"Don't look back," Xingye hissed, his hand tightening on Jiraiya's arm. "If you turn, he'll know we've spotted him. There's an alley up ahead. We lure him in, trap him, and see what he's after."
Xingye's boldness wasn't empty bravado. He was a penniless student in the heart of the world's most powerful hidden village. If the stalker was a common thief, Jiraiya and he could handle it. If it was something worse, a single scream would bring the Konoha Military Police Force down like a hammer.
They ducked into the narrow passage, their voices trailing off into feigned casual chatter.
At the first sharp corner, Jiraiya didn't keep walking. He ducked low, fingers curling around a jagged, discarded brick. He watched the shadow stretching across the mouth of the alley. As soon as the figure rounded the corner, Jiraiya lunged with a guttural roar, the brick whistling toward the intruder's temple.
The figure didn't panic. With a blur of motion, a short, silver-wrapped object lashed out from behind his shoulder.
CRACK.
The club-like hilt slammed into Jiraiya's wrist. The boy yelped, the brick clattering harmlessly to the cobblestones as his grip failed. The intruder twirled the weapon, the blunt end aimed squarely at Jiraiya's solar plexus for a finishing blow.
But mid-thrust, the attacker's eyes widened. He recognized the white hair and the exaggerated face paint. He pulled his strength back at the last millisecond, the weapon merely poking Jiraiya's stomach instead of collapsing his lungs.
"Hey!" Jiraiya gasped, doubled over and clutching his gut. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you following us?"
The stalker ignored him. He stood tall, his silver hair catching the dim light of the alley. It was Sakumo Hatake. He didn't look at the boy on the ground; instead, he pointed the still-sheathed White Fang directly at Xingye's chest.
"Where," Sakumo asked, his voice a low, raspy rasp, "is your sword?"
Jiraiya stomped his foot, face turning a shade of purple. "Are you insane? He's not carrying a sword! We're at school, you maniac!"
Xingye rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had signaled Sakumo during the assessment to acknowledge a fellow swordsman, but he hadn't expected the future White Fang to be this literal about a challenge. Still, a thrill of anticipation raced down his spine. This was exactly the catalyst he needed.
"Jiraiya's right. I don't bring steel to the Academy," Xingye said, pulling his friend back. He looked Sakumo in the eye. "But if you're that eager to test me, my house is three blocks away. We have a courtyard. We have blades."
Sakumo hesitated, his intense gaze searching Xingye's face for a long moment. Finally, he gave a sharp, single nod.
The ramen celebration was forgotten.
At the Gekkō estate, Xingye went to his father's collection and selected a ninjato—a straight-edged short sword—that suited his current reach. He strapped it to his waist and stepped into the center of the training yard.
"Let's begin," Xingye said.
Jiraiya looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "Whoa, whoa! You guys are using real steel? One slip and someone's losing an ear! Use the wooden ones!"
Sakumo didn't even acknowledge the suggestion. He drew the White Fang. The blade didn't just shine; it seemed to hum with a predatory hunger.
"Xingye, don't do this!" Jiraiya pleaded. "He's crazy! He almost gutted me in the alley!"
"That was a lesson," Sakumo said flatly.
Without another word, Sakumo vanished. He didn't run; he exploded forward, a silver streak across the courtyard.
Xingye's world narrowed. The System's "Entry-level" proficiency flooded his nerves. He didn't draw immediately. He waited until the last possible fraction of a second, his hand a blur as he unsheathed his blade to meet the descending White Fang.
CLANG.
The sound was high and pure, a shriek of metal that echoed off the compound walls.
Jiraiya stood frozen. He had thought he was fast—street-fighting fast. But seeing these two move was like watching lightning fight the wind. If he had been the target of that draw, his head would already be rolling across the dirt.
The two swordsmen locked blades for a heartbeat, eyes inches apart. They saw the same thing in each other: a reflection of their own obsession.
They broke away and circled, then charged again. The yard became a chaotic symphony of sparking steel. Sakumo was a whirlwind, utilizing the short length of the White Fang to stay inside Xingye's guard, seeking the kill-zone of close-quarters combat.
Xingye fought with a cold, adult calculation. He used the slightly longer reach of his ninjato to keep Sakumo at bay, parrying and rippling into counter-thrusts that forced Sakumo to reset.
But the gap was beginning to show.
Sakumo had been forged by the Hatake clan from the moment he could walk. His muscles were denser, his stamina deeper. Xingye, despite his adult mind and System-perfect form, was still piloting a five-year-old body that had only been training for a year.
Sakumo's eyes suddenly sharpened. He exhaled, and a faint, white-blue shimmer of chakra coated his blade. He lunged, not a swing this time, but a piercing thrust aimed straight at Xingye's throat.
Xingye's hair stood on end. He snapped his blade up just in time to deflect the point, but the force of the chakra-enhanced strike vibrated through his bones.
Sakumo didn't let up. While their swords were crossed in a single-handed stalemate, Sakumo's free hand shot forward, a lightning-fast punch catching Xingye squarely in the shoulder.
Xingye hissed in pain, his guard wavering as he recoiled. Sakumo seized the opening, unleashing a relentless tide of strikes that forced Xingye back toward the edge of the courtyard.
I'm going to lose, Xingye realized, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Three more moves and he breaks my posture.
His competitive pride flared. He was a transmigrator. He had the System. He wasn't going to let his first real legend-tier encounter end in the dirt.
Xingye's fingers tightened on his hilt. He felt the mana of the System respond to his desperation.
If I can't outmuscle him... I'll out-think him with the 'Assault.'