The four Shinras ran across the dirt field, kicking up a massive cloud of dust behind them.
They moved in perfect harmony, like a pack of hunting wolves closing in on their prey.
Tajima stood his ground.
He held the massive wooden Gunbai fan with both hands, his red eyes scanning the incoming boys.
He had never seen a cloning jutsu that created real, physical bodies before.
It was an amazing trick, but Tajima had fought against tricks his whole life.
“Don’t think numbers will save you!” Tajima roared playfully.
The first clone leaped high into the air, pulling a sharp kunai from its pouch and throwing it straight at Tajima’s face.
Tajima didn’t even blink.
He simply tilted his head, letting the knife stick harmlessly into the dirt behind him.
At the exact same time, the second and third clones attacked from the left and right.
They slid through the dirt, aiming low kicks at Tajima’s legs to bring the big man down.
Tajima jumped straight up, avoiding both kicks.
While in the air, he swung the heavy wooden fan down like a giant hammer.
SMASH.
The heavy fan crushed the two clones on the ground.
Instead of bleeding, they both popped into thick clouds of white smoke and vanished.
“Two down,” Tajima laughed as his boots touched the dirt again.
But as soon as he landed, the first clone that had jumped into the air came crashing down behind him, wrapping its arms around Tajima’s waist in a tight, heavy hug.
“Got you!” the clone yelled, trying to hold the warlord in place.
Tajima grunted.
The clone was incredibly strong, just like the real Shinra.
But Tajima was bigger.
With a loud roar, Tajima spun his body violently.
He threw the clone over his shoulder and slammed it hard into the dirt.
Poof.
The third clone vanished into smoke.
Tajima quickly turned around, raising his fan to face the real Shinra.
But the real Shinra wasn’t holding a kunai.
He wasn’t weaving hand signs for a fire jutsu.
Shinra was standing just five feet away.
He had his right hand held out, palm facing up.
The quiet morning air suddenly began to scream.
Madara and Izuna covered their ears, wincing at the loud, high-pitched grinding noise.
Dense, heavy blue energy poured out of Shinra’s hand.
It spun wildly in a hundred different directions at once, creating a perfect, glowing blue ball of raw power.
It looked like a tiny, angry star trapped in his palm.
Tajima stared at the Rasengan.
He had never seen a jutsu formed purely out of spinning energy without a single hand sign.
The raw power radiating from the blue ball was scary.
“Let’s see if your fan can handle this!” Shinra yelled.
Shinra pushed his feet hard against the ground and thrust the screaming blue ball straight toward the center of Tajima’s chest.
Tajima didn’t have time to dodge.
He quickly brought the massive, flat surface of the Gunbai fan up like a shield.
GRIND!
The collision was deafening.
The spinning blue energy violently ground against the heavy spirit wood of the legendary fan.
A massive shockwave of wind blew outward, tearing up the dirt and forcing Madara and Izuna to duck down behind the stone wall so they wouldn’t get hit by flying rocks.
Tajima gritted his teeth.
His boots were pushed backward, leaving deep, long trenches in the dirt.
The sheer spinning power of the blue ball was completely overwhelming.
The heavy wood of the fan actually began to groan and splinter under the intense pressure.
If I try to block this straight on, the fan will break!
Tajima realized, feeling a rare moment of panic.
Tajima didn’t try to win with brute strength.
When raw power wasn’t enough, a smart fighter used tricks.
Using his thirty years of fighting experience, Tajima suddenly twisted his wrists.
He tilted the heavy fan sharply to the side, changing the angle of his shield.
Because Shinra was pushing forward so hard with the Rasengan, the sudden change in angle made his hand slip.
The spinning blue ball slid violently off the slanted wood of the fan.
Shinra stumbled forward, his balance completely broken for just a tiny, split second.
The blue ball slammed heavily into the dirt right next to Tajima’s boots.
It instantly carved out a massive, deep crater, sending a huge shower of wet mud flying into the sky.
In that exact, tiny moment of weakness, Tajima moved.
The older man dropped his heavy fan.
He spun around gracefully and drove his knee directly into Shinra’s stomach.
Shinra gasped, the air completely knocked out of his lungs.
Before Shinra could even try to catch his balance, Tajima grabbed his shirt collar, swept his leg, and violently slammed his eldest son flat on his back into the dirt.
The training ground fell completely silent.
The dust slowly settled around them.
Tajima was standing over his son, breathing heavily.
In his right hand, he held a sharp kunai knife.
The cold steel was resting gently against the side of Shinra’s neck.
Shinra lay flat on his back, looking up at the bright morning sky.
He wasn’t panting.
He wasn’t hurt badly.
But he was completely caught.
“You are dead,” Tajima said.
His raspy voice echoed in the quiet field.
Shinra let out a soft, happy laugh.
He let his head rest back against the dirt.
The red faded from his eyes, returning to pitch black.
“Yeah.
I am,” Shinra admitted easily.
He had the physical strength of a monster, and he had jutsus that could destroy mountains.
But Tajima had thirty years of brutal, life-or-death experience.
Tajima hadn’t won by being stronger or faster.
He had won by perfectly using a single second of bad balance.
Tajima looked down at the boy.
The fierce, scary warlord mask slowly melted away.
It was replaced entirely by the exhausting, overwhelming pride of a loving father.
Tajima pulled the knife away and offered his hand to his son.
Shinra took it, and Tajima pulled the boy easily to his feet.
“You have the strength of a beast, and magic like a legend, Shinra,” Tajima said.
His voice was quiet and filled with deep respect.
“But you still fight like a young soldier trying to win a duel.
You pushed too hard on the final attack because you thought your blue ball was unstoppable.” Tajima placed his heavy, warm hands firmly on Shinra’s shoulders.
“A warlord does not fight to win duels,” Tajima taught him, his dark eyes looking deeply into Shinra’s.
“A warlord fights to survive.
You must always expect the enemy to dodge, even when you have the perfect attack.” “I understand, Father,” Shinra nodded deeply.
It was exactly what he needed to hear.
The system made him powerful, but he still needed real experience.
This friendly loss grounded him perfectly.
Madara and Izuna slowly walked out from behind the stone wall.
They stared at the destroyed training ground, the melted glass dirt, and the massive crater in absolute awe.
“You almost had him, Shinra-nii!” Izuna cheered, running over and hugging Shinra’s leg.
“Your block with the fan was flawless, Father,” Madara said eagerly.
He looked at the groaning, splintered wood of the clan weapon lying in the dirt.
“But Shinra-nii’s blue jutsu completely overwhelmed your guard!
The damage was insane!” Tajima chuckled a deep, rumbling laugh.
He reached down and ruffled Madara’s spiky hair.
He looked at his three sons standing together in the morning light.
They were strong.
They were smart.
They actually liked each other.
They were the absolute future of the Uchiha clan.
The Clan Head took a deep breath.
He looked back up at his eldest son.
The happy, family mood shifted slightly, hardening into a solemn seriousness.
Tajima picked up his sword from the dirt and slid it back into its sheath.
He looked over his shoulder toward the dark woods behind the training ground.
“You have proven yourself today, Shinra,” Tajima said, his voice dropping into a heavy, quiet tone.
Shinra stood up straight, sensing the serious change in his father.
Tajima looked deep into Shinra’s eyes.
“It is time,” Tajima said softly.