Facing Shiro's calm yet sharp question, the figure wearing Shino's jacket merely stood there, lips twitching as though he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

"I already warned you," Genma said, pointing a senbon toward Shiro. "Before this match ended, Uchiha Shiro entered the field without permission. As the proctor of the Chūnin finals, I hereby cancel Uchiha Shiro's qualification—"

Before the sentence could land, Izumi staggered to her feet. "Proctor, I… I forfeit. That settles it, yes?"

Genma fell silent, his gaze flicking toward the Hokage's dais. Hiruzen gave the faintest nod.

"Very well." Genma cleared his throat. "By voluntary surrender, the second bout is decided. Winner: Shino Aburame."

He raised his voice. "The next match will begin at once. All non-combatants clear the floor."

At that, "Shino" withstood Shiro's stare for only a moment before averting his eyes and slipping from the arena.

"Get back here," Shiro muttered, voice low. "You haven't answered me yet."

Izumi tugged weakly at Shiro's sleeve. "Stop… please. I was outclassed; no need to shame the clan further."

Shiro glanced at her injuries—skin pocked by a thousand bite-marks—and restrained himself. First aid took priority; impulses could wait. "Hold still, Izumi. We'll learn the truth soon."

He helped her from the battlefield. A moment later Genma's call rang out:

"Third match—contestants to the ring."

Shikamaru shuffled forward from the waiting area, scratching his hair. Behind him, Sasuke rose, rage simmering. "Shiro, I swear, I'm not losing this time. Whatever Konoha tried on Izumi, I'll pay back with interest"

"I know," Shiro said. "On paper you should overwhelm Shikamaru, but something about him feels… off. Keep your eyes open."

Sasuke nodded once, then stepped onto the stone floor.

Away from prying ears, Shiro led Izumi to a shaded bench. "Here—give me your hand."

Izumi's cheeks reddened, yet she obeyed. A warm surge of regenerative chakra poured from Shiro's palm into her battered system. Bite-marks closed, bruises faded, and fresh, healthy skin replaced the damaged tissue. Within minutes she sat there wide-eyed, flexing her fingers.

"It's… incredible, Shiro."

Rumors among the elders—the ones that said Madara kept his youth because his son possessed strange restorative gifts—flashed through her mind. Seeing was believing.

Five little minutes later, Izumi's wounds were entirely gone. She gazed at her reflection in a kunai, astonished by the flawless surface.

Back in the arena, Genma's voice echoed: "Nara Shikamaru wins!"

Izumi jerked upright. "What? Sasuke… lost? And so fast?"

On the ground, Sasuke lay sprawled, unable even to rise.

"A Shame," Shiro confirmed, eyes narrowing. "Which means my hunch was right—this Shikamaru isn't the real deal either."

"Kiba was saying the same about Shino," Izumi whispered.

"All the more reason to expose what's going on." Shiro rose, gaze flinty. "These counterfeits just showed their hands. Our turn now."