The murmurs in the crowd swelled like a rising tide, each voice adding to the buzz of anticipation. Izumo Kamizuki's calm yet confident tone cut through the noise. "It's simple," he said, crossing his arms. "Uchiha Hui may be a prodigy, but he's still just five years old. Even if he's mastered the Great Fireball Jutsu, what good is it if he can't even form the seals before Hayate's blade reaches him? I've seen Hayate practice his sword technique alone. His speed is something else—you can barely see the blade move."
The instructors nearby exchanged glances, their opinions aligning with Izumo's assessment. "Uchiha Hui is talented, sure," one teacher muttered under his breath. "But he's still a kid. Strength and speed are limited by age, and Hayate's swordsmanship is on another level. There's no way Hui can keep up."
Uchiha Hui adjusted his sunglasses, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He could hear the whispers, the doubts, the assumptions. They weren't wrong—Hayate's speed was a problem. A big one. But Hui had never been one to back down from a challenge.
By the time Hui stepped onto the field, Hayate was already waiting, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. The older boy's gaze softened slightly as he looked down at Hui. "Listen, kid," Hayate said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You've got talent, I'll give you that. But this is my fight. I'll win this round—no hard feelings, alright?"
Hui tilted his head, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. "I don't intend to lose," he replied, his voice calm and steady.
Hayate's lips twitched, almost like a smile, but it was gone in an instant. "Fair enough," he said, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
The tension between them was palpable, a silent understanding passing between the two. This wasn't just a spar—it was a test of wills.
The Chunin instructor raised his hand, his voice cutting through the silence. "Begin!"
Hayate moved first, his body a blur of motion. The flash of steel cut through the air with a sharp hiss, the blade streaking toward Hui's arm with terrifying speed.
Too fast.
For a moment, the sword seemed to vanish, leaving only the faintest glint of light in its wake. But Hui didn't watch the blade—he focused on Hayate's wrist, tracing the movement back to its source. Predict the strike, don't track the blade.
Kunai met steel with a harsh clang, sparks bursting from the collision. Hui's arm trembled under the force, but he held his ground. Hayate's eyes narrowed, a flicker of respect breaking through his stoic expression.
"Not bad," Hayate admitted, his voice low. "But this is over."
With a grunt, Hayate gripped his sword with both hands and pressed down hard. The blade shook violently against Hui's kunai, the strain threatening to rip the smaller weapon from Hui's grasp. It worked—Hui's kunai wrenched free, spinning away like a shuriken.
But that was enough.
As Hayate pushed forward, his sword paused—locked in place for just an instant. His momentum had stalled.
Hui's eyes flashed. He drove his leg upward in a sharp arc.
"Leaf Whirlwind!"
The kick slammed into Hayate's ribs with a sharp crack, the force knocking the older boy back. Hayate's breath exploded from his lungs, his eyes widening in surprise.
Hui didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, twisting his body mid-air. Wind spiraled around him as his leg lashed out again.
"Leaf Great Whirlwind!"
The kick crashed down on Hayate like a hammer, the air rippling as the strike connected. Hayate's body shot backward, his scabbard clattering uselessly to the ground as he skidded to a halt.
For a moment, the field was silent. Hayate lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for air. His fingers twitched toward his sword, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He clenched his teeth, a mix of disbelief and grudging respect in his eyes.
"How... does a five-year-old hit like that...?" Hayate muttered, his voice strained but tinged with admiration.
Hui stood tall, his breathing steady as he adjusted his sunglasses. "Age doesn't matter," he said simply. "Only skill."