Chapter 251: Sending Chocolate?
The moment Ryū stepped back to the edge of the platform, the two Uchiha genin — who had been sweating before either of them threw a punch — finally came back to themselves and engaged. They went straight into taijutsu.
From where Ryū stood, watching them was like watching children play at the art form. He was fairly confident that even if he stood perfectly still and let both of them hit him for ten days and nights straight, neither would manage to scratch his defenses.
There was a saying for this kind of situation. Something about waving a blade in front of someone who'd mastered the blade. The wording escaped him, but the sentiment was exactly right.
The spectators, at least, were having a fine time. To their eyes, these two Uchiha genin were displaying genuinely impressive taijutsu — respectable by any reasonable measure for fighters at their level, and to the non-shinobi portions of the crowd, something approaching extraordinary.
Commentary rippled through the stands.
"The Uchiha really do have deep roots. Talent concentrated like that, and this is just one clan in one village."
"And that's not counting the Hyuga, who are right there in Konoha with their own dōjutsu tradition."
"Good instincts, both of them. Practical experience is thin, though — they've got that pampered young master quality. Could do with more tempering."
"Still, at their age? Talented by any measure."
"Supposedly they're not even the Uchiha's most gifted. That would be Uchiha Shisui and Uchiha Itachi — those two are the real prodigies of the younger generation."
"Good lord. The clan's depth exceeds some entire minor villages."
"Typical minor village doesn't come close to the Uchiha in a straight fight."
"Should have been born into a better family in my last life."
"You think the Uchiha would want someone who looks like you? Go find a puddle to look at yourself in first. Uchiha Daiki, more like Uchiha Porky."
"That's incredibly rude — I've only put on a little weight—"
"You're pushing three hundred pounds. That's not 'a little.'"
"I was weighed at the clinic recently. It was only 291."
"That rounds up to three hundred-something!"
"You weight-discriminating contrarian!!"
"…"
Time moved on. The first bout reached its conclusion. The winner was Uchiha Kanmoku — showing some surface injuries from the exchange and noticeably drained on stamina, enough that he'd need a solid two hours of rest before his next match. The medical-nin on standby would deal with the minor wounds before he took the stage again.
The second pairing began: a Hyuga genin from Konoha against a genin from the Rock. Two more names Ryū didn't know and saw no reason to file away — neither had ever appeared in the original story, which made them background furniture in human form.
Being a tournament judge was, he had to admit, extremely comfortable. Stand at the edge of the platform. Watch the young people hit each other. Ensure no one died accidentally. With Observation Haki blanketing the venue and his speed available as insurance, any situation that crossed the line into genuine lethality could be defused before the damage was done.
The Hyuga's performance was something to observe, at least. Close-range capability well above the genin average — the Eight Trigrams and chakra-point strikes came out with clean execution. The Rock genin's issue was that close range was precisely where the Hyuga thrived, and he'd let himself get pulled into it.
That had determined the outcome before it started.
A few minutes later the Rock genin took a palm strike under the jaw, eyes rolled back, and dropped. The Hyuga looked as though he hadn't been touched.
Ryū had acquired, at some point between these bouts, a glass of iced fruit juice. He leaned against the wall at the platform's edge, monitoring the next pairing's setup with one eye while drifting into the Chat Group with the rest of his attention, the drink cold against his palm in the summer heat.
Edward Newgate: Gurararara — this juice is a specialty from our New World. The fruit it comes from is exceedingly rare — production was only around five to six hundred liters a year at one point.
Edward Newgate: But old Whitebeard has been cultivating those trees at scale now. Current yield is running five to six thousand liters annually. More than ten times what it was.
WolfKingOfQingQingGrasslands: Excellent juice, and well-chilled too. Thank you for the trouble, Whitebeard-ojii-sama!
Admiral Kizaru: Didn't expect you to have this much of the stuff, Whitebeard. The price of that juice out on the sea is comparable to gold, you know~
Admiral Kizaru: Are you considering a career change to farming at some point~?
Edward Newgate: Gurararara — and why not? When this old man finally tires of the sea, maybe I'll find an island and settle in. Grow things.
Edward Newgate: The Whitebeard Pirates can be left to my sons.
Eternally Seventeen: The taste really is something… Whitebeard, do you have saplings? I'm curious whether Gensokyo soil could support them.
Edward Newgate: No saplings at this time of year. Give it two or three months.
Eternally Seventeen: Two or three months? Negligible!
Eternally Seventeen: @RawrSoFierce — Admin-sama, are you prepared to taste a chocolate cake made with my own hands? You had the audacity to suggest I can't bake — you even implied I can't cook at all! Unacceptable! Today I will prove myself! The cake has about thirty minutes left!
My True Form Is Cola: Chocolate cake?? I feel like I've noticed something significant here.
Terrible Tornado: A chocolate cake! Yukari-senpai is confessing her feelings in public?
Eternally Seventeen: Hm? What? Come again? What do you mean?
Kaguya-sama: Yukari-nee, don't you know that giving chocolate to someone of the opposite sex is a roundabout confession? It's a Valentine's Day thing — couples give each other chocolate, so…
Eternally Seventeen: …What? That's a thing?
Eternally Seventeen: W— wait! Admin-sama, please don't misunderstand — that is absolutely not what I meant! And everyone else, stop twisting my words! I had no idea chocolate cake carried that kind of implication!
Terrible Tornado: Little Kaguya, are you feeling the competitive pressure?
Kaguya-sama: …That's not really anything to do with me, is it?
Kaguya-sama: Why do I keep getting pulled into these things! Wahhh!
RawrSoFierce: …
"…"
Ryū was formulating a reply when something on the platform caught his attention.
He glanced up.
Two non-Konoha genin, mid-match. One of them had gone red-eyed.
There was killing intent coming off him. Actual, directed killing intent.
These young people really did have no handle on their own emotional states.
The situation without a judge present: one person almost certainly dead.
The genin in question had already knocked his opponent stumbling with a blow to the body — and instead of stopping, he was surging forward with his kunai raised and murder in his eyes.
The crowd saw it in the same moment. A sharp collective intake of breath ran through the nearest sections of the stands.
The kunai swept toward the downed opponent's throat.
A spiraling burst of compressed air shot across the platform.
It struck the kunai dead on.
The weapon spun out of the attacker's grip before he understood what had happened. He stood there, empty-handed, and then the cold hit him — the realization of what he'd been about to do, and where he was, and what that would have meant.
This was the first Chūnin Exam since the war ended. Lord Fourth had said again and again that this was a competition of skill and goodwill between villages, a foundation for continued peace. If he had killed someone here—
The consequences wouldn't just affect him. The fallout would cascade across villages, across politics, across something much larger than one genin's temper.
Someone had stopped him. The judge, presumably — that inexplicably young, inexplicably unintimidating figure who had been leaning against the wall moments ago. He hadn't seen a movement. Hadn't sensed anything.
Which meant that if the same strike had been aimed at a vital point on his own body—
He probably wouldn't have had time to realize he was dying.
Ryū's voice came from the edge of the platform, unhurried.
"Young people really should keep a tighter grip on their tempers. Impulse control keeps people alive. Rational thought — that's the essential skill."
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