all of it— Was speed.
Speed so overwhelming that even a wolf couldn’t track it.
— Over the next few days, Ryū entered the most insane training state of his life.
Without hesitation, he exchanged the money earned from “friendly sparring” with Uchiha Nao for expensive Military Ration Pills.
He poured all his chakra and all his energy into a single ninjutsu.
His father’s legacy— Body Flicker Technique.
Poof!
In the backyard, his figure continuously vanished and reappeared several meters away.
Each use came with terrifying chakra consumption.
[Body Flicker Technique Proficiency +5] The moment his chakra bar emptied, he swallowed a bitter Military Ration Pill, forcibly squeezing out what little stamina he had left and continuing without pause.
His muscles screamed.
Mental exhaustion crashed over him like waves.
But he didn’t stop.
At the same time, his other hand was never idle.
Ninja Tool Throwing.
The instant he appeared after each Body Flicker, a kunai shot toward a preset target.
[Ninja Tool Throwing Proficiency +3] From missing entirely… To striking the center… To finally—having the second kunai precisely hit the ring at the tail of the first.
This was no longer training.
It was self-destruction.
— The day of the match arrived.
The sun shone perfectly.
Training Ground No.
3 was packed.
Nearly all the academy students had gathered, and even many instructors stood watching from afar.
Ryū stepped onto the field.
Beneath his messy black hair, his eyes were as calm as an ancient well.
He could feel at least three obscure yet powerful presences locking onto the area.
One of them came from the direction of the Hokage Tower.
He glanced toward the distant Hokage Rock.
He knew the weight of his audience.
His thoughts settled.
The system panel appeared quietly before his eyes.
[Name: Kazama Ryū] [Age: 8] [Constitution: 6] [Spirit: 8] [Chakra: 235 / 235] [Skills:] [Body Flicker Technique: Lv.2 (115 / 600)] [Ninja Tool Throwing: Lv.2 (15 / 600)] … It was ready.
Ryū exhaled slowly and lifted his gaze toward the opposite end of the field.
There stood Hatake Kakashi.
Silver hair.
One hand in his pocket.
A mask covering his face.
Waiting quietly for the duel to begin— Looking utterly bored.