Silence.
The Death Forest arena went so quiet a pin would have sounded like thunder.
The grin slid off Dong Shibito's face. Ice spread in its place. His half-lidded, jackal-cold eyes leaked killing intent. Chakra roared and the gallery stone crazed in spiderwebs under his boots.
"Good. Very good." He laughed without warmth, mouth sawing wider until it looked carved. "The last Uchiha who talked like that—I twisted his head off."
"If you can, come twist mine," Sogetsu said, crooking his finger again. "Less talk. Come down, finish quick. I need to get back and sleep."
BOOOM—
Pressure rolled across the tower like a storm front.
"Everyone not involved—leave." Dong Shibito cracked his knuckles, each pop like a gunshot, and strode forward wearing a butcher's grin. "Consider yourself lucky, brat. For the Hokage's sake, I'll spare your life. Let's just break both arms as compensation for offending Iwa."
Thunder without lightning—then a blur like a dragon tearing the water.
"Your mouth—talks too much."
Voice first, body second. Wind detonated against Dong Shibito's cheek; flesh rippled; his eyes slammed shut.
A whip-crack roundhouse followed, snapping the air to shreds.
"Leaf—Strong Fist: Gale Spring!"
Danger!
He barely had time to cross-block.
Bang!
Power, raw and clean, poured through his guard like a flash flood. Pain tore up his forearms; bone creaked like splitting ice.
He skidded ten meters, boots burning twin black streaks into the stone.
"That your level?" Sogetsu didn't chase. His voice was dust-dry—and contemptuous.
Hurts… Dong Shibito's arms screamed. One exchange, and they felt half-broken. He swallowed his pride and his underestimation both. Brutal taijutsu… a specialist?
Then he remembered the fan on Sogetsu's back and snorted to himself. An Uchiha? Specialising in taijutsu? Absurd.
He didn't know the truth—the dragon-scale sheathing Sogetsu's calves, the power spike it granted. Without it, bullying a veteran jonin by body alone would've been harder.
"Earth Style: Returning Rampart!"
Distance. He needed distance. The floor bucked; stone lances ripped up and launched like ballista bolts.
Sharingan bled scarlet. Three tomoe spun and printed every vector into Sogetsu's mind.
He shot forward into the storm.
To the left. Quarter step down. Turn the hip. Slip between. His dance on a knife's edge threaded the spears by hair-breadths, then ate the space in a breath.
Dong Shibito's pupils shrank. He slammed a hand down.
"Earth Style: Returning Rampart!"
Whump. A fortress-thick wall heaved up.
He'd bought himself a second—hands already flashing—
"A wall? Think that saves you?"
Sogetsu splayed his fingers to a claw. Veins lifted along the back of his hand. Wind-natured chakra gathered and sang—a high, tearing whine.
"Wind Release: Eightfold Light Wheel."
Air, compressed to a screaming edge, blurred invisible—until it didn't. A serrated disc of killing wind spun out.
Pakura's composure cracked. Her voice came tight. "A—sealless ninjutsu…"
Schlkk—
The rampart parted like warm wax under a hot knife. The cut surface shone mirror-smooth. The wheel didn't slow. It went on—straight for Dong Shibito.
Move, instinct barked. He aborted his forming jutsu and dove, barely—barely—rolling clear.
Even so, the wheel kissed his shoulder. Bone and tendon parted. Blood geysered.
He hadn't finished standing when a fist filled his world.
Thud!
The wall caught him. Hard.
Pain… and shock. An elite jonin, treated like a freshman—start to finish with no room to breathe.
"D-damn you—" He tore free of the crater, face twisted. "You asked for this, brat!"
If this got out—the Tsuchikage would take his head off.
"Tired of watching?" Sogetsu dusted nonexistent grit from his sleeve and tipped his chin at the gallery. "Don't make me repeat myself. Both of you. Come down."
A rare chance—to write his name into Konoha's sky in one afternoon. He intended to harvest reputation till the field was bare. He'd need it for the rite to come.
Pakura's eyes narrowed to slits. Heat shimmered around her palms. On the far side, Garyuro's chakra climbed.
Sogetsu smiled—pleasant as before.
"Kind reminder," he said. "I don't repeat myself often."
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