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When the class assembled at the center of the training ground, Might Guy swept his gaze over the sea of eager, youthful faces. "First, so that I may gauge the current level of this class—who among you scored highest on the recent combat assessment?"
The answer came not from a single student, but from a chorus of girls who erupted in perfect, rehearsed unison. Their voices were thick with admiration and a competitive edge.
"It's Sasuke, of course!" "Sasuke-kun is the strongest!" "Obviously, Sasuke-kun!"
The wave of sound pushed Uchiha Sasuke into the inevitable spotlight. He stood a few paces apart, arms folded across his chest and face fixed in an impassive mask. To the casual observer, he seemed indifferent to the praise, but the slight, arrogant lift of his chin betrayed the pride of the Uchiha bloodline.
"Excellent!" Guy's teeth glinted in the sunlight as he flashed a brilliant, thumbs-up grin. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he thrust a finger toward the back row. "Then, Naruto—you will spar with Sasuke first!"
The Dead-Last? Sasuke spared Naruto a sidelong glance, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. He had faced Naruto in practicals before; the boy's taijutsu was sloppy, his shuriken work mediocre, and his ninjutsu nonexistent. He expected this to be a short, dull demonstration.
"Understood, Guy-sensei," Naruto replied calmly. He brushed off Kiba's supportive hand and stepped into the ring, his movements fluid and relaxed.
Sasuke moved forward, his cool arrogance acting as a physical weight in the air. He took his position opposite Naruto, every inch the "Prodigy" the village expected him to be.
"Good!" Guy watched them with an intensity that suggested he was seeing much more than a schoolyard brawl. "First—form the Seal of Confrontation! Remember, combat is a dialogue of respect. Observe your limits. Understood?"
"Yeah," Naruto muttered, his cerulean eyes locked onto Sasuke's.
Sasuke nodded, silent and solemn. Both boys retreated to the edges of the sparring circle, the atmosphere over the field turning heavy with anticipation. The girls cheered for Sasuke; surprisingly, many of the boys cheered for Naruto—mostly because they were desperate to see someone wipe the smugness off the Uchiha's face.
They raised their right hands, index and middle fingers upright in the traditional seal.
The match had begun.
Naruto darted in first. The two clashed in a flurry of exchanges—the dull thud of fist against forearm and the scuff of boots on dirt. For a few moments, they appeared evenly matched. But when Sasuke cleanly parried a strike and drove Naruto back with a sharp, well-timed kick, the cheers for the Uchiha reached a crescendo.
It was then that Guy's voice cut through the noise, booming across the field with the authority of a commander.
"Naruto—use your full strength! To hold back is to insult your opponent! Youth demands that you offer your everything in the spirit of respect!"
What?! The words detonated like a paper bomb in Sasuke's mind. Hold back? This loser was holding back? Indignation and a sudden, cold alarm erased Sasuke's disdain.
Naruto scratched the back of his head, looking genuinely mortified. Guy-sensei... did you really have to shout that in front of everyone? "Yes, Guy-sensei!"
The moment the words left Naruto's lips, his aura shifted. His posture didn't change, but the "Little Sun" persona vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating focus of a genius. He shot forward with a speed that made the previous exchange look like slow motion.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his body coiling and releasing like a high-tension spring.
"Konoha Senpū (Leaf Whirlwind)!"
Naruto spun like a cyclone, his scything leg sweep howling through the air. It was a signature taijutsu move, executed with a technical perfection that was far beyond the Academy level.
Too fast! Sasuke's pupils contracted to pinpricks. His dynamic vision tracked the movement, but his muscles were sluggish by comparison. There was no time to block—only to retreat. But even as he tried to backpedal, the sheer velocity of the kick caught him. The scything leg scoured the air, and Sasuke found himself being swept off his feet.
Thud.
"Blazing fast!" Kiba shouted, his jaw dropping. This wasn't the Naruto he sparred with. This was a monster.
Sasuke lay on the ground for a fraction of a second, his mind reeling. The humiliation of the fall stung more than the impact. He flipped back to his feet, eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and newfound caution. His right leg throbbed, a grim reminder of the power behind that strike.
Naruto didn't press the advantage. He stood his ground, waiting. Guy had said to observe the limit, and Naruto was a master of control.
To Sasuke, that calm stance felt like a silent provocation. He roared and charged, launching a tempest of strikes—palms, fists, high kicks—poured out with everything he had. Yet, Naruto was a different person. With minimal movement—a slight shift of the shoulder, a precise parry, a subtle pivot—he neutralized every single assault.
It was efficient. It was clinical. It was as if Naruto could see the trajectory of Sasuke's intent before the muscles even moved.
A terrifying realization began to dawn on the students, and on Sasuke himself: once the limiters were removed, the gap between the "Prodigy" and the "Dead-Last" was a chasm that Sasuke could not yet cross.
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