The five days between the preliminary matches and the tournament finals passed in a blur of training and preparation.
For most competitors, these days were spent refining techniques, developing strategies, recovering from the Forest of Death's trials. Nervous energy filled the village as civilians and ninja alike anticipated the public spectacle to come.
Naruto spent the time as he spent all time—training with shadow clones, refining his techniques, growing stronger because growing stronger was marginally preferable to stagnation. The seven devoted women rotated through his presence in shifts they had apparently coordinated without his input, ensuring he was never alone, never unfed, never without someone watching over him.
Anko had claimed the nights.
She would appear at his apartment after her proctor duties concluded, her maternal instincts driving her to ensure he slept, ate proper meals, and rested between training sessions. She held him as he lay in bed, his head pillowed against her massive chest, her fingers running through his hair in endless soothing patterns.
"You need to take care of yourself," she murmured each night. "Your body isn't infinite, even with that healing factor."
"My body is adequate for current requirements."
"That's not the same thing as taking care of it." Her arms tightened around him. "Let me worry about your health. You focus on... whatever it is you focus on."
"Efficiency. Optimal performance. Continued existence."
"See, that's what I mean. You need someone to worry about the things you don't care about." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That's what I'm for."
Naruto accepted her care without feeling anything about it.
But he noted that his physical condition had improved under her attention.
Data point: maternal care produces measurable benefits.
The tournament arrived.
The arena was massive—a circular fighting ground surrounded by tiered seating that accommodated thousands of spectators. Civilians packed the upper levels, their excited chatter filling the air with anticipation. Ninja occupied the lower sections, their trained eyes ready to analyze every technique, every strategy, every display of combat prowess.
The Hokage sat in his viewing box, flanked by advisors and guards. Foreign dignitaries occupied adjacent sections—representatives from allied and neutral villages, all eager to assess Konoha's newest generation.
The competitors gathered in the fighter's box, a raised platform that provided clear sight lines to the arena below. Naruto stood apart from the others, his expression blank, his posture relaxed. The seven devoted women had been forced to take seats in the general audience, but their eyes never left him.
The matches began.
Satsuki's fight came first.
Her opponent was a Sound genin—one of Orochimaru's plants, though the snake's withdrawal had apparently not extended to recalling his pawns. The ninja fought with sonic-based techniques, attempting to disorient and disable through sound manipulation.
Satsuki's Sharingan rendered the strategy useless.
She tracked every attack, predicted every movement, and dismantled her opponent with surgical precision. Her fire techniques had grown more powerful during the month of preparation, and she combined them with taijutsu that showed clear influence from Naruto's training methods.
The match ended in four minutes.
Satsuki returned to the fighter's box, immediately moving to stand beside Naruto despite the space available elsewhere.
"I won," she said, her voice carrying quiet pride.
"I observed."
"Did I do well?"
"Your performance was efficient. Victory was achieved with minimal resource expenditure."
Satsuki's expression brightened at what she apparently interpreted as praise.
"I trained hard. For you. Everything I do is for you, Naruto-kun."
"Your dedication is noted."
It wasn't the response she wanted. But she accepted it, pressing herself against his side with that familiar devoted intensity.
Sakura and Ino's match followed.
The two transformed kunoichi faced each other across the arena, their impossible figures drawing stares and whispers from the assembled crowd. Neither seemed to notice—their attention was focused entirely on each other.
"This doesn't change anything," Sakura said, settling into a combat stance. "Win or lose, we both still love him."
"Agreed." Ino mirrored her position. "But I'm still going to beat you, Forehead."
"In your dreams, Pig."
The fight was intense—two kunoichi who had trained together, knew each other's techniques intimately, and refused to hold back. Sakura's enhanced strength clashed against Ino's mind-body techniques. Chakra scalpels met clan jutsu. Neither could gain a decisive advantage.
When time was called, both stood exhausted, battered, but unbowed.
Double knockout. Mutual elimination.
They helped each other to their feet, exchanging tired smiles that spoke to a rivalry transformed into something closer to sisterhood.
"Next time," Ino said.
"Definitely." Sakura nodded.
They returned to the stands together, taking positions on either side of where Hinata sat—three devoted women, their attention fixed on the fighter's box where Naruto waited.
Tenten's match against Temari was brief and brutal.
The weapons specialist had trained extensively since the preliminary rounds, developing new techniques and refining her arsenal. But Temari's wind manipulation rendered projectile-based combat nearly impossible.
Every weapon Tenten threw was deflected, redirected, or destroyed by Temari's fan techniques. The Sand kunoichi's transformed figure moved with impossible grace despite its exaggerated proportions, her wind jutsu creating a defensive barrier that nothing could penetrate.
The match ended with Tenten defeated, her weapons scattered across the arena, her body bruised but not broken.
Temari offered her a hand.
"You fought well," the Sand kunoichi said. "Better than I expected."
Tenten accepted the help, rising with difficulty. "Thanks. I guess."
"We're not really enemies, you know." Temari's teal eyes flicked toward the fighter's box—toward Naruto. "We both want the same thing."
"Yeah." Tenten followed her gaze. "I know."
They walked to the medical station together, two devoted women united by shared purpose despite their different villages.
Hinata defeated her opponent—a genin from a minor village—with quiet efficiency. Her Byakugan tracked every chakra point, her Gentle Fist striking with precision that left no room for counterattack.
She returned to her seat without fanfare, her pale eyes immediately seeking Naruto's position.
Other matches proceeded. Shikamaru won through tactical brilliance. Shino's insects overwhelmed his opponent. Neji demonstrated the Hyuuga clan's techniques with cold precision.
Then came the match everyone had been waiting for.
Uzumaki Naruto versus Inuzuka Kiba.
The arena fell silent as the two competitors descended to the fighting ground.
Kiba strutted with characteristic confidence, Akamaru perched on his head. His grin was wide, eager—he had watched the other matches, assessed his opponents, and concluded that Naruto was beatable.
After all, the blond had never shown any flashy techniques in public. Had never demonstrated the power that rumors attributed to him. Had simply stood there, expressionless, letting others fight while he observed.
How dangerous could he really be?
Naruto walked to his position without any change in demeanor. His empty blue eyes fixed on Kiba with the same detachment he applied to everything.
The proctor—Genma Shiranui, senbon ever-present between his teeth—looked between them.
"Fighters ready?"
"Born ready!" Kiba's grin widened. "Let's do this, Akamaru!"
The dog barked enthusiastically.
Naruto said nothing.
"Begin!"
Kiba launched forward immediately, Akamaru transforming into his beast clone form. "Fang over Fang!"
The signature Inuzuka technique—twin spinning forms that struck with devastating force and speed. The attack had defeated countless opponents, its unpredictable trajectory and combined assault overwhelming defenses.
Naruto didn't move.
The spinning forms approached—closer, closer, almost upon him—
And then they weren't.
No one saw Naruto move. One moment he stood in the path of Kiba's attack. The next, he was behind the Inuzuka heir, hand gripping the back of Kiba's jacket.
Kiba's rotation stopped instantly, momentum arrested by a grip that shouldn't have been possible.
"What the—"
Naruto threw him.
Not gently, not with any consideration for his opponent's wellbeing. He threw Kiba with full force, sending the boy crashing into the arena wall hard enough to crack the stone.
Akamaru yelped in distress, rushing toward his partner.
Naruto appeared in front of the dog, blocking its path.
"Your partner is incapacitated. Continued combat is inadvisable."
Akamaru growled, instincts warring with the recognition of overwhelming threat.
Behind them, Kiba was struggling to rise, blood trickling from his mouth. "I'm not... not done yet..."
Naruto turned to face him.
"You should be."
He moved again—that same impossible speed—and appeared directly in front of Kiba. His hand closed around the Inuzuka's throat, lifting him from the ground with casual ease.
"In actual combat, you would already be dead. Your opening attack was predictable, your trajectory readable, your recovery time excessive. You relied on speed and power without considering that your opponent might exceed both."
Kiba's hands clawed at Naruto's grip, his eyes bulging. "Can't... breathe..."
"That is intentional."
The arena had gone silent. Spectators stared in shock—this wasn't how ninja matches usually proceeded. There was an unspoken understanding that genin competitions, while serious, maintained certain limits.
Naruto apparently didn't recognize those limits.
"Yield," he said flatly. "Or I will render you unconscious through oxygen deprivation. The choice has no significance to me."
"Naruto!" The proctor stepped forward. "That's enough! Release him!"
Naruto's empty eyes moved to Genma without releasing his grip. "The match has not been concluded. He has not yielded. I am within competition parameters."
"You're choking him!"
"Yes. A valid combat technique. If this is unacceptable, the rules should be clarified."
Genma's jaw tightened. "Let him go. Now."
Naruto considered the command for a moment that stretched into uncomfortable silence.
Then he opened his hand.
Kiba dropped to the ground, gasping for air, his hands clutching his bruised throat.
"The match is concluded," Naruto said, turning away. "He is unable to continue."
He walked back toward the fighter's box without looking back, without acknowledging the shocked whispers spreading through the crowd.
In the stands, seven pairs of devoted eyes watched with expressions ranging from fierce pride (Satsuki, Temari) to quiet satisfaction (Hinata, Tenten) to complex mixtures of admiration and concern (Sakura, Ino, Anko).
In the Kage box, Hiruzen Sarutobi closed his eyes briefly, pain visible in his aged features.
This is what we created, he thought. This is what the village's hatred produced. A child without mercy because mercy requires caring about your opponent's suffering.
The tournament continued.
But something had shifted in the arena—a recognition spreading through the assembled spectators that Uzumaki Naruto was not like other genin.
That he wasn't like anyone.
And that facing him meant facing something without limits, without restraint, without the fundamental human impulse to hold back.
Later, in the fighter's box, Shikamaru sidled up to Naruto with the careful approach of someone testing potentially dangerous waters.
"That was troublesome," he observed. "You could have just knocked him out cleanly."
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
"The method was irrelevant. The outcome was the same."
Shikamaru studied him for a long moment. "You really don't care, do you? About any of it. The competition, the audience, Kiba's wellbeing."
"Correct."
"That's..." The Nara heir trailed off, apparently unable to find words for what he was thinking. "That's troublesome."
"Your assessment is noted."
Shikamaru shook his head slowly. "I'm glad I'm not fighting you. I don't think I'd enjoy losing like that."
"You wouldn't lose 'like that.' I would adapt my approach to your tactical style. The method would differ, but the outcome would be identical."
"Comforting."
Naruto didn't respond. There was nothing to respond to.
Below, the next match was beginning. The tournament continued.
But in the minds of everyone who had witnessed Naruto's fight, a single truth had crystallized:
This was not a boy playing at being a ninja.
This was something else entirely.
Something empty.
Something terrifying.
Something that would not stop, could not be reasoned with, and felt nothing about the destruction it caused.
And he was only twelve years old.
In the Kage box, the representatives from foreign villages exchanged uneasy glances.
"That child," the Kumo observer murmured to his companion. "He's..."
"I know."
"Should we report this to the Raikage?"
"Absolutely. Immediately. That's not a genin. That's a weapon."
Similar conversations occurred throughout the foreign delegations. Intelligence assessments were revised. Threat levels were recalculated. Plans that had been forming—plans to test Konoha's defenses, to probe for weaknesses, to exploit the apparent instability of the post-Kyuubi era—were quietly shelved.
Uzumaki Naruto had become a deterrent without even intending to.
Simply by existing.
Simply by being exactly what he was.
In the stands, Anko watched with eyes that burned with complex emotions.
Pride—her boy had won decisively, demonstrated his power, proven himself beyond any doubt.
Concern—he had shown no restraint, no mercy, no recognition that Kiba was a fellow Konoha ninja rather than an enemy to be destroyed.
And that other feeling—the one that mixed maternal instinct with something less appropriate—flared as she watched him walk away from his defeated opponent without a backward glance.
He's perfect, she thought again. Terrible and perfect and mine.
She would hold him tonight. Cook for him. Care for him.
And try not to think about what he might become as his power continued to grow.
The tournament proceeded toward its conclusion.
But everyone who watched understood that something had changed.
Konoha had a new kind of ninja.
And the world would never be the same.