Chapter 4: The Unreadable Prodigy
A torrent of raw chakra, blue and crackling like a storm, erupted from Kakashi's body, expelling the kunai and shuriken embedded in his flesh. They clattered to the ground, slick with his blood, but Kakashi's focus was unyielding. Pain was irrelevant; his mind churned with disbelief and razor-sharp analysis. His Sharingan blazed to life, the three tomoe spinning as they locked onto the boy before him. No genjutsu, no wires, no seals, Naruto's attack defied every shinobi principle Kakashi knew.
Naruto's grin widened, a feral edge to it. He flicked his fingers in a mocking "come hither" gesture, his stance loose, almost insultingly casual. The taunt was a gauntlet thrown at Kakashi's feet, a challenge no Jonin could ignore.
In an instant, Kakashi vanished, his body a flicker of lethal intent. The Copy Ninja's leisurely facade was gone, replaced by the cold precision of an Anbu legend. His opening strike was a hand thrust, aimed at a pressure point on Naruto's neck, a blow meant to end the spar with surgical efficiency.
What followed shattered Kakashi's understanding of combat.
Naruto didn't just dodge; he transcended the concept of evasion. His body flowed like water, a ripple of motion so fluid it seemed to bend reality itself. With a subtle tilt of his torso, he let Kakashi's strike graze past his shoulder, the air hissing in its wake. In the same heartbeat, Naruto's hand rose, not to block, but to guide. His fingers brushed Kakashi's elbow with feather-light precision, redirecting the Jonin's momentum in a way that felt like gravity itself had betrayed him. Kakashi stumbled, his balance thrown by a touch so delicate it was almost imperceptible.
The Sharingan widened, its crimson glow flaring. This wasn't the clumsy brawling of a Genin. This was taijutsu of a caliber Kakashi had only witnessed in legends like Might Guy at his peak.
Kakashi recovered in a blink, his body a whirlwind of motion. He launched a low crescent kick, the arc of his leg a blur designed to shatter Naruto's stance. But Naruto didn't meet force with force. He moved with the kick, his body twisting in a spiral that made him seem weightless. His foot tapped the top of Kakashi's sweeping leg, using it as a pivot to vault into a mid-air corkscrew. He landed behind Kakashi with a soundless grace, his toes barely disturbing the dust.
The exchange was a symphony of violence, each note played with impossible precision. Kakashi pressed forward, his attacks a storm of feints, jabs, and spinning kicks, each one layered with decades of battlefield experience. Naruto countered with a dancer's elegance, his movements a masterclass in minimalism. A slight lean to evade a punch. A gentle nudge to redirect a knee strike. A single step to turn Kakashi's flurry into an overextended lunge. Every motion was calculated, every gesture a checkmate in a game Kakashi didn't yet understand.
In the Hokage's office, Hiruzen's face was inches from his crystal ball, his breath clouding the glass. Naruto's taijutsu was beyond pristine, it was divine. Each redirection was a study in physics, using Kakashi's own momentum against him. Each step was placed with a precision that defied human limits. The boy wasn't overpowering Kakashi with strength or speed; he was rewriting the rules of combat with skill alone. Hiruzen's mind raced. This wasn't the work of "some old man." This was the taijutsu of a sage, wielded by a twelve-year-old who wore a fool's grin.
Kakashi's assault intensified, his Sharingan spinning furiously as he unleashed a barrage of techniques from a dozen stolen styles. A Wing Chun chain punch flowed into a capoeira spin kick, then a brutal Muay Thai elbow strike. Naruto met each with maddening ease, his body a canvas of controlled chaos. He slipped between punches like a breeze through reeds, his hands deflecting strikes with touches so light they seemed accidental. When Kakashi aimed a chakra-enhanced palm strike at his chest, Naruto sidestepped and tapped the Jonin's wrist, sending the blow veering into empty air. The ground cracked where it landed, a testament to the force Naruto had so casually nullified.
Naruto's grin never wavered, but his eyes burned with a quiet intensity. He was holding back—deliberately matching Kakashi's pace, letting the Jonin believe he was only barely keeping up. In truth, he was toying with him. Like a shogi grandmaster facing a prodigy, Naruto moved his pieces with leisurely confidence, each block and dodge a move toward an inevitable checkmate.
Finally, Naruto decided to escalate. He hopped back, creating distance. "You're pretty good, sensei!" he chirped, his tone mocking. He held his right hand open, and from a shimmer of distorted space, a solid black rod, the length of a bō staff, materialized in his grip. It absorbed the light around it, seeming to drink in the very color of the world.
Kakashi's blood ran cold. His Sharingan instantly focused on the object, trying to analyze it, but the information it gave him was deeply unsettling. The staff wasn't made of wood, nor did it have the tell-tale chakra signature of forged ninja metals. It was pitch black, absorbing the light around it with an unnerving totality, giving off no reflection. It felt less like a weapon that was crafted and more like a piece of pure, solid darkness that had been given physical form. It radiated a dense, oppressive chakra, yet it felt cold, ancient, and utterly lifeless. It was a contradiction his Sharingan couldn't resolve—a weapon that was both a tool and an omen.
He drew a kunai, its polished steel looking flimsy, almost like a child's toy, compared to the unsettling matte-black weapon in Naruto's hands. The casual way Naruto held something so alien sent a shiver of pure dread down his spine.
"Where did you get that, Naruto?" Kakashi's voice was low, devoid of any earlier levity. This was no longer a test. It was an interrogation.
"The old man gave it to me! Cool, huh?" Naruto spun the staff, the air humming around it.
He charged. The fight transformed. The graceful dance became a deadly duet of metal on metal. The clash of Kakashi's kunai against the black rod produced a dissonant, jarring clang. Naruto's bōjutsu was as flawless as his taijutsu. He used the staff as an extension of his own limbs, blocking, parrying, and thrusting with a speed that forced Kakashi onto the defensive.
Realizing he couldn't win this exchange, Kakashi leaped back, his hands flying through a series of seals. "I'm done playing, Naruto. Let's see how you handle this."
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
A massive orb of roaring flame erupted from Kakashi's lips, scorching the grass as it hurtled toward Naruto. Naruto made no move to absorb it. No move to shrink it. He simply stood his ground, staff held loosely in one hand, and made a single, almost imperceptible hand sign. Yin Release.
The fireball washed over him. Kakashi tensed, expecting a scream, but there was nothing. When the flames dissipated, Naruto was gone. Kakashi's Sharingan scanned the area, but he found no trace.
"Looking for me, sensei?"
The voice came from directly behind him. Kakashi spun around to see Naruto standing there, completely unharmed, with that same infuriating grin.
"A substitution?" Kakashi muttered, confused. His Sharingan had seen no log, no puff of smoke.
"Nope," Naruto replied cheerfully.
Suddenly, the world around Kakashi began to melt. The trees dripped like wax candles, their leaves swirling into a vortex of color. The sky bled from blue to a sickly, violent purple. The ground beneath his feet turned into a churning sea of grasping hands, each one bearing the face of a fallen comrade. It was a genjutsu of horrifying potency and psychological precision.
Genjutsu? Kakashi thought, his mind reeling. But my Sharingan… I should have seen through it instantly! He tried to disrupt his chakra, the standard method for breaking a genjutsu, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a bucket. The illusion held firm, tightening its grip on his sanity.
The laughing faces of Obito and Rin rose from the sea of hands, their eyes hollow sockets. "Why did you let us die, Kakashi?" they whispered in unison.
The world shattered into a million pieces of black glass, and Kakashi found himself back in the training ground, gasping for breath on his hands and knees. The whole experience had lasted only a second in the real world, but it had felt like an eternity.
He looked up to see Naruto standing over him, holding out the two fake, transformed bells he had plucked from Kakashi's belt while he was paralyzed by the illusion.
"Looks like I win, sensei," Naruto said, his voice back to its loud, childish tone. The fake bells jingled musically in his hand. "Time's up, isn't it?"
The alarm clock on the stump began to ring, signaling the end of the test.
Kakashi stared, not at the bells, but at the boy. A Genin had just effortlessly outmaneuvered him in taijutsu, fought him to a standstill with an unknown weapon, and trapped him in a genjutsu that his Sharingan—the eye renowned for seeing through all illusions—had been powerless to break.
This wasn't a knucklehead. This wasn't a prodigy. This was something else entirely. And it was terrifying.