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The announcer's voice echoed across the arena, reminding the spectators to place their final bets before the match began. The crowd buzzed with excitement, eager for the next fight. As the noise subsided, the tension in the air thickened. The arena itself was rugged, uneven, with small boulders scattered across the terrain like obstacles waiting to be used. The ground was a mix of dirt and stone, cracked from previous battles. The occasional gust of wind kicked up dust, swirling it around the combatants.

POV: Takeshi Hyuga

Takeshi's Byakugan flared to life, his pale eyes glowing as they locked onto his opponent. Every detail in the arena became crystal clear to him—the chakra threads, the puppet's mechanisms, the subtle movements of Jiro's fingers. Takeshi's stance was firm, grounded. He had trained for this moment.

Across the arena, Jiro stood with his puppet at his side, the wooden frame motionless for now. Takeshi's gaze didn't waver. He wasn't intimidated. Puppet users had one fundamental weakness—if the puppet was rendered useless, the puppeteer would fall.

POV: Jiro

Jiro's heart pounded, but his face remained calm, focused. His fingers twitched, and the chakra threads connected to his puppet pulled taut. His puppet wasn't as sophisticated as the elite puppet masters from the Hidden Sand, but it had served him well. The wooden figure was humanoid, with long, curved blades for arms and a hollow chest compartment rigged for a variety of attacks. The featureless face gave it an eerie, detached look, and Jiro had loaded its chest with senbon and smoke bombs—just in case.

The announcer's voice rang out, signaling the start of the fight.

Without hesitation, Jiro sent the puppet lunging forward. The blades sliced through the air, aiming for Takeshi's side.

POV: Takeshi

The puppet moved fast, but not fast enough. Takeshi had already anticipated the attack. His Byakugan allowed him to see the flow of chakra through the puppet, from the joints to the weapons, and more importantly, from Jiro's fingers to the chakra threads controlling it.

With a quick sidestep, Takeshi dodged the first strike. The blades whistled past his ribs, but he didn't waste a moment. The second strike came for his legs, but Takeshi's hands blurred into motion. He parried the attack with a burst of chakra, sending the puppet staggering backward.

Takeshi's mind was already focused on the weak points—the joints, the chakra threads. He just needed to keep Jiro off balance long enough to disable the puppet.

POV: Jiro

Jiro gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Takeshi was relentless. The Hyuga's speed was throwing him off, and no matter how fast he commanded his puppet, Takeshi seemed to be one step ahead. He tugged the chakra threads, pulling the puppet back before Takeshi could land a critical blow. He needed time—time to reset, time to strike back.

But Takeshi wasn't giving him that time.

Jiro launched another attack. The puppet's chest compartment clicked open, firing a barrage of small, sharp senbon at Takeshi. But it was no use. Takeshi was already moving. His Byakugan had tracked the internal mechanisms of the puppet, allowing him to dodge before the projectiles were even launched. It was like Takeshi could see through every move Jiro made.

POV: Takeshi

Takeshi saw the attack coming before it was even launched. His body twisted, dodging the senbon with ease. His eyes never left Jiro's fingers, tracking the flow of chakra that controlled the puppet. Takeshi knew this was a battle of endurance, but he had no intention of letting it drag on.

With a burst of speed, Takeshi closed the distance between himself and the puppet. His hand shot forward, chakra glowing faintly at his fingertips as he severed the chakra threads controlling the puppet's right arm.

The puppet faltered. Its right arm went limp, the blade hanging uselessly at its side.

POV: Jiro

Panic welled up inside Jiro. No… not now. He yanked on the remaining chakra threads, trying to regain control, but the puppet's movements were jerky, uncoordinated. Takeshi's strikes were too precise, too fast.

Desperation surged through him. He commanded the puppet to use its remaining arm, the blade flashing toward Takeshi in a last-ditch effort. If he could just buy a few seconds, he might be able to turn this around.

But Takeshi was already there.

POV: Takeshi

The puppet's final strike was clumsy, rushed. Takeshi sidestepped with ease, his body moving like water around the blade. His hand shot forward again, this time severing the remaining chakra threads in one swift motion.

The puppet collapsed, its wooden body crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Takeshi didn't flinch. His breathing was steady, controlled. The fight was over.

The referee stepped forward, his voice booming across the arena.

"Winner—Takeshi Hyuga of the Hidden Leaf!"

Takeshi gave a brief nod, acknowledging the victory without any show of emotion. He turned his back to Jiro, already shifting his focus to the next match.

POV: Jiro

Jiro's chest heaved as he stared at the remains of his puppet, disbelief clouding his mind. He had never expected it to end this way, so quickly, so decisively. His puppet lay in pieces, and the match was over before he could even get a foothold.

He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of defeat sink in. But even in his exhaustion, there was a flicker of resolve. He would learn from this. He would come back stronger.

POV: Haruto

From the edge of the arena, Haruto watched the fight in silence, his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn't hard to predict how this would end. Jiro had shown promise, but his puppet mastery lacked the fluidity that Haruto had seen in his past life. He thought of Kankuro—whose puppets were like extensions of his body, moving with lethal precision. Jiro wasn't there yet. He needed refinement, practice.

Takeshi, on the other hand, reminded him of Neji—another prodigy from the Hyuga clan who had yet to be born. Takeshi was good, but not at Neji's level. Still, his mastery of the Gentle Fist was undeniable, and the precision of his strikes was impressive for a genin.

As the crowd erupted into cheers for Takeshi's victory, Haruto let out a slow breath. Takeshi was strong, no doubt, but there were still stronger opponents waiting.

Jiro… Haruto couldn't help but wonder. Why weren't shinobi like Jiro or Takeshi in the anime he had known from his past life? It was obvious—they probably died in the upcoming war.

War was cruel, and many promising shinobi would fall before their potential was realized. Haruto knew that all too well.