Shadow of Nara [101]

The human body is a delicate system. While the lower abdomen may not seem critical on the surface, it houses the intestines and vital tissue. A clean strike to this area wouldn't be fatal outright, but the damage would still be severe. Neji Hyūga wasn't holding back. His palm strike wasn't just a blow—it was a calculated attempt to cripple.

But then again, Shikamaru Nara had no room to talk. His first attack had also been laced with lethal intent. His custom ninjato, Kagehisa, wasn't a toy—it was a killing weapon forged to exploit precision over brute force. A single misstep from Neji and the blade could've easily pierced his flesh. Even if it didn't hit a vital point, without immediate medical attention, bleeding alone could be deadly.

They were comrades. Both part of Konoha's new generation. Both regarded as future pillars of the village. But now, they stood as opponents. In this moment, friendship meant nothing. Hesitation would only lead to death—or defeat, which in a shinobi's world, could mean the same thing.

In the arena, mercy was a luxury. It wasn't about wanting to win—it was about needing to. To falter, to pull punches, or to second-guess one's next move was not noble. It was stupid.

Only amateurs flinched in battle. Only fools fought with half a heart.

Among all the matches so far in the preliminary rounds, only Ino and Sakura's fight had seen any hesitation—and that was because of their long-standing friendship and emotional baggage. Every other combatant had gone all out, seeking victory first and foremost. Even if they had no intent to kill, their actions made it clear: they'd do whatever it took to win.

That was the difference between civilians and shinobi.

Shikamaru had no illusions about that.

As Neji's palm surged forward, chakra swirling at the tips of his fingers, Shikamaru's expression sharpened. He stopped his forward momentum and instantly shifted his balance.

His left foot exploded with chakra, propelling him sideways while his right leg absorbed the shift in weight. With a sudden burst, he twisted out of range, landing with grace and stability several meters away—his blade now held in a reverse grip.

Neji didn't pursue. He exhaled calmly, returned to his Gentle Fist stance, and locked eyes with Shikamaru.

The two prodigies had gone from statues to killers in an instant, exploding into action and separating just as quickly. Their exchange had lasted no more than a handful of heartbeats, yet it told volumes. No trash talk. No feeling-out phase. Just instinct and skill.

This was what a real fight between shinobi looked like.

There were no dramatic monologues or emotional breakdowns mid-battle. No slow-motion speeches or dramatic power-ups. Just sharp intent, honed skill, and the will to strike first—or die trying.

"Now this is a match worth watching."

Kakashi Hatake exhaled softly from the observation deck above, his one visible eye narrowed in concentration. The earlier clashes had their moments—Rock Lee's devastating display of Eight Gates, Gaara's monstrous defense—but this... this was different.

There was a tension here. A quiet deadliness. Even Shikamaru's opening strike had carried with it the weight of real killing intent. It wasn't for show. And it caught the attention of more than just Kakashi.

The veteran jōnin watching from the gallery were impressed.

Some recalled rumors of Shikamaru's earlier missions—how he'd gone toe-to-toe with the infamous "Demon of the Mist," Zabuza Momochi, and survived. That experience had clearly shaped him. The way he moved. The way he aimed. He wasn't just fighting—he was hunting.

Shikamaru wasn't trying to prove anything. He wasn't concerned about reputation or glory. He was doing what he needed to do: attack with precision and press the psychological advantage.

Strike hard. Strike fast. Let your opponent feel the weight of your intent.

It was a lesson Zabuza had taught him without words, and Shikamaru had never forgotten it.

"So this is the genius who stood shoulder to shoulder with Neji..."

From the sidelines, Rock Lee, still bandaged from his match with Gaara, whispered as he watched Shikamaru in action. Despite his concern for Lee, even Neji couldn't deny it—Shikamaru was more than just a strategist. He was a predator.

The tension in the arena was palpable. Even Naruto Uzumaki, who moments ago was still reeling from Lee's injuries, could feel the pressure in the air.

He swallowed hard, trying to process what he was seeing.

"This... this isn't the Shikamaru I know…"

Others on the sideline were stunned as well. There was something in the way Shikamaru had moved—so precise, so committed—that felt terrifying in its resolve. His first two strikes hadn't gone for Neji's limbs or a shallow wound. They had aimed for the throat and the heart.

It didn't matter that they were both from the same village. In that moment, Shikamaru had made it clear:

He was here to win.

Even Konoha's education system, refined and well-structured as it was, rarely produced genin with true killing intent. It wasn't that they weren't trained well—it was just that few ever had to face real, mortal danger so early in their careers.

But Shikamaru had.

His mission in the Land of Waves had changed him.

To others, that was the mission where he'd earned his name. To Shikamaru, it was the moment he realized the ninja world was far more vast—and far more cruel—than anything he had known. He'd seen power. He'd seen madness. And he'd seen the thin line between life and death.

And that, more than anything, had taught him this truth:

If you want to live, you have to fight like it's your last day.

Shikamaru didn't possess Neji's genius bloodline. He wasn't as fast as Lee, or as durable as Naruto. But what he lacked in raw power, he made up for in cold, relentless strategy—and an understanding of how to manipulate a battlefield through fear and focus.

That's why, from the moment the match began, he hadn't wasted time.

He struck fast.

He struck hard.

And now, standing with blade in hand, eyes fixed on Neji, he waited.

Not just for the next move—but for the right one.