The battle raged on, fierce and unrelenting.
Although Kyoichi had little interest in the Twin Blades — Hiramekarei, that didn't stop the others from coveting it. One after another, jonin-level shinobi stepped forward to challenge Hōzuki Mangetsu.
And this time, the young heir of the Hōzuki clan's new generation made sure everyone clearly understood why he was considered their most exceptional talent.
He fought nine opponents in succession—
and defeated them all.
Aside from his chakra depletion, he wasn't even scratched.
It proved that his earlier loss to Orochimaru had nothing to do with lacking skill or talent. Rather, it was simply that Orochimaru had been a monster beyond the normal measure of shinobi.
"Anyone else want to try their luck?"
Mangetsu stood at the center of the scarred training field, sweeping his gaze across the crowd.
This time, he said nothing taunting or proud.
He simply waited—quietly, confidently.
Minute after minute passed. Five minutes slipped by since his ninth challenger had fallen. No one else stepped forward.
"Excellent."
Yagura's voice echoed through the air. The Mizukage rose from the bench and stepped onto the field, his eyes full of approval as he looked at Mangetsu. Turning to the crowd, he declared loudly,
"The contest for the Twin Blades Hiramekarei is concluded. The victor—Hōzuki Mangetsu."
There was no applause.
No cheering.
Only the calm, detached gazes of the gathered jonin.
It was obvious—most here had little connection with Mangetsu. Aside from Mei TerumĪ, who was more of an acquaintance than a close friend, there was no one who would cheer for him. Their bond wasn't deep enough for such sentiment.
That was the small flaw of holding the selection privately:
No audience.
No cheers, no jeers.
Without that energy,
the atmosphere inevitably grew cold and quiet.
Yagura could feel that chill in the air and couldn't help sighing inwardly before saying aloud, "Mangetsu, you may go and claim Hiramekarei."
"Understood."
Mangetsu's tone was relaxed and cheerful, showing he didn't care in the slightest about the lack of celebration. He had never been the type to crave applause. To him, wielding his beloved blade was far more satisfying than basking in anyone's admiration.
He walked briskly toward the wall where the Seven Swords hung.
Stretching out both hands,
he gently took Hiramekarei down from its mount, caressing the twin blades' broad, ray-fish-like surface.
Then, cradling it in his arms, he stepped aside into the spectator's corner. Though he had already achieved his goal, he wasn't leaving—he wanted to see the battles that followed.
Especially Kyoichi's.
He was eager to witness the boy's true strength with his own eyes.
"Now that the contest for Hiramekarei is settled," Yagura announced, "the remaining blades are: Shibuki, the Explosive Blade; Kiba, the Thunder Blade; Nuibari, the Long Blade; and Kabutowari, the Blunt Blade. Decide among yourselves which one to fight for."
"Let's start with the Thunder Blade—Kiba!"
A man stepped forward from the crowd.
His straw-colored hair was dry and stiff, his tall, lanky frame giving him an almost eerie air. He wore a smile, but that smile was cold—so cold it made others uneasy just to look at him.
Turning to face the others, he said,
"If you want to compete for Kiba, you'd better know how to use Lightning Release. So how about this—let those of us who specialize in it go first. Once we're done, the rest of you can continue with the other swords. Sounds fair?"
"That's Reirun," Mei TerumĪ whispered beside Kyoichi. "His real name's Kuriarare Shiwamaru—the younger brother of Kuriarare Kushimaru, the previous wielder of Nuibari, who died. Unlike his brother, though, he was born with both Lightning and Water chakra affinities. He was obsessed with Lightning Release from a young age—so much that he changed his name to Reirun."
She paused, then added in a lower tone,
"His Lightning Release is genuinely terrifying. If the Mizukage hadn't forbidden it, he'd already have challenged Kurotsuchi Raiga, the last wielder of Kiba. So unless something truly unexpected happens... that sword's as good as his."
"...He sounds impressive," Kyoichi murmured.
"He is," Mei emphasized. "Even Genji-sama remembers his name."
"Genji-sama remembers quite a few people's names, I imagine," Kyoichi said with a smirk. Before Mei could retort, his tone shifted lightly.
"Still, no matter how strong he is... I think today, something unexpected might happen."
His eyes drifted toward the edge of the crowd—
where a red-brown-haired girl stood quietly in the shadows of the spectator's area.
"Eh?"
Mei blinked in confusion, staring at him.
"Unexpected? You mean—someone's actually capable of stealing Kiba from Reirun? Don't tell me you're going to do it? But you haven't even developed your Lightning-natured chakra yet, so you—"
"Not me."
Kyoichi shook his head, calm and composed.
"...Then who?"
Mei's curiosity spiked. She glanced over the gathered shinobi, but found nothing out of place. Her intelligence network didn't include anyone capable of surpassing Reirun. Could Kyoichi's intel somehow be sharper than hers?
"Did you hear something?" she asked instinctively.
"Come on," Kyoichi countered with a grin. "When would I even have the time? I've been either home or with you. Where would I hear rumors from?"
"...Then what?"
"Mei," he said casually, "you're forgetting—I'm a sensor-nin."
Mei's eyes widened.
"You mean... one of them is a dark horse?"
"I can't say for certain," Kyoichi replied, his voice light but certain. "But this person definitely has that potential."
"Who is it?" she pressed.
"You'll find out soon enough," he teased, lips curling into a smile. "Of course, you could always try guessing. If you can figure out who it is before they step onto the field—let's say within three tries—I'll grant you one request. Anything you want, as long as it's not against my principles, and within my power—I'll make it happen."
"...Three guesses? With this many people? That's impossible!"
Mei looked around, pouting in frustration.
Even excluding Kyoichi, Yūsuke, and Mangetsu, there were still over twenty contenders. That meant her odds were about one in seven.
A small chance—
but not impossible.
A chance that made her heartbeat quicken with both excitement and irritation.