Chapter 16— The Game Changes
The wind shifted.
Akira felt it before he heard it — that faint, wrong stillness, like the air was waiting. The laughter of his classmates carried strangely through the trees, as if swallowed by the leaves.
He loosened his stance, stepping back into the shade. His eyes flicked toward the instructors at the edge of the field — two chunin, relaxed, chatting idly as they watched. Too far to see it. Too far to feel it.
---
In the center of the "battlefield," Obito was still locked in his personal war with Kakashi.
"Stand still!" Obito lunged again.
Kakashi parried lazily, deflecting the padded kunai and stepping back without breaking eye contact. "If you can't land a hit on me here, what makes you think you'll pass the real Genin Exams?"
"Watch me," Obito growled, pushing harder.
Rin clapped from the sidelines. "You're both doing great!"
Akira sighed under his breath. They have no idea.
---
He shifted his Byakugan on for just a flicker — enough to confirm it.
The three unknown chakra signatures had moved closer, circling like wolves. They weren't approaching the instructors. They were angling toward the children.
Akira turned off the Byakugan and smiled faintly to himself, forcing his body to relax. Don't spook them.
If the attackers realized he'd spotted them, they might strike fast before he could prepare.
---
Instead, he drifted closer to the center, intercepting Rin as she adjusted her position.
"Hey," he said casually, "how about you stick nearer the flag for a bit? Better defense."
Rin tilted her head. "Why? We're doing fine."
"Call it a hunch." He smiled. It was soft enough to make her laugh — and move exactly where he wanted.
---
Kakashi's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the exchange.
Akira didn't usually meddle with the game.
---
Thirty meters away, hidden under thick foliage, the Iwa leader signaled for the two others to split up.
"One from the left, one from the right. Take them alive if you can. That Uchiha boy… he's worth more breathing."
Akira felt the prickle at the back of his neck — the sensation of being marked.
The game's whistle still hadn't blown, but he knew it:
The real match was about to begin.
---