The arena buzzed with anticipation as the electronic board cycled through names, randomly selecting the matchups for the final tournament.
Naruto observed without particular interest as the pairings materialized:
Match One: Uzumaki Naruto vs. Hyuuga Neji
Good.
He would have requested the match himself if random chance hadn't provided it. The anger still burned inside him—a strange, uncomfortable presence that refused to fade. Every time he thought of Neji's palm descending toward Hinata's prone form, the flames flickered higher.
Match Two: Uchiha Satsuki vs. Gaara of the Desert
Satsuki's expression shifted at the announcement. Fighting a jinchuuriki—one who had crushed Rock Lee's limbs without remorse—was not an ideal matchup. But her eyes found Naruto's, and her uncertainty transformed into determination.
She would fight for him. Win for him. Prove herself worthy of standing beside him.
Match Three: Nara Shikamaru vs. Temari of the Desert
Shikamaru's groan was audible across the fighter's box. "Troublesome. Fighting a woman is always troublesome."
Temari's eyes narrowed from her position near the Sand siblings, but her attention remained fixed on Naruto rather than her announced opponent.
Match Four: Aburame Shino vs. Kankuro of the Desert
The final match drew little attention. Both competitors were competent but unremarkable compared to the spectacles that preceded them.
The Hokage rose, his aged voice carrying across the arena with practiced projection.
"Competitors! You have one month to prepare for the final tournament. Use this time wisely. Train, recover, and return ready to demonstrate the full measure of your abilities. Dismissed!"
The crowd began dispersing, conversations buzzing about the upcoming matches—particularly the first. The demon container against the Hyuuga prodigy. The boy without emotions against the genius consumed by fate.
Everyone knew which match they would be watching most closely.
Naruto didn't linger for the speculation. He turned and walked toward the exit, his mind already cataloging training priorities, technique refinements, and tactical preparations for dismantling Neji Hyuuga as thoroughly as possible.
The anger demanded satisfaction.
He intended to provide it.
The stadium corridors were emptying when Kakashi fell into step beside him.
"Naruto."
"Kakashi-sensei."
"That was quite a display in there." The jonin's voice carried careful neutrality. "I don't think I've ever seen you react to anything before."
"A novel experience."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
They walked in silence for several meters, the sounds of the dispersing crowd fading behind them.
"The finals are in one month," Kakashi said eventually. "Neji Hyuuga is a prodigy—the strongest genin to emerge from the Hyuuga clan in a generation. His Gentle Fist style is designed specifically to counter opponents with large chakra reserves."
"I'm aware of his capabilities."
"Then you're aware that he poses a genuine threat. His Byakugan can see your chakra network, predict your movements, strike your tenketsu points before you can react." Kakashi's visible eye studied him carefully. "You might benefit from specialized training against his fighting style."
Naruto continued walking without response.
"I'm offering to train you," Kakashi clarified. "For the month before the finals. One-on-one instruction, focused on countering the Gentle Fist and preparing for—"
"No."
The refusal was flat, immediate, carrying no room for negotiation.
Kakashi's eye narrowed. "No? Just like that?"
"Your training would not benefit me. Our skill differential makes your instruction suboptimal for my development."
"Skill differential?" Something shifted in Kakashi's voice—offense, perhaps, or wounded pride. "I'm a jonin, Naruto. An elite. I've been fighting and training since before you were born."
"Your experience is noted. It does not change my assessment."
"Your assessment." Kakashi stopped walking, forcing Naruto to pause as well. "You think you're stronger than me."
"I don't think. I know."
"That's arrogant."
The word hung in the air between them.
Naruto turned to face his sensei, those empty eyes—still carrying traces of unfamiliar anger—meeting Kakashi's mismatched gaze.
"Arrogance implies overestimation of one's capabilities relative to evidence. My assessment is based on direct observation of your combat performance, analysis of your known techniques, and comparison against my own demonstrated abilities."
"You've never fought me seriously."
"Neither have you fought me seriously. Shall we correct that?"
Kakashi's visible eye widened slightly. "Are you challenging me?"
"I'm offering a demonstration. You believe my assessment is arrogant. I will provide evidence to the contrary."
The corridor had gone silent. A few stragglers who had been passing by had stopped, sensing the tension between sensei and student.
Kakashi studied Naruto for a long moment, his tactical mind clearly working through scenarios. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Alright. Let's see what you've—"
Naruto moved.
There was no warning. No tensing of muscles, no shift of weight, no preparatory motion that even the Sharingan could track.
One instant, he stood three meters away.
The next, he was behind Kakashi, kunai pressed against the jonin's throat, his other hand gripping Kakashi's wrist to prevent any defensive jutsu.
Kakashi hadn't seen him move.
The legendary Copy Ninja, the man who had copied over a thousand techniques, who had served in ANBU, who had survived wars and S-rank battles—
He hadn't seen a twelve-year-old boy move three meters.
"Your reaction time is approximately 0.3 seconds for visual stimuli, 0.15 seconds for auditory," Naruto said, his voice flat and analytical. "My current maximum speed allows me to cross ten meters in 0.08 seconds. Even with the Sharingan active, you cannot track my movement at full velocity."
The kunai pressed slightly harder against Kakashi's throat—not enough to draw blood, but enough to emphasize the point.
"Your primary advantage in combat is the Sharingan's ability to predict and copy techniques. This advantage is nullified against an opponent you cannot see. Your secondary advantage is experience and tactical flexibility. This advantage is irrelevant when the engagement ends before tactics can be implemented."
Naruto released his grip and stepped back, the kunai disappearing into his equipment pouch.
"I am faster than you. Stronger than you. I possess techniques you cannot copy because you cannot perceive them. My chakra reserves exceed yours by a factor of approximately one hundred. And my combat methodology does not rely on emotional responses you could exploit."
He turned and began walking away.
"Your offer to train me is declined. Your instruction would slow my development rather than accelerate it."
Kakashi stood frozen in the corridor, his hand moving unconsciously to touch his throat where the kunai had been.
He had trained with the Fourth Hokage. Had fought alongside legends. Had earned his reputation through decades of combat against the most dangerous opponents the world could produce.
And he had just been completely outclassed by a boy he was supposed to be teaching.
"Naruto."
The boy paused but didn't turn around.
"When did you surpass me?"
"Approximately six weeks ago. Possibly earlier—I didn't conduct precise comparative analysis until recently."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"It wasn't relevant to mission completion or training objectives. You continued to provide value through tactical guidance and mission coordination. Your combat instruction had already become suboptimal, but I chose to allow the arrangement to continue for team cohesion purposes."
The admission was delivered without any apparent awareness of how devastating it was. Naruto wasn't being cruel—cruelty required emotional investment. He was simply stating facts as he observed them.
Which somehow made it worse.
"I see." Kakashi's voice had gone hollow. "Then I suppose there's nothing I can teach you."
"Incorrect. You possess extensive knowledge of village politics, mission protocols, and intelligence networks that I lack. Your value as an information resource remains significant." Naruto glanced back over his shoulder. "But as a combat instructor, you have been obsolete for some time."
He resumed walking.
"Train Sakura and Satsuki. They can still benefit from your instruction. Satsuki's match against Gaara will require everything she has—your experience with the Sharingan may provide insights I cannot."
Then he was gone, disappearing around a corner, leaving Kakashi alone in the corridor with his shattered pride and his growing understanding of exactly what the village's abuse had created.
Outside the stadium, Naruto walked through the village streets toward his apartment.
The anger still burned inside him—Neji, Hinata, the descending palm that had nearly killed her. But alongside the anger, something else was forming. A coldness that wrapped around the flames and directed them.
Not rage. Not blind fury.
Purpose.
He had one month to prepare.
One month to refine his techniques, develop new strategies, and ensure that when he faced Neji Hyuuga in the arena, the outcome would be absolute.
Not victory. Victory was too simple, too clean.
He wanted Neji to understand. To feel what Hinata had felt. To know, in his bones and blood and breaking body, that fate had not protected him.
That nothing could protect him.
That Uzumaki Naruto had claimed something as his, and the consequences of threatening it would be paid in full.
The anger burned hotter.
And for the first time in years, Naruto didn't want it to stop.
Behind him, hidden in the shadows, Anko watched him walk away.
She had witnessed the confrontation with Kakashi. Had seen the speed that even her trained eyes could barely track. Had heard the cold, clinical dismissal of a jonin's combat relevance.
Her boy—her beautiful, broken, terrifying boy—was becoming something beyond anything she had imagined.
The maternal instincts that had consumed her since her transformation demanded that she follow him. Care for him. Ensure he ate and rested and didn't push himself too hard in training.
But the other feeling—the one that had merged with her maternal drive into something she still couldn't fully name—
That feeling watched him walk away and burned with something that went far beyond maternal affection.
He's going to destroy Neji, she thought. Completely. Utterly. Without mercy.
The thought should have concerned her.
It didn't.
That's my boy.
She followed from the shadows, as she always did.
Watching over him.
Wanting him.
Waiting.
In the hospital, Hinata lay unconscious, her body fighting to recover from injuries that should have killed her.
The medical ninja had stabilized her condition, but the prognosis remained uncertain. Neji's strike had come within millimeters of stopping her heart permanently. Only her transformed physiology—the same phenomenon that had enhanced all of the devoted women—had provided enough resilience to survive.
She would live.
But she didn't know yet what her near-death had awakened in the boy she loved.
Didn't know that Uzumaki Naruto had felt anger for the first time in years—for her.
Didn't know that he had called her his—claimed her, publicly, in front of thousands of witnesses.
Didn't know that she had accomplished what none of the others had managed.
She had made him feel.
And when she woke, she would learn that the empty boy she had devoted herself to was empty no longer.
That something was growing in the void.
Something that had started with anger—but might, given time and care, become something more.
Something like love.
In the Hyuuga compound, Neji sat in his quarters, his shattered wrist immobilized in a medical cast.
The bone would heal. His clan had excellent medical resources, and the damage, while severe, was not permanent.
But his confidence—his absolute certainty in the predetermined nature of fate—had been shaken.
She is mine, Naruto had said. And no one touches what is mine.
The words echoed in Neji's mind, refusing to fade.
He had seen something in those blue eyes. Something that contradicted everything he believed about the demon container—the emotionless monster, the empty vessel, the boy who felt nothing.
Anger.
Real, burning, protective anger.
For Hinata. For the failure. For the weak, pathetic main house princess who should have been beneath notice.
Naruto had felt that. Had acted on it. Had shattered Neji's wrist without hesitation and promised worse in the finals.
We will fight in the finals. And when we do, I will not stop at your wrist.
Fear—cold, unfamiliar fear—coiled in Neji's stomach.
He had one month.
One month to prepare for an opponent who had made Orochimaru flee. Who had surpassed his own jonin sensei. Who had displayed power that exceeded anything a genin should possess.
One month to figure out how to survive against someone who wanted him to suffer.
Neji closed his eyes and began to meditate.
Fate would protect him.
Fate had already determined the outcome.
Fate...
But the fear wouldn't fade.
And deep down, in a place he refused to acknowledge, Neji Hyuuga began to wonder if fate could be wrong.