Rika drew in a slow, measured breath—deep enough that it settled in her chest—then let it slide back out through parted lips. The noise of the dojo, the weight of presence around her, all of it dulled as her focus narrowed. For a fleeting instant, her eyes closed.
When they opened again, they were sharp, bright, and locked squarely onto Kyuji.
Her chakra surged outward in a sudden release—not wild, not explosive, but dense. Heavy. The kind of pressure that didn’t simply push against the world, but pressed into it, bending perception at the edges. It wasn’t genjutsu. There was no illusion to unravel, no falsehood layered over reality. Instead, reality itself seemed to hesitate, like it had forgotten which rules it was supposed to follow.
Rika stepped forward into her stance, feet grounding her as chakra coils deep within her body flared awake in unison. She wasn’t testing the waters. She wasn’t probing. This was her full weight, laid bare.
Her hands snapped together into a seal—
And the world froze.
Time locked in place, suspended mid-breath. Dust hung unmoving in the air. Sound vanished, swallowed whole. The dojo became a still image, caught between moments. Rika stood alone inside it, heart steady, mind clear. She had learned long ago that touching another living being would shatter this state instantly, so she didn’t try. Three seconds wasn’t much—but it was enough.
She pushed outward. Chakra poured from her in a controlled flood, saturating the space around her. The dojo responded like a living thing under pressure—walls subtly bowing, lines bending where straight edges had once been. Space twisted just enough to be felt. A deep cobalt haze began to bleed into the air, faint at first, then unmistakable, rolling outward to form a visible boundary. The space within it felt thicker, heavier, like moving through water that didn’t exist.
Blue motes of light sparked into being around her, drifting and orbiting like fireflies caught between seconds, their glow reflected faintly in her eyes. This wasn’t just a release of power—it was a claim. The battlefield itself bent under her will, its rules tightening, resisting anything that dared to move against her control.
Three seconds passed. For Rika.
Time slammed back into motion. What had been stretched and shaped in stillness snapped into place all at once, the shift sudden and disorienting. Rika’s eyes tracked movement the instant it resumed, her body already responding—reality warping around her as she moved. An afterimage lingered where she had been a heartbeat earlier, dissolving into the blue haze left behind.
“Hah! Nice try!” she called out, her voice sharp and bright, carrying easily through the distorted air.
Her hands flowed into another seal without hesitation. “Mindlock,” she murmured under her breath, chakra surging into the attempt—only for it to collapse in on itself. The jutsu failed to take hold. Rika clicked her tongue, scowl flashing across her face for a split second. Wasted chakra. Annoying—but irrelevant. Momentum mattered more than efficiency right now.
She kept moving.
The boundary field pressed in around them, space subtly resisting anything that tried to move too quickly, too cleanly. Rika ducked low, dove aside, twisted her body with fluid precision as she stayed just ahead of the moment. Whether it was seconds or fractions of seconds no longer mattered—within her domain, timing itself felt off, stretched just enough to give her the edge.
She shot a grin over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out, utterly unbothered.
“Neeeahh~”
Lightning crackled to life around her fists, chakra snapping and coiling violently along her arms as she attempted to surge forward with a shocking strike. The electricity hissed and sparked against the distorted air, leaving jagged trails of light as she pushed the attack through her claimed space—aggressive, relentless, her presence filling the battlefield as completely as the deep blue haze that marked it. Rika didn’t slow. She didn’t retreat.
Within the warped confines of her boundary, she pressed forward, intent on keeping control—on forcing the fight to move on her terms, for as long as she could hold the world bent around her.
[Actions sent for round 2]