358-I’m glad we could entertain

The sun dipped lower in the horizon, bathing the clearing in a soft orange glow that lent the scene an almost ethereal quality. Opposite Renjiro, Miwa crouched lower, her movements subtle yet deliberate. The faint sheen of sweat on her brow glistened as her Sharingan spun with hypnotic intensity.

Every shift of his weight, every twitch of his fingers, was captured in her gaze. Her dark hair framed her sharp features, giving her a predatory edge, while the kunai in her hands glinted with a deadly promise.

Renjiro, unfazed by the intensity of her glare, maintained his calm demeanour. His grip on his bō tightened imperceptibly as he shifted his stance, distributing his weight evenly. The staff felt like an extension of himself, a partner in the intricate dance that was about to resume.

He rolled his shoulders back, allowing the tension in his muscles to dissipate momentarily before snapping into a ready position. The staff cut through the air in a lazy arc, emitting a faint whoosh that seemed to echo in the charged silence.

"You look like you're overthinking," he teased, his voice carrying a faint edge of mockery. "Not that it'll help much."

Miwa smirked in response, her lips curling into a sly expression. "You talk a lot for someone who's about to lose." Her tone was light but laced with the kind of confidence only an Uchiha could muster. Then, without warning, she sprang forward, her form a blur of motion.

"Shink!"

The force of her kunai slicing through the air was almost drowned out by the rush of wind as she closed the distance.

"Crack!"

Renjiro sidestepped smoothly, the bō snapping upward to intercept her strike.

"Crack!"

The impact reverberated through the clearing, scattering fallen leaves and sending a faint vibration up Renjiro's arms. Miwa twisted mid-air, her movements as fluid as water, and aimed a second strike toward his midsection. Renjiro spun the staff in a controlled arc, deflecting the attack with practised ease.

The clash of kunai against wood and the dull thuds of feet hitting the ground created a rhythm that matched the intensity of their duel. Renjiro's strikes were deliberate and powerful, his bō carving wide arcs through the air.

"Swish!"

Each swing seemed designed to overwhelm, forcing Miwa to constantly pivot and evade. Her speed and agility, however, allowed her to dance just beyond the reach of his weapon, her movements a blur that seemed almost too fast to follow.

"You're not bad," Renjiro admitted, his voice steady despite the exertion. He launched a sweeping strike aimed at her legs, forcing her to leap backwards.

"But speed isn't everything."

Miwa's eyes narrowed, the tomoes in her Sharingan spinning faster as she calculated her next move.

 "Let's test that theory."

She darted forward again, feinting left before spinning to the right, her kunai aimed at his exposed side. Her Sharingan allowed her to anticipate his counters, her strikes landing with almost surgical precision against his defences.

But Renjiro wasn't just relying on physical skill. His own Sharingan—more evolved since he had the Mangekyo—allowed him to predict her movements, matching her speed and precision with a level of awareness that was unnerving.

Every feint, every subtle shift in her stance, was countered with a strike or parry that seemed almost preordained.

Miwa leapt back, her breath coming in short bursts. "You're reading my moves," she said, suspicion creeping into her voice. Her gaze sharpened, as if she were trying to peer into his soul. "How are you doing that?"

Renjiro's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Maybe I'm just better than you thought," he replied, his tone maddeningly nonchalant. He spun the bō in his hands, the motion as smooth as water flowing over rocks, and took a step forward. "Or maybe you're just too predictable."

Her eyes flashed with irritation at his taunt, and she straightened, adjusting her grip on her kunai. "Let's see if you can keep up with this."

This time, Miwa used her Sharingan to cast a subtle genjutsu, creating illusory clones of herself that moved in perfect synchronization. They darted toward Renjiro from multiple angles, kunai gleaming in the dimming light.

For a moment, it seemed as though she had the upper hand.

But Renjiro didn't falter. His Sharingan pierced through the illusion, revealing her true position. With a flick of his wrist, he spun the bō and struck outward, dispersing the clones and blocking her real attack in a single fluid motion. The kunai glanced off the wood with a sharp clang, and Miwa's eyes widened in surprise.

"Nice try," he said, his tone almost mocking. "But I'm not so easily fooled."

Miwa leapt back again, frustration flickering across her face. Her mind raced as she reevaluated her strategy. Renjiro wasn't just strong—he was annoyingly perceptive. She had to admit, even if grudgingly, that he was proving to be a far more formidable opponent than she had anticipated.

The spar escalated, their movements becoming faster and more intense. Renjiro's bō whistled through the air with every strike, each swing aimed with pinpoint accuracy.

Miwa responded with ingenuity, using her kunai to deflect his blows and create openings for counterattacks. At one point, she activated an explosive tag, using the resulting smoke to obscure her movements.

Renjiro countered by spinning his staff in a rapid motion, creating a gust of wind that cleared the smoke in an instant. "You'll have to do better than that," he said, his voice steady despite the exertion.

Miwa smirked, though she was visibly winded. "Don't worry," she replied, adjusting her stance. "I've got plenty more tricks up my sleeve."

But as the minutes dragged on, it became clear that neither fighter was willing to go all out. Renjiro held back, suspecting that Miwa was doing the same. Her movements, while precise and deadly, lacked the full force of someone aiming to win at any cost. Similarly, Renjiro refrained from using any of the more devastating techniques in his arsenal.

Finally, they broke apart, both breathing heavily. Miwa rested her hands on her knees, her Sharingan fading back to its normal dark hue. "Call it a draw?" she asked, her tone light despite the exhaustion in her voice.

Renjiro leaned on his staff, a grin tugging at his lips. "Fine by me. But next time, don't hold back so much."

Miwa rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smile on her lips. "I could say the same to you."

Before their banter could continue, a slow clap interrupted the moment. . "That was quite the show," A voice said, "You two are more evenly matched than I expected."

The tension in the clearing shifted the moment Daichi revealed himself, his presence commanding attention as if the surrounding air had suddenly thickened.

'How long was he there? I didn't even sense him!'

Renjiro thought as both he and Miwa exchanged brief glances before turning to face him fully. Despite the earlier intensity of their spar, both instinctively straightened, their postures subconsciously reflecting the respect due to the Uchiha clan head.

"Lord Daichi," Renjiro greeted politely, inclining his head slightly. His tone was measured but carried a hint of curiosity. It wasn't every day that someone as prominent as Daichi would appear before them.

"I wasn't expecting an audience."

Miwa followed suit, bowing her head with a polite "Daichi-sama," though her sharp gaze betrayed her growing curiosity. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her Sharingan now dormant but her mind working at full speed.

What could have brought the Uchiha clan head to this remote training ground? And why did he look so amused?

Daichi's lips quirked upward in a faint smile, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and calculating. "I couldn't resist," he admitted, his tone light. "Watching two talented shinobi test their mettle is always a treat. And you two didn't disappoint."

Miwa's expression softened into a small, almost sheepish smile at the compliment, but her narrowed eyes flicked between Renjiro and Daichi, her thoughts swirling. Daichi didn't seem like the type to hand out compliments without reason, and she couldn't help but wonder if there was more behind his words.

Renjiro, however, remained cautious. His grip on his bō had loosened, but the staff still rested lightly in his hands, ready to spring into action if needed. "I'm glad we could entertain," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "But I get the sense you didn't come all this way just for that."

Daichi chuckled softly, the sound low and measured. "You're perceptive, as always, Renjiro." His gaze shifted to Miwa, who stiffened slightly under his scrutiny. "If you don't mind, Miwa, I'd like to have a word with Renjiro. Alone."

The request hung in the air, weighted by the subtle authority in Daichi's tone. Miwa's brow furrowed, and for a moment, her expression was a mixture of concern and suspicion. Why would Daichi need to speak to Renjiro privately? Was there something serious happening within the clan? Or perhaps it had to do with Renjiro's recent missions?

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