Time crept by, every second dragging in silence as the Konoha Alliance squad remained stationed atop the looming Fighting Tower. The air was tense but still, and Uchiha Shigure stood watch with the others, eyes sharp, senses taut like drawn wire. No enemy dared approach, no challenger made themselves known. It felt as though the entire battlefield was holding its breath.
Then, like a whisper breaking stillness, the glow of the barrier stones began to change. The southwestern wards dimmed, their protective light faltering.
"The defensive barrier of the Minami Tower is weakening," Nara Kazu muttered, his voice thoughtful, analytical as always. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he worked through the problem. "When the barrier collapses completely, the two outer towers will abandon their wards entirely. If the true tower ends up being the Star Tower, we'll have to cross two whole stations to keep up. With our numbers as a squad, I'm not sure we'll match the timing."
Shigure folded his arms, calculating his own role. "Then let's divide the pressure. I'll remain here in the Fighting Tower on standby. The rest of you go on ahead to the Formation Tower. If the barrier here collapses, I can reach you instantly with the Body Flicker. If this tower still holds, you turn back immediately. Should the Star Tower be the last one standing, I'll rendezvous and we'll push on together. That way, we shorten the risk to just one tower's distance."
The group considered quickly, weighing his logic against the urgency of the exams. One by one, heads nodded. Kazu gave a short approving grunt. Hyūga Akane placed her fists on her hips but offered no objection. Even Kusuo Hatake, ever impetuous, only smirked.
"I hope," Shigure added quietly, "that during these last two hours, no further complications arise."
Akane's crimson eyes flicked toward him. "Shigure… just be careful."
Kusuo laughed, flipping his silver hair. "Please, Akane. Who here could threaten him? You saw what he just did back there. Nobody in this arena is touching Uchiha Shigure."
The memory of Shigure's brutal efficiency in the last skirmish was still fresh enough that none argued the point. With their plan set, the team dispersed into the shadows of the towers, vanishing over rooftops with practiced ease.
Shigure was alone now. A sentinel at the peak of silence.
"May they avoid any real danger on their end," he murmured. "Be it Uchiha rivals or stray Kirigakure assassins—it should be over, should be past the time for that kind of interference…"
For a heartbeat, he almost convinced himself.
Then the world erupted.
Three thunderous explosions ripped through the foundations of the Fighting Tower.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!
The floor bucked, walls split, and ancient stone disintegrated into raining powder. Shigure barely steadied himself as the tower's structure groaned like a wounded beast on the verge of collapse.
"What—?" His Byakugan flared open. His sight cut clean through ruptured walls, piercing the dust and smoke below. And there they were.
Three shinobi stood amidst the rubble, unconcerned, their jutsu still thick on their hands like smoke. Their combined chakra—dense, lethal—was easily equivalent to that of elite jōnin. These were no exam participants. These were executioners.
"They destroyed the tower itself…" Shigure's eyes narrowed. "Who are they?"
His question went unanswered. The intruders appeared in front of him without hesitation, their approach bold, their presence cold and merciless.
"Uchiha Shigure," one said flatly, voice devoid of emotion, "our mission is to kill you."
Shigure's breath stilled. That voice, that emptiness… and the memory it stirred. A face wrapped in bandages. An emotionless man who turned warriors into lifeless tools.
Root. These are Root operatives.
And if Root had been deployed—then Danzo himself had ordered this.
Shigure's mind whirled. Why now? Did Danzo discover the power of my eyes? Did he suspect the massacre of the Uchiha? He despises my clan's bloodline more than any—but this? Has he come for my secrets, or simply to erase me?
He forced his words calm, though already he knew no answers would come. "Danzo's dogs. Sent here to cut me down? Tell me—why?"
The three did not so much as twitch.
Their silence was answer enough.
"Earth Style: Doryūki!" one intoned, hands flashing through seals. The ground beneath Shigure split as though an axe had cleaved it, jagged fissures racing outward.
"Wind Style: Blade Gale!" another thundered, slicing tunnels of air into wicked arcs that tore even the falling rubble apart.
Shigure's body flickered. For him, the storm of jutsu was an inconvenience, not a threat. His form blurred across the air and landed lightly beyond their reach. His palm lashed out, chakra flowing in precise Hyūga elegance, striking the third assailant. The man reeled back. And then—
He changed.
His face rippled, twisting into a grotesque mask. Illusion magic. The kind designed to entwine and suffocate the mind.
But Shigure's eyes burned clear. "Rebound," he hissed. The genjutsu reversed, slamming back into the caster like a spike driven between his own eyes. The man collapsed to his knees, howling in pain, mind unraveling under his own technique.
So—an illusionist, an earth-nature fighter, and a wind-nature knife edge. All elite. All Root.
They shifted tactics fast. Kunai sang through the air, shuriken whirled like shadows. Both charged, flanking him with perfect coordination. In an instant Shigure allowed his guard to slacken, let them seize his arms. One gripped left, the other right. Kunai kissed his forehead.
"You are dead," breathed one.
But Shigure smiled.
He had wanted this exact grip.
"Dance of the Larch!"
Bone erupted. Razors of ivory burst from his skin, tearing upward like spears. The Root operative holding his left arm never even screamed—he was shredded instantly, body collapsing in a spray of blood. The second staggered as a bone spike ripped his forearm apart, severing muscle, sending his kunai clattering uselessly away.
The man gasped. "W-what is this!? This… this Kekkei Genkai… you—aren't you Uchiha? Why does a Hyūga's body hold the bones of Kaguya's clan?!"
Shigure did not bother dignifying the question. That truth was his burden, not theirs.
The illusionist staggered to his feet again, pale with sweat, his spirit frayed to breaking. He won't last long. Time to end this.
"Dance of the Early Ferns." His voice was ice. He slammed his palms to the earth. The ground convulsed, and from it spears of bone soared, meters long, foresting the battlefield in a grotesque meadow of white. The surviving Root operatives recoiled, retreating frantically or risk impalement.
"Fall back!" one snarled, desperation finally cracking their emptiness. "We're no match for him!"
But they had already lost.
A flicker of shadow—Shigure was simply there, in front of the retreating shinobi, close enough that his lavender-white eyes were the last sight they would ever see.
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