Sunagakure had transformed.
The streets that had been quiet, almost sombre, during the first two phases were now alive with a chaotic, vibrant energy. Crowds poured through the sandstone arteries like blood through veins; shinobi from every participating village, civilians in their finest clothes, merchants hawking their wares from temporary stalls that had sprouted overnight. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat, Suna sweets, dried fruits, and the sharp tang of spices. Voices overlapped in a cacophony of languages; Konoha's clipped syllables, Suna's rolling consonants, the softer cadences of Rain and Grass.
The arena loomed at the centre of it all; massive walls of pale sandstone, towers crowned with banners, gates that seemed to swallow the light. Already, spectators were filing in; nobles in silks, officials in formal robes, foreign observers with sharp eyes and sharper intentions. The public tournament was not just a competition; it was a spectacle, a demonstration, a political statement.
Satoru moved through the crowd with the fluid grace of someone who had learned to navigate chaos without being touched by it. Beside him, Ren walked with less ease; his shoulders were tense, his eyes kept darting to the rooftops.
Neither wore their forehead protectors. The metal plates would have marked them as Konoha shinobi immediately, drawing attention they did not want.
Ren leaned closer, "Are we really supposed to be doing this?"
Satoru's gaze did not waver. "This is information gathering."
Ren frowned. "You sound like you have done this before."
"I have." Satoru's voice was flat. "Every time I enter a new location, I map it. Every time I walk through a crowd, I note the exits, the choke points, the positions of guards. It is not paranoia; it is preparation."
Ren noticed that Satoru was moving with purpose; he was not wandering aimlessly. He was heading somewhere.
"How do you even know where you are going?" Ren asked.
Satoru's lips curved; not quite a smile. "During our first days in Suna, when we were allowed to explore, I mapped the village. Memorised important locations."
They arrived at a large betting stall at the edge of the arena complex. A massive wooden counter had been erected, its surface covered in scrolls and ledgers. A crowd surrounded it, jostling for position, shouting names and amounts. A bookmaker stood behind the counter, a heavyset man with shrewd eyes and a practised smile, his hands moving constantly as he recorded bets and handed out slips.
Satoru stopped at the edge of the crowd, observing. The bookmaker's voice cut through the noise; "Shigan Sabaku! Two to one! Maki Arashi! Three to one! Kaito Kugutsu! Five to one!" The names of the Suna prodigies dominated the announcements, their odds low, their returns modest.
Ren's brow furrowed. "Is this the place you talked about?"
Satoru's voice was calm. "Yes."
He looked at the bookmaker, at the crowd, at the money changing hands. "It is time to make some money."
Satoru pushed through the crowd, Ren following reluctantly. They reached the counter, and Satoru waited until the bookmaker's attention turned to him.
"How does this work?" Satoru asked. His voice was neutral, curious, the voice of a tourist.
The bookmaker's eyes swept across them; assessing, calculating. He had seen enough shinobi to recognise the signs.
"People can bet on individual matches or the entire tournament winner," he explained. "The less likely someone is to win, the higher the payout. The more likely, the lower the return." He gestured toward a large chart behind him.
"The odds are listed there."
Satoru's gaze moved to the chart.
Odds Board — Chūnin Exam Finalists
Sunagakure
Shigan Sabaku — 1.5x
Maki Arashi — 2x
Kaito Kugutsu — 3x
Rin Nanami — 4x
Mio Hoki — 5x
Konohagakure
Mariko Sarutobi — 6x
Ren Yamashiro — 8x
Satoru Yamanaka — 12x
Kusagakure
Daiki Yato — 10x
Hana Akari — 11x
Amegakure
Souta Kazuki — 15x
Satoru's eyes twitched studied the list. The Suna genin dominated the top positions; their odds were low, their returns modest. Shigan was the clear favorite; his odds were the lowest of all, reflecting the public's confidence in his victory. Maki was close behind. Kaito, Rin, and Mio rounded out the top five; all of them highly rated, all of them expected to perform well.
Then came Konoha. Mariko's odds were the lowest of the Konoha entries; she had fought in the preliminaries, had demonstrated her capability, and had earned respect. Ren's odds were higher; his weapon style was less understood, and his reputation was less established. And then there was Satoru.
Twelve to one, he thought. The highest odds among Team Five. People believe I am the least likely to win.
He understood why. He had never fought in the preliminaries. His abilities were unknown. He had advanced because of the free ticket, and many assumed he had simply gotten lucky. And he had to fight twice in the first round; a disadvantage that made his path to victory seem even more unlikely.
Ren leaned in, his voice low. "What does this mean?"
Satoru's response was quiet. "Shigan having lower odds means people expect him to win. The bookmaker would make less profit if Shigan wins. Higher odds mean more risk and more reward." He paused. "The bookmaker is betting on the favorites. He wants people to bet on the longshots."
The bookmaker overheard. He looked at Satoru with new eyes; not just a customer, but a competitor. "You understand betting." It was not a question. "So, who are you betting on?"
Satoru's expression did not change. "Can I bet on individual matches, or only the tournament winner?"
"Both." The bookmaker's smile was thin. "Individual matches, tournament winner, even the number of rounds. Whatever you want."
Satoru checked his own odds again. Twelve to one. People are really underestimating me.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small leather purse. Inside were his savings; mission earnings, careful budgeting, the accumulated wealth of a shinobi who had learned to value every coin.
Ten thousand ryō.
He placed the entire purse on the counter. "I want to bet on the tournament winner." He paused. "On Satoru Yamanaka."
The bookmaker's eyes widened. He had expected the Konoha genin to bet on Shigan, or perhaps Maki. He had not expected a bet on the unknown, the longshot, the one with the highest odds. He looked at Satoru, searching for any sign of hesitation.
Satoru's expression was calm, unreadable.
"That is... bold."
The bookmaker hesitated, then recorded the bet. He handed Satoru a slip; a small rectangle of parchment, stamped with the bookmaker's seal. "If you win, you receive twelve times your stake. One hundred and twenty thousand ryō."
Satoru tucked the slip into his vest. "I know."
Ren stared at him. "You bet all your money on yourself?"
Satoru turned to him. "You should bet too."
Ren's jaw tightened. "On myself?"
"On whoever you think will win." Satoru's voice was calm. "But if you want my advice, bet on yourself in the first round. Your opponent is Kaito. He is strong, but you have advantages he does not. Your sword style is unpredictable. Your aggression can overwhelm him before he establishes his puppet control."
Ren was silent for a moment. Then he reached into his own pouch and pulled out a smaller purse. Five thousand ryō. He placed it on the counter. "I want to bet on the first round." He paused. "On Ren Yamashiro."
The bookmaker raised an eyebrow but recorded the bet. Ren received his slip and tucked it away.
Satoru's lips curved; not quite a smile. "Good."
Ren frowned. "Why are you encouraging me to bet on myself? If I lose, I lose money. If I win, I still have to fight you in the later rounds."
Satoru's voice was quiet. "Because if you do not believe in yourself, no one else will. And because..." He paused. "I want you to realize your own value. You are stronger than you think. "
Ren stared at him. Then, slowly, he nodded.
They returned to the team's gathering area, their betting slips tucked away, their minds already shifting toward the tournament. Mariko met them with crossed arms and a sharp look.
"Where were you?" she demanded. "Why did you disappear? The tournament is about to start."
Ren opened his mouth to answer, but Satoru interrupted. "We were gathering information."
Mariko's eyes narrowed. "Information about what?"
Satoru did not answer. He simply walked toward the arena entrance, his steps steady, his gaze fixed on the gates that would soon open to admit the finalists.
Sayuri approached them, her expression unreadable. "It is time."
The crowd roared. The gates began to open.
=====
Your Reviews, Comments and Powerstones about my work are welcome
If you can, then please support me on Patreon.
Link - www.patreon.com/P4lindrome
You Can read more chapters ahead on Patreon.