As Akira gathered his chakra, an overwhelming aura surged around him, distorting the very air. The once still surroundings grew restless, as if nature itself felt the tension of the impending clash. A wild, invisible force stirred the wind, whipping dust and leaves into the air. Even the small stones at Akira's feet trembled before they were hurled away by the roaring chakra storm.
Across from him, Might Guy stood firm, his brows furrowing as he felt the pressure mount. Akira's presence alone seemed to weigh down on him, a sharp reminder of just how much the boy had grown. Guy's instincts screamed caution. Akira's strength and speed had already far surpassed what he'd expected.
In that moment, Akira achieved full release of his Speed Force for the very first time in battle. Electric tendrils danced across his skin, snapping and sparking with power. Meanwhile, Guy had yet to prepare the Eight Gates Formation. His mind raced, not out of fear, but calculation. The Eight Gates were no trivial technique — they were a double-edged sword, a path that demanded care even in a spar. Guy knew that unless he understood the limits of Akira's new power, recklessly unleashing the full might of the Eight Gates could cause more harm than good.
Akira, ever perceptive, caught the hesitation in Guy's eyes. His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Hmph, underestimating me comes at a price." His voice was cold, but laced with excitement.
Without waiting another second, Akira vanished. Lightning and wind split apart as he accelerated with full Speed Force, closing the distance in a blink. His fist, sheathed in crackling energy, hurtled toward Guy like a thunderbolt.
Guy's seasoned instincts kicked in just in time. His arms crossed in front of his chest, catching the blow — but even with the block, the sheer force rattled his bones. His muscles shuddered, aching under the impact. His mind reeled. That single punch held more power than any of Akira's previous strikes. The boy was no longer the same opponent he'd sparred with just months ago.
Akira knew it too. His eyes, ablaze with the Sharingan's glow, flicked over every reaction. "So, you felt that one, didn't you?" he murmured to himself. It wasn't even a technique — merely a straight punch, yet it left an unmistakable impression on Guy.
Guy straightened his stance, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief. He had no choice. The time for restraint had passed.
"Eight Gates Formation," he exhaled deeply, the calm before the storm. "Fourth Gate: Gate of Pain... OPEN!"
A surge of green chakra erupted from his body. His skin flushed red as power flooded his muscles. The ground beneath his feet cracked, unable to withstand the sudden leap in energy.
Akira's brow lifted, impressed. "He went straight for the Fourth Gate... I must've really pushed him."
This wasn't just sparring anymore; this was a battle between two warriors seeking their limits. Neither of them wanted to back down. The air pulsed as their eyes locked, the unspoken signal passing between them. In a flash, both figures disappeared, the earth shattering from the force of their departure. The two met midair in a violent clash.
The shockwave flattened the nearby foliage. Akira felt the weight of Guy's blow crash against him, forcing him to slide back across the ground. His heels dug furrows into the earth. Guy, by contrast, stood steady — his strength still superior, even if their speed was now evenly matched.
But Akira didn't falter. He shifted his strategy, weaving around Guy's advances. His Speed Force allowed him to dance at the edge of Guy's range, exploiting every gap in the older ninja's attack patterns. Guy lunged, his strikes like battering rams, but Akira moved like lightning, always a hair's breadth away from being hit.
Guy knew time wasn't on his side. The Eight Gates Formation consumed his stamina at a brutal pace. Akira's Speed Force, on the other hand, appeared far more sustainable. If the battle dragged on, Guy would lose.
Clenching his fists, Guy steadied his breathing and announced, "I'm going to use my strongest ultimate move now — prepare yourself!" His voice wasn't taunting, but respectful. This was his way of honoring Akira as an equal.
Akira's gaze sharpened. "So, it's finally coming to that..." He activated his Sharingan fully, studying every twitch of Guy's muscles.
But then his eyes narrowed further. The stance Guy assumed wasn't for opening another gate — it was the coiling posture of the Konoha Dragon God.
"So he's mastered it too," Akira thought, both awed and thrilled. "Guess I'll have to match him."
Without hesitation, Akira mirrored the stance, adapting it for his Speed Force-infused style. His version wasn't the same as the one Chen Baolong had taught. Where Guy's was wrapped in the fiery green chakra of the Eight Gates, Akira's crackled with arcs of blue lightning.
Both unleashed their dragons at the same moment.
Two enormous constructs burst forth, roaring as they collided in midair. Guy's dragon, fueled by raw muscle and will, radiated the dense green aura of his Eight Gates. Akira's dragon, born of precision and speed, coiled with lightning and burned a brilliant azure.
They clashed, spiraling into one another, locked in a deadly aerial dance. Both knew the key to victory lay in striking the other's core — the eye of the tornado-like technique.
Akira's superior speed allowed him to maneuver his dragon with greater agility, landing the first critical strike. Yet Guy's dragon, bolstered by unmatched strength and stability, held firm, surviving the blow longer than Akira had anticipated. In the same heartbeat, Guy retaliated, exploiting the brief gap in Akira's offense. The two dragons bit into each other's throats simultaneously, the attacks neutralizing one another in a spectacular explosion of wind and lightning.
The world went still.
When the dust finally settled, both Akira and Guy lay on the ground, gasping for air, their bodies pushed to the brink.
But it was Akira who recovered first. His Speed Force, though physically taxing, carried fewer side effects compared to the Eight Gates. The technique's efficiency had proven itself. His strategy had worked. His strength might not yet match Guy's, but his speed had reached an extraordinary level — and his endurance far outlasted the Eight Gates' brutal cost.
This fight had confirmed it. His Speed Force was at least on par with the power of the Fourth Gate.
And that meant only one thing.
The training plan he'd set a year ago had been completed — and he had done it six months ahead of schedule.
The boy stood slowly, chest rising and falling with steady pride. "I'm ready," he whispered to himself, more determined than ever. "I'm finally ready for the real battlefield."
Unexpectedly, the once-glorious Fire Release had now been quietly relegated to the back of Akira's arsenal.
And the Genjutsu, which he'd once all but dismissed, had risen to become his most powerful trump card—second only to his Mangekyō Sharingan.
What surprised him the most, however, was how his taijutsu had surged past Fire Release to secure the second strongest position in his fighting style. Of course, that was thanks largely to his hybridization of taijutsu with Lightning Release. If judged purely on its own, without chakra enhancement, his taijutsu still ranked last. But with Lightning Release coursing through his body, empowering each strike with electrifying precision, the equation had changed entirely.
"I didn't expect you to be this powerful, Akira!" Might Guy said suddenly, breaking the quiet between them. The two of them had finally recovered enough strength to sit and speak without the strain of battle evident in their voices.
Akira wiped the sweat from his brow, a faint, self-aware smile curving his lips. "Guy, you're not bad either. With the way you handled yourself, I'd say you're easily at jōnin level now, aren't you?"
Guy chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "No way. I only reach that level when I use the Eight Gates Kinjutsu. Without it, I still fall short. But you... having that kind of strength in your normal state, at just six years old—you're a genius, Akira!"
His words were sincere, carrying the weight of admiration rather than envy. After all, at the age of six, Guy had barely been admitted into the Ninja Academy, his future still uncertain and his self-worth precariously hanging on the hope that hard work could overcome a lack of talent.
But Akira, at the same tender age, had already forged himself into a warrior whose strength brushed against the ceiling of what jōnin were capable of. It was hard not to be both awed and inspired by that.
Looking at Akira now, Guy couldn't help but feel his own ambitions reignite. His childhood dream had always been to become a jōnin purely through taijutsu, to succeed where others saw only physical limits. But Akira was living proof that such barriers were meant to be shattered, not feared.
For Akira, however, the thrill of growth was mingled with an unexpected dilemma. He let out a soft sigh, the weight of his progress pressing down on him. He had climbed so high, so fast, that the path forward had momentarily vanished from sight.
His original plan was simple: stay low-profile for a year, solidify his foundations, and only then apply for graduation. But here he was, just six months in, with strength already eclipsing that of most active jōnin. The Academy had become a cage, too small for the predator he'd become.
The thought left him restless.
Even without relying on the unpredictable power of his Mangekyō Sharingan, his strength was sufficient to overcome nearly any opponent below Kage level. If fate dealt him a poor hand and a Kage-level adversary appeared, he could still rely on his dōjutsu to tip the scales—all while keeping its true nature hidden.
With no Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan users active at this point in time, Akira had no real rival in sight. He had reached the bottleneck of strength, and more secluded training would offer only diminishing returns. His physical limits could no longer be broken through in the quiet isolation of his room. The battlefield, with its chaos and unpredictability, was now the only place worthy of testing his power.
The decision came as swiftly as the strikes he'd exchanged with Guy. He would apply for early graduation.
After exchanging a few more words with Guy and ensuring his body had recovered enough to move comfortably, Akira stood and bid his friend farewell. His destination was clear: the Ninja Academy. If he intended to graduate, there was no reason to delay.
Arriving at the Academy, he sought out his teacher, Ito Ei, and made his intentions known. The old instructor listened quietly, his weathered eyes studying the boy who stood before him—a boy, in age, but a soldier in both mind and strength.
A faint sigh escaped from Ito's lips as he nodded slowly. He had long suspected this day would come. Mo Nan—no, Akira—had outgrown the Academy, both in skill and spirit.
In the past six months, the transformation had been nothing short of astonishing. Akira's natural brilliance had always shone in the practical fields: physical training, sparring, and chakra control. But his cultural and theoretical studies had been, at best, average.
That was until something changed.
Almost overnight, he had begun to dominate every aspect of his education, even the ones he'd once neglected. Though he still seemed inattentive during lectures, his grasp of theory advanced with frightening speed. It was as though his mind had shifted into the same gear as his body, racing forward at a pace his classmates could no longer match.
Yet as an instructor, Ito Ei couldn't ignore the reality outside the classroom. The war was ongoing. And when a student graduated now, they weren't sent off to cushy guard posts or easy assignments. They were sent straight to the front lines, to the meat grinder of real battle.
Looking at Akira, so young yet so composed, Ito couldn't help but feel a pang of worry.
"Have you truly thought this through, Akira?" he asked softly, voice tinged with the weariness of a man who'd seen too many young lives snuffed out. "Graduating now means stepping onto the battlefield. There will be no safety net out there. Are you prepared to face war and blood?"
Akira's reply came without hesitation, his eyes as sharp and unflinching as ever. "Yes. The Academy has nothing more to offer me. I want to grow stronger, and the battlefield is the only place left for me to learn."
Faced with the boy's unwavering determination, Ito knew that nothing he said could dissuade him. He gave a slow nod, promising to submit Akira's graduation application to the higher-ups. If the timing aligned, Akira would likely join the senior students in their final exam—and beyond that, the war.
When Akira left the Academy that day, his heart was light, but his thoughts raced. He didn't know who his future comrades would be. Would they be names etched in history, or just cannon fodder destined for early graves?
Strength or not, the battlefield did not discriminate. Even the most skilled shinobi could fall to an unseen kunai or a well-laid trap.
Arriving home, Akira released the shadow clones he'd stationed at the Academy and canceled his ongoing training routines. There was no need for them now. The next phase of his growth wasn't something a shadow clone could prepare him for. It would be fought and earned in the crucible of real battle.
Meanwhile, Ito's report quickly made its way through the bureaucracy, landing at last on the Hokage's desk.
The Third Hokage, his face weary from the burdens of war, looked over the document with curiosity. Early graduation requests were rare, especially from someone so young. Only once before had a six-year-old graduated: Kakashi Hatake, a name that had already begun to draw murmurs of legend.
Now, another name joined the list.
Akira Uchiha.
The Hokage leaned back, rubbing his temples. The village was desperate for capable shinobi, especially medics, and Akira's talent had been whispered about even in the upper echelons. But talent meant little if the heart wasn't prepared for the horrors of war.
Coincidentally, his most brilliant student, Orochimaru, was standing before him, having just finished an unrelated discussion. The Hokage looked at the report, then back at his enigmatic student, and posed a question.
"Orochimaru, what do you think? Is this child ready for the battlefield?"
And as always, the future would turn on the words that followed.