The tension between Hyūga Hiroshi and Uchiha Kenshiro was almost suffocating. The others had instinctively stepped back, leaving the two prodigies standing alone in the clearing.
Byakugan versus Sharingan.
Minato pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "We just finished a battle. Do we really need another one?"
Kushina leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "At this point? Might as well let them get it out of their system."
Nawaki chuckled. "This is gonna be fun."
Hiroshi's feet shifted subtly, settling into the Hyūga's Gentle Fist stance. His Byakugan flared, veins pulsating around his temples as his chakra surged in precise, controlled bursts.
Kenshiro merely tilted his head, his Sharingan spinning, analyzing every slight adjustment in Hiroshi's posture.
For a brief moment, the clearing was silent.
Then—they vanished.
First Exchange: Precision vs. Prediction
A blur of white and black collided in the center of the battlefield.
Hiroshi's Gentle Fist came like a storm, his strikes aimed directly at Kenshiro's chakra points.
But Kenshiro was faster than expected. His Sharingan traced every movement, his body shifting just enough to evade each strike. He twisted mid-air, a kunai flashing in his grip as he aimed for Hiroshi's ribs.
Hiroshi reacted instantly, twisting his wrist and sending a burst of chakra through his palm. The kunai was knocked aside, embedding itself into a nearby tree with a sharp thunk.
They landed on opposite sides, not a single hit landed.
Kenshiro smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Not bad."
Hiroshi's voice was measured, calm. "You haven't seen anything yet."
Breaking the Pattern
The second exchange was faster.
Hiroshi's movements became almost unreadable, his attacks coming from unpredictable angles.
Kenshiro, however, had already adapted.
Instead of retreating, he stepped into Hiroshi's range.
His hand flashed forward, intercepting Hiroshi's wrist at the exact moment of impact. The counter disrupted Hiroshi's attack just slightly—but in a battle like this, 'slightly' was everything.
A shift in balance. A shift in momentum.
And now Kenshiro was in control.
Hiroshi narrowed his eyes. Clever.
But he was done playing.
Power Meets Precision
Hiroshi stopped holding back.
A surge of chakra exploded around him as his Byakugan fully locked onto Kenshiro's chakra network.
Kenshiro responded in kind. His Sharingan spun so fast it almost appeared alive.
Then—they moved.
Hiroshi struck first, his palm streaking toward Kenshiro's chest.
Kenshiro twisted, his own counter coming a fraction of a second later.
Palm met fist—chakra clashing in the space between them.
For a moment, they were perfectly matched.
Then—
"Enough."
A Voice of Authority
A single word—spoken with absolute authority.
Both fighters froze.
Minato had stepped between them, his usual gentle presence carrying an edge of finality. His blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked between the two prodigies.
"We're on a mission," he said, voice firm but calm. "This fight? It's over."
Hiroshi exhaled slowly, lowering his hands. "Fine."
Kenshiro scoffed, his Sharingan fading as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Tch. I was just getting started."
Kushina smirked, pushing off the tree. "Took you long enough, Minato."
Minato smiled faintly, but there was an unmistakable glint of warning in his gaze. "We've wasted enough time. Let's move."
A Rivalry Set in Stone
As they continued their journey, Hiroshi and Kenshiro exchanged one last glance.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Their fight may have been interrupted, but something had shifted between them.
A rivalry had been born.
One that neither would ever back down from.
Deep Within the Shadows
Far away from the battlefield, in a place hidden from the world, two figures stood in an ancient, dimly lit chamber.
One sat upon a stone throne, his presence commanding and unnatural. White hair, aged yet regal, cascaded down his back, framing a face marked with deep lines of wisdom—and battle. His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan gleamed ominously, reflecting the faint glow of chakra that pulsed through the room.
Behind him, a massive wired statue loomed, white tubes connected to its surface, pulsing with an eerie light.
On the opposite side of the chamber, a young man stood—his appearance almost divine.
He was handsome, with pristine white hair and a calm, almost ethereal demeanor. His Byakugan shimmered for a brief moment before shifting—morphing into the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.
His white robes were unblemished, adorned with nine black magatama patterns across his collar, a stark contrast to the throne-bound elder before him.
The two figures studied one another in silence.
Then, the young man spoke—his voice smooth, unwavering.
"It's almost time."
The elder's gaze remained unreadable, but the weight of his presence was undeniable.
"Then let the world prepare."
To Be Continued…