Chapter 20: The Cruel Reality of a Joker's Hand
"So, it really was you?"
The voice was dripping with a special kind of venom. I looked up. Sajin was staring at me like I was something he'd stepped in on his way to the arena.
"You know me?" I asked, flashing my most punchable grin. "I didn't think I was that popular with the 'average' crowd."
"Popular? You're a joke among the Genin," Sajin scoffed, his fists tightening. "A mediocre loser who spent his missions chasing after Lady Temari like a lost puppy. Your shamelessness is the stuff of legends."
(Internal Monologue: Fame is fame, buddy. Whether they're laughing or cheering, they're still watching. And watching is the first step to falling into my trap.)
"Hey, it's better to have a name people remember than to be a 'Sajin'—there are about fifty guys in this village named after sand dust," I retorted. "It must be a nightmare at roll call."
"I don't need a name to beat the life out of you," Sajin growled.
Negotiations: Failed.
My right arm was still humming with the recoil from the last punch I'd landed on his teammate, but I shook it off. I dropped my center of gravity, lunging forward with a straight right.
Slam!
Sajin caught my fist in his palm. The impact sent a shockwave through my shoulder. He was solid—way more solid than the last two trash-mobs. I immediately followed up, my left hand snapping forward like a spearhead aimed at his liver.
He caught that one too. We were locked in a stalemate, chest to chest.
"I told you," Sajin hissed, his face inches from mine. "Don't compare me to those idiots."
"Idiots? You're on the same team. That makes you the King of Idiots."
I didn't need my hands for what came next. My Chakra flared, diving into the ground through the soles of my boots.
"Earth Release: Sand Dance!"
The arena floor didn't just ripple—it dissolved. The solid ground turned into a swirling, hungry maw of quicksand. Within seconds, we were both sucked in up to our waists, trapped in a cold, suffocating embrace.
"You're burying yourself!" Sajin shouted, panic finally flaring in his eyes. "What kind of suicidal move is this?"
"My time is precious," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. (Internal Monologue: I have a date with destiny—and hopefully Temari—later today. I'm not spending an hour rolling in the dirt with you.) "We're both stuck. But I'm the only one with a third hand."
"A third hand? What are you—"
Sajin's eyes went wide as the back of my loose, flashy tunic began to ripple.
A small, wooden arm emerged. Then a head. Then a torso.
The miniature puppet crawled over my shoulder, perched there like a demonic monkey. It was less than three feet tall, but it carried a folding fan on its back that looked suspiciously sharp.
"A Puppet Master?" Sajin gasped. "Since when do you use puppets?"
"Since I decided I didn't want to get my hands dirty on nobodies," I said. "You thought I was an idiot? That's my favorite disguise."
The puppet flicked its wrist. The fan snapped open with a metallic shing, the razor-sharp tips of the ribs hovering a hair's breadth from Sajin's jugular.
"Referee!" I shouted, looking toward the goggled man in white. "The poison on this fan is a neurotoxin. I didn't bring the antidote because, frankly, I didn't think anyone would be stubborn enough to make me use it. He won't surrender, and I'd hate to have to clean up a corpse."
The referee didn't move. His voice came out cold and mechanical. "A ninja must recognize the situation. This is an internal test. If he dies because he was too arrogant to yield... that's just bad luck."
Sajin's face went from red to a ghostly, sickly white.
Pfft.
The puppet moved faster than a human eye could track. The fan rib didn't slit his throat, but it bit deep into his upper arm.
Within seconds, Sajin's breathing turned into a ragged, desperate wheeze. His eyes rolled back, and his head slumped forward.
"Winner: Daimaru!"
The referee moved like a blur, shoving a pill into Sajin's mouth and yanking both of us out of the quicksand with a single, powerful heave.
"You did well," the proctor said, looking at me with those unreadable goggles.
"Who are you?" I asked, dusting off my clothes.
"When you can fight by my side, you'll know my name." The man hoisted the unconscious Sajin onto his shoulder. "Your poison is... excessive. The standard antidote is barely touching it. I have to get him to the medic. Go to Lord Baki. Your squad is qualified."
(Internal Monologue: A Jonin-level Body Flicker. He was gone before I could even blink. This village is full of monsters hiding in plain sight.)
I walked back toward the center of the grounds, where Yome and a groggy Chiyo were waiting. Chiyo looked pale, her fan acting as a crutch. Yome looked at me like she was seeing a stranger.
"We won?" Chiyo asked, her voice weak.
"With me in charge? Please," I said, putting on my usual cocky facade. (Internal Monologue: I can see the look in their eyes. They're scared. They realized today that if they don't keep up, I'll leave them behind. Good. Fear is a better motivator than friendship in the Sand.)
We approached Lord Baki. The stone-faced instructor was checking off names on a scroll. He looked at us and grunted.
"The Oto-kaze Squad. Another surprise from the reserves," Baki noted. "It seems our intelligence department has been sleeping on the job. Go wait with the others. I'll brief the final ten squads together."
I moved toward the qualified area, scanning the faces of the other 'Elites.' Most looked away. But one figure caught my eye.
"Daimaru? You actually made it?"
It was Tokishiri, my former teammate. He was covered in grime, his vest torn, a bandage wrapped around his head. He looked like he'd crawled through a war zone.
"Tokishiri? You look like hell," I said. "What happened?"
"We ran into a team from the elite track," he whispered, his hand shaking. "We barely survived. But Daimaru... you need to be careful. There's a rumor going around. Someone paid a high price to make sure your team doesn't make it to the Leaf alive."
I felt the temperature drop. I looked toward the Kazekage's balcony, but it was empty.
"Who?" I asked.
Before he could answer, a massive explosion rocked the training grounds. Not from a match—from the village gates.
A messenger hawk, wreathed in black flames, plummeted from the sky and crashed at Baki's feet.
The message wasn't from an ally. It was a declaration.
THE LEAF IS BURNING. DON'T BOTHER COMING.
---
Is the Chunin Exam over before it even began? Or is this the start of a much darker conspiracy? The road to Konoha just turned into a highway to hell!