Chapter 91: Madara's Nostalgia; Minato's Grand Debut
Minato Namikaze stood in the center of the arena, looking at the squad of Academy elites with a gentle, warm smile.
He knew that he was, effectively, the "Eleventh Ninja" being honored today. Lord Hiruzen had given him this massive stage all to himself.
Minato might be a "Little Sun," but he wasn't politically naive. He understood exactly what his Grand-Sensei was doing: Hiruzen was launching Minato's reputation like a rocket. By the time this match was over, his name would be known by every clan in the village. He was being groomed to fill the next vacancy in the High Commission.
I have to thank Grand-Sensei for this chance, Minato thought. Jiraiya-sensei is great, but compared to the Hokage... well, there's a difference.
He glanced toward the spectator stands and saw a flash of blood-red. It was Kushina, cheering so loudly her voice was drowning out the entire stadium. Minato felt a surge of warmth.
First, I'll give the children room to show off their skills, Minato decided. Then, I'll finish this cleanly.
"Are you ready to begin?" Minato asked softly.
Fifty Academy students stood in formation across from him. At the front, Asuma glared with competitive fire. "Automatic start in three seconds!"
Minato nodded.
One... two... three...
GO!
The Academy elite scattered instantly, dividing into pre-assigned three-man cells. They followed the blueprint Sakumo Hatake had drawn: Projectiles, Genjutsu, Ninjutsu, CQC, and Support.
They moved with a discipline that mirrored a real battlefield, immediately claiming the high ground and the covers provided by the arena's artificial terrain—crags, swamps, and boulders.
"Show the village what you've learned!" Minato called out, his voice light. "Don't worry about me. If you land a single scratch, I lose."
Asuma's eye twitched. Was that an insult?
Looking at Minato's kind face, it felt more like encouragement, which only made it more frustrating. "Damned blonde! Stop trying to play the hero!"
"All squads! Fire at will! Pressure him until the Vanguard strikes!" Asuma roared.
"YES!" the students shouted in unison. The crowd roared in approval. They looked like a professional unit.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
Obito Uchiha took the lead, inhaling a massive lungful of air and exhaling a roaring orb of flame. Beside him, three other Fire Style students added their chakra, merging the flames into a massive inferno that surged toward Minato.
Nice! I didn't choke! Obito thought, his heart leaping. He hadn't stuttered or produced a mere spark. The "Nutrition Logistics" and the extra training from the clan veterans were already paying off.
"Fascinating," Minato whispered. He didn't retreat. He flickered into the shadows of a nearby crag just as the flames licked the air where he had been.
"Earth Style: Stone Spear!"
The Ninjutsu squad followed up immediately, thrusting their hands into the dirt. Sharp pillars of rock erupted from the ground beneath Minato's feet.
A golden blur flickered again. As Minato landed, the Projectile squad opened fire.
Kunai and shuriken whistled through the air in a dense, calculated grid. Shisui Uchiha was the standout here; his Fuma Shuriken were attached to razor-thin steel wires, which he swung to create a "Cordon of Death" across Minato's exit routes.
On the Observation Deck.
"These are school kids?" The Iburi leader was visibly shaken. "They're seven or eight years old, and they're already performing synchronized elemental attacks?"
"And look at their chakra reserves," the Tsuchigumo leader added, pointing at Obito. "That boy has been spamming high-rank Fire Style for three minutes and hasn't broken a sweat. The village's base stats are through the roof."
In the Mountains' Graveyard.
Madara Uchiha watched the "Live Stream" through a White Zetsu's eyes, a cold smirk on his aged face.
"The Uchiha brat is a moron," Madara rasped, taking a bite of a steak he was grilling over a small fire. Even though the Gedo Mazo sustained him, eating gave him a sense of "Life."
"But Izuna was right. Morons have the most potential. If that kid can awaken a Mangekyō through that 'Love' of his, he'll be a useful tool."
Madara looked at the holographic-like vision of the arena. He spotted Shisui. That one is smarter. But too much light. He'll be harder to break.
He felt a pang of ancient melancholy. He looked at the VIP stands where Mito Uzumaki sat with a calm smile.
If Tobirama hadn't been such a paranoid bastard... maybe Hashirama and I would be sitting there right now, Madara mused. We'd be arguing over whose grandson was faster while eating dango.
"Hmph. Meaningless sentiment," Madara grunted, shaking the thoughts away. "My world will be a thousand times better than this. I will prove to Hashirama that I was the one who won."
"Lord Madara!" a Zetsu clone asked, picking its nose. "The children are so strong! Won't they ruin the plan one day?"
"Strong? They're ants playing in the mud," Madara scoffed. "Let them have their 'warmth.' The more they love their village, the harder they will fall when I show them the truth. Hell is the only reality of this world."
The Zetsu nodded, though its simple brain was elsewhere. "Right. But Lord Madara... if you live in a dream world, do you still have to poop? What does poop feel like in a Genjutsu?"
Madara's fist tightened around his grilling tongs. I'm going to kill every last one of these things the second my plan is complete.
The Arena Floor.
The battle had reached a fever pitch. The crowd was on their feet, electrified by the kids' coordination.
But the "Azure Dragon Brotherhood" was starting to panic.
By their calculations, Minato should have been exhausted. But the man was a ghost. He used the terrain with a predatory grace, occasionally diving into their ranks to scatter their formations, knocking out students with a single, gentle tap to the neck before vanishing again.
"He's picking us off!" Asuma shouted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "We're losing numbers!"
"Water Style group! Lock the floor! Now!" Kakashi commanded.
神月出雲 (Izumo Kamizuki) and several other students wove signs in unison.
"Water Style: Starch Syrup Capturing Field!"
A thick, viscous layer of chakra-infused liquid flooded the arena floor. If Minato's feet touched it, he'd be glued to the spot.
"Clever," Minato noted, standing atop a stone pillar.
"But I'm afraid I have to cut the seminar short. I have a dinner date with Kushina."
Minato reached into his pouch and pulled out a massive handful of custom three-pronged kunai. He threw them with a violent, sweeping motion, scattering them like rain across the entire field.
Asuma and Kakashi froze. He missed? He didn't aim at anyone!
"Wait... those kunai have seals on them," Kakashi whispered, his blood turning to ice. "Asuma! Run!"
Minato reached into his vest and pulled out a tube of... Lipstick?
"What is he doing?" Obito blinked from the floor. "Is he putting on makeup?"
Minato slowly uncapped the lipstick, clicking it until the red wax emerged. He held it like a dagger.
"Uzumaki Style - Shadow Heartbreak - Crimson Petal Mark!" Minato shouted, the name of the jutsu as long and ridiculous as he could possibly make it.
FLASH!
A golden light erupted, forming a jagged, golden circuit that spanned the entire arena.
In a fraction of a second, Minato vanished.
He didn't just teleport once. He teleported fifty times. He was a streak of lightning bouncing between the anchors.
FLIP. CLICK. STAMP.
Before anyone could blink, the golden light faded. Minato was standing back on his stone pillar, calmly recapping the lipstick and tucking it into his pocket.
The arena went deathly silent.
Asuma reached up to his neck, feeling a strange waxy sensation. He looked at his fingers. Bright red lipstick.
He looked around. Every single member of the Brotherhood—from Kakashi to the support staff—had a perfect, red heart stamped onto their jugular.
If that lipstick had been a kunai, fifty children would be dead.
The "God of Shinobi" in the VIP stands let out a boisterous laugh, standing up to lead the ovation.
"The Azure Dragon Study Group has a nice ring to it, don't you think, Danzo?"
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