Chapter 13: Precision and Pressure
"You'll definitely lose if you compete with the Uchiha clan in shuriken throwing."
Uchiha Kanmon's eyes gleamed with the confidence of someone who believed his words beyond a doubt. Even though his Sharingan hadn't awakened yet, he had been training with shuriken since before he entered the Academy. Compared to most second-year students like Asakawa Naoki, who began training after enrollment, Kanmon saw himself as being leagues ahead.
"You do realize you're the one who challenged me, right?"
Naoki's voice was relaxed, almost amused. A helpless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sometimes, even he had to admit it—there really was a difference between those born talented and those who clawed their way forward.
He didn't have chakra. That meant no ninjutsu, no genjutsu, not even the basic enhancements most students could access. But shuriken throwing didn't require chakra. It only needed control, precision, and practice. In that, at least, he could compete.
"Ten shurikens each. Let's see who has the better hit rate," Kanmon announced, stepping into position.
Without waiting for a reply, he raised his hand. The first shuriken shot forward like lightning. Then the rest followed, nine wooden stars slicing through the air like petals tossed by a storm. All ten embedded themselves in the head of the human-shaped wooden target ten meters away.
A perfect strike.
"Did you see that? That's the strength of the Uchiha clan!"
Kanmon laughed, full of pride. Among the students of Class 1, Grade 2, he had always considered himself top-tier in terms of throwing skills. Even heirs from other great clans didn't match his precision. Only two exceptions came to mind—Minato Namikaze and Asakawa Naoki. And they were commoners.
It wasn't just about hitting the target. Piercing a wooden stake with a wooden shuriken required more than aim—it needed technique, refined control, and raw power. The fact that all ten of Kanmon's strikes were centered on the head of the stake made it clear: his control was sharp, his strength exact.
Naoki glanced at the display, then at Kanmon's smug expression. "Is laughing like a maniac some kind of Uchiha gene?" he muttered to himself, thinking briefly of the infamous "Uchiha Four Laughing Heroes" from a textbook anecdote.
Kanmon eventually stopped laughing and gestured at him. "Your turn, Asakawa."
"Yeah."
Naoki nodded and stepped forward. He didn't throw them all at once. Instead, he tossed each shuriken in a deliberate, almost mechanical rhythm—one at a time, with no theatrics.
But the result?
The same. All ten struck the head of the wooden stake dead-on.
Kanmon's brow twitched.
"Again!"
There was something fiery now in Kanmon's gaze—a rare seriousness, the kind that only surfaced when he recognized a rival.
The two of them retrieved their shurikens and returned to their marks.
Kanmon went first again, his arm a blur as he fired off another rapid set. Ten sharp thuds echoed as the targets were struck.
Naoki followed, again in his slow, methodical way. Each throw seemed casual, yet each one landed precisely.
"Again!"
They reset.
Again.
Again.
Around the fifth round, a small crowd had formed. Students from Class 1, Grade 2, had stopped their own practice and turned to watch the two boys duel silently with wooden blades.
"Whoa, they're still going?"
"Uchiha Kanmon makes sense, but when did Asakawa get so good?"
"I think this is their... tenth round? They haven't missed once."
Even students from noble clans couldn't look away. For all their differences in style—one flashy, one calm—the result remained unchanged. Not a single miss. Not even a glancing blow. Only perfect strikes.
Even Minato Namikaze stood at a distance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't show it, but he was silently impressed. He didn't think he could match this consistency.
"Who do you think's going to win?"
"My money's on Uchiha. That clan's famous for this stuff."
"Yeah, Uchiha for sure. Their throwing skills are unmatched."
"Believe in Uchiha! He's got this!"
Among the murmurs, a single voice stood out, loud and firm.
"Naoki is the strongest!"
Everyone turned. Uzumaki Kushina stood near the front, fists on her hips and a defiant spark in her eyes. She didn't care what clan Kanmon came from. Her faith was in her friend.
Their homeroom teacher, Masaki Yuto, observed in silence, arms behind his back. He didn't stop the match. Competition like this, he knew, was what nurtured future shinobi. In a real war, one powerful ninja could turn the tide against a hundred enemies. These two had the potential to become that kind of ninja.
But the longer the match dragged on, the more signs of fatigue began to show.
Kanmon's throws slowed ever so slightly. His hand trembled when retrieving shurikens. Sweat rolled down his temple.
Naoki, by contrast, remained eerily steady. His fingers gripped each shuriken with the same strength and stability as at the beginning. His breathing was calm. Focused.
"You burned too much energy at the start," Naoki commented during one of their brief pauses.
Kanmon didn't respond, but he knew it was true. Trying to overwhelm Naoki with sheer speed early on had cost him.
By the fourteenth round, Kanmon's throws were still accurate, but the power behind them had diminished. The last few shurikens stuck shallowly into the wood, some even wobbled on impact.
Finally, both boys stood with one shuriken left.
Kanmon's fingers trembled.
Naoki's hand was still as stone.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Kanmon gritted his teeth. "I won't lose. The Uchiha clan is the strongest!"
He hurled the last shuriken with every ounce of strength he had left.
But the strain showed. His aim wavered mid-throw.
"Be careful!" someone shouted.
The shuriken veered sharply—off-target.
Straight toward Kushina.
"Ah!" She froze, caught off guard. Her instincts kicked in, hands rising to shield her face. But she wasn't fast enough.
Yuto's heart jumped—too far. He couldn't reach her in time.
Then a blur crossed the field.
Clang!
Another shuriken flew in from the side, intercepting the one bound for Kushina. A dull metallic sound rang out as they collided in mid-air. Both blades fell harmlessly to the ground.
Everyone turned to the thrower.
Naoki stood where he had been, arm outstretched. That had been his final shuriken.
He rushed to Kushina's side. "Are you okay?"
She blinked, startled but unharmed. "Y-Yeah… I'm fine."
Yuto exhaled and stepped forward, face serious.
"Uchiha Kanmon, that was reckless. A moment later and you would have seriously injured your classmate. One week of cleaning duty. No arguments."
"Understood, sensei. I'm sorry," Kanmon muttered, bowing his head.
The match was over.
But in the minds of every student watching, the outcome had already been decided long before the final throw.
Asakawa Naoki didn't just win.
He saved someone, too.
And that said more than any number of perfect throws ever could.
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