Chapter 288: Karin's Chuunin Exam 22

Chapter 288: Chapter 284: Karin’s Chuunin Exam 22

Tōji didn’t get up right away.

For a few seconds, he just lay there on the stone floor, chest rising and falling slowly as he tried to force his body to obey him. His chakra was low, not dangerously so, but enough that standing was clearly more difficult than it should have been.

The insects had drained him cleanly.

Not enough to cripple him.

Just enough to make sure he understood the difference between trying hard and winning.

Karin watched as Shino turned away without saying anything more, his insects already retreating beneath his coat. By the time he reached the Konoha balcony again, he looked exactly as he had before the match started.

“So, that’s a swarm user, huh,” Karin whispered. Kaguya had mentioned the fighting style before; it was the same as a puppet user, just with living beings instead of tools.

She had to admit that while the endless waves of insects were creepy as hell, the visual impact was strong.

Tōji, meanwhile, forced himself onto one knee, then pushed himself up with the help of his umbrella. His legs shook, but he refused assistance from the medic-nin who stepped forward, waving them off with what dignity he still had.

Karin approved of that.

A little.

He made his way back to them slowly, his uniform wrinkled, his mask slightly crooked, and his pride clearly wounded. Naho looked him over from head to toe.

“You lost quickly,” she said.

Tōji turned his head toward her. “Thank you. I hadn’t noticed.”

“You also smell like insects.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Karin let them talk for a moment before she looked at Tōji properly. He straightened under her gaze, despite how tired he clearly was.

“I lost, Karin-sama,” he said.

“Obviously.”

His shoulders dipped slightly.

Karin adjusted her glasses. “But you didn’t embarrass Ame.”

Tōji stilled, then looked up.

“You were outmatched,” Karin continued. “Badly. You still tried. That matters, and what matters more is that your performance, however short, was still good enough. A lesser Genin would have been troubled by your move; you were simply outmatched.”

Tōji’s eyes curved faintly beneath his mask. “Thank you, Karin-sama.”

“Do better next time.”

“Yes, Karin-sama.”

That was enough. Karin turned her attention away from him before he could get too pleased with himself. Praise was useful, but too much of it made people soft.

Below, Hayate waited for the medics to finish checking the arena before the board above the chamber flickered again.

The names blurred, then stopped.

Kankurō.

Misumi Tsurugi.

Karin glanced toward the Suna balcony.

Kankurō grinned as he stepped forward, rolling his shoulders like this was already over. The wrapped bundle on his back shifted with him, and anyone with sense would have understood that it was not simple luggage.

Apparently, Misumi Tsurugi did not have enough sense.

Or perhaps he had too much confidence in his own strange body.

Karin watched him step down as well, his movements loose and flexible in a way that did not feel entirely normal. His chakra flowed strangely through his joints and muscles, making his body seem less like a human frame and more like something that had been trained to bend where it should break.

“Another one of Kabuto’s teammates,” Naho murmured.

“Yes,” Karin said.

“Does he work for Orochimaru too?”

“Probably.”

Tōji leaned against the wall, still recovering. “Then should we hope the Suna puppet boy wins?”

Karin looked down at Kankurō. After spending a few days together with the Suna team, she had a fair idea of his abilities.

“No,” she said. “But I do expect him to.”

In fact, she would be very disappointed if he failed; he was rather proud of his abilities, and the fact that he was taking this whole thing so seriously—well, if he lost, that would be strange.

The fight began quickly.

Misumi rushed in, his body stretching and twisting in a way that made a few of the watching Genin recoil. His arms wrapped around Kankurō, joints bending far past what should have been possible as he trapped the Suna boy in a crushing hold.

For a moment, it looked effective.

Only for a moment.

Karin sighed.

“That’s not him.”

Naho blinked. “What?”

“The one being crushed,” Karin said. “It’s a puppet.”

The trick was decent. Karin would admit that much. Kankurō had disguised his puppet as himself and hidden his real body inside the bandaged bundle. It was a good reversal, the sort of thing that punished anyone who rushed in without checking properly.

It also showed that Kankurō wasn’t playing around, because hiding himself as a puppet wasn’t really all that comfortable.

He wasn’t playing, and Misumi realized that too late.

The puppet’s arms snapped around him, locking him in place. There was a crack as his own flexible body was bent back on itself, and within seconds, the match was over.

In the end, a human body, no matter how strange, couldn’t match the strange and impossible movements of a puppet, not to mention, the sharp blades didn’t help either.

Giving a Suna puppet a full-body hug… that wasn’t the smartest move, pretty close to the dumbest, in fact.

Hayate raised one hand.

“Winner, Kankurō.”

Kankurō revealed himself with a smugness that would have been intolerable if the fight had not justified it.

Karin looked at Misumi as the medics carried him away.

“His technique was useful,” she said. “But he picked the worst possible opponent.”

“Puppet users are annoying,” Tōji muttered.

“Yes.” Karin couldn’t help but agree, having fought against a few of those strange puppets Kaguya had found somewhere, she very much agreed with Tōji.

Puppets were annoying.

Kankurō returned to his balcony looking pleased with himself. Temari rolled her eyes at him, though Karin could tell she was satisfied. Gaara did not react at all.

That one was still staring ahead as if the entire room was beneath him.

Karin disliked that.

Not because he was wrong, exactly.

But because it was irritating when someone else acted like that. It wasn’t often Karin met someone who was as sure of themselves as she was.

And the worst part was, well, as a Jinchūriki she couldn’t even claim he was arrogant, because he was indeed worthy of considering most people beneath him.

The board flickered again.

This time, when the names stopped, the reaction was louder.

Sakura Haruno.

Ino Yamanaka.

Karin looked toward Team 7.

Sakura went stiff.

The blonde kunoichi from the Ino-Shika-Chō team reacted at the same time, her expression sharpening into something personal.

Ah.

So they knew each other.

Not just knew each other either. There was history there. Bad history, judging by the way both girls looked at each other.

Karin already felt her interest fading.

One was a useless civilian kunoichi and the other a member of a shinobi clan; there shouldn’t be much excitement to be had.

Still, she watched.

They stepped down into the arena, and almost immediately the mood changed. There was no clean killing intent, no professional focus, no calm assessment of enemy ability. Instead, the two began talking.

And talking.

And talking.

Karin stared.

“Are they fighting,” Tōji asked, “or arguing?”

“Both, apparently,” Naho said.

Karin’s mouth twitched in annoyance.

At least Ino Yamanaka had something worth noting. Her chakra was shaped strangely around the mind, which matched what Karin knew of the Yamanaka clan. A mental technique, then. Possibly possession, communication, or something similar.

That was dangerous.

Potentially very dangerous.

Unfortunately, Ino herself did not seem nearly dangerous enough to make proper use of it.

Sakura was worse.

Her chakra control was decent, Karin would give her that, but there was nothing behind it. No real killing intent, no special technique, no overwhelming physical ability, no hidden weapon style, no strong bloodline.

She was a normal Academy graduate standing in a room full of clan heirs, monsters, spies, and Jinchūriki.

That was not bravery.

That was a poor life decision.

The match itself was mostly taijutsu, if one was generous enough to call it that. The two exchanged punches, kicks, insults, and enough emotional baggage that Karin began to wonder if Konoha deliberately encouraged this kind of thing.

At one point, Ino cut off her own hair and scattered it across the floor.

Tōji tilted his head. “Is that supposed to do something?”

“Yes,” Karin said.

“Is it impressive?”

“No.”

The hair was a trap. Not a terrible one, but far too visible once Karin knew to look. Ino used it to bind Sakura briefly and line up her clan technique.

Then she used it.

Karin’s senses sharpened.

There.

The Yamanaka girl’s chakra projected outward in a thin, direct line, aiming for Sakura’s mind rather than her body. It was slow, narrow, and easy to dodge if one knew what was coming.

But if it hit…

Karin adjusted her glasses.

If it hit, it could decide a fight instantly.

That made the technique valuable, even if the user was unimpressive.

Sakura was hit.

For a moment, her body went still, and Ino’s chakra sank into her. Karin leaned forward slightly, curious despite herself. Mental techniques were rare, and seeing one used directly was useful.

Then Sakura resisted.

Not well nor very cleanly. But somehow she resisted.

Something inside her pushed back against Ino’s chakra, forcing the Yamanaka girl out before she could finish the match.

Karin blinked.

That was…

Unexpected.

Not enough to make Sakura impressive. Not even close. But the jutsu the Yamanaka girl used was, after all, a clan legacy, an ancient ninjutsu that wasn’t far off from a true Kekkei Genkai.

It should have been impossible to resist it, at least like that… so the fact that she somehow did… well, she didn’t know if she should be the slightest bit impressed, or if the fault was with Ino herself.

Because given how weak she seemed despite being a clan heir… it was entirely possible.

The fight continued after that, though by then both girls were exhausted. In the end, they punched each other at the same time and collapsed together.

Hayate watched them for a few seconds, then coughed.

“Both competitors are unable to continue. This match is a draw. Neither advances.”

Karin stared down at them.

“That was stupid,” she said.

Naho nodded. “Yes, Karin-sama.”

Tōji, still leaning against the wall, looked thoughtful. “The mind technique was dangerous, though.”

“It was,” Karin agreed. “The girl using it was the problem.”

“And Sakura?”

Karin looked at the pink-haired kunoichi being carried away.

“She lasted longer than I expected.” Well, with a forehead that big, it shouldn’t have been all too surprising that her skull was a bit thicker than most.

The next match began shortly after, once the arena was cleared and the medics had taken both girls away.

The board flickered.

Temari.

Tenten.

Karin straightened slightly.

This would at least be cleaner.

Tenten was from Might Guy’s team, which made her worth watching by default. She carried herself like a weapons specialist, and judging from the number of scrolls on her person, she favored storage and rapid deployment. Karin could respect that. A proper arsenal was a useful thing, and anyone who prepared more weapons than they could carry by hand had at least some sense.

Temari, on the other hand, was one of the Kazekage’s children.

She also carried a giant fan.

The matchup was obvious before it began.

“Bad for the Konoha girl,” Naho said.

“Very bad,” Karin agreed.

Tenten started well enough. She opened with speed, distance, and volume, using scrolls to unleash more weapons than most Genin could dodge. Kunai, shuriken, chains, weighted blades, and other tools filled the arena in a storm of steel.

Against another opponent, it would have been impressive.

Against Temari, it was target practice.

The Suna girl opened her fan once.

Wind tore through the arena.

The weapons scattered.

Tenten adjusted, switched angles, used more scrolls, and tried again. Karin gave her credit for that. She did not panic after the first failure, and her control over her weapons was far better than Sakura’s punches or Ino’s hair tricks.

But effort did not change the nature of the match.

Temari countered everything.

One star.

Two stars.

Three.

With each movement of the fan, the fight slipped farther away from Tenten. Her weapons could not reach Temari properly, and the more she threw, the more ammunition Temari had to send back at her.

It ended with Tenten thrown into the air and caught by a brutal gust of wind before crashing down.

Temari won cleanly.

Too cleanly.

Karin watched as the Suna girl smirked and rested her fan against her shoulder.

“She’s strong,” Tōji said.

“Yes,” Karin said. “But that match made her look stronger than she is.”

Naho tilted her head. “Because of the matchup?”

“Because of the matchup,” Karin confirmed. “The Konoha girl fought with weapons. Temari controls wind. That was almost cruel.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if that matchup had also been arranged. Given that Orochimaru had clearly already messed with things, Karin had no confidence that the rest of the matches hadn’t been messed with.

A bad matchup explained a defeat.

It did not erase it.

Temari returned to her siblings, looking satisfied. Kankurō said something Karin couldn’t hear, and Temari snapped back at him. Gaara remained silent.

Again.

Karin’s gaze lingered on him for a moment.

His chakra remained wrong, heavy, and red, pressing against his skin like something trapped inside a thin shell. Every time the room grew noisy, it shifted slightly, irritated by the sound.

A container.

Not exactly like Naruto, no, it was clear that Suna had no idea what they were doing.

Which made the whole thing slightly interesting.

Before Karin could think on it further, the board flickered again.

Names blurred across the screen.

Then slowed.

Then stopped.

Shikamaru Nara.

Kirisame Naho.