Just Begun

The energy of the tournament continued with excitement as the announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen! The final battle of the third round is about to commence!"

The cheers grew with the two fighters already standing apart from one another: William and Anko.

As they took their stances, William fidgeted for a second. He earnestly turned to the announcer and asked, "Am I allowed to use the Rasengan?"

The announcer pushed his glasses up his nose and scurried over to a nearby referee to check. When he returned, he adjusted himself and spoke, "I have confirmed that the Rasengan technique is allowed! However,"—his voice grew stern—"any variants that may cause irreversible damage to the arena are strictly prohibited."

William grinned, reassured. Deep down inside, he knew that he could hold himself back.

Anko tilted her head, intrigued by his confidence. She wondered, "I've only seen that Rasengan of yours once, and you didn't do much with it."

That was a shot at his past fight against Sasuke Uchiha, to which the latter both countered and defeated William's Rasengan.

"I'm much stronger than that time!" William declared. "I'll give it everything I've got!"

Anko wouldn't have it any other way. After all, this was the supposed hero who helped save the third Hokage.

As the match was about to begin, Naruto couldn't help but ask, "How do the officials know about the Rasengan? It's supposed to be my dad's move!"

He was on to something there. There were so few who could perform it, let alone recall its name.

Iruka scratched his head and grinned, answering, "Well, Naruto, your dad fought in the Third Ninja War. Techniques like the Rasengan have spread over time. It's more than likely people know of it through that."

"Oh!" Naruto said, appreciating his dad's legacy. "I guess that does make a little sense."

In truth, Arthur had been the one to allow the Rasengan to be permitted for this round. He had to push William, encouraging him to unleash his full potential. By doing so, Arthur could continue gauging that player's limits and strengths.

Without a moment's notice, the announcer yelled, "Begin!"

Anko wasted no time. She waved her arm forward.

"Striking shadow snakes!"

A multitude of serpents erupted from her sleeves, slithering in the air toward William. On instinct, he leaped back, evading the technique.

With a smirk, she noted his quick reflexes. "You're fast!" she called out in admiration.

He responded by charging forward and engaging in an exchange of taijutsu strikes. He weaved and ducked, throwing punches and kicks as Anko countered, showing off her own agility.

For anyone watching, the two moved in perfect synchronization.

Yet within moments, it became clear to someone like Arthur that William was not a typical fighter. The force in his movements, the control behind his techniques—they all indicated he was holding back.

The crowd boomed as William delivered a well-timed roundhouse kick, narrowly grazing Anko's side.

She needed to shift her strategy, so after gathering some space, she formed the tiger hand sign.

"Fire style: dragon flame jutsu!"

A stream of flames from her mouth surged toward William, roaring like a dragon unleashed. He inhaled sharply as he quickly formulated a response.

"Wind style: pressure damage!"

A swirling wind suddenly unleashed, compressed into a torpedo-like current. The two techniques then collided mid-air, a tempest of fire and wind ripping through their shared space!

But it was William's wind that won the exchange. His blast overwhelmed Anko's flames, sweeping through the air after a brief demonstration of his strength.

Anko faltered in awe. "I can't believe it…" she gasped in disbelief.

Jada was also a little impressed. Based on her expression, William was much stronger than she initially thought.

"It's just the beginning," he said, trying to play it cool. "There's more where that came from."

"Good!" Anko confidently responded, accepting the challenge. "I've been waiting for a fight like this."

As the match progressed, the two continued trading blows and techniques.

Arthur was perceptive enough to notice the subtle shifts in Anko's movements. She was beginning to draw upon her chakra reserves exhaustively, while William, thanks to being an Uzumaki, displayed endurance that put him leagues ahead.

Not once had the latter used the Rasengan like he wanted to.

Anko, once brimming with tenacity, started to show signs of fatigue. Arthur could tell what she was thinking, and it was that she didn't want to rely on her curse mark.

Why would she? Anko had strong vexations toward Orochimaru. Instead, she pressed on, trying to muster everything she had left.

The inevitable came—the depletion of her chakra was noticeable, her attacks slowed, and her movements became slightly erratic.

With a final attempt to regain momentum, she lunged forward, aiming to catch William off-guard. But he was prepared.

With one sidestep, he evaded her grasp, causing her to lose her stance. He then delivered a fierce blow to her jaw, hoping it would knock her out. She staggered back a little but remained standing.

As the match stretched on, she felt a familiar weight in her chest. She finally let out a deep sigh.

"Phew… I forfeit," she said, surprising the crowd.

"Wait, what?" William exclaimed in shock. "But… but why?!"

Was this player truly that incompetent? Or could he not tell that her chakra had nearly depleted to zero? Perhaps both.

"Congrats, kid," Anko said. She didn't at all seem disappointed. "You're pretty tough. You lasted longer than I expected, and that's saying something."

The announcer's voice broke in, yelling, "And with that, we declare William Uzumaki the winner of this match!"

The crowd burst into cheers, celebrating his victory. The two fighters then took a moment to catch their breaths, shaking hands in a display of sportsmanship.

"I can't believe I fought someone who was just taking my exam not long ago," Anko lightly chuckled.

William, grinning, rested his hand behind his head and replied, "I enjoyed it! Both the exams and this fight! You were fantastic."

"Kid, don't go flattering me," she responded. "I'm rooting for you, okay? So give it everything in the finals."

Those words of encouragement said a lot to him. Not only did she believe he was strong, but she was also implying that he would win the semifinals.

As she stepped back, he couldn't shake the excitement roiling in his heart. He had grown a lot in the brief time he had been training before this tournament. And with each passing battle, he was learning more about himself.

Little did he know, Arthur was evaluating every aspect of William's performance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause since the semifinals are underway!" the announcer loudly proclaimed.

How could the crowd not cheer? These matches had been nothing short of spectacular, captivating the hearts of everyone present. Ninjas had showcased their talents, prowess, and spirit.

But two fighters had transcended the rest—drawing the most attention and intrigue to their matches.

As the announcer declared the start of the semifinals, it was clear that the hype was focused squarely on the two mysterious contenders: Lars Alexandersson and Hoshikaze.

Both fighters strode onto the stage, their presence commanding the attention of the multitude.

Standing in the center, Lars squared his shoulders with resolute features. At the same moment, Arthur's own demeanour was very calm, imperceptible by anyone as he faced his opponent.

The announcer, who had been eagerly anticipating this moment, couldn't help but feel dwarfed by the two fighters. Both men stood at nearly the same height; their imposing figures were something to behold.

He nervously wiped the sweat from his brow. As if Han hadn't intimidated him before, standing in the midst of these supermen was making his heart race!

Before he could start the match, Arthur slowly reached up and removed his blindfold, letting it drift gently from his fingers, carried by the wind.

Many were shocked as they finally caught a glimpse of his eyes—clear, unclouded, and focused. The reactions were immediate—spectators exchanged surprised glances, captivated by his appearance.

The odd thing was that Arthur had an average look as Hoshikaze. It wasn't his appearance that they marveled at; it was the fact that this was the first time he had unveiled his whole face throughout the tournament.

"Lars," he spoke with a steady and measured voice, "I've been waiting patiently to finally meet you."

Whatever force was keeping the announcer at bay, he remained silent at what felt like a convergence of destiny between two formidable fighters.

"I've been meaning to meet you too," Lars replied with a smirk. Yet, as he looked into Arthur's penetrating gaze, he felt uncertainty.

Arthur continued, probing deeper into their confrontation, saying, "Ask yourself, why did you truly enter this tournament?"

The question caused Lars' demeanour to slightly shift. His brow furrowed as Arthur pressed on to add, "The world you're in; you wake up, you work, you sleep, and then you do it all over again."

The implications of his words were immediate.

Lars paused, taking in the weight behind them. It wasn't just a challenge; it was a revelation.

Arthur was subtly accusing him of lacking direction and of being lost in an endless cycle. And the impact wasn't limited to Lars alone; the spectators, particularly Jada, found themselves rapt in attention, drawn to his philosophies as he spoke.

"A man's heart deviseth his way: but God directeth his steps…" This was a quote from the holy bible, to which no one here knew since they'd never read it. "But Lars, where is your heart leading you, and who is guiding your steps?"

Lars didn't want to answer. Or rather, he couldn't answer. Hardly anyone present could answer that question, for many of them were lost and unsure of where their end would be.

"Are you saying I'll find my way fighting you?" Lars mused. His tone seemed sharper now, defensive yet very curious.

Arthur didn't verbally reply. Instead, he cracked his neck with a flick of his wrist against his chin.

The simple movement conveyed a sense of readiness and confidence, a quiet assurance that was both intimidating and inviting all at once.

While he was indeed speaking to everyone, he did not forget who his audience was. They all came here to witness something extraordinary. Not only were they going to receive it; they were also learning from his delivered message.

For Lars, it was precisely the response he craved—the promise of a true, visceral fight.

The arena's energy transformed as the onlookers sensed the shift from Arthur's words to the impending physical clash. Tension began to rise.

As the announcer prepared to give the signal for the fight to start, the crowd held their breaths, ready to witness the clash between two warriors who had both captivated and challenged each other in ways that exceeded mere combat.

"It's time, gentlemen!" the announcer finally shouted, cutting through the anticipation.

The atmosphere became silent, and as he marked the moment with a wave of his arm, the whole world seemed to be on their toes.

With a sudden motion, Arthur lunged forward, sending a sharp jab aimed at Lars' head. But Lars, unflinching, tilted slightly to the side. Then his wrist came up, absorbing the jab with a subtle block.

Just as the audience believed this was where the fight truly began, both fighters resumed their relaxed stances, almost as if returning to a game of chess instead of a brutal contest.

Moments later, with a quiet intensity that went unnoticed by the untrained eye, Lars launched a swift jab of his own. But, with equal composure, Arthur blocked it in the same manner. He sought to counter, but Lars was already a step ahead, parrying the attack.

Both fighters then returned to their relaxed stances again, silently assessing the dynamics at play.

The tension ratcheted higher as they began to circle one another. Not a single one of them showed any emotions, and the crowd couldn't get enough of it.

'He's resilient,' Arthur thought, learning Lars' movements from that simple exchange.

As they paused, both men raised their legs in synchronized motions. The crowd flared with excitement, yet the two remained still as they exchanged equal glances.

A hush then fell over the audience, and as if conducting an orchestra, they lowered their legs simultaneously.

The fight had just begun.