Although Akira had experienced combat simulations through Might Guy's memories, this marked the first true test of his mettle in a life-and-death battle. Gone were the days of casual sparring with villagers; this was the real thing. Strangely, he wasn't nervous—instead, an electric thrill surged through him. This was it. This was the moment he had trained for, sacrificed sleep for, bled for.
This time, he would test the results of his rigorous training against enemies who truly meant to kill him. And deep inside, a part of him welcomed it.
Even if the worst happened, Akira had an ace up his sleeve. With the Mangekyo Sharingan and Susanoo in his arsenal, he was confident that he could flatten every last one of them—if it came to that. But before it did, he wanted to test himself the hard way, the real way.
His first priority was clear: divide and conquer. Taking on eight Sand shinobi at once, especially with two Jonin among them, was sheer suicide. He needed to split them up.
Akira scanned their formation with sharpened senses, identifying the one with the weakest chakra signature—likely a Genin. Better yet, this one was furthest from the two Jonin, making him the easiest point to break through.
He retrieved two smoke bombs from his pouch and dropped them at his feet. In a loud bang, a thick veil of smoke engulfed him.
The Sand ninjas tensed. Not knowing what attack would come through the smoke, they scattered into defensive positions. The two Jonin responded quickly, retreating and readying their weapons for any sign of movement.
But the Genin, Akira's chosen target, flinched in surprise. Confused and slow to respond, he shielded his eyes instinctively—just long enough.
In a flash of lightning, Akira dashed past him using the Speed Force, leaving behind only a blur. The Genin stumbled, realizing too late that Akira wasn't attacking—he was escaping.
"He's running! After him!" barked one of the Jonin.
Akira darted ahead and quickly formed three shadow clones. Four Akiras now split in different directions, each moving at high speed, shimmering with lightning.
Ideally, he would have made eight clones, one for each pursuer. But speed consumed chakra, and he needed every bit of it for the real fight. More clones meant thinner chakra distribution, and if they couldn't use the Speed Force, they'd be useless.
Even so, his maneuver paid off. The Sand ninjas split into four pairs—two Jonin-led groups and two Chunin pairs—chasing after the respective Akiras.
Back in the real world, Akira smirked. His plan had worked. They had taken the bait and were now scattered.
"They're too confident," he muttered. "They think two against one is enough to kill me."
Soon, two Chunin unknowingly ended up pursuing Akira's real body. When the distance was enough, Akira slowed down intentionally.
To the Chunin, it looked like their prey had exhausted his chakra. Their eyes lit up with greed. The bounty on Akira was enormous. Killing him would set them up for life.
Both raced forward to be the first to strike.
One unleashed a Wind Release: Breakthrough, sending a sharp gust of wind at Akira. The other followed with a spray of poisoned senbon.
But Akira was ready.
Electric light sparked across his body as he tilted away from the senbon with impossible precision. Then, forming hand signs in rapid succession, he exhaled.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
A torrent of flame burst from his mouth, colliding mid-air with the Wind Release. Instead of canceling each other out, the wind amplified the fire, feeding it until it roared with destructive force.
The first Chunin had no time to react. His body slowed from just casting ninjutsu, he stood frozen as the fireball consumed him.
A scream pierced the air—a sound of terror and disbelief—as flames engulfed him. When the fire died, he was a smoldering corpse on the ground, his body charred and barely recognizable.
The second Chunin staggered back, his eyes wide. He had underestimated Akira—gravely. In that instant, the image of a child vanished. What stood before him now was a monster in the shape of a boy.
He fumbled for his signal flare, hoping to summon the Jonin, but he was too late.
Akira's body surged forward, cloaked in lightning. This time, his speed was even greater—deadlier.
Before the flare could rise, Akira was upon him. A single chakra-infused punch, blending the monstrous force of Tsunade's Super Strength with the raw momentum of the Speed Force, struck the Chunin in the chest.
The impact crushed bone, collapsed his ribcage, and launched him backward over ten meters.
He hit the ground with a thud and didn't get back up.
Akira stood over their bodies, exhaling calmly. Not a scratch on him. He had lured them, baited them, and executed them with surgical precision.
This was his first real battle. And he had won.
But he knew it was far from over. There were still six more enemies, and at least two of them were Jonin.
Akira straightened up, lightning still dancing across his frame, eyes glowing with anticipation.
"Next."
After eliminating the downed enemy, Akira wordlessly drew a kunai and ended the suffering of the Sand shinobi who had been scorched by his Great Fireball Technique but was still clinging to life. The motion was swift, clinical—a mercy in war's cruel arithmetic.
In just one exchange, two Chunin of Sunagakure had fallen to his hand.
Akira looked at the cratered earth and the sand still sizzling from the fire jutsu. His gaze narrowed in contemplation. That strike... that devastating blow he had delivered using the momentum of the Speed Force merged with raw strength had exceeded even his expectations.
"Speed Force Super Strength Fist," he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "It needs a better name."
Even at his current age and stage of development, the technique had packed enough power to rival the monstrous strength of Tsunade. It thrilled and humbled him all at once. A new door was opening, and he could feel its weight and possibility.
But there was no time to marvel for long.
The plan was to eliminate the four Chunin first—the weaker links—and then turn his full focus on the two Jonin and their Genin subordinates. Two Chunin had been dealt with. Now his eyes, lit by the gleam of the Sharingan, locked onto the remaining two.
His shadow clones were already engaging them, keeping them busy. Akira knew the clones could stall, but he couldn't rely on them for precision or finishers. A lucky hit could dispel them instantly, and the illusion of his scattered presence would shatter.
Akira signaled his clones with a chakra pulse. The one nearest the remaining Chunin adjusted immediately, decreasing its speed to create the illusion of faltering stamina.
The bait was set.
Akira, sensing the clone's chakra signature and the two enemies closing in, activated his Flying Thunder God Technique. Though still imperfect, it was enough to vault across the battlefield to where the clone had marked the ground.
The clone met the gaze of its pursuers, flashing the same crooked smile as the original. Then, forming a single hand seal, it dispelled itself.
In its place, Akira appeared.
The two Sand Chunin had barely a second to register the shift before the first was struck with a Speed Force Super Strength Fist to the spine. The blow launched him forward in a crimson arc, blood and shattered bone painting the air.
The second barely turned before Akira's boot met his skull—a blindingly fast kick laced with chakra. The Heavenly Foot of Pain, refined by speed, met the man's temple with such force that his head exploded like a watermelon under a hammer. His body crumpled mid-air and crashed beside his comrade's.
Akira exhaled slowly, almost calmly. No flicker of emotion crossed his face. Death was part of this game. Still, he felt a twinge of awe at the new synergy he was discovering within himself.
"Speed Force Rocket Leg... yeah, that works."
With the four Chunin gone, the battlefield had narrowed. Only the two Jonin and their Genin remained.
The clone still being pursued sensed the death of another pair. That meant the main body was close. It slowed its pace again, letting its chakra signature dip to bait the final Jonin.
But this Jonin was no fool.
Unlike his fallen comrades, he had the instincts of a seasoned predator. He felt something was off. Akira's slowing shadow clone, the odd pattern in chakra fluctuations—it all stank of misdirection.
Akira himself emerged behind them in a shimmer of light and static. Lightning crackled over his frame as he landed silently, already prepared to strike. But the Jonin had sensed it.
The moment Akira appeared, the Jonin stopped his attack on the clone and called back his Genin. The youth stumbled, unprepared, but obeyed.
Now, Akira stood with his clone in front, and the Jonin and Genin behind—a human pincer.
So the ambush had failed. No matter. Akira's eyes blazed with anticipation. If he couldn't assassinate this Jonin from behind, then he would face him head-on.
The lightning that sheathed his body pulsed faster, arcing like live wire across his skin.
The Sand Jonin tensed. He wasn't a close-range fighter and didn't intend to let Akira use that insane speed to his advantage. With practiced efficiency, he inhaled and released a storm of chakra-laced wind.
"Wind Release: Sand Dust Great Breakthrough!"
A maelstrom burst forth, whipping the battlefield into a storm of dust, gravel, and cutting wind. It wasn't just a gale—the technique stirred up the terrain itself, weaponizing the earth.
Akira's Sharingan caught the movement clearly, saw the wave of pressure and debris rolling toward him. His chakra surged as he formed hand seals.
"Earth Release: Earth Flow Wall!"
The wall burst from the ground, high and thick. But Akira knew his Earth Release was crude, raw, still being refined. It cracked under the onslaught. Sand and wind broke through, stinging his skin, but the worst of it was stopped.
He stepped through the remnants, eyes still glowing. His lips curled into a challenging smile.
"You're better than the rest," he said softly. "Let's see how long you last."
Elsewhere, the second Jonin—the one with the highest chakra Akira had sensed from the beginning—noticed something was wrong.
The clone he chased was... stalling. Slowing, posturing. And worst of all, the chakra signature from the others was vanishing one by one.
He narrowed his eyes.
This Uchiha child—this Akira of Konoha—was not merely a medic.
He was death incarnate, moving faster than sound and wielding power far beyond what his age should allow.
The Jonin adjusted his stance. This would no longer be a pursuit.
It was war.