At dawn, outside the Fanma residence, Minato Namikaze arrived in a whirlwind of energy, dragging a still-groggy Kushina Uzumaki behind him.
They were so familiar with the route that they vaulted over the courtyard wall with practiced ease.
Fanma was already in the courtyard, shirtless, preparing for his morning warm-up.
He spotted the blond head poking over the wall and chuckled.
“Yo, little Minato.
You’re early.
I see you’re looking forward to your teacher’s grand performance.” He signaled for them to jump down.
With a deep breath, two thick columns of white mist erupted from his nostrils like steam from a locomotive.
His muscles surged and coiled like dragons, visible veins popping across his tanned skin.
As he moved, his bones popped with a series of rhythmic cracks, and his muscles rippled as if they possessed a consciousness of their own.
Minato’s eyes widened, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.
Crouched in the corner of the wall, he thought, This is not normal taijutsu.
This is not a human being.
This is absolutely not possible!!
Fanma clenched his fists and dropped into a standard Konoha-style taijutsu stance, his feet cratering the blue flagstones beneath him.
“—BANG!!!” A single punch shattered the sound barrier.
The air let out a high-pitched, agonizing scream as the shockwave struck a three-meter-tall iron dummy.
The target was sent flying like a protagonist in an action movie struck by a speeding truck.
With a burst of speed that left the stone tiles beneath him pulverized into dust, Fanma flickered, appearing behind the iron dummy before it could even hit the wall.
“—Iron Mountain Lean!” This was a lethal technique he had distilled from the insights of his previous life.
Combining the lumbar spine as the source of power, the thighs as support, and channeling the entire force of his body through his shoulder, it was a masterpiece of the Bajiquan style.
“BOOM!” The iron dummy emitted a screeching, metallic wail.
Its steel frame shattered instantly, riddled with fractures.
It no longer resembled a human form; its limbs twisted and scattered, appearing like the vengeful ghost of a murdered man.
Minato’s face turned pale.
From his perspective, the dummy had flown into the wall and then rocketed toward him.
But as a future Fourth Hokage, he acted instinctively; he gritted his teeth and stepped in front of Kushina just before the wreckage could crush them.
Fanma smiled, satisfied.
He flickered in front of Minato and delivered a crisp, standard front kick that reduced the remaining debris of the iron dummy into scrap metal.
For a moment, the courtyard was a chaos of flying metal and deep impact craters, as if it had been the site of a cataclysmic duel.
Fanma looked at his handiwork quietly, picked up a warm towel, and began to wipe himself down.
Where his crimson skin touched the damp towel, steam hissed and spiraled into the air.
Kushina, now fully awake, was trembling.
The destructive roar reminded her of the nightmare of the fall of Uzushiio.
The girl known as the “Red Hot-Blooded Habanero” at the Academy was hiding behind Minato, gripping his back tightly, refusing to look out.
Minato, also pale, leaned weakly against the wall, holding Kushina’s hand and gasping for air.
“F-Fanma-sensei, is this…
your fighting style?” Fanma waved a hand dismissively.
He pulled on his tactical vest, grabbed Minato in one hand and the stunned Kushina in the other.
“I’m an exception.
In the Five Great Shinobi Nations, I’m likely the only one who fights this way.” He paused, looking at his student.
“But your path is destined to be different.
Don’t let my raw strength cloud your vision; your future will be just as brilliant.” After delivering a quick bowl of “chicken soup for the soul,” Fanma dashed toward the training grounds behind the village.
Minato dangled in the wind, his yellow hair whipping back and forth as he pondered the meaning of life.
Though Fanma had been like an older brother to him since he was young—and was now his mentor—the sheer, savage masculinity of that display had left Minato feeling like he had just met a stranger.
Konoha, Secret Training Ground No.
47.
Jonin were gathering in small groups.
An ordinary Chunin would have been staggered by the sheer density of “big names” present.
The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, and his long-time comrade, Danzo Shimura, had already arrived.
Based on Hiruzen’s cheerful expression and Danzo’s sour scowl, they were already bickering.
Clan heads stood around exchanging superficial, polished smiles, while civilian Jonin huddled in their own circles, debating the upcoming matches.
The subtle positioning of the ninja revealed the current power structure of Konoha: the divide between clans and civilian ninja was growing increasingly sharp under the banner of the “Will of Fire.” This internal tournament was the first true vocalization of the civilian faction; they were tired of watching incompetent clan members hold high-ranking positions.
Fanma walked up to the Third Hokage, carrying his two “potted plants,” and grinned.
“Lord Third, I brought my student and his little girlfriend to watch today’s matches and get a bit of experience.” Hiruzen sighed helplessly, while Danzo shot a dark, hateful look at Kushina.
Danzo always believed Jinchuriki were merely weapons—they had no need for feelings.
They were spare parts, and they needed to be prepared to sacrifice themselves!
However, Kushina’s status was delicate; she was a protégé of Mito Uzumaki, putting her on the same social tier as Danzo himself.
Hiruzen coughed, took custody of Minato and Kushina, and patted their heads.
“In that case, I will look after them.
They are the new green leaves of the village; they must eventually learn to face the wind and rain.” Kushina’s face brightened at the sight of Hiruzen; she had been close to the old man since she was a child.
When Hiruzen had first taken power, his foundation was unstable, and he had frequently sought the counsel of Mito Uzumaki.
At the time, Kushina had lived in Mito’s home, and Hiruzen had essentially become her semi-guardian.
Fanma shook off his two “burdens,” straightened his vest, and calculated his potential opponents and the benefits he intended to secure.
In truth, his fame in Konoha was limited to a select few; his Anbu history meant that, outside of the high command, few knew the full extent of his battlefield records.
His goal today was to establish his reputation, secure command for the coming war, and eventually trade his merits for access to the Scroll of Sealing.
Danzo’s gloomy voice drifted over.
“I still believe the Root is your stage.
You have enough darkness for it.” Fanma squinted, unbothered.
“Old man Danzo, I believe in strength above all else.
If I were the boss of Root, I’d consider it.” Danzo’s face darkened further.
He snorted heavily.
“Ignorant!” Hiruzen cleared his throat, using a simple amplification jutsu to project his voice.
“Jonin Squad, assemble!” Instantly, the chattering Jonin snapped into their positions, listening for the Hokage’s instructions.
Hiruzen produced a lottery box from behind him and scanned the crowd.
“This is the Elite Selection for the Jonin Squad.
The top three will emerge as the victors.
You are the pillars of Konoha, and you all know the gravity of the war to come.
Our forces will be divided into three divisions: the primary assault force against Suna, the primary assault force against Rain, and the roaming battlefield support force.
I will be overseeing the village.
The three winners will take on the role of division commanders.” “If you intend to take command, prepare yourselves!” A heavy silence fell over the field.
The civilian ninja hadn’t expected such a fair method of deciding battlefield command.
Command meant prestige and responsibility, but the wealth and resources brought back from winning a war could sustain a mid-sized clan for twenty years.
The clan members hadn’t expected it either, but they felt this method played into their favor.
They couldn’t imagine losing to anyone.
The air in the arena grew suffocatingly tense—a battle of ambition and interests, primed to explode at a moment’s notice.