Hui shot forward like a streaking arrow, driving straight into one of Hayate's clones. The crowd gasped—rushing headlong into the attack looked like suicide.
Hayate's smirk deepened. "You think you can win by charging in?"
His blade moved in a blur. Three swords cut through the air like silver lightning, forming a web of steel that threatened to rip Hui apart.
The Sharingan spun violently behind Hui's sunglasses, tracking every flicker of Hayate's wrist. Each strike burned itself into his vision—a pattern forming, the rhythm clear. Hui knew he couldn't dodge everything, but he didn't need to.
Pain seared across his right arm as the last blade sliced deep, his sleeve shredding to ashes. Blood splattered across the dirt. Bone glistened faintly beneath the torn flesh, but Hui didn't falter. His fingers twisted into a familiar pattern—Substitution Jutsu.
"Boom!"
White smoke swallowed the battlefield, and the three blades struck down Hui's shadow clone instead. Hayate's smirk faltered. His gaze darted around the field, scanning for Hui.
"Where is he..."
His eyes flicked to the clone Hui had left behind earlier—the one standing motionless and forgotten.
No...
The clone was moving, fingers flying through seals. The blood still dripping from Hui's arm confirmed the truth—this was the real Hui. His Sharingan locked onto Hayate, cold and unwavering.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
Flames roared to life, blazing forward like a meteor. Heat rippled through the air, and Hayate's eyes widened in panic.
"He used a clone... as a substitution..."
The fireball hurtled toward him, scorching the earth in its path. Hayate's chakra reserves were spent. He knew there was no dodging this.
"Damn it..."
Just before the fireball engulfed him, the ground erupted.
"Boom!"
A massive snake tail shot from the earth, slamming into the fireball and dispersing it in an explosion of smoke and cinders. The tail coiled back into the ground, leaving behind a gaping crater.
Hayate knelt in the dirt, his face pale and streaked with soot. His chest heaved as he stared blankly at the scorched battlefield.
"I... I'm still alive..."
On the sidelines, a Chunin instructor wiped sweat from his brow. "That... that must've been Lord Orochimaru," he muttered. "We're lucky he noticed in time... or this could've ended horribly."
Hui, clutching his injured arm, adjusted his sunglasses and turned to leave. Blood still dripped from his fingertips, but his face showed nothing—just calm, cold detachment. He barely flinched as he poured disinfectant on the open wound and wrapped it in cloth.
"Next time, I'll win!" Hayate's voice rang out from behind him, sharp and defiant.
Hui didn't stop walking. "No," he said quietly. "You won't."
Hayate staggered to his feet, his body trembling from exhaustion and the lingering shock of the near-death experience. Before he could take another step, Yūgao Uzuki rushed to his side, her face etched with concern.
"Hayate, are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she examined his soot-streaked face and the cuts on his arms. "Let me help you."
Hayate winced as she dabbed a cloth against a shallow cut on his cheek. "I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "Just... didn't expect him to go that far."
Yūgao's hands moved quickly, wrapping a bandage around a deeper gash on his forearm. "You pushed yourself too hard," she said, her tone a mix of worry and frustration. "You could've been seriously hurt."
Hayate glanced at Hui's retreating figure, his jaw tightening. "I'll get stronger," he said quietly. "Next time, I won't lose."
Yūgao sighed, her fingers lingering on the bandage for a moment longer. "You're so stubborn," she murmured, but there was no anger in her voice—only relief that he was okay.
Hui, meanwhile, walked away without looking back, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The crowd parted for him, their whispers trailing in his wake. He didn't need anyone's help. He never did.