Shadow of Nara [100]

The electronic scoreboard flickered before settling on two names, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the arena. For the genin, it was a matchup between two top rivals—competitors who, even before the exam began, had already earned reputations within the village. For the jōnin watching above, it was an opportunity: a chance to observe the combat instincts and decision-making of two of the most promising young shinobi in Konoha, perhaps to offer guidance once the dust had settled.

It wasn't just anticipation that filled the air—it was respect. Following the brutal and emotionally charged match between Rock Lee and Gaara, this final battle of the preliminaries promised something different. It wasn't about overwhelming force or berserker taijutsu. This was a battle between precision and strategy.

Neji Hyūga and Shikamaru Nara.

As Hayate Gekkō called for the match to begin, the two young shinobi walked calmly from opposite staircases to meet in the center of the arena. Their pace was unhurried, their expressions calm—unflinching. This alone earned the silent approval of many veteran shinobi. It was a mark of mental discipline rarely seen in those so young.

Both of them had been the subject of considerable hype before the exams. Neji, labeled the genius of the Hyūga clan. Shikamaru, the brilliant tactician whispered about in jōnin circles. Their names had been circulating throughout Konoha for weeks now, fueling expectations, envy, and pressure.

Most genin would crumble under such a spotlight, letting arrogance creep in—or worse, faltering under the weight of it all.

And yet, here they were. Steady. Focused. Unmoved even after witnessing Rock Lee and Gaara's terrifying power. Where others might have been rattled or rushed to reclaim the spotlight, Neji and Shikamaru instead displayed the clearest sign of strength:

Composure.

In the world of shinobi, those who lose control of their emotions lose control of the battlefield. The best never let pride or panic dictate their moves. It's in the calm before the clash that the truest professionals show themselves.

Neji and Shikamaru took their places, flanking Hayate on either side. At his cue, they both gave a slight nod and shifted into their respective fighting stances.

Neji moved fluidly into the Hyūga clan's signature Gentle Fist stance—knees slightly bent, body angled at 45 degrees. One hand extended forward, the other coiled at his waist like a serpent waiting to strike. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were anything but.

Shikamaru's stance was more subtle. He turned his body sideways to minimize his target profile, lowering his center of gravity. His right hand hovered near the hilt of a blade strapped at his waist—Kagehisa, his custom ninjato. His left hand extended loosely in front of him, appearing casual, but carefully placed to coordinate his momentum when charging. Every inch of his posture had been measured for balance and response. A stance born not of brute strength, but refined efficiency.

Even Hayate raised an eyebrow, sensing the quiet tension between them. These weren't hot-blooded brawlers. They were hunters—calculating and cold.

With a quick motion, Hayate raised his hand.

"Begin!"

He vanished from between them with a quick leap, clearing the field.

"Swish!"

Even before the echo of Hayate's voice had faded, Shikamaru was in motion.

In one fluid movement, he drew his blade and dashed forward with incredible speed—like a tightly coiled spring finally released. The blade gleamed, sweeping toward Neji in a low arc, aimed to force him on the defensive.

It wasn't reckless. Shikamaru had been holding that tension in his stance since he stepped into the ring. The strike came faster than expected, boosted by the deliberate coil-and-release of his entire posture.

Neji's expression didn't change. But even he was surprised by the speed. Still, he had been raised with the Hyūga's Byakugan—his insight was second to none.

He chose not to block the attack.

Instead, Neji retreated smoothly, keeping his footing precise. He timed his movement to match the waning momentum of Shikamaru's slash, avoiding it by mere inches. The blade sliced through empty air.

Shikamaru's eyes narrowed. He wasn't done.

Without hesitation, he snapped his left hand forward, bracing his right wrist—the hilt still clutched—and abruptly converted the slash into a stabbing thrust. His body leaned forward into a forward lunge. The transition was seamless.

A failed attack was not a failure—it was bait.

This was what Shikamaru excelled at: anticipating how his opponent would react, and embedding secondary moves into his primary actions.

From behind, Asuma watched with a small smile. It was a technique he had drilled into Shikamaru again and again: how to string together deceptive attacks by chaining reflexive counters, practicing the transition until it was muscle memory.

But Neji was no amateur.

Had it been anyone else—perhaps someone like Lee or Kiba—the follow-up strike would've landed cleanly. But Neji's stance, rooted in Gentle Fist, emphasized balance above all else. Even while dodging, his center of gravity remained stable, his legs spread just enough to pivot and redirect.

The moment Shikamaru lunged, Neji twisted his torso just enough to let the blade sail past him.

And then, in the same breath, he stepped in.

His right palm, glowing with focused chakra, drove toward Shikamaru's exposed abdomen—aiming for his chakra points.

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