As the instructor's voice echoed across the training ground, Obito's eyes narrowed almost instinctively.
He looked at the chunin with suspicion.
'Has it… really been fixed?'
He wasn't being paranoid. Asuma's words from earlier that morning were still fresh in his memory.
But logic told him that it shouldn't be the case. At least Asuma didn't have that ability. Even if he was the Hokage's son, he was still just a child. Pulling strings among a few classmates was one thing, but a chunin instructor was a comoltely different matter.
They wouldn't gain anything from currying favor with a child, even if it was the Hokage's son. Worse, getting caught doing so could end their career.
As Obito's gaze shifted back to Asuma, he became even more convinced of his guess.
Asuma's current expression wasn't that of someone whose arrangements had succeeded. If anything, he looked just as surprised by the sudden pairing as Obito was, his brows knitted into a frown.
That left only one possibility.
Someone must have pulled the strings behind the scenes, and Obito already had a pretty good idea who that "someone" might be.
'Am I being used as a tool to educate him?' Obito's frown deepened.
Even if part of him wouldn't have minded teaching Asuma a lesson for his behavior, the feeling of being set up like this left a bitter taste in his mouth.
After a brief pause, Obito stepped forward and entered the ring. Asuma followed a moment later.
The moment their eyes met, Asuma shot him a resentful glare, his jaw tightening. But unlike usual, he didn't spout any taunts or insults. Instead, he turned toward the instructor.
"Sensei," Asuma asked, his voice tinged with anticipation, "may I use ninjutsu in the sparring match?"
The chūnin instructor frowned at his words. The instructions he had received that morning surfaced in his mind, and his first impulse was to immediately refuse as allowing the use of ninjutsu might make the outcome unpredictable.
However, refusing outright would also mean violating Academy regulations.
Although the monthly assessment was meant to evaluate only what had been taught during the past month—and ninjutsu was not part of the first-year curriculum—there was an exception, one specifically created for students from ninja clans.
As long as both participants consented, limited ninjutsu could be used during sparring matches.
Asuma was the first student in this batch to invoke that clause.
The instructor's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked briefly toward the administrative building before returning to the ring.
After a long moment, he gave a slow nod. "I can allow ninjutsu," he said, "but… only the Three Body Techniques. Anything beyond that will result in immediate disqualification."
He paused, then added, "This is, of course, conditional. Obito has the right to refuse."
In the end, he chose to place the decision directly in Obito's hands.
Let the boy decide for himself.
Asuma's eyes lit up, his familiar, confident grin returning to his face.
Though he was reluctant to admit it, the confrontation earlier that morning had forced him to reassess Obito. At the very least, in terms of pure taijutsu, Asuma was no longer certain he could defeat him.
That was precisely why he wanted this.
Both of them were clan-born shinobi, but the gap in their status was enormous. Asuma had long since mastered the Three Body Techniques and had even used them in sparring sessions against his clan shinobi.
Obito, on the other hand—
An Uchiha, yes. But from what Asuma had heard, his status within the clan was insignificant. Someone like him shouldn't have been given any advanced training in ninjutsu.
That was Asuma's advantage. With ninjutsu permitted, he could tip the fight decisively in his favor.
And beyond that—
Asuma hated Obito. He couldn't precisely describe how that feeling had come about. Perhaps it was because Obito had things that he didn't.
He had friends—genuine friends who cared about him. Not followers or sycophants who fawned over him just because of who his father was.
He hated how Obito went from being dead last to getting praised by the instructors.
He just defeated a few civilian-born students. What was so special about that? He could do it too.
Yet whenever he performed well, it was brushed aside as expected.
Of course he could do it. He was the Hokage's son.
Asuma hated it. He hated being reduced to that damned title!
And somewhere along the way, that hatred had twisted into resentment toward Obito.
"Obito," the instructor said, turning to him, "do you agree?"
Obito met Asuma's gaze, who was looking at him provocatively, as if daring him to accept.
Slowly, Obito's lips curled into a smile.
How could he not understand what Asuma was trying to do? It was pity. He was bound to be disappointed.
"It's fine, sensei," Obito said calmly. "I also know the Three Body Techniques."
The chunin instructor studied him for a moment, clearly weighing whether the boy was bluffing. But seeing his confident expression, he nodded.
"Very well. Form the Seal of Confrontation."
Both boys stepped forward and extended their fingers.
The students formed a wide circle around the ring, buzzing with excitement—especially the civilian students, many of whom had never seen ninjutsu used in a real spar.
"All right. Begin!"
Asuma moved the instant the instructor's voice fell.
His hands slid into his sleeves. He drew out three shuriken and threw them in rapid succession, each aiming at Obito from different angles.
Obito saw the first coming toward his face and tilted his head. The blade sliced past his ear. He sidestepped the second, but the third clipped his sleeve, tearing the fabric as it passed.
Before his feet had even fully settled, another shuriken flew toward his face. As Obito turned his head to dodge it, he caught movement on his right.
Asuma had suddenly appeared there!
Devoid of any expression, he lunged in. His fist was pulled back, aiming a punch straight at Obito's ribs.
Being attacked from two sides simultaneously, Obito remained unusually calm.
His hand snapped to his hip, a kunai flashing into his grip as he easily deflected the incoming shuriken.
Then, instead of moving to avoid the punch, he pivoted to his left, treating the fist as if it were invisible, and swung his kunai in a clean arc.
Clang!
A sharp clang rang out as Asuma's real body appeared to Obito's left, his own kunai barely raised in time to block the strike aimed at his neck.
For a brief moment, they were face to face.
Asuma's eyes were as wide as saucers, utterly disbelieved and shocked.
"You really think," Obito said flatly, pressing forward, "such an unskilled cloning technique can fool me?"
In fact, it wasn't half bad. But Obito's own cloning technique was already at an intermediate level. To him, its flaws were as clear as day.
How could the usually expressive Asuma suddenly show no expression during a spar—especially against Obito, whom he despised so dearly?
What surprised Obito was the tactic he used. First diverting his attention with a wave of shuriken, then deliberately exposing a clone disguised as the real body while the real one silently approached from another direction.
It was a solid combat tactic. Whoever taught Asuma knew what they were doing.
Obito made a mental note to try it on Kakashi during their next sparring session. Who knows? it might work. A man could dream.
Obito twisted his wrist and forced Asuma's kunai aside. Then, before he could recover, Obito stepped in close, sweeping his leg low.
Asuma stumbled as his foot was knocked out from under him. Before he could recover, a kick slammed into his midsection.
He was thrown backward, hitting the ground hard. A cloud of dust rose as he slid several feet before stopping.
For a moment, he lay still. Then a sharp gasp escaped his mouth. He tried to push himself up but failed.
Obito advanced slowly, eyes fixed on him.
Eventually, Asuma managed to push himself onto one knee, coughing constantly. A streak of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.
But Obito was already there, not giving him any time to catch his breath.
A heavy punch connected with his cheek!
The impact snapped Asuma's head to the side. He cried out, something white clattering onto the dirt beside him.
It was a tooth.
A collective gasp rippled through the training ground.
Asuma collapsed onto his side, coughing even harder now. His hands scraped weakly at the ground as he struggled to draw breath.
Just as Obito drew his arm back to continue, a hand caught his wrist.
"That's enough." The instructor stepped between them, one arm outstretched, his voice stern.
Obito stopped instantly.
Asuma lay on the ground, shaking, blood pooling beneath his mouth. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing uneven. The instructor knelt beside him, checking his condition, then looked up seriously.
He ordered everyone to stay where they were and immediately took Asuma toward the infirmary.
Obito remained where he stood. The torn edge of his sleeve fluttered in the breeze.