More than one month had passed since Orochimaru's attack on Shamrock and Uta in Konoha during the second round of the Chunin Exam. After that, the preliminaries were held to determine who would advance to the third and final round—scheduled exactly one month later.
During those preliminaries, both Shamrock and Uta faced opponents from Kumogakure. Neither of them struggled. Their victories were decisive, almost effortless, proving without question that they stood on an entirely different level than the Kumogakure Genin they faced. Too easy… The thought had crossed more than one observer's mind.
And now, that month had come to an end.
Today was the day of the final round of the Chunin Exam.
The large arena stood filled, its perfectly raised rows of seating circling the battlefield like a stone coliseum. A low hum of anticipation filled the air—voices overlapping, metal clinking faintly, the occasional sharp cheer cutting through as spectators leaned forward in their seats.
The matchups had already been decided.
Shamrock would face Neji.
Uta, once again, was matched against a shinobi from Kumogakure—one who had managed to win the preliminaries and reach this stage.
But for now, all attention was drawn to the center of the arena.
The first battle of the final round—
Shamrock versus Neji.
Both of them stood across from each other, the distance between them charged with quiet tension. A faint breeze stirred the dust at their feet, the arena momentarily still as if holding its breath.
Shamrock's gaze settled on Neji.
Neji stood calm and composed, his posture steady, his expression unreadable. He held no weapon. No blade, no tool—nothing. Yet, there was no doubt in his stance. His movements, subtle but precise, made it clear.
He was going to fight using taijutsu.
The kind that didn't need weapons.
Shamrock reached to his left side, unfastened his sword in one smooth motion, and without hesitation, flung it toward the stands where Uta was seated. The blade spun once in the air, catching the light before Uta raised her hand and caught it cleanly. A faint metallic sound rang out as her grip tightened around the hilt.
A brief murmur rippled through the crowd.
Neji's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the exchange. He didn't need long to understand what Shamrock was doing—and the next words from Shamrock only confirmed it.
Shamrock stepped forward, his stance loosening as he rolled his shoulders once. "If you are not going to use any weapon while fighting," he said calmly, "then I am also not going to use any weapon. I'll fight you using my taijutsu skills."
As soon as Neji heard this, his expression hardened, a faint edge entering his voice. "By doing this, you are disrespecting me," he said. "You are looking down upon me."
A light breeze brushed across the arena floor, stirring the dust around their feet.
Shamrock shook his head immediately, his gaze steady. "No, you are wrong," he replied, his tone firm but not aggressive. "I am not looking down on you."
He paused for a fraction of a second, then continued, his voice carrying clearly across the arena.
"It's just that my swordsmanship is definitely my strongest point," he said, flexing his fingers slightly as if adjusting to the absence of his blade, "but it is not like I am not adept in taijutsu."
A faint smirk touched his lips—not arrogance, but quiet confidence.
"Don't forget," he went on, "to teach me taijutsu, I have teachers like my father—who himself is very adept in taijutsu. Not to mention my uncle and my aunt, who are also very skilled in it."
He shifted his stance, feet grounding against the arena floor, body settling into readiness.
"So after being taught by them, I am also very good at taijutsu," Shamrock finished. "Although it is one level lower than my swordsmanship, it is by no means my weak point."
The space between them fell silent again.
And this time, it felt heavier.
As soon as Neji heard this, a clear spark of anger rose within him. His calm exterior cracked just slightly, his eyes sharpening.
At that exact moment, the referee for the final round raised his hand and declared, "Begin."
The word had barely left his mouth when Neji moved.
Fuelled by that anger, he took the initiative instantly, closing the distance in a blur and launching his attack using the trademark technique of the Hyuga clan—Gentle Fist.
His palms struck forward with precision, each movement fluid yet deadly, aiming not just to hit, but to disrupt.
But Shamrock moved.
With controlled, measured footwork, he dodged each incoming strike one after another. His body shifted just enough—tilting, stepping, weaving through Neji's flurry of attacks as if he had already seen them coming. The air around them stirred with each near miss, the soft sound of palms slicing through space echoing across the arena.
For the first few exchanges, Shamrock avoided everything.
Yet, of course, he wouldn't just keep dodging.
Now.
At the perfect moment—calculating the rhythm of Neji's attacks and predicting where the next strike would come—Shamrock stepped in and countered with a palm strike of his own.
Their palms collided.
A sharp impact echoed.
In that instant, something felt wrong.
A sudden, sharp pain spread through Shamrock's palm—from the inside.
His expression didn't change much, but his eyes narrowed slightly as realization struck immediately.
This was the true nature of Gentle Fist.
The user injected their chakra directly into the opponent's chakra network, disrupting the flow—damaging from within rather than from the surface.
Understanding it in that very moment, Shamrock did not hesitate.
He pulled back slightly and formed a hand sign.
Almost instantly, both of his palms were coated in Armament Haki—a dark, hardened layer wrapping over his skin like an invisible armor, dense and impenetrable.
The air between them shifted again.
And then—they clashed once more.
This time, Shamrock didn't hold back his counters. He used both fists and palms freely, meeting Neji's attacks head-on, deflecting, redirecting, and striking back whenever he saw an opening. Their movements grew faster, sharper—each exchange tighter than the last.
Palm met palm.
Strike met counter.
The rhythm intensified.
But this time, things had changed.
After every collision, Shamrock remained completely unharmed. Neji's chakra, which once slipped into his body with each strike, could no longer penetrate. It couldn't pass through the Armament Haki coating his hands.
It was blocked. Completely.
Neji noticed.
And the battle only grew fiercer.
Their taijutsu exchange continued—rapid movements, shifting angles, attacking from one direction to another, circling, stepping, striking—for nearly five minutes straight.
The sound of impacts echoed again and again across the arena.
Yet despite the intensity…
There was still no result.
Although Shamrock was not fighting at his full potential—holding back his true strength—he was clearly impressed by what Neji was showing.
With every exchange, every precise step and calculated strike, it became more evident.
Neji's strength, his movement speed, his control—everything about him spoke of a fighter far beyond his current age. If Neji were to grow to Shamrock's level of maturity and experience, he would be more than capable of rivaling him. That was the kind of potential Shamrock was seeing right now.
He's dangerous… not because of what he is, but because of what he will become.
His taijutsu was excellent.
His mastery over it—refined to near perfection.
His battle sense—sharp, adaptive, constantly reading the flow of the fight.
There was no doubt about it.
Neji was a true genius.
Across from him, Neji's expression had grown more focused, more intense.
He had already realized something important.
No matter how many strikes he landed, no matter how cleanly he executed his Gentle Fist, he was not able to cause any real harm to Shamrock anymore. The strange defensive layer covering Shamrock's hands had completely shut down his usual advantage.
And more than that—
It was becoming clear that defeating Shamrock with just basic taijutsu exchanges would not be easy. Not at all.
A faint breath escaped Neji's lips as he steadied himself.
Then I have to end this properly.
Without hesitation, Neji shifted his footing and moved into a specific stance—one that carried a different kind of weight. His posture changed, his hands aligning with practiced precision, his entire body centering itself.
The air around him seemed to tighten.
On the other side, the instant Shamrock saw Neji take that stance, his battle instincts flared.
He didn't know the exact technique at first—but from the structure, the posture, the intent behind it, he could already tell.
A continuous combo… precise… targeting points…
And with his knowledge of the Hyuga clan's records, the conclusion came almost immediately.
Neji was about to use the Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms.
And yes—Neji was going to use it.
Shamrock stood well within the range of the Eight Trigrams field that formed around Neji, the invisible boundary locking him in place like a silent cage. Without a moment of hesitation, Neji moved.
As Neji initiated his attack, Shamrock steadied himself. He drew in a controlled breath, his body tightening as he formed a hand seal.
"Well then," he said, his voice calm yet edged with anticipation, "I want to see just how powerful your Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms technique of your Hyuga clan is."
A faint smirk appeared.
"Do your best."
In the next instant, chakra surged through his body.
It flowed rapidly, like a current snapping into motion, spreading across his frame before concentrating over his upper body. A dense layer formed—coating him completely, reinforcing him from the outside and within.
And just at that moment—
Neji struck.
The first palms came in a blur.
Two strikes—sharp and precise.
Then another two.
Four.
Eight.
Sixteen.
And finally—
Thirty-two.
The full sequence of the Sixty-Four Palms unfolded with relentless speed, each strike perfectly aligned, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. Neji's hands became nothing but afterimages as he closed in, his precision terrifying.
Every single strike was aimed at Shamrock's acupoints—targeting his chakra network, aiming to shut it down piece by piece.
The arena echoed with the rapid succession of impacts.
But the sound was different.
Instead of flesh yielding, it was the sound of flesh striking against something hard—dense.
Each hit landed.
Each strike connected.
And yet—something was off.
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