Neji pivots low, hand splayed and Byakugan blazing, as the ground scorches where Minato’s kunai just embedded. Chakra threads ripple in Neji’s sight, a flare of yellow, a signature he’s studied from legend, not memory. Minato’s silhouette flickers and vanishes. The world sharpens to every detail: wind bending the grass, distant clashes echoing, sweat on Neji’s brow. He snaps his palm forward, intercepting a projectile, only for Minato to reappear with a burst of blinding speed, Rasengan already forming in his palm. Neji shifts weight, feet circling, vision never losing track as he marks the shifting patterns of chakra across the field.
"Your eyes are as sharp as they say,"
Minato calls, voice calm even in the rush. Neji narrows his gaze, breath measured, ready for the next impossible attack as comrades struggle on the fringes of the battlefield.