The Final Battle – Part 2
"Bang!" With a sharp crack, Taiyi twisted aside, narrowly avoiding Yanagihara Masamune's Wind Release: Gale Palm. At the same instant, he lunged forward, closing the distance before Masamune could prepare another jutsu.
"Heh, still not giving up? It's useless."
Just as Masamune braced to intercept, a faint, unfamiliar fragrance reached his nose. His focus wavered—only for a heartbeat—but it was enough.
When his vision cleared, Taiyi's kunai was already poised at his throat.
"It's over," Taiyi said quietly.
Masamune's gaze dropped to the blade against his neck. "…Another Genjutsu?" he asked bitterly.
"That's right. Genjutsu isn't that simple."
Genjutsu wasn't limited to the Sharingan's ocular techniques; there were sound-based, scent-based, and even subtle movement-based illusions. The Uchiha clan's dominance had made the world forget that fact.
Taiyi, despite possessing the Sharingan, had trained in a variety of Genjutsu forms. The eye amplified some of them, but not all. In this case, the illusion was woven through scent—a far cry from the usual visual traps.
"I lost this time," Masamune said, straightening, "but next time, I will win."
"Ha, we'll see… cough, cough—" Taiyi's attempted bravado faltered as his body betrayed him. His left hand was trembling, the aftereffects of overexertion setting in.
They performed the Seal of Reconciliation before Taiyi turned away, heading straight for the medical tent.
Shirō and the others were already waiting at the entrance, prepared to rush him to treatment.
With Taiyi's match concluded, the top seven of the exam were decided: Minato, Shirō and Taiyi from Konoha; Sasori and Rasa from Sunagakure; and Kitsuchi and Watanabe Akira from Iwagakure.
The seven-to-three draw will take place tomorrow. The format was brutal—one fighter would face two consecutive opponents. At this level, back-to-back victories were nearly impossible.
It was a death draw.
Conversely, being the second to fight that exhausted winner was a stroke of pure luck.
This round also came with another "lucky" draw—the one that paired someone against Taiyi. Everyone had seen the damage he took; unless he risked permanent injury by forcing rapid healing through forbidden medical techniques, there was no way he could fight at full capacity.
But Konoha wasn't foolish enough to let him throw his future away for a single exam. Which meant Taiyi was now a prime target for advancement.
After treatment, the medic concluded, "It's not serious now, but you can't participate tomorrow."
"No," Shirō said immediately. "Taiyi will participate."
"Why?" Nakamura frowned. "Rest is more important than fighting."
"Because tomorrow's format is about luck. If Taiyi draws the right lot, he can advance without much fighting. If not, he concedes—he's injured, so it's not shameful."
"…Oh, right," Nakamura admitted. "I was too focused on the injury. I forgot about the rule change. Wait, Shikamaru, you knew and didn't say anything?"
"Shirō was going to say it anyway," Shikamaru shrugged.
Nakamura sighed. "Alright, everyone rest. We will fight smart tomorrow."
Although Homura Mitokado technically led the Konoha delegation, most day-to-day management in Sunagakure fell to Nakamura. Officially, he was the only Jōnin present; in truth, several ANBU operated in the shadows, their identities concealed.
ANBU were not the bumbling caricatures Shirō had seen in some fictional portrayals of his previous life—they were elite, handpicked, and deadly. Even the rare Special Jōnin among them had exceptional, well-rounded skills.
After returning to his room, Shirō did not rest. Instead, he used Projection Magic to analyze intelligence and prepare contingency strategies for each possible opponent.
He cross-referenced their known jutsu, then searched his mental armory for C-rank Noble Phantasms suited to counter them. Finding matches for Sasori, Rasa, and Watanabe Akira was straightforward. Kitsuchi, however, was another matter.
It wasn't that no Noble Phantasm could work—it was that the viable ones were too dangerous or required True Name release. Shirō could now barely sustain a C-rank True Name activation, but doing so would drain most of his chakra. Against a tank like Kitsuchi, if the technique failed to finish him, Shirō would be doomed.
He resigned himself to hope. Best case, he'd face Taiyi—winning without fighting was a victory nonetheless.
---
The next morning, the seven contestants stood on the arena floor. The referee carried a sealed box, its inscriptions dampening sensory detection.
"There are four ball colors: red, yellow, black, and white. The black-ball holders will fight each other first, and the winner will face the white-ball holder. Begin."
Rasa drew first—a red ball. Minato followed with yellow. Sasori pulled a black ball, and the referee's expression tightened before smoothing into neutrality.
Shirō drew red. Taiyi got yellow. Kitsuchi revealed a white ball. That left Watanabe Akira with the remaining black ball.
The matchups were set:
Rasa vs. Si Lang
Minato vs. Taiyi
Sasori vs. Watanabe Akira → Winner faces Kitsuchi
Minato had, once again, sidestepped the most grueling path.
Truly, Shirō thought, the man's luck rivaled the protagonist's aura itself. His life had been one of brilliance and fame—until he chose the most dangerous profession of all, sealing his fate far too soon.
And no, Shirō didn't need to explain which profession that was.