Neji Hyūga didn't waste words. He stepped into the ring with a mechanical precision that silenced the lingering murmurs of the crowd.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Seeing the brewing conflict, the students from Iruka's younger class abandoned their drills, crowding the perimeter with wide-eyed excitement. Iruka offered Tendo a helpless, apologetic shrug, realizing there was no stopping the momentum of a village spectacle.
Neji was, by all traditional standards, the picture of a shinobi prodigy. His long hair caught the afternoon light, and his calm, almost cold temperament gave him an aura of untouchable competence. A wave of hushed giggles and cheers erupted from the Academy girls.
"Go, Neji-kun!"
"Show him why you're number one!"
Tendo, never one to let a junior outshine him in the style department, didn't just walk to his mark. He wove a set of rapid hand seals. In a sudden, violent swirl of autumn leaves, his silhouette blurred into a smear of motion, reappearing in the center of the ring before the foliage had even hit the dirt.
"The Body Flicker!" someone gasped.
"So fast... I didn't even see him move!"
The crowd's loyalty was fickle; the "handsome big brother" had just won half the audience back with a single high-level maneuver. While the Shunshin wasn't true space-time ninjutsu like the Fourth Hokage's legendary technique, Tendo's mastery—granted by the System's Taijutsu hoard—was flawless. He looked less like a bureaucrat and more like a ghost.
Across from him, Neji remained unmoved. He dropped into a low, wide stance, his center of gravity absolute.
"This kid is the real deal," Inuzuka Akita murmured from the sidelines, her playful demeanor replaced by a professional edge. She had sparred with Tendo before, back when he was a standard civilian Chunin. In her mind, Tendo was "serviceable"—a man who knew his basics but lacked the predatory "spark" of the great clans.
To her, this was a mismatch. Neji might be a student, but he was a Hyūga student. The gap between a civilian veteran and a clan genius was often a canyon that seniority couldn't bridge. I hope he can at least hold his own, she thought, a knot of worry tightening in her chest.
Tendo caught her gaze and flashed a reassuring, almost lazy wink.
He knew exactly what he was facing. In two years, Neji would be a monster capable of forcing Jonin to intervene. But right now? Neji was a raw engine. Tendo, meanwhile, was a man who had just had his "software" updated to the elite tier.
It's in the bag, Tendo thought.
He settled into the classic Konoha Strong Fist stance, a predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Neji-kun, age before beauty. You take the first move."
"As you wish, Tendo-senpai," Neji replied tonelessly.
Then, the air seemed to chill. The veins around Neji's temples bulged, turning into jagged, throbbing cords as his bloodline awakened. The Byakugan flared to life, its milky-white gaze stripping away Tendo's clothes, skin, and muscle until only the glowing network of his chakra pathway system remained.
"Pardon me."
Neji didn't run; he glided. His feet moved in the rhythmic, circular patterns of the Gentle Fist, closing the distance with the silent grace of a predatory bird.
The students saw only a blur. Neji reappeared in Tendo's blind spot, his right palm slicing toward Tendo's ribs while his left hand formed a precise "sword-finger" aimed at the tenketsu in Tendo's shoulder. It was a lethal, two-pronged strike designed to shut down a ninja's internal engine before the fight even began.
Tendo didn't flinch. Nice mechanics, kid. But my stats are simply better.
Tendo's internal chakra didn't just flow; it detonated.
"Konoha Hurricane!"
Tendo's counter was a physical impossibility to the onlookers. He struck second but arrived first. As Neji's fingers were inches from his skin, Tendo pivoted on his lead foot, his trailing leg whipping around in a high, whistling arc.
Neji's Byakugan saw the strike coming, but his body was a fraction too slow to compensate. He realized in a heartbeat that if he completed his strike, he might nick Tendo's tenketsu, but Tendo's heel would cave in his ribs.
Forced to abort, Neji snapped his arms up in a cross-block. He braced for a bone-shattering impact, but when the leg connected, the force was... surprisingly light. Tendo had pulled the punch at the last millisecond.
Tendo hopped back to his starting position, completely relaxed. "Good eyes. Your reaction speed is top-tier. Keep it coming."
Neji stood frozen for a second, his expression unreadable. Since his father's death, he had viewed the world as a cold, predetermined machine. Kindness from a stranger was a variable he didn't know how to calculate. He felt a rare, flicker of genuine respect for the man across from him.
"Thank you, Senpai," Neji said, and this time, the robotic chill in his voice had thawed.
He settled into a deeper, more complex stance. He felt a sudden, sharp clarity—a realization of a technique he had been meditating on but had never quite grasped. He would show his respect by using his absolute limit.
Eight Trigrams... Sixty-Four Palms.