"Look, Seiran and Kakashi are going to fight."
"Another show? First the Uchiha, now the Hyuga. Is Kakashi planning to challenge every heavy hitter in the village today?"
The Mission Desk buzzed with excitement as shinobi gathered to watch. The battle between Kakashi and Rin had already drawn a crowd, and word of a second match spread like wildfire through the halls.
The Hyuga clansmen nearby couldn't hide their tension, though they tried.
"Can Seiran beat Kakashi?" one whispered.
"He's the first dual-bloodline user in the clan. He should be fine…" The response came hollow, swallowed by the noise of overlapping voices.
Kakashi's reputation was suffocating. Promoted to Chunin at six years old—Konoha's youngest ever. Son of the White Fang. Each title hung like a stone around Seiran's neck. The only card he held was his dual bloodline. Lose this fight, and the Hyuga Clan's standing would take a hit.
"Seiran's got this, right?" Might Guy asked, worry creasing his brow. He'd chased Kakashi since their Academy days, but the gap between them had grown so wide in the past two years it was almost unrecognizable.
"He does!" Anko Mitarashi shouted with absolute confidence.
"How can you be so sure?" Guy glanced at her. Kakashi wasn't human anymore—not really. His strength was top-tier, full stop.
"Because he won't lose. Not Seiran. Not against anyone." Anko's voice carried across the watching crowd, turning heads.
Seiran felt the weight of those eyes on him. His body still ached from incomplete recovery. Close combat was a trap he couldn't afford. He'd have to be smart about this.
Kakashi drew the White Fang short sword. Chakra flowed into the blade, making it glow with pale white light.
"I'd advise against using that sword," Seiran said, raising an eyebrow.
"Why?" Kakashi frowned.
"You'll find out."
Seiran's feet exploded against the ground. Kakashi moved like an arrow, closing the distance in a blur. The White Fang sword became a white streak, slashing toward Seiran's neck.
Seiran didn't dodge. Didn't move.
The blade shifted mid-flight as if pushed by invisible hands, its path bending unnaturally past his body.
Kakashi pressed forward, slashing again.
Miss.
Again.
Miss.
Again.
Kakashi might as well have been swinging at ghosts. Slash after slash carved empty air around Seiran's motionless form. The spectacle was almost comedic—a master swordsman reduced to shadow-boxing.
"So you're trying to suffocate me by cutting the air?" Seiran shrugged. "Creative."
Rin snorted. The observation was sharp. The insult sharper.
Kakashi exhaled slowly. His eyes hardened.
"Magnet Release. I underestimated how much it affects blade work."
He knew Seiran's Magnet Release could deflect projectiles, but a sword guided by a human hand was different—or so he'd thought. The Hatake sword style was born from ferocity and speed. Yet here he was, unable to land a single strike.
He sheathed the short sword and came in hard, fists leading.
Seiran raised his arm to block—but the blow never landed. Kakashi pivoted mid-rotation, spinning into a roundhouse kick that Seiran barely slipped past, feeling the whisper of it against his cheek.
Pain shot through his arm. His body wasn't ready for this. Every physical exchange cost him.
He pushed his Electromagnetic Manipulation to the limit, predicting Kakashi's movements and dodging before the strike even began. When escape became impossible, he defended—but from the crowd's perspective, it looked effortless. Untouchable.
"Kakashi can't even get close."
"He's not even fighting back. Is he playing with him?"
The mood shifted. Doubt crept in.
Kakashi's relentless assault pressed harder. In a moment of opening, Seiran sidestepped, turned his fist into a palm, and drove it straight into Kakashi's chest.
Boom!
Thunder crackled. Lightning erupted from the contact point, and Kakashi flew backward like a rag doll, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. Dust rose in a cloud.
"Was that Gentle Fist?" someone gasped.
"No—the stance was different."
"Magnetic Storm Fist. According to Hyuga Iroha, it combines—" The explanation trailed into confused murmuring.
Kakashi pushed himself up, electricity still dancing across his chest, making his muscles twitch involuntarily.
He can't match me in a direct engagement, he realized.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out two balls. He slammed them to the ground.
Thick smoke erupted, swallowing both fighters in an instant.
"Pointless," Seiran said into the haze.
---
Third Hokage's Office
The crystal ball showed Seiran's palm strike launching Kakashi backward, lightning spreading across his chest.
Hiruzen Sarutobi watched with quiet appreciation. "A combination of Magnet Release and ninjutsu. Seiran is learning to merge his dual bloodlines effectively."
The Mission Desk was a key strategic location. The moment Kakashi's match with Rin began, ANBU had reported it. But Seiran's arrival had piqued the Hokage's interest far more.
The crystal image shifted. Smoke engulfed both fighters.
Hiruzen leaned forward slightly. "Who wins when the new generation's best collide?"
---
In the thick fog, Seiran's senses screamed. Movement from behind. He spun and struck with a palm.
Boom!
The figure dissolved into white mist.
"A Shadow Clone. He's getting serious."
The ground detonated beneath him. A figure burst upward, right palm wreathed in crackling lightning—sharp, focused, devastating.
Chidori.
This close? No escape.
Victory flashed across Kakashi's eyes.
Seiran's body twisted with unnatural flexibility, the Chidori's tip grazing his ribs by millimeters. His palm clamped down on Kakashi's wrist. One sharp thrust forward.
Kakashi face-planted into the earth, eating dirt while his Chidori carved a chasm in the ground beside him.
The smoke cleared.
"What—?"
"Is it over?"
Kakashi lay prone, dazed, his right hand buried in the crater. Behind him, Seiran stood motionless, unblemished.
"Do you understand now?" Seiran's voice was quiet. "Why I told you not to use that sword?"
Kakashi spat dirt, pushing himself up with shaking arms.
"Because," Seiran continued, "it belonged to the White Fang. You don't have the right to wield it yet."
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