I stood in the center of the sun-baked arena, hands resting casually in the pockets of my crimson silk tunic. Across from me, Temari of the Sand was gripping her massive iron fan, her knuckles white. She was already breathing heavily from her match with Shikamaru, but her teal eyes were burning with pure, unadulterated annoyance.
"Finally," Temari sneered, planting the base of her fan into the dirt. "I get to wipe that smug, rich-boy smirk off your face. I hope you're ready to get blown away."
"The only thing getting blown today is my mind, Princess," I said loudly, my voice echoing across the quiet stadium. I let my eyes trail blatantly down her body, lingering deliberately on the fishnet armor peeking through the slit of her short skirt. "I mean, whoever designed the Sand Village uniforms deserves a medal. The ventilation on that skirt is an absolute ten out of ten. Very aerodynamic. Very... accessible."
The entire stadium went dead silent for a full three seconds.
Then, the murmurs erupted.
"Did he really just say that?!" Sakura shrieked from the competitors' balcony, burying her face in her hands. "In front of the so many people?!"
"Shameless!" Tenten yelled.
"He's... he's a menace," Ino muttered, though her face was completely red.
Up in the Kage box, the Third Hokage sighed, pulling his Hokage hat down over his eyes. Beside him, the disguised Orochimaru let out a low, amused chuckle.
Temari's face flushed a brilliant, furious crimson. Her grip on the fan tightened until the metal groaned. "You little pervert! I am going to slice your tongue off and feed it to the desert scorpions!"
I didn't answer her right away. Instead, I looked up at the balcony.
I found Shikamaru leaning against the railing, looking bored and half-asleep. I caught his eye and gave him a deeply apologetic, somber look. I even pressed a hand to my chest and bowed my head slightly toward him.
Shikamaru blinked, his lazy expression twisting into utter confusion. "What a drag... what is he looking at me like that for?" he muttered, scratching his head.
Sorry, Shikamaru, I thought inwardly, holding back a grin. I know destiny had plans for you two. But Temari's assets are far too high-quality to be wasted on a guy who just wants to watch clouds. I'll be taking these into my own hands.
Genma Shiranui, the proctor, coughed awkwardly, his senbon needle twitching in his mouth. "If the... commentary... is finished. Begin!"
"Take this! Wind Scythe Jutsu!"
Temari didn't hold back. She ripped her fan fully open to the third moon and swung it with the force of a hurricane. A massive, shrieking gale of wind and razor-sharp vacuum blades tore across the arena floor, ripping up chunks of earth and hurtling straight toward me.
I didn't use Haki. I didn't use Bungee Gum. I just used pure, raw physical speed.
[Skill: Body Flicker (Shunshin)]
I vanished from my spot a millisecond before the wind blades decimated the ground where I stood.
"What?!" Temari gasped, the recoil of her massive swing leaving her wide open. "Where did he go?!"
"Right behind you, Princess."
I appeared directly at her back. Before she could swing the heavy iron fan around, I closed the distance.
This was going to be pure Taijutsu. Or, rather, my highly specialized, deeply inappropriate version of it.
I swept my leg out, aiming for her ankles. She jumped to avoid it, which was exactly what I wanted. As she was airborne, I stepped in, sliding my left arm firmly around her narrow, fishnet-clad waist to "catch" her.
"Get your hands off me!" she yelled, trying to elbow me in the face.
I ducked the elbow effortlessly. My right hand, under the guise of finding leverage for a throw, slid directly onto her right thigh, my fingers gripping the bare, toned flesh just below the hem of her short skirt.
I squeezed. Hard.
Temari gasped, her eyes going wide. The sudden, intimate pressure sent a jolt completely unrelated to combat straight up her spine.
"Such firm muscles," I whispered right into her ear as we landed back on the dirt. "You must do a lot of squats."
"You bastard!" She thrashed wildly, abandoning her fan and trying to punch me.
I parried her strikes with lazy precision, staying practically glued to her body. She threw a high kick. I caught her ankle, pushing her leg up higher than she intended. This forced her into a perfect split, exposing the absolute limit of her skirt to the entire stadium.
"Nice flexibility," I commented, my free hand brushing casually against her exposed inner thigh, trailing dangerously close to her center.
"Eeeek!" Temari shrieked, an entirely un-ninja-like sound escaping her lips. Her face was burning with humiliation and a sudden, confusing rush of heat. She completely lost her balance and tumbled backward into the dirt.
The crowd was in an uproar. Half of them were booing my complete lack of shinobi etiquette, and the other half (mostly the civilian men) were cheering loudly.
Temari scrambled backward on her hands and knees, desperately trying to put distance between us. Her combat focus was completely shattered. She was panting, her skin flushed, her hands trembling as she grabbed the hilt of her fan again.
"I'll kill you! I'll absolutely kill you!" she stammered, swinging the fan wildly without weaving any chakra.
I simply stepped inside the arc of the clumsy swing.
I grabbed the iron ribs of the fan with one hand, stopping it dead. With my other hand, I reached out and grabbed the front of her combat kimono, right at the collar.
With a swift, fluid motion, I yanked her forward, tripping her feet out from under her, and pinned her flat on her back against the hot dirt of the arena.
I straddled her waist, my knees pinning her hips to the ground so she couldn't buck me off.
"Get off!" she grunted, struggling fiercely.
To keep her pinned, I slammed my hands down on the ground on either side of her head. In doing so, I made absolutely sure that my forearms pressed heavily and deliberately against the sides of her full, fishnet-covered breasts.
Temari froze. She could feel the hard pressure of my arms squeezing her chest together, the friction of my tunic rubbing against her sensitive peaks as she breathed heavily.
She looked up at me, her teal eyes wide, angry, and incredibly flustered. She was completely trapped, compromised, and thoroughly manhandled without me using a single ninjutsu.
"You're very fierce, Temari," I smiled down at her, leaning my face close to hers. "I like that. But you're a bit too tense. You should really learn to relax."
I shifted my weight slightly on her hips, letting her feel the distinct, heavy pressure of my anatomy pressing right against her lower stomach.
Temari's breath hitched. Her entire body flushed a deep, vibrant red from her neck to her hairline. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away in sheer embarrassment, her struggles ceasing entirely as the reality of her incredibly compromising position set in.
"I... I give up," she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and intense fluster. "Just... get off me."
I smiled, standing up and dusting off my knees.
"A wise tactical decision," I offered her a hand.
She slapped my hand away and scrambled to her feet, clutching her fan to her chest like a shield, refusing to make eye contact with me or the audience. She practically sprinted toward the exit tunnel, her face still burning.
Genma stared at me, his senbon needle hanging loosely from his lips. He slowly raised his hand.
"Winner... Kenji Sato."
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