Chapter 13: A Lesson in Velocity
"...What?"
"So fast!"
The stunned exclamations hung in the air, then faded into a profound, ringing silence.
Everyone in the room was trying to process what they had just witnessed. The transition had been so abrupt, so utterly lacking in preamble, that their minds struggled to catch up. One moment, Reitō was being condescended to; the next, he was simply elsewhere, having crossed the space not with movement, but with an act of pure displacement.
Reitō himself felt no surprise. With his inner vision, the Body Replacement Technique was no longer a series of steps to follow, but a single, holistic command to his own chakra system. Thought became action with zero latency. It was, in the truest sense, instantaneous.
As the shockwave of his action subsided, the room's occupants slowly returned to themselves, their gazes settling on Reitō with expressions ranging from awe to deep, unsettled calculation. A single, undeniable thought echoed in each of their minds: A prodigy. Another formidable shinobi has emerged from the Hyūga.
In the lingering quiet, Reitō's low chuckle was startlingly clear. He turned his pearlescent eyes, veins still faintly visible, directly to Uchiha Fusa. "Well, teacher?" he asked, his tone deceptively mild. "Does this satisfy the speed requirement for Class A?"
The question made Uchiha Fusa's face darken, his earlier smugness evaporating like mist under a harsh sun. He cleared his throat, a sound that grated in the stillness. "I… I was not adequately prepared to observe that attempt. My assessment was… compromised. I cannot properly judge what I did not clearly see."
Even the other two examiners winced at the transparent weakness of the excuse. It was beyond poor sportsmanship; it was a blatant refusal to acknowledge reality.
Reitō's expression didn't flicker. Instead, a trace of cold amusement touched his lips. "I see," he said, his voice calm. "The teacher's observational skills seem to be… intermittent. Very well. Since you missed it, I shall perform it again."
He paused, his gaze locking onto Fusa's. "But to avoid any further… visual complications on your part, teacher, I have a proposal. This time, let us form the seals together." He spoke each word with deliberate, cutting clarity. "That way, there can be no ambiguity. If I am faster than you, a chūnin examiner, then it should conclusively prove I meet—no, exceed—the standard you yourself set. Isn't that right… teacher?"
The challenge was no longer implied; it was hurled like a kunai, gleaming and sharp. It was an audacious, almost unheard-of provocation—a candidate, a child not yet admitted, openly challenging an examiner's competence and integrity.
The three other chūnin in the room stared, their professional detachment shattered. This boy is insane, was the unified, stunned thought. He's gone mad.
"Are you serious?" Uchiha Fusa asked, his voice dropping into a low, icy register. The insult was monumental. It threatened not just his judgment, but his very standing as a shinobi.
"Absolutely," Reitō replied, his face an impassive mask. "I am deeply concerned about the recurring… ophthalmic issues you seem to be experiencing. This method will provide a definitive diagnosis."
"Arrogant fool!" one of the other examiners muttered under his breath, but no one moved to stop what was unfolding.
The chūnin by the door, Morita, narrowed his eyes. He saw it then—the subtle, telltale shift in Uchiha Fusa's eyes. The dark irises bled into crimson, and a single black tomoe spun into existence in each. The Sharingan was awake. This was no longer an assessment; it was a duel of pride.
"I will make you regret your impertinence," Fusa hissed, the murderous intent in his voice a tangible chill in the room. His hands, now observed by his own dōjutsu, became a blur of impossible speed. The seals for the Body Replacement—Ram, Serpent, Boar—were executed not as three distinct forms, but as a single, seamless, high-velocity flicker of his fingers. It was a display of chūnin-level mastery, optimized and accelerated by the predictive power of the Sharingan.
BAM!
The sound was like a thunderclap in the confined space. Uchiha Fusa vanished from his spot, the air cracking in his wake.
He reappeared instantly behind the spot where Reitō had been standing, a triumphant, vengeful smirk already forming on his lips.
But the space was empty.
Reitō's form had dissolved into nothingness even as Fusa's was solidifying.
"Teacher," a calm voice inquired from directly behind Uchiha Fusa's own new position. "What are you looking for?"
This time, there was no shock on Fusa's face. It was replaced by something far more telling: a bead of cold sweat tracing a path down his temple. His Sharingan-enhanced perception, which should have tracked every iota of chakra and movement, had registered… nothing. No preparatory chakra surge, no blur of motion, no telltale spatial distortion until it was already complete. The boy hadn't just been fast; he had been invisible to the technique's initiation.
The other two chūnin examiners, watching with rapt, horrified attention, saw the blood drain from Uchiha Fusa's face. They understood immediately. Even with the Sharingan active, he had been out-paced. Not just in raw speed, but in the fundamental efficiency of the jutsu's execution.
How is this possible? The silent question screamed in the room. Konoha knew the Hyūga were masters of close-quarters taijutsu. But in a contest of ninjutsu speed and precision, the Uchiha, with their legendary dōjutsu, were supposed to be unparalleled. Yet here, in this humble assessment room, that assumption had just been shattered by a boy with "flawed" eyes and a will of forged steel.