The previous exchange between Akira and Orochimaru had been nothing more than a warm-up — a careful dance of probing strikes and testing feints. But now, the atmosphere shifted. The real battle was about to begin.
A ninja's strength, Akira understood, was not defined by their most powerful technique, but by their weakest link. Without activating the Speed Force, Akira's taijutsu hovered at the level of an average Chunin. Against a Kage-level opponent like Orochimaru, that wasn't even close to enough. But now, as his gaze sharpened and his body tensed, everything was about to change.
Without hesitation, Akira activated his self-created technique: the Speed Force.
A surge of raw chakra exploded around him, warping the air with its intensity. Sparks of pale-blue electricity danced across his limbs, crackling and weaving around his figure like living serpents. The ground beneath his feet trembled slightly, dust spiraling outward from the sheer pressure. In this state, his strength wasn't just elevated — it was transformed. From a struggling Genin, Akira's power soared to the level of a seasoned Jonin, perhaps even rivaling the elite.
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed slightly, an almost imperceptible twitch betraying his curiosity. The technique reminded him, faintly, of the Third Raikage's lightning armor. But the flavor of the chakra was different, more refined, more... personal. Where had Akira learned this?
But Orochimaru didn't have long to dwell on the question. In the blink of an eye, Akira vanished.
The air rippled as Akira reappeared, hurtling toward Orochimaru at blinding speed. Every muscle in his body moved with perfect precision, his taijutsu — honed under the relentless training of both Might Guy and Teacher Chen — now pushed to its absolute peak.
A thunderous clash erupted as Orochimaru, caught off guard, raised his arms in defense, sliding backward from the force of Akira's opening strike. His feet dug twin trenches into the dirt as he absorbed the blow.
"Hmph... not bad," Orochimaru mused, a rare flicker of admiration glinting in his eyes.
For the first time in years, Orochimaru was forced to engage in pure taijutsu, something that had never been his forte. His lithe body twisted and weaved, narrowly deflecting Akira's barrage of strikes. The sheer speed of the boy's movements was astonishing — to Orochimaru, it was like fighting a Jonin twice his age, not a six-year-old Genin.
The fierce hand-to-hand exchange unfolded like a whirlwind. Each strike from Akira carried with it the force of a battering ram, the sharp calculation of the Sharingan guiding his every move. Orochimaru's body swayed and coiled like a serpent, fluidly evading blows or countering with sharp, precise counters. Neither could gain the upper hand.
Off to the side, Anko and Hayate stood frozen, their weapons slack in their hands. The battle unfolding before their eyes felt unreal — as if they were witnessing a fight between two monsters. That the boy they had trained alongside, Akira, could trade blows with their Jonin teacher, one of the Legendary Sannin, was beyond comprehension.
Finally, Orochimaru seized a fleeting opening. With a flicker of chakra, he executed the Body Replacement Technique, slipping away from Akira's relentless assault.
In the blink of an eye, the battlefield was flooded with serpents.
The Many Snakes Rampage Technique. Countless fanged beasts burst forth from Orochimaru's sleeves, their slick bodies writhing, lunging at Akira from every direction. But Akira, his mind sharp and his reflexes heightened, was already moving.
His body vanished and reappeared, zigzagging through the tide of scaled attackers. Even so, a few managed to clamp onto his limbs, their sharp fangs embedding into his chakra-infused skin, dragging him down like anchors.
With no other choice, Akira released the Speed Force and summoned three shadow clones. In perfect unison, the four Akiras weaved their hand signs, drawing deep from the remaining reserves of chakra within.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
Flames roared into existence, consuming the snakes in a hellish inferno. The heat scorched the air, the blaze pushing Orochimaru back a step. But even as the fire cleared, Orochimaru had already launched his next attack. Ninjutsu after ninjutsu, shuriken flurries and elemental strikes rained upon Akira — but the boy had already reactivated the Speed Force, weaving and dodging with preternatural ease.
For the first time, Orochimaru felt an unusual sensation.
Exhilaration.
The boy was more than just talented. He was a prodigy in the purest sense. His Sharingan cut through illusions and feints, his taijutsu rivaled any trained Jonin, and his mind remained razor sharp, calm, and calculating under pressure.
But there was a limit. There always was.
Orochimaru, observing Akira's breathing, noted the growing strain. The boy's chakra reserves, though impressive for his age, were finite. The longer the battle stretched on, the more the gap between them would show.
Sure enough, Akira's breathing grew heavier. His movements slowed, if only slightly, and the glow of chakra that had once wrapped his form began to flicker.
A cold realization dawned on Akira. Without Speed Force, without his remaining chakra, he had no chance.
Only one move remained.
Summoning the last of his strength, Akira settled into a stance taught to him by Might Guy and Teacher Chen — the Hidden Leaf Dragon God. His entire body began to rotate, chakra whirling around him like a forming cyclone. Dust and debris spiraled upward, the very air vibrating with the buildup of power.
Orochimaru's eyes widened. That technique...
Akira shouted the name aloud, voice steady and resolute: "Hidden Leaf Dragon God!"
A colossal dragon-shaped vortex erupted from Akira, roaring as it tore across the training ground, leaving gouges in the earth. Orochimaru wasted no time. Forming seals with both hands, he slammed them to the ground.
"Summoning: Triple Rashomon!"
With a mighty rumble, three titanic demonic gates erupted from the earth, each one towering like a fortress wall. The dragon struck the first gate with thunderous force, shattering it apart. It collided with the second, forcing cracks along its surface before finally breaking through. But the third — the last bastion — held strong. The vortex dissipated in a final gust of wind and dust, leaving Akira standing at its heart, drained and breathless.
His legs buckled, and he dropped to one knee, the Speed Force aura extinguished, his chakra completely spent. He looked up at Orochimaru, still standing, though his expression was no longer one of amusement, but of quiet astonishment.
A soft smile tugged at the corner of Akira's lips. "Lord Orochimaru... you're as powerful as I expected. I've given it everything I have, but I couldn't even make you move from your spot. I still have a lot to learn."
Orochimaru stood silent for a long moment, the battlefield still and heavy with the scent of scorched earth and lingering chakra. The boy's strength, his instincts, his techniques — everything defied what should be possible for a child.
And that last move, the Hidden Leaf Dragon God, had nearly shattered even his defenses.
"Impressive... truly impressive," Orochimaru whispered, his usual cold tone laced with something uncharacteristically genuine. "For someone so young to push me this far... Akira, you are no ordinary shinobi."
He concealed the true depth of his shock, but one thing was certain: he would be keeping a very close eye on this boy.
Because talent like that didn't appear without reason.
Seeing the storm of battle finally subside, Anko and Hayate emerged from the shadows where they'd been watching, still reeling from the sheer intensity of what they had just witnessed. Fresh out of the Academy, they had never seen a true clash between titans—had never stood so close to that level of power. And now, standing before the battlefield where the earth was still scorched and cracked, they found themselves breathless with awe.
Their eyes were drawn to Orochimaru, the legendary Sannin whose name inspired reverence and fear alike. But what truly shocked them was the figure who had stood against him—Akira.
To them, Akira had seemed to hold his ground, trading blows and counters with someone as terrifyingly strong as Lord Orochimaru himself. It was beyond their understanding.
But they were mistaken.
Though it may have appeared that Akira was evenly matched with Orochimaru, the truth was far more nuanced. This was not a real battle—it was a training exercise, a test more than a true fight to the death. If the two had truly clashed with their full might, the results would have been far different.
If pushed, Orochimaru could unleash devastatingly powerful ninjutsu, techniques that could level the terrain itself. In response, Akira would have no choice but to activate his Mangekyo Sharingan, tapping into abilities that could possibly turn the tide in an instant... but that was a line neither of them had crossed.
They had merely sparred. Without using their most secret and deadly jutsu, Akira's raw strength still fell short of Orochimaru's.
Yet, even that was remarkable.
The fact that he could endure so long against the Sannin was a testament not only to his Sharingan, but to something even rarer—his innate speed force, a unique blend of physical prowess and chakra manipulation that just so happened to counter Orochimaru's slippery, serpentine style.
Watching Akira finally concede defeat, Anko and Hayate felt any hopes they had of victory evaporate. They surrendered quickly, understanding they were not yet in the same league—and bringing the practical exercise to a quiet end.
Orochimaru, having originally taken interest in Akira for his proficiency in medical ninjutsu, now found himself viewing the boy with a far deeper curiosity.
At just six years old, Akira had already reached this level. What kind of monster would he grow into in five years? Ten?
A flicker of uncertainty passed through Orochimaru's mind.
Could he truly control someone like Akira?
There was a sense of conflict within him. On one hand, he desired to nurture Akira, to see the full evolution of such a rare talent. But on the other—what if the boy strayed? What if he chose another path, and in doing so became an obstacle to Orochimaru's ambitions?
That would be not just a waste, but a threat.
Yet, Orochimaru reminded himself—Akira was still a child. A lonely one. His family had been wiped out, leaving a void that would soon be filled by someone new. Orochimaru intended to be that someone.
He was confident. His charisma had turned many sharp minds to his cause. Why not this boy?
Still, one question nagged at him.
"Akira," Orochimaru asked, voice smooth and quiet, "where did you learn that strange nin-tai jutsu?"
It wasn't idle curiosity. Orochimaru had recognized it—techniques like that were known only to the Raikage, cloaked in secrecy. There was no way a six-year-old leaf ninja should know such things.
Akira had anticipated this question. The source of his speed force was legitimate, and he had no reason to hide it.
"I developed it with Kakashi," he said calmly. "We experimented with lightning-style chakra infusion and movement acceleration. It worked."
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, but he understood now. He recalled hearing that Sakumo Hatake, Kakashi's father, had once explored such concepts before his death. It seemed that Kakashi had inherited that legacy, and Akira—gifted in anatomy and chakra flow—had simply taken it further.
Interesting.
Then came the second question, more loaded, more dangerous.
"And the Leaf Dragon God... where did you learn that?" Orochimaru's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "As far as I know, the only man who mastered that move—Chen Baolong—is dead."
Akira hesitated for the first time.
Chen Baolong was not dead. He had trained Akira and Might Guy in secret and explicitly asked them not to reveal his existence. It was a promise Akira was not willing to break.
So he crafted a believable story.
"I copied it from Might Guy with my Sharingan," he said, shrugging. "I don't know how he learned it himself. Maybe he found it in an old scroll."
He inwardly chuckled. Orochimaru wouldn't bother to ask Guy about something so minor. And even if he did, the worst-case scenario was that Akira would tell him the truth under a request for secrecy.
He knew how to keep secrets. Better than most.
Orochimaru accepted the explanation, albeit with a narrowed glance. Guy was known as a taijutsu specialist—if he'd stumbled upon the technique somewhere and convinced Baolong to teach it, that made sense. It added up.
Relieved of his suspicions, Orochimaru's curiosity turned into ambition. Akira not only had power, but potential. The ability to develop jutsu at such a young age was nearly unheard of.
After this battle, Akira had also found clarity.
He'd fought against Kakashi and Might Guy before, but they were still growing. It was hard to judge his true strength through them.
But Orochimaru was different. A true elite of the shinobi world. And Akira had held his own—even if not perfectly.
He now knew, without a doubt, that in raw power, he was already at the level of a Jonin.
But he wasn't arrogant. He knew that strength alone wouldn't win a war. He still lacked experience, judgment, the instinct forged through blood and loss.
And Orochimaru was the perfect master from whom to learn.
The Sannin addressed the three of them, offering a formal summary of the day's trial. He was pleased, he said—especially with Akira. Anko and Hayate still needed polishing, but they had the basics down.
He urged them to train harder. Akira was a comet—blazing forward. If they didn't work harder, they would fall too far behind to catch up.
Spurred on by this, both Anko and Hayate promised to give it their all. They wouldn't be left behind.
Orochimaru then informed them that their first official mission was soon to begin—they were to accompany him to the Wind Country battlefield.
As the commander-in-chief of the front lines, Orochimaru had returned to Konoha only briefly to assess his disciples. But now, with his curiosity satisfied and his doubts assuaged, he had to return.
And his team would go with him.
Normally, Genin would be kept far from the true danger of the battlefield, doing low-risk supply runs or scouting missions.
But Akira, Anko, and Hayate were not just any Genin. They were Orochimaru's students. That alone marked them for a different path.
Anko and Hayate felt fear mix with anticipation. War was what they had trained for, what they had sworn to face. But to march to the front so soon after graduation—it was daunting.
Akira, however, felt none of that fear.
He was eager. Hungry.
He had power. He had clarity. And above all, he had Orochimaru.
As the commander, Orochimaru would rarely see direct combat. His students, assigned to guard and assist him, would likely be stationed at the rear—away from the killing fields. For now.
After Orochimaru left, the three parted ways.
Anko and Hayate returned home to prepare their gear and say goodbye to their families.
Akira, though... had no goodbyes to say.
His family was gone, all lost to war. The few clan members who remained were distant, practically strangers. The only people who had mattered to him were Kakashi and Guy.
Kakashi had been on a mission for days now, and Guy had left shortly after their last match, called away on assignment.
So Akira prepared alone.
A few changes of clothes. Ninja tools. Provisions.
And the steely, unshakable determination of a child already forged by loss and battle.
Tomorrow, he would step onto the battlefield.
And the world would begin to see the rise of a force it had never known.