Reborn With Shanks Template In Naruto

by Junkdog786

Summary:

Ryo, a poor orphan in Konoha and a distant descendant of the Senju, is mocked for his red hair and lives at the bottom of the academy. One day, he awakens his cheat.

His first inheritance: the iron-blooded physique and combat legacy of Red-Haired Shanks from the world of One Piece.

From that moment, Ryo’s quiet days of napping in class hide a growing strength that no one can ignore. Between surviving, ruling the academy with his fists, and crossing paths with Uzumaki Kushina, his story in Konoha is about to begin.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Sleeping Tyrant

Konoha Year 31.

Class 3-A was eerily silent, the sunlight making the chalk dust drift lazily in the air.

At the back of the classroom, by the window in the so-called "Protagonist's Seat," eight-year-old Kamiyama Ryo was fast asleep.

His chin was pressed firmly against the desk, as if glued there. His eyelids were too heavy to lift, and his entire being radiated: "I'm done, I'm exhausted, just let me sleep."

The afternoon sun shone on his strikingly red hair, but it failed to wake him.

At the front of the classroom came a few stifled giggles, like the buzzing of mosquitoes.

Ryo rubbed his face against the desk in irritation, which only made the sharp lines of his jaw stand out more.

Just then, the teacher, Kimura Shū, pushed open the door, bringing in a little girl.

Her red hair blazed like fire, framing a small, round, and rather cute face.

"Quiet down, class!" Kimura Shū's voice broke through the drowsy air in the back. "We have a new student joining us today." He gestured for the red-haired girl to step forward.

The girl took a deep breath, then shouted bravely, "H-hello, everyone! I'm Uzumaki Kushina, 'ttebane!" Her voice was crisp, but the strange, rolled-tongue verbal tic at the end stood out clearly.

That single shout stirred up a hornet's nest.

The entire class burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! Look at that hair!"

"It's as red as a tomato!"

"Hey, hey, her face is all red now, she looks even more like one!"

The jeers poured down without mercy. Kushina felt like a stone sinking into mud, sinking deeper and deeper.

Her throat tightened. She blinked furiously, trying to hold back tears. But no matter what, they welled up, and her vision blurred.

No! She couldn't just take it. She suddenly looked up and, with a desperate shout, declared, "My dream is to become the first female Hokage of Konoha Village!"

That was like pouring oil on the fire. The laughter grew louder, full of mockery.

"Hahaha, she's insane!"

"An outsider, a red tomato, wants to be Hokage?"

"Go back to your countryside home!"

"Daydreamer! You don't deserve it!"

The words stabbed her like thorny knives. Kushina's face burned hot, she couldn't tell if it was from shame or anger.

This time, she couldn't hold back her tears. She threw her head back hard, trying to stop them from falling.

Kimura Shū frowned, about to speak, but his voice was swallowed by the uproar.

Minato Namikaze, sitting near the podium, couldn't stand it anymore. Seeing Kushina's eyes turn red, determination surged in him. His hands braced on the desk, fingers turning white, ready to stand and defend her.

But then,

"Shut up!"

The roar, like a thunderclap, drowned out everything. "You're too damn loud! Are you tired of living?!"

The classroom instantly froze.

All laughter, all mockery, all whispers vanished as though their throats had been seized.

Every eye, filled with shock and disbelief, swish, turned to the back by the window.

A living nightmare had awakened.

Ryo was awake.

He lifted his head from the desk with a sharp crack of his neck that echoed in the dead silence.

He opened his eyelids, revealing silver-gray eyes filled only with irritation at being woken and a fierce, cutting intensity as they swept across the class.

Those caught in his gaze felt as though a cold wind had sliced through them. The loudest laughers from earlier shrank their necks, not daring to breathe.

Oh no!!!

They had been so busy mocking the new red-haired girl that they forgot the truly terrifying redhead in this class.

Ryo's red hair, to them, was a warning sign, a symbol of violence. He was absolutely not someone to provoke.

Why?

Because when he first entered the academy at six, his red hair had drawn the same mockery and bullying.

His family was poor and without backing, his parents gone, leaving only a few distant and insignificant Senju relatives.

However, Ryo had a cheat with a somewhat cliché name, "the Strongest Legacy System." Likely due to his red hair, it first granted him the legacy of Red-Haired Shanks, the Yonko from the One Piece world.

After the system's modification, Ryo inherited Shanks's physique. Even as a child, he became abnormally strong, with passive skills like massive stamina and rapid regeneration, a blend of Shanks's traits and Senju blood, plus 30% of Shanks's combat experience and techniques. As Ryo grew, the system would gradually unlock more, until he inherited everything Shanks possessed.

(Note: 30% = Jonin, 30–60% = Jonin–Kage, 60–80% = Kage–Super Kage, 80–100% = Super Kage.)

(System condition: Next stage unlocks only when Ryo fully digests the current inheritance and his body is strong enough.)

Moreover, Ryo was inherently ruthless and extremely hardworking.

The result went without saying.

At the academy, whether it was seniors bullying juniors or classmates joining in mockery, anyone who dared insult his red hair was "persuaded" physically by his fists.

The words "Don't leave after school" were no joke when coming from him, they struck fear in everyone's heart.

Could the teachers control him?

The truth was, most of them, after weighing their own strength, weren't even sure they could subdue this ferocious little monster.

With this fearsome reputation, Ryo reigned at the top of Class 3-A, no, the entire academy.

For three years, everyone lived under his shadow, miserable.

All knew that once this red-haired boy, who loved to sleep, opened his eyes, he was a human T-Rex.

So, his single low growl of morning temper was enough, the class instantly went silent.

Kushina was completely bewildered. What had just happened?

…

"Hmph! Boring!" Ryo saw the cowards shrink like quails and his irritation faded slightly.

He glared around the room, his gaze like a blade scraping across faces, full of warning: Make another sound? I'll show you what happens when you interrupt my sleep.

Satisfied, Ryo slammed his head back onto the desk with a thud, sticking himself there once more.

In short, even if the world ended, no one was allowed to disturb Ryo's sleep.

As for why he was always so sleepy?

He couldn't help it.

Ryo was just an ordinary poor kid in Konoha. His ancestors were once Senju, but ever since the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, disbanded the clan and everyone gave up the surname, by Ryo's parents' generation, almost nothing was left.

His parents died early, leaving only a run-down house where heavy rain outside meant rain inside as well.

Plus a few cheap-sounding C-rank ninjutsu scrolls, forget about anything like Kage Bunshin, and meager savings that weren't even enough to pick his teeth.

And worse, Ryo's body.

"He had inherited the iron-blooded physique of Shanks. His appetite was bottomless."

How long could his parents' pitiful inheritance last? It was gone in an instant.

On top of that, Ryo trained like a maniac.

So at night, after training, he had to sneak to the outskirts of the Forest of Death to hunt for food, wild rabbits, fruits, wild boars, anything edible.

For two years of school, this was his routine.

The result, class in the daytime was his only recharge time.

That's why his temper was so bad.

Being woken from deep sleep? Morning grumpiness, MAX.

Vaguely, he thought he heard someone mocking his red hair again?

Unforgivable. Ryo's mental blacklist was already noting down names.

Damn it, wait until after school. Let's see how I deal with you clueless brats.

As for the new student?

What new student?

His eyelids weighed a ton, his brain hadn't left deep sleep mode, so he hadn't even noticed an extra person at the front of the room, let alone who it was.

…

The classroom air froze solid.

Seeing the terrifying redhead flop back down and resume snoring, everyone let out an extremely quiet, relieved breath, as though surviving a disaster.

"Shhh," "Hoo," "Softer! Don't wake him again!"

The students even held their breath, terrified of disturbing the sleeping volcano again.

The ones who had mocked Kushina earlier were drenched in cold sweat. Had Ryo heard them insulting red hair? If so, they were doomed.

"Kushina-chan," the teacher at the podium sighed in relief, lowering his voice unconsciously as if meeting someone in secret. "Find yourself a seat."

Kushina still had a faint blush of anger on her cheeks, her light blue eyes misty.

She looked around, clutching the hem of her clothes nervously.

Empty? Empty? Empty… The only empty seat was next to that terrifying red-haired boy.

Under the whole class's sympathetic and gloating eyes, as if watching someone march to their death, Kushina gathered her courage. Step by step, she moved softly to the window seat.

Her heart pounded like a drum. She carefully pulled out the chair, making almost no sound, then quickly sat like a little rabbit.

"Ahem… Alright, class, let's… continue the lesson." The teacher cleared his throat, still barely louder than a mosquito, and hurriedly resumed lecturing to divert attention.

Kushina quietly turned her head to observe the boy beside her, his flame-red hair buried in his arms as he slept soundly.

Although he had been terrifying just now, his eyes as sharp as knives, he had helped her, hadn't he?

Everyone mocked and isolated her, but he hadn't joined them. And he had the same red hair as her.

Kushina remembered Grandma Mito's gentle words, "Make lots of friends at school."

Her small fist clenched under the desk, cheering herself on.

Yes! Isn't this her chance to make her first friend? He's the one!

"Um…" Kushina summoned the greatest courage of her life, cheeks flushing again. She leaned slightly toward Ryo, voice soft and timid, full of twelve-thousand percent anticipation. She whispered to the red-haired boy with his head buried in his arms, "H-hello! My name is Uzumaki Kushina. Can we… be friends?"

After her words fell, only the teacher's low lecture and the occasional shhk of chalk on the board could be heard.

Kushina held her breath, waiting.

Nervous? Excited? Both.

One second… two seconds…

His reply, "Hoo… snore… hoo…"

Soft, steady snores rose from the red-haired boy's head.

Kushina: (?_?)…

Her expression froze. Her blue eyes blinked, then blinked again, staring at the unresponsive sleeper.

At that moment, Kushina felt as though a tomato had hit her on the head, dull, sour, and embarrassing.

Her first attempt to make a friend, defeated by snoring?!

Her balloon of courage went poof, completely deflated.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 2: Chapter 2-10

Chapter 2: The Straight Man and the Fiery Girl

Ding-a-ling-a-ling—!

Oh, thank heavens. The dismissal bell was practically the sound of angels.

Their teacher, Kimura Shū, almost instantly clapped his lesson plan shut. Before he could even finish his sentence, the small group of kids who had laughed the loudest and shouted the cruelest words earlier jumped up from their seats as if springs had gone off under them, shooting up with a "whoosh."

They moved so fast, it was like a pack of starving wild dogs was chasing them. Scrambling and stumbling, they didn't even have time to put their backpacks on properly, rushing out the classroom door with a clatter, stirring up a gust of wind that sent chalk dust flying from the podium.

Why were they running so fast?

Obviously!

They knew perfectly well that when they mocked the new red-haired student earlier, their voices were as loud as loudspeakers. The problem was—the words "red-haired"!

There were only two redheads in the room.

One was the new, tomato-headed girl, easy to bully. The other… was sleeping by the window, the one whose name alone was enough to make Ninja Academy students break into a cold sweat—Kamiyama Ryo.

They hadn't forgotten the look in Ryo's eyes when he woke up, saying, "You're too damn loud! Are you tired of living?!"

That gaze was as cold as a blade scraping bone. It had stunned them with fear at the time, and thinking about it now still made their hair stand on end.

Shouldn't they get out of here as fast as possible?

Were they supposed to stay and wait until the red-haired tyrant fully woke up, remembered everything, and then gave them a "loving greeting" on the way home?

Remembering the miserable state of those who had been "greeted" by Ryo's fists in the past…

Forget it! Running faster might just save their lives!

"Yawn—"

In the last row by the window, the red-haired boy who had been sleeping soundly finally stirred.

Ryo stretched and let out a long yawn, his bones popping.

That nap was truly comfortable.

All the irritation from earlier had completely vanished. After a full rest, he felt refreshed.

The fierce, menacing look on his face was gone, his brows relaxed. Coupled with his undeniably handsome features, he gave off a strangely gentle impression.

There was no helping it. Ryo was at his core a grinder, not some natural-born killer.

As a good young man who had grown up in a relatively peaceful environment in his previous life, he didn't have twisted thoughts. He just had a bad temper, extreme morning grumpiness, and slightly stronger-than-average fists.

After a good sleep, he was like a fully charged battery, calm and steady.

Ryo rubbed his eyes, ready to grab his bag and head home to feed his bottomless stomach and then plan his evening training regimen…

"You're awake!"

A clear voice suddenly came from beside him, carrying a trace of… resentment?

Ryo was startled. Only then did he realize that the desk next to him, which had always been empty, now had someone sitting there.

A little girl, with the same fiery red hair as his own. Her round, cute face was staring at him with light blue eyes, her small mouth slightly pouted.

"You are?" Ryo hadn't registered it yet.

He had just woken up, and his mind was still fuzzy.

All that filled his head were the words: "school's out," "hungry," "eat," "train."

Kushina looked at Ryo's confused expression, and the frustration in her heart surged again.

She remembered earlier, when she had bravely and nervously asked, "let's be friends," and his response had been nothing but steady snoring?

Even more frustrating!

She took a deep breath, swallowed her irritation, and almost exactly repeated her actions from earlier. She stiffly introduced herself again: "H-hello! My name is Uzumaki Kushina. Can… can we be friends?"

Though her tone carried some indignation, there was still hope in her eyes.

After all, this was the only one with the same red hair as her, who hadn't mocked her, and had even helped her.

Ryo blinked at the pouting red-haired girl, puzzled.

Oh… right. He remembered now!

It seemed that when he was half-asleep, the homeroom teacher, Kimura Shū, had brought in a new student.

Wait… Uzumaki Kushina?

Uzumaki… red hair… married a blond guy in the future… gave birth to the Child of Prophecy?!

Naruto's mom?!

Now Ryo was wide awake.

"Ah! Oh, oh!" He quickly snapped back. The girl was waiting for his answer. "My name is Kamiyama Ryo. Hello, nice to meet you!"

His tone was calm, not fierce at all.

Ryo wasn't actually hard to talk to, as long as you didn't insult his red hair, call him "tomato head," or make noise while he was sleeping. When he was in a normal state, he wasn't unreasonable.

It was just that his "persuasion" record with his fists over the past two years was too notorious, and since he only came to class to sleep, no one dared talk to him.

So his "keep away" aura had been maintained all this time.

Kushina, this fearless (or clueless) warrior, was the first to approach him.

Seeing Ryo respond so easily in a gentle tone, the brave Kushina's temper suddenly flared.

She had stared at him all afternoon just to make friends.

Ryo, meanwhile, had snored the whole time.

Even though his face was unfairly handsome, the more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

"Hmph!" Kushina wrinkled her little nose. "Ryo-kun has excellent sleep quality! Your eyelashes didn't even twitch all afternoon! I called you several times and you didn't wake up!" Her tone was part complaint, part grievance, and part "you owe me."

Ryo looked at her with a blank expression. "What…?"

Forgive his straight-laced mind, but he simply didn't understand why Kushina was so angry.

The only thought in his mind was: school's out, time to eat.

"Um? Kushina-chan, do you still need something? If not, school's out. I'm going home!" Ryo said directly.

To this grinder, chatting and making friends didn't compare to going home to eat and prepare for training. His evening plan of weighted running and ten thousand sword swings was waiting.

Socializing with an eight-year-old girl? Please. He had no interest, nor the time.

Besides, he had vaguely felt something watching him earlier, most likely related to this girl. Trouble magnets should be avoided.

He had no time for romance. At least not now. This wasn't the time to chase girls, even if she was the future Hokage's mother. His only goal was to grind for strength and avoid dying as a nameless casualty in the coming Second Great Ninja War.

Survive. Get stronger. That was it.

"Hmph! Nothing!" Kushina was nearly choked by his bluntness. Her big eyes rolled fiercely, and she shouted inwardly: "Stupid blockhead! I took the initiative! And his attitude is this bad? Am I, Uzumaki Kushina, not cute?!"

Ryo didn't notice her resentment. Once she said "nothing," he immediately relaxed. "Alright. I've got things to do, so I'm leaving. See you tomorrow, Kushina-chan!"

Before he even finished, he grabbed his faded, tattered backpack. Moving quickly, he strode out the classroom door without looking back, his figure casual and carefree.

Kushina watched his red hair vanish through the door, her small chest heaving with anger.

She suddenly stood up, faced the door, and wrinkled her nose with all her might, letting out a loud, heartfelt protest:

"Hmph—!!!"

Kamiyama Ryo. She would remember him!

(To be continued.)

Chapter 3: Kushina’s “Problem”

The sun slanted westward, casting a dazzling golden glow over Konoha.

Kushina kicked a small stone with her foot as she trudged toward the old house in the Senju clan compound.

Her vibrant red hair seemed to burn even brighter in the setting sun, but it only made the lingering traces of anger on her round, cute face more obvious. She was still sulking over Ryo.

"Hmph! Stupid jock! Blockhead!" She kicked another stone far away, muttering under her breath. "I… I was so proactive! Sleeping! All he does is sleep! His snores are louder than anything!"

The memory of her courage that afternoon made her cheeks burn again, her heart had pounded like a drum when she walked up to him, speaking in the softest voice she'd ever managed. And what did she get in return? A loud, drawn-out "Huuu… rrr… mmph…" from him in his sleep.

When she entered the familiar courtyard, the sight of the heavy wooden door lifted her mood. A brilliant smile stretched across her face as she pushed the door open and ran inside.

"Grandma Mito! I'm home!"

Her voice was like a stone dropped into calm water.

The light inside was much softer. Uzumaki Mito sat on the tatami near the courtyard with a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

Time seemed to have touched only her eyes; the Yin Seal kept her appearance like that of a gentle maiden.

Seeing Kushina rush in like a little flame, Mito's eyes curved into a smile.

"You're back? How was school today?" Mito's voice was as gentle as a spring breeze. "Did you make any new friends?" She knew too well what this girl, whose clan had been destroyed and country lost, needed—acceptance, recognition, new bonds. Those were the remedies for her wounds.

"New friends?" A spirited female voice chimed in from the side.

Tsunade, with long golden hair and a tall figure, sat cross-legged, munching on senbei. Her eyes lit up at the question, and she didn't even bother brushing off the crumbs on her clothes.

Beside her sat Nawaki, a little older, flipping through a basic ninjutsu book. At Kushina's words, he also looked up curiously.

Tsunade put her senbei down on the low table, leaning forward like a big sister. "Quick, tell me! Did anyone bully you at school? Tell your big sister, and I'll have Nawaki teach them a lesson!" She jabbed her elbow into him, her eyes sharp with command. "Right, Nawaki?"

Nawaki almost dropped his book, rubbing his shoulder as he straightened. "Right, right, right! Sis is right! Kushina, don't worry! If anyone dares bully you, just tell me. I'll make sure they regret ever stepping into the academy!"

As the eldest grandson of the Senju in this generation, it was only natural for him to protect this adorable little sister. At school, except for a few geniuses (and a certain redhead), he truly feared no one.

Kushina felt warmth spread in her chest as she saw their concerned eyes.

Mito was her pillar, and Tsunade and Nawaki were like blazing flames that melted away the chill left by the fall of the Uzumaki.

She walked over to Mito's side, nestling close. The gloom on her face faded, replaced with a hint of childish charm.

"No, no one bullied me," she shook her head, then suddenly brightened. "I just met a… uh, a classmate. His hair is red, just like mine!"

"Oh? Red?" Tsunade's gossiping spark immediately caught fire.

She let out a meaningful "oh" and grinned mischievously, leaning forward even more. "A red-haired classmate that caught your attention? Tell me, is that kid especially handsome?" She deliberately emphasized "especially handsome," nudging Kushina lightly. "Do you like him?"

"Big Sister Tsunade!" Kushina's face flushed red like a ripe cherry tomato.

She shot up from Mito's side, flustered and shy. "You… what nonsense are you talking about! I don't like him at all!" She stomped her foot and then immediately turned, diving into Mito's embrace, burying her burning face as she wriggled and whined, "Grandma Mito! Look at Big Sister Tsunade! She's bullying me!"

Mito chuckled, swayed by Kushina's sudden dive, and gently patted her back as if she were soothing a ruffled kitten. "Alright, alright, Tsunade is just teasing you." She gave her mischievous granddaughter a warning look.

Tsunade only laughed, ignoring Kushina's complaint, her grin widening as if she'd just gotten more ammo. "Don't like him? Then you must hate him, right? Did that kid upset you?"

Her expression shifted in an instant, going from playful gossip to protective big sister. Her gaze snapped toward Nawaki, sharp as a blade. "Nawaki! Did you hear that? Tomorrow, find that red-haired brat named Ryo and give him a proper 'greeting' from me! Let him know what happens when someone upsets our Kushina!"

"Uh… Ryo?!" Nawaki, who a moment ago had been eager to play hero, froze. His smile vanished as if someone had grabbed his throat.

His eyes widened in horror. "Sis! You… you want me to die?!"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Tsunade blinked, completely caught off guard by his reaction.

What was so special about this kid named Ryo?

Nawaki swallowed, remembering the countless stories floating around, his palms sweating. "Sis, you've been away from the academy for years, so it's normal you don't know. But… but…"

He stammered, his eyes full of lingering fear. "That redhead, his name's Ryo! Kamiyama Ryo from Class 3-A! He's the academy's infamous little tyrant! He fights like a monster, he's ridiculously strong, and he's vicious! I heard some older students tried to teach him a lesson, but he knocked their front teeth out! Even the teachers back off when he gets mad! You want me to go 'greet' him? Forget it! I'll end up in the hospital first!"

The words poured out like a machine gun, and Nawaki still didn't think it was enough. He added, "That red hair of his is basically a danger signal in the academy! Nobody dares mess with him! Whoever does, ends up unlucky. Seriously!"

Nawaki desperately wanted his sister to understand the situation.

In short, Ryo was terrifying, and his record spoke for itself.

Kushina, listening nearby, was a little stunned.

Ryo? A tyrant? Even the teachers avoided him?

She unconsciously recalled the cold, bloodthirsty look in his eyes when he was woken up in class. The way the entire room had gone silent instantly… it didn't seem impossible.

But when school ended earlier, hadn't he seemed harmless?

He just spoke stiffly. A stupid jock! Hmph!

Tsunade finally dropped her playful act, her brows furrowing. "That strong…" She had no impression of this Ryo.

Mito, who had been gently patting Kushina's back, shifted her gaze, her eyes distant yet knowing. She spoke softly.

"Red hair… named Ryo…" Her hand stroked Kushina's soft red locks as her expression grew thoughtful. "Then Grandma knows who it is."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 4: Tyrannosaurus in Disguise

Uzumaki Mito paused for a moment, as if recalling the past.

Back when Ryo first enrolled, because of his striking red hair, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had personally visited her.

At first, the Hokage thought a descendant of the Uzumaki clan had appeared in Konoha. After all, the Uzumaki clan had carried red hair for generations and was renowned as ideal vessels for sealing Tailed Beasts.

But after careful investigation, it was discovered that Ryo was simply a civilian descendant of the Senju scattered throughout Konoha. His parents had died young, and he had grown up in hardship.

Considering the frequent intermarriages between the Senju and the Uzumaki, with their bloodlines often intertwined, it was possible for ancestral Uzumaki traits to surface in Senju descendants.

Children with such red hair naturally had strong physiques, abundant life force, and vast chakra reserves, making them prime candidates for becoming Jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails.

Most importantly, Ryo was a Konoha native with a clean civilian background.

He belonged naturally to the Hokage's faction. He was one of their own.

The Third Hokage even considered grooming him to replace the aging Uzumaki Mito as the next Nine-Tails Jinchuriki.

So he asked Mito to personally confirm whether Ryo had awakened the Uzumaki bloodline and to evaluate his potential.

Mito remembered that scene clearly.

She had carefully "looked" at the six-year-old boy with red hair. Silent, stubborn, wearing old clothes, but standing with a straight back.

The result, however, was disappointing.

Mito sensed that the chakra within Ryo's body was pitifully weak, even thinner than that of the most ordinary academy student.

It did not resemble an awakened Uzumaki bloodline at all.

'Perhaps it's just a special hair color, without inheriting the chakra talent of the Uzumaki,' Mito concluded, and she reported this to the Third Hokage.

Ryo was excluded from the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki candidates, left as nothing more than a poor, unnoticed Senju orphan.

It was precisely because of this that, after the fall of the Uzumaki, the Hokage urgently dispatched the Anbu to bring back Kushina, whose bloodline was purer and stronger, to Konoha for training.

Mito's judgment had not been wrong.

At that time, the original Kamiyama Ryo was indeed nothing more than an ordinary child with mediocre talent and meager chakra, destined to remain unknown in the ninja world or even to die as cannon fodder.

His chakra reserves were so pitiful that he could barely perform even a simple E-rank ninjutsu.

But what neither Mito nor the Third Hokage could have imagined was that the Ryo who had transmigrated was no longer the same mediocre child.

Soon after enrolling at the age of six, a cheat system quietly bound itself to him."

Perhaps because of his red hair, similar to the Uzumaki, the first inheritance the system granted him was from a peak figure of another world—the One Piece world's "Red-Haired" Shanks, one of the Four Emperors, master of the strongest Conqueror's Haki.

The system's power completely and fundamentally transformed Ryo's body.

He was granted a terrifying physique on par with Shanks in his youth: dense muscles, tough bones, monstrous strength and stamina, fast recovery, and terrifying growth potential.

Within him lay the potential for Conqueror's Haki, and he unlocked about 30% of Shanks' combat skills and fighting experience.

This transformation even unintentionally fused with the tiny trace of life energy within his Senju bloodline.

The result was today's Ryo, a small Tyrannosaurus in the skin of an eight-year-old child. His health bar was ridiculously thick, his recovery astonishingly fast, and he carried the instincts of a top-tier fighter, albeit in a younger form.

And his so-called thin chakra?

That was just an illusion.

As everyone knows, chakra is the fusion of spiritual and physical energy.

With his terrifying physique nourished by Shanks' legacy, his dormant Conqueror's Haki, and his powerful spiritual energy as a transmigrator, Ryo was destined to become a sea of chakra in the future.

Mito had only given him a brief glance, failing to see the deeper layers. That was why she had concluded his chakra was thin and without Uzumaki talent.

Listening to Nawaki's description of Ryo like he was some terrifying monster, seeing Mito's thoughtful look, and remembering Ryo's roar in class that silenced everyone even while half-asleep, Kushina couldn't help but feel dazed.

This deskmate of hers… did seem… really strong?

But when school ended earlier, he hadn't seemed scary at all.

Most of her indignation had faded, replaced by a strange mix of curiosity and lingering resentment from Ryo brushing her off earlier.

Mito's soft, soothing voice pulled her back from her thoughts. "So, Kushina and Ryo are in the same class, and even deskmates?"

She looked down at Kushina with a gentle smile. "That is fate. Since you are deskmates, Kushina, get along well with him. Both of you are very special children."

"Get along with him…" Kushina repeated, pouting again. "But all he does is sleep! He barely listens when I talk to him! This afternoon, when I tried to be friends with him, he just said, 'If there's nothing, I'm going home!'" She mimicked Ryo's stiff tone, which drew laughter from Tsunade and Nawaki.

"Haha, such personality?" Tsunade chuckled. "Interesting! Kushina, looks like your path to making friends won't be smooth."

Nawaki couldn't help but laugh as well, though his laugh carried more relief. Better Kushina than him dealing with that walking disaster.

"Hmph! I'm not talking to you guys!" Kushina's cheeks turned bright red as she buried herself in Mito's arms again.

The fading glow of the sunset filtered through the paper doors, bathing the room in a warm orange light.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 5: Midnight Beast Feast

Discussions about Ryo in the Senju compound were completely unknown to him, the protagonist.

Right now, his stomach was rumbling with hunger, like a giant pit churning inside.

This wasn't ordinary hunger. It was the kind of hunger where he felt like he could eat an entire cow.

He just wanted to stuff himself.

All of this was because of his body—he had inherited Shanks' monstrous physique. Even though Ryo was still a child, the more he trained, the hungrier he became.

He knew that if he didn't put at least a hundred catties of meat into his stomach, today's training would be wasted.

Home?

Just a dilapidated shack on the edge of the village, dirt poor, a pathetic contrast to his bottomless appetite.

The rice jar was always empty.

The most valuable thing in the entire house was a spice box against the wall. That was his lifeline.

The money left behind by his parents?

Already eaten long ago!

Now, he lived on a monthly pension from the village. He wouldn't waste a single coin on rice or flour. Other than daily necessities, all his money went straight to the Konoha store for seasonings: big jars of coarse salt, dried chili flakes, cheap miso, animal fat, dried wild onions, and ginger blocks.

Beside them were his handmade two-meter-long skewers, wicker baskets for smoking meat, and large clean tree leaves for wrapping.

This was his "kitchen arsenal."

The few scraps of smoked boar jerky left?

Not even enough to get stuck in his teeth.

He chewed them down, changed into old clothes, and under the cover of night, slipped out of the village like a shadow, heading for the Forest of Death.

Little rabbits and birds?

That kind of meat wasn't even enough to snack on. If he was going to hunt, it had to be something big.

Because of the natural energy in this world, the Forest of Death had an abundance of oversized wild beasts. Look, a boar the size of a small hill, thick skin, bristly fur, and tusks sharp enough to gut a man. Just its bulk alone was enough to make anyone drool.

Ryo didn't say a word. He didn't draw his broken katana. Instead, he grabbed a sharpened wooden club. This thing worked better against thick hides anyway.

When the boar lowered its head to root around, exposing its neck, Ryo tensed his body like a drawn bow and—whoosh!

With his current strength and sharp eyesight, the club flew like it had eyes, stabbing straight into the weak spot of the boar's neck.

A clean kill. Done.

Bleeding, gutting, skinning, butchering… his movements were quick and precise. How many innocent lives had he ended to get this skilled?

Dragging back half a side of meat (which still weighed over a hundred catties), Ryo tossed it into his backyard "slaughterhouse + tough guy kitchen." There sat a large bluestone chopping block, a chipped cleaver, a scrap iron pot big enough to stew a whole pig, a branch barbecue grill, and piles of coarse salt, chili powder, and other spices.

Rolling up his sleeves, he instantly switched into gourmet veteran mode.

"Swish, swish, swish!" The cleaver flew, breaking the boar down: thick hindquarters? Chunk them up for stew. Ribs and legs? Slice for grilling. The tender parts? Cut into wide slabs for marinating.

Earthenware basins were set out. He dumped in the sliced meat, poured in coarse salt, sprinkled chili powder and spices, drizzled oil and miso.

With bark gloves on his hands, he kneaded the meat thoroughly, making sure every piece was coated. Then he wrapped them in tree leaves, tied them down with stone weights to marinate, while the extra strips were salted for air-drying.

The giant iron pot was filled with water. Bones and scraps went in. He tossed in handfuls of wild onions, ginger, mushrooms, and fruit he'd gathered nearby. Soon it was boiling hard, "gurgle, gurgle," as the smell of broth filled the air.

Those two-meter skewers weren't just decoration. He threaded ribs and leg slices onto them and placed them on the grill, carefully controlling the distance from the fire.

Fat dripped onto the coals, sizzling loudly, sending waves of aroma straight up.

Ryo crouched beside the fire, flipping meat like it was his own child.

The rest of the meat was hung in wicker baskets, smoking over pine needles and fruit wood. Another portion was laid on a stone slab, waiting.

He wasted nothing.

Even as a child, Ryo did the work of several men. Shanks' physique made it easy. He processed the hundred catties of meat without breaking a sweat.

The backyard filled with smoke, fire, and the overwhelming aroma of meat, a giant's kitchen party.

Hungry? Yes, starving.

But in his heart, he knew eating was just fuel. Only by filling up could he keep training. Before eating, he had to take his "Overachiever's Body Training Package."

With a giant log strapped to his back, heavy enough to crush several men, he began weighted steps. Each stomp left a crater, sweat pouring down: "One! Two! Three!"

In his mind, he replayed Shanks' training—breathing, step control. He grit his teeth, pushing to his limit. When he finally dropped the log, his back was red like it had been branded, muscles twitching.

He caught his breath, then drew his katana. "Clang!" He slashed downward. "Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!" The sound of blades cutting air pierced the night.

He didn't know how many tens of thousands of cuts he made, only that his arms eventually went numb. Leaning on the sword, panting, he felt like a dog about to collapse.

Then his nose twitched. "Whoa!"

The bone broth was bubbling into a milky-white soup, steam rich with the smell of onions and mushrooms.

The skewered meat turned golden, fat popping open, a charred scent rising.

The smoked meat gave off the deep aroma of pine and fruit wood.

The marinated raw slices carried a spicy punch.

This avalanche of smells hit him like a slap.

Ryo's exhausted body suddenly sprang up.

The physique from the One Piece world was just that absurd. As long as he ate, his fatigue and minor injuries healed automatically.

The value of this "sit-up lock-health cheat" was off the charts.

Indeed, the best medicine was the hundred-catty feast laid before him.

He inhaled deeply, mentally taking notes: when to add meat to the stew, which skewer needed flipping, which smoked cut needed more salt. Cook fast, feed stomach.

In his past life, Ryo had been a cooking fanatic.

Single for decades, all his energy went into food.

Every day, he watched food bloggers, then practiced on his own, perfecting techniques to make even cheap ingredients delicious.

Training himself half to death? Fine. He could endure.

But disappointing his stomach? Never.

If after sweating blood all day, he still ate like a pig, what was the point of living?

So no matter how tired he was, he would always turn giant beast meat into something mouthwatering.

That was his one stubbornness.

Only by eating his fill could he keep grinding.

After a short break, more training would continue through the night.

As for chakra?

What chakra?

He had Shanks' inheritance. Even without Six Paths-level cheats, he could climb to the top of the ninja world the normal way.

And besides, he didn't even have access to advanced ninjutsu right now.

So his chakra reserves were small, on purpose. The little he had was enough to pass school exams.

Now, only when he was dead tired would he glance at his system panel, watching the assimilation progress tick forward by a tiny fraction, like sword skill unlock progress. Every bit of growth made it worth it.

After his feast and some rest, he pushed himself again.

…

By dawn, the night-long training ended.

He washed up, soaked in a hot bath, and ate a hearty breakfast.

Then he packed the bento he'd prepared the night before for the academy lunch, dragging his drained body to school.

Daytime? That was prime time for him to lie flat and recover.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 6: Seated Next to a Snorer

It was early morning, and the paths of Konoha were already bustling with students hurrying to the Ninja Academy.

But as soon as anyone in the crowd spotted that striking head of red hair, "Tsk! Let's go, let's go!"

"Don't block his way."

"Stay away, I don't want any trouble."

Students automatically cleared a path, literally opening a way for Ryo, their eyes avoiding him as if he were a plague.

Who in their right mind would deliberately cross his path? Did they think they were tough enough to take a beating?

What about Ryo himself?

He couldn't even be bothered to lift an eyelid at these glancing eyes.

He was used to it.

Anyway, he wasn't rushing to school to see these people's faces. He had only one real task, catching up on sleep, to fiercely replenish his health bar after that devilish training last night.

With faint dark circles under his eyes, his steps conveyed a numb "don't talk to me" vibe, his mind drifting with two big words: Sleepy. Tired.

Meanwhile, in the old mansion of the Senju clan.

"Ugh… just five more minutes of sleep… just five minutes…"

Kushina was groggily lingering in bed, the warm covers clinging to her like suction cups.

Completely forgetting about waking up early for school.

Uzumaki Mito slowly sipped her tea in the next room. Hearing no movement from Kushina's room, her lips curved into a smile.

Little girl, it's time you learned a lesson. She wasn't in a hurry at all.

Children, after all, would remember after being scolded by the teacher for being late once.

A thin-skinned girl like her would surely not dare to lie in bed again.

"Huuu-ah." When Kushina finally groggily opened her eyes and caught sight of the bright sun outside the window…

"Oh no!! I'm going to be late!!!" She sprang out of bed, as anxious as a cat with its tail stepped on.

"Grandma Mito, why didn't you wake me up!!"

The little girl frantically pulled on her clothes, shouting outside with a tearful voice.

Rushing to the sink, she hastily splashed water on her face, grabbed her hair and tied it up carelessly, but her red hair still defiantly sprouted a few unruly strands.

Breakfast?

No time for that.

Kushina stormed out the door like a whirlwind, her short legs pattering as she ran wildly toward school.

When she rushed to the main gate, the corner of her eye caught sight of the lunch bento on the table, specially prepared for her by Grandma Mito…

Damn it! She forgot her lunch too!!! Kushina wailed inwardly, but her feet didn't stop.

"Never mind, I'll deal with it after school! Just go!"

By the time Kushina, panting and flushed, arrived at the classroom door…

Teacher Kimura Shū was already enthusiastically lecturing at the blackboard with chalk in hand.

The entire class's attention, with a "swish," instantly focused on the red-haired little girl leaning on the doorframe, still gasping for air.

The air solidified for two seconds.

Kimura frowned. "Uzumaki Kushina-san?"

"Y-yes! I'm sorry, Teacher! I… I overslept!"

Kushina's face was beet red, her head bowed low, feeling dozens of gazes piercing her like needles.

A faint "hoo… roo…" came from the back row by the window, Ryo's peaceful mumbling in his sleep, making Kushina's current discomfiture even more apparent.

Kimura looked at the little girl's embarrassed face. After all, she was a new student, and it was her first time being late.

He sighed and waved his hand. "Never mind, since it's your first offense, go back to your seat. Be careful next time."

"Y-yes… thank you, Sensei!" Kushina felt as if she had been granted a great pardon, wishing she could bury her head in her chest and scurried back to her exclusive seat by the window.

Passing by Minato, he cast a gentle and worried glance her way.

Kushina didn't understand his gaze, only feeling that this sissy was mocking her, making her face even hotter, with anger.

Embarrassing. So embarrassing.

The little person in her heart was already banging against the wall.

Sitting in her seat, she heard Kimura's continued lecture, her deskmate Ryo's steady snoring behind her, and faint, uncontrollable snickers.

Kushina wished she could find a hole to crawl into.

Time crawled by.

What was the teacher talking about?

Kushina didn't hear a single word.

"Grumble grumble."

A sound so loud that Kushina wanted to die on the spot came from her empty stomach.

It was so clear that students in the front and back rows probably heard it.

She froze.

Ryo, who was sleeping soundly beside her, seemed to "hmm?" and shifted his position, thankfully not waking up.

The consequences of skipping breakfast began to retaliate without warning.

Hunger was like a small hand, constantly scratching at her stomach.

She was so annoyed she almost cried.

Grandma Mito is too mean! Why didn't she just wake me up this morning! Now I'm not only being laughed at by the whole class for being late, but I'm also hungry! My bento! It's still on the table at home…

Kushina desperately sprawled on her desk, pressing her arms tightly against her stomach, trying to suppress the hunger.

But the more she pressed, the clearer the feeling became.

Hungry, wronged, and humiliated.

Kushina vowed never to sleep in again.

Glancing at her red-haired deskmate who was sleeping soundly, the girl felt even more annoyed.

Although Ryo was innocently sleeping soundly at this moment, it didn't stop the girl from taking out her anger on him.

The Ninja Academy didn't have many classes. Usually, there were only two in the morning, but each class was as long and tedious.

Finally!

"Ding-a-ling-a-ling."

The dismissal bell sounded sweeter than celestial music.

It was lunchtime.

The classroom immediately became lively, filled with the sounds of lunchboxes opening and the aroma of food.

This aroma was double torture for Kushina, who had been hungry for two classes all morning and whose stomach was rebelling.

She covered her face with a worried expression.

What should I do… Should I go home to eat? There's not enough time to go back and forth! Am I going to spend the afternoon hungry too?

Just thinking about it made her vision go black.

Just as Kushina was in a dilemma, worrying about her tragic lunch…

The little blonde boy in the front seat picked up his lunchbox, turned back, and glanced at the distressed Kushina a few times, wanting to pluck up the courage to walk over.

The little blonde, who had been paying attention to the girl, had, of course, heard Kushina's stomach rumbling that morning.

However, just then…

"Ugh… hmm?" A lazy groan came from beside her.

Kushina's unshakeable deskmate, the "Sleeping Tyrant" Ryo, was finally awakened by his lunch biological clock.

He rubbed his sleepy eyes and stretched with a huge yawn.

Making Kushina inwardly grumble: Did sleeping suck all his energy?

Then Ryo, very naturally and unhurriedly, pulled out a large, tightly wrapped bento package from his desk.

No need to guess, it was definitely the luxurious product of last night's hundred-pound cooking.

The aroma of food seemed to subtly waft out from the package, precisely entering Kushina's nose…

Kushina: "…"

She was even hungrier now, hey.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 7: Crying Won’t Work, But Pork Might

"Gulp."

Kushina clearly heard herself swallow a large mouthful of coveted saliva.

Tears at the corners of her eyes wanted to spill out uncontrollably.

She pursed her lips tightly, her eyes glued to the coarse cloth bag that Ryo slowly unfolded.

The coarse cloth was peeled back layer by layer, revealing the main attraction inside, a huge, simple bamboo lunchbox lid, filled with… meat.

It wasn't the kind of soft, stewed chunks, but golden-brown, crispy ribs with tiny oil bubbles sizzling at the edges. There were slices of smoked meat, cut uniformly thick, evenly coated in sauce, glistening invitingly. There were also chewy, well-marinated meat strips.

The lunchbox seemed to have been specially insulated, and steam and aroma wafted upward. Kushina felt her stomach clench violently, and her empty belly let out a deafening roar. "Gulu rulu rulu."

This time, the sound was too loud.

Several classmates around, who were also opening their lunchboxes, all looked over in unison, their gazes darting between Kushina and the sinfully fragrant plate of meat.

Kushina's face instantly turned as red as a ripe apple, an intense shame intertwining with an almost devouring hunger.

She no longer cared about her small resentment toward Ryo or the unpleasantness of yesterday.

Heaven and earth were vast, but filling her stomach was paramount.

She mustered the greatest courage of her life, abruptly turned her head, her light blue eyes wet with longing and embarrassment, and stared intently at the meat mountain lunchbox in Ryo's hand, which was larger than her own face.

"Ryo-kun!" Her voice trembled slightly from nervousness and weakness, her fingers subconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. "You… yours looks like so much! Can… can you…" The rest of the words were really hard to say, but the desire for food ultimately overcame her shame. "…can you share a little bit with me? Just a tiny bit!" She quickly made a small gap with her thumb and forefinger, her voice as faint as a mosquito's, but full of pleading.

Ryo was about to pick up a crispy, delicious-looking rib, thickly coated in sauce, when he heard Kushina's words and his movement paused in mid-air.

He turned his head, his face expressionless, only the instinctive impatience of being disturbed during his meal.

His deep-set eyes glanced at Kushina's cute, red, embarrassed little face, then lowered to look at his own important rations, which he had spent time and effort making last night to replenish his energy.

"Eh?" He let out a short sound, his brows habitually furrowing slightly. "Sorry." He refused bluntly, his tone flat, without malice, merely stating a fact. "This is all for one person." He emphasized "one" and "person."

What a joke, this little bit of meat wasn't even enough to fill his own teeth. All the energy to support his physical recovery was in this.

How could there be any extra to give to others?

Especially this deskmate he had only met yesterday, who was just a small trouble in his eyes.

He, Ryo, was not some generous philanthropist.

This cold, crisp refusal, without any room for negotiation, was like a small ice pick, precisely piercing Kushina's last bit of forced dignity.

No.

Not even a tiny bit.

Was it because she was an outsider? Was it because she was new? Or was it because he was simply a cold, selfish, straight-laced jerk?

The shame of being mocked for being late, the grievance, hunger, the feeling of being isolated, the pain of a fallen country, the helplessness of being alone in a strange environment, all the suppressed negative emotions erupted at this moment.

Kushina felt like a balloon blown to its limit, and it exploded.

No matter how strong Kushina used to be, she was still just an eight-year-old girl.

So those light blue eyes, which had been stubbornly holding back tears, could no longer contain the surging emotion.

Large, hot tears rolled out uncontrollably, sliding down her rosy cheeks, pat, pat, falling onto the open textbook, quickly soaking into two dark flowers.

She didn't wail like ordinary little girls, but just bit her lower lip tightly, letting the tears flow silently, her body trembling slightly from trying to suppress her sobs.

She even stubbornly didn't raise a hand to wipe them away, just buried her head deeply into her arms again, curling into a ball.

Her fiery red hair, at this moment, was no longer a dazzling flame, but like a cluster of fallen leaves, soaked by rain and trembling in the wind.

Her appearance made her seem like she had been abandoned in a corner by the whole world.

Ryo held the rib, frozen in place.

"???"

His mind was instantly filled with question marks.

Isn't it normal to refuse to share food?

He didn't even have enough for himself.

Being hungry was unpleasant, but… crying like this? Was it really that bad?

Ryo looked at the fragrant meat in his hand, then at the red-haired girl next to him, who had shrunk into a trembling little shrimp, her tears almost soaking her textbook.

"Trouble." Just as he muttered this word in his heart, something suddenly pricked him.

The scene before him completely exceeded his simple, logical scope of fighting, killing, eating, sleeping, and training.

A little girl who had just been rejected by him, whose stomach was growling with hunger in front of him, and who was crying so miserably after being refused…

His defense line of avoiding trouble and stay away from me instantly broke a large hole in the face of this silent, incredibly destructive tear attack.

Her angry look after school yesterday and this pitiful little crybaby in front of him overlapped. A strange feeling called unease of conscience emerged in the straight-laced Ryo's heart, making him feel uncomfortable all over.

"Tsk… so annoying." Ryo growled.

But his body acted before his brain.

He almost rudely put down the rib, wiping his greasy fingers casually on his clothes.

Frowning, he rummaged through the pile of meat. Which piece to choose? No, he really couldn't bear to part with it. Too many bones… this piece? Too fatty, afraid she'd choke… Damn it, why is sharing some meat so hard!

Finally, as if he had made some huge decision, with a sense of tragic heroism akin to a warrior severing his own arm, he, with great effort, tore off a whole piece of fatty and lean meat, with tendons and skin, glistening with oil and substantial in weight, from the largest stewed hind leg, which he himself hadn't even dared to gnaw on yet, with the most sauce and the crispiest skin, a pig hock.

The size of that pig hock was almost as big as Kushina's small face.

Thick, rich sauce dripped down Ryo's fingers, steaming hot and fragrant.

Ryo, with a dark expression, stiffly almost prodded this extremely tempting large piece of meat next to Kushina's lowered head.

His voice was still stiff, with obvious impatience. "Here. What are you crying for? Take it. Eat quickly." His tone was like he was dealing with a troublesome piece of garbage, rather than offering a fragrant piece of meat that could fill her stomach.

That rich, immediate aroma of meat, like a tangible shockwave, instantly pierced through Kushina's self-pity.

Her crying stopped abruptly.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 8: A Pork Hock That Broke the Ice

Kushina suddenly looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, streaks still wet on her small face, her expression completely dazed.

She stared blankly at Ryo's face, which carried an "impatient" look but was indeed handsome, then at the huge, glistening, sauce-colored pork hock practically shoved up to her nose, as if it was glowing.

This… this contrast was too much!

The boy who had coldly rejected her just moments ago was now offering her a piece of meat that seemed to radiate a sacred light?

Even though his attitude was fierce, the stiff way he handed it over… how could it be so clumsily funny?

"Pfft—"

A jumble of emotions surged in Kushina's heart. The grievance hadn't fully faded, her hunger was unbearable, she was tempted by the huge piece of meat, and Ryo's stiff, awkward appearance had touched her strange sense of humor.

She couldn't help but let out a laugh through her tears.

This was probably the first person who had ever given her something just because "she cried" since arriving in Konoha.

Even if his face was stern, even if his tone was poor, this "care" warmed the lonely heart of the red-haired girl.

"Thank you…" Her voice was nasal but much brighter.

All those accusations of Ryo being a blockhead, cold, and selfish vanished instantly.

At this moment, Kushina unilaterally stamped him with the "can be friends" seal.

He was a good person!

This simple, straightforward thought took root in her heart.

Her hunger surged back with a vengeance.

With food like this in front of her, who cared about image?

Kushina instantly turned into a little hungry wolf. Not caring if her hands got greasy, she grabbed the massive pork hock!

She impatiently opened her mouth and took a huge bite at the thickest, juiciest part!

Boom!

Her taste buds exploded!

This taste… this texture… was unlike anything she had ever eaten!

The sauce was rich and mellow, with a hint of sweetness, savoriness, and deep spice, perfectly seeping into every fiber of meat.

The lean meat wasn't dry at all. It had chew, yet was tender, tearing apart easily, becoming more fragrant with each bite.

The fatty part was translucent, melting in her mouth, rich but not greasy, leaving behind only a mouthful of delicious aroma. The charred pork skin was the soul of the dish, crispy and elastic, slightly sticky with gelatin, chewy and full of fatty fragrance.

The layers of spice didn't overwhelm the natural taste of the meat but instead enhanced it, bringing out a powerful flavor!

"Ooh! So… so delicious!!!" Kushina cried out muffled, her light blue eyes wide and shining with disbelief and joy.

In her entire life, whether in Uzushiogakure or at Grandma Mito's house, she had never tasted such an enchanting flavor!

Half-dead with hunger, eating this made her instantly feel like the happiest person alive.

Any image of being a lady, any elegance or grace, was gone.

Kushina transformed into a glutton, clutching the pork hock bigger than her fist with both hands, gnawing away fiercely.

Her small mouth was crammed full, her cheeks puffed out, sauce smeared across her nose and mouth, but she didn't care, dedicating herself completely to the battle against delicious food. Her face showed intoxicated bliss, almost fainting from happiness.

Ryo, who unknowingly received a "good person card": "…"

He sat beside her, rib still untouched in his hand, his expression indescribable.

Watching Kushina, who looked like a starving ghost reincarnated, happily gnawing away with an oily face, his mouth twitched uncontrollably.

A little… funny?

But seeing his meat mountain rapidly shrinking, he felt real heartache.

This was the energy he needed to recover his stamina!

"Hey! Eat slower! No one's snatching it from you!" Ryo finally couldn't help but remind her. His tone was stiff, but he genuinely worried she'd choke.

"Mmmph mmmph… So… so good… mmmph mmmph…" Kushina nodded furiously, showing she heard him, but her chewing never slowed, only accompanied by satisfied grunts as her eyes curved into crescents.

Ryo rolled his eyes helplessly, looked away from her horrifying eating habits, and lowered his head to his own plate.

No longer caring about the heartache, he grabbed his rib and bit into it fiercely, as if venting his frustration through appetite.

Thus, in the back row of Classroom 3A of the Ninja Academy, by the window, a bizarre yet strangely harmonious scene unfolded:

A red-haired boy in faded clothes, frowning with a helpless expression, gnawed at a roasted rib quickly and defensively, eyes locked on his food.

Beside him, a small, round-faced, red-haired girl with tear streaks still on her cheeks ungracefully clutched a giant braised pork hock, gnawing furiously. Her small face was shiny with oil, her eyes sparkling, her expression filled with joy.

When Ryo lowered his head, she even slyly stretched out her greasy hand and swiftly pinched a slice of smoked meat from the corner of his bento!

"Hey! That's mine!" Ryo would occasionally notice and protest, but his hands didn't stop moving.

"Hmph! Stingy! You said you'd give me food!" Kushina puffed her cheeks, retorting indistinctly, her eyes already on the roasted meat she had long coveted from his plate.

"I only gave you the pork hock! I never said you could steal the rest!" Ryo firmly guarded his roasted meat.

"Stinky Ryo! I'm your friend now! What's wrong with friends sharing?!" Kushina's hands moved even bolder, even trying to grab a rib he had just picked up.

She unilaterally decided they were friends, so she was emboldened.

That naturally familiar, bold personality of hers shone through at this moment.

"Who's friends with you! You're a bandit! Give it back!" Ryo was annoyed yet amused, blocking her quickly.

The two squabbled and wrestled. Ryo had the strength to suppress her instantly, but he couldn't be serious with a little girl, so he only protested and guarded his food.

For a moment, their two greasy faces were close, the small classroom table filled with the scent of oil and helpless bickering.

In the end, although Ryo protected the core supplies like large chunks of meat and the main leg portion, Kushina still managed to plunder about ten percent of his slices and many smoked strips.

Satisfied, Kushina patted her round belly and let out a loud, happy burp.

Her small face shone with oil, her smile as bright as a blooming flower.

All her grievances from yesterday had vanished completely thanks to this greasy, delicious meal.

Her stomach was full, her mood ecstatic!

Ryo?

Hmm, definitely a good person, cold on the outside but warm inside! He could be a friend!

As for his "loss-making, sour face"?

Kushina ignored it.

Meanwhile, Ryo stared at his half-empty "energy replenishment box," his brows twisted into a knot.

Looking at the satisfied little redhead still licking sauce from the corners of her mouth, he once again realized what it meant to "ask for trouble" and that "women are trouble."

But strangely, he didn't feel that angry anymore?

Their lively food-snatching scene had already drawn the whole class's attention.

Everyone's expressions were vivid—dumbfounded, disbelieving, their worldview shaken. Oh my god, the red-haired bully Ryo actually had this side to him? Eye-opening!

In the front row, Minato quietly watched Kushina and Ryo's playful scuffle.

He looked down at his carefully prepared bento, filled with neat rice balls and side dishes. His original plan to bravely offer it froze completely.

His warm, sunny smile stiffened on his face, and for the first time, a hint of sadness and loss appeared in his bright blue eyes.

He didn't step forward. He silently opened the lid, took a bite of his rice ball, but it was tasteless.

The classroom buzzed with voices and the aroma of food.

Sunlight, dust, grease, arguments, burps, bulging bellies, a helpless sour face, a satisfied smiling one… all mixed together, forming a chaotic but real picture of hunger, forced sharing, delicious food, misunderstandings, and the first recognition of "friendship."

For Ryo and Kushina, the invisible wall between them was unexpectedly shattered by a sauce-covered pork hock, leaving behind a crack.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 9: Danzo Having a Meltdown

In the Hokage's office, smoke billowed.

The Third Hokage,Sarutobi Hiruzen, held his pipe between his teeth, the tobacco in its bowl flickering on and off.

His fingertip lightly tapped the smooth surface of the crystal ball. The blurry light and shadow within instantly sharpened, focusing on the corner by the window in Class 3-A of the Konoha Ninja Academy.

Beside him, in a large armchair, Uzumaki Mito sat perfectly upright.

The traces of time on her face were cleverly locked away by the Yin Seal, leaving only a pair of eyes, deep with wisdom, now watching the scene in the crystal ball with great interest.

The ball showed Kushina snatching food and Ryo protecting his.

It was far from refined, even a bit wild, but to the two figures before the crystal ball it felt like the warm sun in winter, comforting their hearts.

"Hehe." The Third Hokage exhaled a long plume of smoke, the wrinkles on his old face relaxing somewhat. "Mito-sama, look, this child Kushina is starting to put down roots in Konoha. She is finding her own bonds." He glanced at Mito, his tone carrying the relief of a heavy burden lifting.

The Third Hokage might not fully understand jinchuriki, but he understood the power of bonds.

Ryo, this ruthless commoner he had secretly observed for a long time, forming a connection with the future jinchuriki was simply a stroke of luck.

Mito's gaze remained on the two small figures wrestling in the crystal ball, her eyes showing a gentle understanding of the world.

She saw deeper than Hiruzen.

The brat Ryo, with his scowling face as he protected his food, the helpless yet genuine offer of a pig's trotter, was proof that his heart had been touched.

"Saru, I am old," she nodded slightly, her voice soft but weighty. "The Konoha of the future will ultimately be supported by these youngsters, just as Hashirama and Tobirama entrusted the burden to you back then, trusting you all the same."

Hiruzen's expression grew more solemn, and he nodded gravely. "Yes, Mito-sama. Your teachings, I have never dared to forget."

"Do not interfere too much with Kushina," she instructed, her gaze lingering on the girl's satisfied smile in the crystal ball. "Let her enjoy this time in the academy like an ordinary child. A jinchuriki's heart naturally has a void that needs to be filled with happy memories. The strongest shackles are not imprisonment, but warm bonds." As the current vessel of the Nine-Tails, her words carried authority.

"I guarantee it, Mito-sama." Hiruzen's voice was heavy and resolute. He understood the immense weight of Mito's entrustment.

Mito said no more, simply nodded gently, and rose to leave.

The heavy office door closed silently behind her, leaving the Third alone in the smoke-filled room with the still-boisterous scene in the crystal ball.

The quiet lasted less than two minutes.

"Bang!"

The Hokage's office door was pushed open unceremoniously, so hard the doorframe shook. Shimura Danzo walked in without pleasantries or even a polite facade, going straight to the point.

"Hiruzen." Danzo's voice was low, laced with suppressed anger. "Uzumaki Kushina, as a crucial future jinchuriki, should be immediately placed under strict supervision. Train her into a precise, ruthless weapon that only obeys orders. That is the safest plan. Allowing her to fool around in school is like exposing a top-tier strategic weapon to uncontrolled variables. You are playing with fire."

He glanced at the crystal ball, just in time to see Kushina "steal" another piece of fragrant grilled meat from Ryo's lunchbox, their two red heads nearly touching. Disgust deepened in his eyes. "Especially that brat named Ryo. His very existence is a source of interference. All contact between him and the jinchuriki must be severed immediately."

Hiruzen's expression became calm. He gently tapped the edge of his desk with his pipe. "This is Mito-sama's choice, Danzo." His voice was not loud, but exceptionally firm, directly invoking Mito Uzumaki's will.

"Mito-sama's choice?!" Danzo's tone suddenly rose, dripping with sarcasm. "Hiruzen, your weakness is that you are too soft, too superstitious about these so-called bonds. It is womanly compassion."

He stepped forward, almost glaring down at Hiruzen. "Bonds? What are those intangible bonds? Can you guarantee that this little girl, with the seeds of hatred for the destruction of the Land of Whirlpools buried deep in her heart, and the stubborn blood of the Uzumaki clan in her veins, will fully identify with Konoha just because of a few so-called friends? She was not even born in Konoha."

He spread his hand, as if sketching a blueprint. "Give her to me. To Root. I guarantee you, within half a year, I will return to you a perfect weapon, absolutely obedient, with a heart of stone, burning only for Konoha. This is the most responsible approach for the village." Danzo's voice was full of persuasion, yet carried a mechanical coldness.

Hiruzen met Danzo's oppressive gaze, his eyes unwavering, like bedrock. "I said, this is Mito-sama's choice, Danzo."

'If I hand the jinchuriki over to you, I am afraid I will not sleep soundly again.'

"..."

You bastard.

Danzo almost suffocated himself.

This excuse again.

It is always Mito-sama's choice. Can't you come up with a different one?

Danzo was enraged by the unyielding refusal.

Control over the core asset, the jinchuriki, was right before his eyes, yet he could not touch it because of an old woman's will.

His thoughts raced, and he decisively took a step back, though his gaze stayed fixed on the other red-haired figure in the crystal ball, like a predator locking onto prey.

"Fine. If you insist on handling the jinchuriki according to Mito-sama's way, I will give up." Danzo's voice was cold and hard.

"But that boy, Ryo Kamiyama. His actions in the academy are no secret. A genius who, at such a young age, can subdue all the teachers and students in the entire academy, his potential needs guidance, and more importantly, control. Hand him over to Root. My newly established department needs precisely this kind of ruthless, strong seed that can take root in the shadows and draw nourishment for Konoha."

A person who could dominate the entire school in such impoverished circumstances, with such tenacity and immense potential, was tailor-made for Root.

All that was needed was to sever unnecessary emotions and refine him into absolute loyalty to the village, the essence of a ruthless blade.

In the future, he would be Root's deadly weapon, buried in Konoha or deep within enemy nations. The sharpest blade in Danzo Shimura's hand.

Hiruzen picked up his pipe, refilled it with tobacco, his movements slow and steady. He lit it with a match, took a deep puff, and let the pungent smoke swirl in his lungs. When he spoke again, through the billowing smoke, his gaze became extremely sharp, piercing Danzo.

"Ryo is not suited for Root," the Third said, clear as a steel nail driven into wood. "He has light within him. His path should be walked openly, under the sun. He is one of the inheritors of the Will of Fire, the future of Konoha I envision, not some root buried deep underground."

He did not mention Ryo's Senju lineage, nor the secrets of his early observations, but the protective intent in his words was beyond doubt.

"Inheritor of the Will of Fire?!" Danzo sounded like he had heard the most preposterous joke. He laughed in anger, his eyes bloodshot with agitation.

"Sarutobi Hiruzen, are you blind? A commoner brat who only sleeps in class and dominates through fighting, and you dare call him an inheritor of the Will of Fire? His chakra reserves are so low that even graduation is in question. Putting him under your imagined sunlight will only raise an unruly brute. Root," he suddenly clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm, "Root is the true foundation of Konoha. Only there can he be molded into a true pillar. Hand him over to me and let him become the sharp sword that guards Konoha's roots. Isn't that maximizing his value? Your so-called sunny path is just letting him run wild."

"Hiruzen, you are too greedy." Danzo slammed his hand on the table.

You will not give me the jinchuriki.

Fine. That is the village's nuclear weapon, I will leave it.

Now, you want to monopolize an outstanding genius too.

You will not let go of either.

How can you hog all the benefits?

Hiruzen slowly stood up. His physique was not massive, but at this moment he exuded undeniable authority.

He no longer cited Mito's name, nor did he continue to argue about Ryo's value. He simply stared calmly at Danzo with eyes that seemed to see through people's hearts, and said, word by word:

"Danzo, remember."

He paused, then declared with absolute clarity:

"I, Sarutobi Hiruzen, am the Hokage."

The Third directly used his authority to suppress him.

Hiruzen's meaning was clear. I am the Hokage. I want it all. If you do not like it, tough luck.

The single phrase, "I am the Hokage," struck Danzo's soft spot.

A higher rank crushes people. Danzo truly dreamed of becoming Hokage.

He had long wanted to experience what it felt like to have Hiruzen beneath him.

"Good, good, good. Sarutobi Hiruzen, you will regret this."

Danzo took a deep breath, calming himself.

Ultimately, he was not the Hokage, only an assistant to Konoha's Hokage. Root was still in its infancy. In front of Hiruzen, all he could do was threaten, spit harsh words, and then leave.

With a bang, Danzo left the Hokage's office, a place that haunted his dreams.

…

The office immediately returned to silence, only the slightly trembling door proving the intense confrontation that had just occurred.

Hiruzen slowly sat back in his chair. He took a deep breath, picked up his pipe again, his gaze deep and distant.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 10: Friends Share?

A few days passed in a flash.

At the Ninja Academy, aside from the last five minutes before class ended, the liveliest time was when the lunch bell rang.

The usual spot at the back of Classroom 3-A, by the window, was Kushina and Ryo's "battlefield."

However, this battlefield was a war for food.

Ryo had just placed his coarse cloth bag on the table, and before he could even untie it, a fiery red little shadow zipped over from beside him.

Kushina's eyes were as bright as light bulbs, fixed on the cloth bag, her small nose sniffing like a puppy.

"Hehe, Ryo!" Kushina's cute round face bloomed into a smile, and she casually tugged at his arm. "What good stuff did you bring today? Is it still that braised pork hock? Or those crispy pork ribs?"

She was drooling so much she could barely hold it in. She had not even glanced at the bento box Grandma Mito packed for her that morning, just waiting to snatch Ryo's.

Ryo did not even bother to lift an eyelid, swatting away her paw. "Go, go, go. Eat your own. If you try to snatch mine again, I will get mad."

As he spoke, he deftly untied the cloth bag and lifted the large bamboo lunchbox lid.

Golden, fragrant, crispy roasted pork ribs were neatly arranged, sizzling with tiny bubbles of oil.

Beside them were thick slices of smoked pork, glistening with oil and exuding a rich, dominant aroma.

There were also a few strips of cured meat that looked incredibly tender.

The insulation was excellent. A waft of rich, hot steam whooshed right into Kushina's face.

Kushina gulped a big mouthful of saliva, her eyes wide, and her stomach protested on cue. "Grrr… Ryo, look. My tummy is protesting. It says it wants those ribs." Her little face crumpled, feigning pitifulness with remarkable skill.

Ryo did not fall for it. He picked up the fattiest rib and brought it to his mouth, biting into it with a satisfying crunch, his words muffled. "Protesting? Let it protest by itself. I calculated this perfectly. It is just enough for me. No share for you."

As he chewed, he pointed to Kushina's lonely bento on her desk. "There. That is yours."

Kushina glanced at her "simple and elegant" little lunchbox, her mouth pouting so much you could hang an oil bottle from it. "Hmph. Grandma Mito packed it for me, so it is definitely light-flavored again. It is not as fragrant as yours."

Suddenly, her eyes darted, revealing a cunning smile. Her small hand shot toward Ryo's lunchbox. "I will just try a tiny piece. Just one tiny piece. We are friends, what is wrong with sharing?"

"Ah. Not a chance." Ryo was quick-eyed and quick-handed, dodging with his lunchbox like a mother hen protecting her chicks, almost getting oil on his clothes.

"Kushina, how many times have I told you? Friends are friends, but if you try to snatch my food again, I will get angry." His face was sour. This little redhead was really pushing it.

Last time, a big pork hock did not just open her appetite, it also unleashed her "bandit" nature.

Kushina missed, but she was not angry. Instead, she put her hands on her hips and declared righteously, "Stingy Ryo. I compensated you with my bento last time, did I not? And you ate it too. Exchange. This is fair exchange."

Her "exchange" was purely forced buying and selling.

Ryo had to pinch his nose to eat her fresh and light bento. As a carnivore, he found it completely unsatisfying.

"Who cares about your grass leaves…" Ryo grumbled, but his movements slowed slightly.

In that instant, Kushina seized the opportunity.

With lightning speed, her small hand swished into the corner of the lunchbox, precisely pinching away the most beautiful slice of smoked meat.

"Got it!" Kushina cheered, the meat slice instantly disappearing into her mouth. A look of immense satisfaction bloomed on her cute little face. "Ooh, ooh, ooh, delicious. Ryo, your cooking is absolutely amazing." She even exaggeratedly smacked her lips.

Ryo looked at the missing slice of prime smoked meat in his lunchbox, feeling his heart bleed.

Kushina did not care, happily licking the oil from her fingers. "Hehe, it is your fault for being my first friend in Konoha. What is wrong with a friend eating a piece of your meat?" This line had practically become her catchphrase and invincible excuse.

Ryo rolled his eyes at her "friend" logic, a knot of frustration tightening in his chest.

Every night when he cooked, he would inexplicably add more meat to his lunchbox.

Ryo himself pondered, "Damn it. What am I doing this for? Is this not asking for trouble? My cursed hands." He cursed, but the meat slices were added nonetheless.

It seemed watching the little redhead's eyes curve into crescents of joy just from getting a bite of something delicious did not seem so bad.

Ryo felt incredibly conflicted, as if his principles were slowly being gnawed away by a certain red-haired little squirrel.

Ryo sighed, resigned, pushing his lunchbox slightly toward the middle. He gruffly said, "Finish your own portion quickly, and stop staring at mine." His words were fierce, but his actions seemed to tacitly approve of Kushina's bandit behavior.

Kushina was sharp. She immediately caught this tiny softening. She cheered and practically glued herself to him, beginning a new round of foraging.

"I know, I know. Ryo is the best." Her words were sweet, and her hands were just as quick.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 3: Chapter 11-20

Chapter 11: Minato’s Speed

Minato stood opposite him, his lips pressed tightly together. His usually gentle and sunny face was now exceptionally serious, and deep within his azure eyes, a defiant glint flickered.

There was also a hint of unutterable reluctance. Kushina was watching not far away, yet she seemed detached, always clinging to Ryo, with eyes only for him. Minato was unwilling to accept this.

He wanted to prove something.

Ryo shook his arm, which had gone somewhat numb from sleep, and did not even bother to look his opponent in the eye. His tone was filled with the annoyance of having his sweet dreams disturbed. "Tsk, hurry up. I can still catch a nap after this."

He had little interest in this match. In his eyes, the little blond boy in front of him was no different from the noisy cicadas in the trees. Even if the little blond boy was the future Yondaime, they were all just sources of noise preventing him from sleeping.

"Both sides, form the Seal of Confrontation." Kimura Shū called out somewhat nervously, afraid he would not be able to control the situation the next second.

After the seals were formed.

"Begin."

Minato moved.

His figure flickered, so fast it left an afterimage in the air, and his hands instantly formed seals.

This was his pride; his speed far exceeding his peers.

With two soft bang sounds, two Minato clones identical to him appeared on his left and right. The three of them, in a triangular formation, lunged fiercely at Ryo.

One of the clones even mimicked a low kick.

The exquisite coordination and precise timing made many students secretly gasp.

So fast. Such skilled Three Body Technique. Few peers could probably block it.

However, "Is that all?"

Ryo almost instantly caught Minato's movements the moment the original started to speed up. His lazy eyes were now filled with pure combat instinct.

He did not even use chakra. His body simply shifted naturally to one side, and his left hand casually reached out and grabbed forward, as if swatting a fly.

Clap.

A crisp sound echoed across the training ground.

Minato, as fast as a gust of wind, had his swift wrist precisely gripped by Ryo like an iron clamp. Minato's charge abruptly stopped, all the illusions instantly dissipated, and his face was filled with incredulous shock.

He struggled with all his might to break free, but the immense force on his wrist remained unmoving, as if cast in iron and stone.

Ryo gave Minato no time to react at all.

He did not use any complex moves. He simply used the momentum of grabbing Minato to pull him forward, while simultaneously arching his knee sharply.

Thud.

A dull, heart-pounding thud echoed.

That seemingly casual knee strike landed squarely on Minato's abdomen.

"Ugh."

Minato's eyes instantly bulged. His entire body arched upward uncontrollably, as if struck by a speeding rhinoceros, and intense pain and a sense of suffocation instantly overwhelmed all his senses.

Saliva mixed with stomach acid spilled from the corners of his mouth.

All his calculations and techniques were instantly shattered in the face of absolute power.

But this was not over yet.

Ryo's hand, gripping Minato's wrist, suddenly slammed him downward.

Plop.

Minato could not even let out a cry of pain. His entire body was slammed heavily onto the hard dirt of the training field, sending dust flying.

The immense impact shook his internal organs as if they were dislocated, and his bones seemed to wail.

Ryo released his hand and looked down at the little blond boy, curled up on the ground and painfully retching. His face still showed impatience. "Still fighting? Just concede and get it over with." In his eyes, this battle was already over, and there was no need to drag it out.

"Ugh…" Minato convulsed with pain, but the stubborn spirit of youth was completely ignited.

Kushina was watching from the side.

No. It absolutely could not end like this.

"I… I have not lost yet." Minato squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth, supporting himself with his hands on the ground, using all his strength, swaying unsteadily, and struggling to get up.

His small, dust-covered body trembled, seeming as if it could fall again at any moment, but his eyes were fixed on Ryo.

"Tsk." Ryo clicked his tongue in annoyance. He did not understand where this kid got his stubbornness, but since his opponent still wanted to fight, he would not hold back.

Minato gritted his teeth and charged again, his speed much slower than before, but every punch and kick used his remaining strength, aiming directly at Ryo's head, chest, and other vital points.

He was desperately searching for even the slightest flaw.

Unfortunately, all of this appeared as slow motion in Ryo's eyes.

Ryo did not even bother to dodge much.

Minato's full-force punches landed on him with only faint thump-thump sounds, like a tickle.

He retaliated with extreme simplicity and directness.

He blocked Minato's punch aimed at his head and slammed a punch back at his opponent's shoulder.

Crack. A clear sound of dislocation rang out, and Minato's left shoulder instantly dislocated.

He dodged a side kick, casually grabbed the incoming ankle, and lightly flipped it.

Thump. Minato awkwardly fell back onto the dirt again.

He struggled to get up and lunged again. Ryo sidestepped, and his elbow followed through with a precise backward strike.

Thud. Minato felt his vision go black, a shattering pain in his back, his breathing completely stopped, and a metallic taste rose in his throat.

A punch. A knee strike. A slam. A dislocation. A flip. An elbow strike.

The battle was completely one-sided, purely unilateral.

The training ground was dead silent.

Every dull impact sound made the students' eyelids twitch.

Watching the usually gentle and cheerful, academically excellent Minato being casually knocked down, slammed, and sent flying by Ryo like a lifeless sandbag, only to stubbornly struggle to get up again and again, then be beaten even more severely, many people turned pale and instinctively covered their eyes.

Finally, after being kicked in the abdomen by Ryo once more, flying a few meters like a broken kite, Minato fell to the ground, twitched a few times, and then completely went silent.

He lay there like a pile of mud, his body covered in dust mixed with sweat, his small face pale and ashen, having completely lost consciousness.

Silence.

The entire field was as silent as death.

Only the rustling of wind through the leaves and the slightly annoyed panting of the red-haired boy in the center of the training ground, who had loosened up his limbs, could be heard.

He glanced down at the unconscious Minato on the ground, his eyes showing no emotion, as if he had merely crushed an annoying insect.

What he was thinking now was that he hoped the remaining classes would be as easy as this warm-up, or even better, that school would simply end so he could go back to sleep.

Kimura Shū snapped back to reality with a start, frantically rushing into the field to check Minato's injuries, sweat beading on his forehead. "Quick. Medical team. Carry him to the infirmary."

Several students timidly stepped forward, carefully lifting the unconscious, badly injured Minato, and hurried away from the training ground.

As they passed Ryo, they did not even dare to breathe loudly.

Ryo did not even look at Minato being carried away. He leisurely stretched, then slowly strolled back to the old oak tree. He adjusted himself into a comfortable position and leaned back, his eyelids heavy as they drooped.

As everyone's complex and reverent gazes focused on him, this red-haired tyrant who had just displayed absolute crushing power so nonchalantly and quickly re-entered his charging mode.

On the training ground, the still-shaken people looked at each other. This short yet brutal battle once again thoroughly confirmed Ryo's fearsome reputation as being at the top of the Ninja Academy food chain, and extinguished the last lingering thoughts of challenge hidden in countless hearts.

Minato's stubbornness and excellence instead became the best backdrop to highlight Ryo's monster name.

The sun was still dazzling, but the temperature of the training ground seemed to have quietly dropped a few degrees.

Top floor of the Hokage Building.

Sarutobi Hiruzen silently put down his pipe. The crystal ball reflected the red-haired boy who had fallen back asleep in the corner of the training ground.

Behind him, his three disciples, Orochimaru, Jiraiya, and Tsunade, watched all of this with varying expressions.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 12: The Redhead Gets a Master, The Blonde Gets Stuck with Jiraiya

The office was silent.

Hiruzen turned around, clearing his dry throat.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the dead silence.

"Speak up." He twirled the pipe in his hand, a few specks of ash falling. "What do you think of that live combat assessment just now… how was it?"

His gaze swept over the three people in front of him.

Jiraiya was the first to bounce up.

His hedgehog-like white hair was practically exploding, and his face still held an astonished expression.

He rushed to the desk, hands pressed against the edge, excitement overflowing.

"My god!" Jiraiya blurted out, then lowered his voice slightly, but was still agitated. "That blonde kid! He's amazing!"

He spoke rapidly: "That blonde kid, he's as fast as the wind! Clones, Kawarimi no Jutsu, tactical coordination, it was all seamless! Clean and precise! His willpower is terrifyingly strong, he got knocked flying and still charged back in! His combat awareness is superb, every move aimed at a weakness! This… he's definitely a top genius! Only a third-year? He's already much stronger than a typical genin!"

Changing the subject, Jiraiya suddenly turned his head to look at the blonde figure beside him—Tsunade, his tone carrying a clear sense of lingering fear. "As for that redhead! Tsunade! You know best about beating people up! You tell me! Was that a fight? It was practically dismantling parts! Every punch and kick was brutally vicious! Pure savagery!"

Tsunade was standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the bookshelf, her brows tightly furrowed.

Every fierce, dull strike from Ryo in the crystal ball seemed to pound at the heart of her, a taijutsu master.

"A monster." Tsunade spat out two words, like stones hitting the ground.

She unconsciously stroked her smooth chin, as if savoring that power. "Is his name Ryo? Nawaki mentioned this kid to me before… Hmph, finally got to see him."

"His timing was as precise as if he'd calculated every step of that blonde kid!" Tsunade's eyes gleamed, like she was dissecting a perfect specimen. "Force generation, muscles, joints, power transmission… terrifyingly smooth! Frighteningly efficient! He's practically a living textbook for taijutsu! At least top-tier chunin level."

"His true level? He didn't even show it. It ended too quickly… that kid, he didn't even use his full strength? Or was he in a hurry?" Her lips curved upwards, with the excitement of discovering new prey. "I really want to measure his depth with my fists!"

The Third Hokage "hmm-ed" and turned to the effeminate, pale-faced young man beside him. "Orochimaru, you speak."

Orochimaru tilted his head slightly.

In his early twenties, the sharpness of youth had not yet faded, but in his golden vertical pupils, a steady yet sharp wisdom already flickered.

"Tsunade and Jiraiya," Orochimaru began, "what they said… is all correct."

He paused, a subtle curve appearing on his lips for a moment. "The blonde one, a genius. The blonde one, a genius. His character, talent, a flawless gem."

His tone suddenly shifted, his golden vertical pupils precisely looking at the spot where the crystal ball had extinguished, as if piercing through the wall to the oak tree on the training ground. "The redhead? His power… is eerily pure. Pure, violent aesthetics."

His snake eyes turned to the Third Hokage, with a sense of seeing through everything. "Sensei. You specifically called the three of us to watch this… performance. What is your intention?" Orochimaru leaned forward slightly, his posture respectful, his question cutting to the core. "Two astonishingly brilliant geniuses?"

Hiruzen's eyes flickered.

He didn't answer immediately, instead picking up his pipe and slowly filling it with fresh tobacco.

He lit it, took a deep puff, then exhaled thick smoke.

Amidst the swirling smoke, Hiruzen's voice was low and decisive. "The three of you," his gaze swept over Jiraiya and Tsunade, lingering slightly on Orochimaru, "are elite jonin, pillars of the village." His tone carried pride, and also an invisible urging.

"These past few years, ever since you graduated," the pipe in his hand tapped the air, "those two… are the most dazzling! You all saw Minato's talent. Ryo… his actions are wild, but his power is genuine. Both are future pillars of the village."

Hiruzen's speaking pace slowed, each word clear and powerful. "Konoha's strength relies on succession. The Will of Fire relies on you to pass it down. I am old…"

He flicked the ash, his tone becoming a command, allowing no room for doubt. "You… should consider taking on disciples! Pass down your skills, your paths! Which of you will take these two?"

This sentence exploded like a bomb in the silent office.

Hiruzen's meaning was laid bare—to firmly bind these two immensely potential newcomers to the Hokage lineage's ship through the master-disciple relationship!

Jiraiya was still savoring the battle, regretting Minato's defeat, and his eyes almost popped out when he heard this.

Tsunade's arm-crossing posture remained unchanged, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

Orochimaru's face instantly froze, his golden snake pupils narrowing into a cold line, and the temperature in the office seemed to drop sharply.

"Take… a disciple?" he repeated softly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"Forgive me, Sensei." Orochimaru bowed slightly. "Currently," his choice of words was cold, "I have no interest in this kind of… enlightenment education. My energy needs to be used in more valuable places."

The subtext was loud and clear: I have no time for so-called geniuses.

Besides, who isn't a genius?

A hint of disappointment flashed in Hiruzen's eyes; he had somewhat expected Orochimaru's refusal.

So he turned his gaze to the remaining two—Jiraiya, Tsunade.

Jiraiya scratched his head, looked at Hiruzen, then glanced at the spot where the crystal ball had disappeared, his mind a mess.

Take Minato? This kid's talent is top-notch, teaching him shouldn't be too difficult? A bit stubborn, but quite suited to his own ninjutsu path.

As for Ryo… Jiraiya shivered, subconsciously rubbing his arms.

His own style involved summoning animals, various strange techniques. Pure taijutsu head-on?

Thinking about Ryo's bone-crushing fists… if he were to teach Ryo his own ninjutsu, he'd drone on for ages, and that redhead would get annoyed and swat him away.

Tsk! No way! Too hardcore! Can't handle it!

"That redhead!" A clear, powerful voice suddenly broke the silence. Tsunade suddenly spoke, her chin raised, her lips curved. "Ryo, I'll take him!"

She stood ramrod straight, her chest rising and falling, her sharp gaze sweeping over Jiraiya's bewildered face. "As for that blonde kid Minato…"

She pointed casually at Jiraiya, with a hint of you're getting off easy. "He's yours, Jiraiya!"

A few days ago, if Grandma Mito hadn't mentioned this redhead Ryo, whom Kushina was particularly concerned about yet couldn't handle.

With her trouble-averse personality?

She probably would have just said "get lost" like Orochimaru!

Jiraiya, being named and assigned, felt like he'd been hit by a blunt object.

Then his expression changed several times: from "Me again?" with a sense of grievance, to "Maybe it's not so bad?" with resignation, and finally his shoulders slumped.

"Huh?… Oh!" Jiraiya haphazardly scratched his white hair, trying to look serious as he faced the Third Hokage, but the effect was clumsy.

"Alright, Sensei," he nodded. "The blonde kid Minato! I'll take him!" He instinctively obeyed his Sensei's command.

Thinking calmly, Ryo's violent demolition style was indeed more suitable for Tsunade, who also enjoyed violence, to handle.

Taking on the blonde Minato… hmm, should be less trouble?

Hiruzen watched as things settled, the tense string in his heart finally loosening significantly.

It's done! Even smoother than expected!

Tsunade's proactive move solved his biggest worry—Danzo!

No matter how long that guy's arm was, he wouldn't be able to reach into the sphere of influence of "Tsunade's disciple"!

"Good!"

The pipe thumped heavily on the desk with a "thud"!

"This matter," Hiruzen's gaze swept over Tsunade and Jiraiya, "is entrusted to the two of you! Tsunade. Jiraiya."

"You two go and contact and assess them privately, then give me the results."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 13: Piggyback Rescue

The school bell rang, signaling the end of classes.

The last rays of sunlight slipped away from the office.

The oil lamp crackled, casting its light on Homeroom Teacher Kimura Shū's face, a mix of exhaustion and forced sternness.

A thin layer of sweat slicked his forehead, and his voice, deliberately lowered, enunciated each word with effort. "Ryo-kun. Unity and friendship are the Will of Fire. Sparring in Taijutsu class isn't a fight to the death. Minato-kun is still in the medical ward, with a dislocated shoulder, contusions under his ribs, and a mild concussion."

Kimura Shū lectured until his throat was dry, but the figure across the desk remained as stubborn as a reef.

This child's notorious reputation preceded him. Which teacher in the entire Ninja Academy didn't turn a blind eye to his antics? But this time, he had gone too far.

And Ryo?

His eyelids drooped as if he hadn't fully woken up, barely managing to keep his head from thudding onto the desk.

Faced with his unyielding demeanor, Kimura Shū was utterly helpless, only a sigh escaping him.

Kimura Shū waved a hand, tiredly rubbing his temples. "Alright, go home. Next time, next time, remember to keep your limits in mind."

"Got it," Ryo mumbled in response.

He grabbed the faded, worn-at-the-edges old schoolbag from the back of his chair, slung it carelessly over his shoulder, twisted the doorknob, and walked out without a backward glance.

His movements were as swift as if fleeing a plague.

The corridor was quiet, only faint shouts echoing from the distant training ground.

The school gate was mostly empty.

Just a few steps outside the school gate, a suppressed sob and a harsh burst of laughter reached Ryo's ears. Turning the corner into the shadow of the street, he saw a group of people gathered there.

A Genin, wearing a Konoha forehead protector, was pulling a small figure up from the ground by her fiery red hair.

It was Kushina.

Her small face was covered in dust, mixed with tears and despair, like a crumpled, dirty rag doll.

Several older students and the Genin laughed together. One of them pointed at Kushina's red hair, laughing so hard he doubled over. "Hahaha, look, Yamada-san, I told you so. She looks like a ripe, rotting tomato."

"It's this weird red hair." The Genin named Yamada's voice rose, filled with malice, his fingers twisting her strands of hair as if they were something filthy. "So ugly and red, you won't find a third one like it in all of Konoha." He looked around, seeking more agreement. "And her temper is absolutely awful. Isn't that right, little runt?"

Kushina hung suspended, her feet dangling, and the last spark of defiance in her light blue eyes completely extinguished.

Yamada's words, especially "tomato" — the explosion of laughter in the classroom a few days ago, the nasty taunts, the cold malice — like a tide, instantly engulfed her.

All her grievances, helplessness, anger, and self-loathing for her red hair burst forth.

"Waa… I… I…!" Kushina's voice shattered, no longer her usual stubbornness, but a wail of utter defeat, tears mixing with dirt as they streamed down. "I… I hate this red hair the most myself! Waaah!"

That desperate cry pricked a nerve in Ryo.

It wasn't just Kushina's red hair they were mocking. That was his own taboo, a taboo he had beaten the entire Ninja Academy into submission to suppress.

More than that, they were mocking Kushina herself, the only one who wasn't afraid to approach him, the little bandit classmate who dared to steal his rations, the troublesome friend he complained about but would secretly add an extra portion of food for at night.

Yamada was still grinning triumphantly, saying to those around him, "Did you hear that? Even she herself… huh?!" Before he could finish, his vision blurred.

The onlookers didn't even see how the figure rushed over. They only felt a gust of foul wind.

Ryo's face was as cold as frost, the chill in his eyes sharper than a blade.

He didn't even speak, that ferocious aura unreservedly crushing down. The older students who had been laughing a second ago instantly became like chickens with their necks squeezed, their smiles frozen on their faces as they instinctively took a few steps back.

"R… Ryo?!" The triumph on Yamada's face instantly turned to terror, his voice changing pitch.

Of course he recognized that face, that red hair. This was the Ninja Academy's most terrifying nightmare.

Damn it. Didn't they say it was a world of difference once you graduated and became a Genin?

The Chunin leading his team had thumped his chest, guaranteeing, "Ninja Academy students are like little brothers in front of Genin." That voice was still buzzing in his ears.

It was all nonsense. A monster was still a monster.

The brief surge of confidence from successfully becoming a Genin made him think he was capable. He had specifically returned to the Ninja Academy today to settle the scores from when he used to get beaten up.

But the nightmare itself was right before his eyes.

He wanted to let go, wanted to retreat. Too late.

Ryo's movements were as swift as a ghost.

His right hand shot out like lightning, not a fist, but five fingers gripping Yamada's wrist, the one still clutching Kushina's hair.

"Snap."

The crisp sound of bone dislocating was incredibly clear.

"Aaaagh!" Yamada's pig-like shriek almost tore through the twilight sky. The intense pain made him instantly release his grip.

Kushina fell to the ground as if her strength had given out.

Ryo didn't even glance at Kushina, his icy gaze fixed solely on Yamada's face, contorted with pain and fear.

The grip on his wrist didn't loosen in the slightest, even twisting cruelly.

Yamada felt his bones groan and shatter. He tried to break free, but found the strength from the hand gripping him was like an iron clamp, unmoving.

Ryo's other hand balled into a fist at his waist, his elbow slamming backward, striking Yamada squarely in the chest and abdomen without any fancy moves.

"Thud."

A dull, heart-stopping impact sounded.

Yamada's body arched sharply upward like a broken sack, his eyeballs bulging, his scream abruptly cut short, turning into a gasping, rattling sound as saliva mixed with suspicious acidic fluid spewed out.

A violent sense of suffocation and the pain of tearing internal organs instantly overwhelmed him.

Ryo's movements were as fluid as breathing.

His right arm, twisting the wrist, combined with the power from his waist and legs, used the momentum to forcefully slam Yamada against the cold stone wall beside them.

"Clang. Crash."

Yamada's body hit the wall squarely, without any cushioning.

A massive impact echoed through the alley, making people's eardrums throb.

Loose stones crumbled down from the wall.

Yamada slid down the wall like a flattened fly, collapsing onto the ground, his body twitching irregularly, unable to even whimper.

His brand new ninja forehead protector hung askew on one side of his forehead, the beautiful swirl symbol dull and lifeless.

The world fell silent.

The entire process took no more than five seconds.

The onlookers' faces were ashen, silent as cicadas, their eyes on Ryo as if looking at a true demon or Asura.

So strong. So ruthless.

A Genin? In front of the red-haired demon, he was like paper.

Only then did Ryo lower his gaze to Kushina, who had fallen to the ground, tear streaks still on her small face, but her mouth agape in shock, having forgotten to cry.

"Tsk." He pursed his lips and walked over.

"Get up." His tone was still stiff, without any comforting gentleness.

Ryo bent down, not gently but efficiently grabbing Kushina's arm, half-lifting, half-cradling her from the ground. Her knees clearly had scrapes, her hair was completely disheveled, covered in dust, and she looked utterly bedraggled.

Kushina was still shaken. When Ryo pulled her up, she stumbled, instinctively wanting to throw herself into his arms for a sense of security, but was frozen in place by Ryo's intimidating aura that warned people to keep their distance. She could only let him hold her arm.

Ryo frowned, looking at her state, especially her red, tear-stained eyes and the muddy streaks on her cheeks.

"Tsk." He clicked his tongue again, his impatience growing.

Kushina's heart clenched, thinking he was going to scold her for causing trouble.

But then Ryo, with a somewhat rough motion, raised his hand and used the inside of his own still-clean sleeve to haphazardly wipe her still-wet cheeks a couple of times.

His movements were awkward, making Kushina feel a little pain, and dislodging a few undried grains of sand.

But the dry, rough touch of the fabric, and Ryo's frowning yet genuinely wiping-her-face action, were like a faint but real spark of fire, unexpectedly piercing through the desperate, icy darkness in Kushina's heart.

He hadn't abandoned her.

He had beaten up that bad guy.

And now, he was helping her wipe her face.

Even if his technique was terrible.

Grievance, fear, and a little inexplicable warmth mixed together, making her nose sting and her tear ducts threaten to burst again.

"Don't cry." Ryo immediately glared at her fiercely. "You're too loud." But his voice unconsciously lowered a bit.

Scolded by him, Kushina sniffled and actually managed to hold back her tears, leaving only a pair of wet, red, wide eyes staring at him blankly and dependently.

Ryo turned around and half-squatted in front of her.

"Get on. I'll take you home." His tone left no room for argument.

Kushina froze, looking at the not-so-broad back in front of her, dressed in faded old clothes.

"Hurry up," Ryo urged impatiently.

Kushina flinched at the shout, instinctively and clumsily climbed onto his back, her arms carefully wrapping around Ryo's neck.

Her body was very light, but the moment she pressed against him, Ryo still frowned slightly. The soft, gentle feeling of a girl was unusually strange and awkward to him.

Kushina carefully lay on his back, her two slender legs supported by his strong hands.

As he stood upright, Kushina felt as if she was lifted from the ground by a solid force, and briefly lifted away from the terrifying nightmare she had just experienced.

She gently pressed her hot cheek against the spot just above Ryo's nape, where the stubborn and messy roots of his red hair were.

"Which way?" Ryo shifted her weight, his tone returning to its usual indifference.

"Um… um… turn left, go through two commercial streets, towards the old Senju clan compound…" Kushina whispered, her voice thick with a nasal tone and the hoarseness of someone who had just escaped danger. "Mito-baachan's house…"

Ryo started walking, completely ignoring the onlookers still frozen in place.

His pace was not fast, but very steady.

The evening breeze ruffled Kushina's messy red hair, and also brushed against Ryo's neck.

Kushina lay on his back, feeling the steady and slight jostling. The fear slowly receded, and a strange sense of security quietly crept into her heart.

She hesitated, then bravely whispered, "Ryo… are… are you very angry?" Her voice was barely louder than a mosquito's, carrying careful tentativeness.

Ryo's steps didn't falter. After a few seconds of silence, he grumbled in a muffled voice, "…It's fine."

"But that person, he seemed to say… he was… taught a lesson by you before?" Kushina remembered Yamada's terrified expression when he saw him.

Ryo snorted. "Too much trash, who remembers which pit they crawled out of?"

That was indeed the case. Minor characters like Yamada, who only deserved one punch before being sent packing, held no place in his memory.

Kushina fell silent.

After walking for a while, the dim streetlights at the corner cast long shadows of the two of them.

Kushina's voice softly rose again. "Ryo… just now… when that person was pulling my hair… I said I hated red hair… it was… it was out of anger." Her voice was a little urgent, wanting to explain clearly. "I… I don't really hate it… I'm just… just so sad… they always… always say 'tomato'… that's why I…"

Ryo continued walking, not looking back, only tossing out a blunt reply. "What's it to them? Can't even control their own mouths over someone else's hair?" He paused, then seemed to think his words weren't harsh enough, adding fiercely, "Next time anyone dares to run their mouth, you tell them my name. If that doesn't work, just point them out to me after I wake up."

These words were domineering and unreasonable to the extreme.

But to Kushina's ears, they sounded like an indestructible form of protection.

Grievance and unease surged again, but this time, she clung tightly to this unreasonable protection.

She buried her face deeper into Ryo's clothes, which carried a faint scent of sweat and dust, and mumbled a muffled "Mm."

On her cute little face, the corners of her mouth were secretly turned up.

Neither of them spoke again.

They walked past the brightly lit commercial street, the clamor of the crowd gradually fading away.

Ryo, guided by Kushina's occasional pointers, entered a quiet area.

Tall, traditional wooden houses were scattered about. This was the old Senju clan compound.

Finally, they stopped in front of a heavy, ancient wooden door.

"Are we there?" Ryo asked.

"Mm…" Kushina softly replied, her voice mumbling and still carrying a cute nasal tone.

Ryo's hand supporting her bent legs loosened slightly, preparing to squat down to let her off.

Just then, with a creak, the door opened.

The first to run out was Nawaki. He seemed to have just returned home from training, yelling, "Sis. Have you seen my kunai pouch…" Before he could finish, his gaze passed over Tsunade, who had opened the door, and he froze at the doorway as if struck by lightning.

In the last rays of the setting sun, the Red-Haired Tyrant, Ryo, known throughout the school and whom Nawaki himself tried to avoid, stood at their doorstep, carrying his family's new red-haired little sister, Kushina, on his back.

Their posture was awkward yet somewhat… how to describe it?

Strangely harmonious.

Ryo's face, usually either irritable or indifferent, showed no expression. Kushina was nestled against his back, her small face still buried in his clothes, only revealing a bit of her flushed profile and messy red hair.

Nawaki's eyes instantly widened more than his kunai, his mouth agape enough to fit an egg.

"Clang." The water bottle he was holding dropped to the ground, making a crisp sound. The water sloshed out, spilling all over the doorstep.

(To be continued.)

 

Chapter 14: Meet the Senjus

 

The heavy, ancient main gate of the Senju compound stood open, and people were standing behind the threshold.

The last rays of the setting sun outlined the silhouettes of two young women. One tall and blonde, with a fiery figure, arms crossed over her chest, a hint of an inquisitive curve on her lips, and eyes like blades scanning between him and Kushina. It was Tsunade.

The other had red hair tied in two buns, wearing an elegant kimono, with gentle and perceptive eyes, carrying a faint sense of relief. Uzumaki Mito.

Nawaki had just run out in a panic, yelling "Sis," and the clang of a bottle hitting the ground intensified the tension.

Nawaki now stood with his mouth agape, eyes wide, staring intently at him and Kushina, who had just slid off his back.

As soon as Kushina's feet touched the ground, the scrape on her knee twinged, and she instinctively hissed, swaying slightly, subconsciously grabbing Ryo's faded clothes.

Tsunade's scrutinizing gaze, Mito's peaceful eyes, Nawaki's idiotic expression, Kushina's action of grabbing his clothes, an invisible pressure permeated the air.

He had never met Tsunade in person, only heard that she was a hot-tempered master. His instinct told him that this was big trouble.

An uncomfortable feeling of being nailed to a display rack instantly seized him.

"Cough." Ryo abruptly pulled his clothes back, so quickly that he almost made Kushina stumble.

He cleared his throat and spoke stiffly, "Kushina, you're home. I'll be going now." With that, he turned to slip away.

"Wait." Tsunade's voice wasn't loud, but it pinned him in place like a nail.

She walked down the steps in a few strides, not looking at Ryo, but first carefully examining Kushina. Disheveled red hair, a small face streaked with dust and tears, torn pants, and a knee injury.

Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and then her gaze slowly returned to Ryo, with a sharp, assessing look as if evaluating something new.

She had seen Ryo and Minato's fierce fight through a crystal ball that afternoon and had also heard the notorious reputation from Nawaki's complaints. But now, this person was actually carrying Kushina back?

This contrast made her very curious.

"You're Ryo?" Tsunade finally spoke, her voice calm but edged with curiosity. "Nawaki keeps calling you a tyrant, but today I'm seeing another side of you. What's this, playing the knight in shining armor now?"

Nawaki behind them finally found his voice, stammering, "Sis. He… he's Ryo. That…" The word tyrant caught in his throat, not daring to come out.

Ryo was tense and rigid all over.

Someone like Tsunade knew about his mess?

And she was even looking at him as if judging him.

"Don't know," Ryo muttered, shrugging. "Just some trash—I swept it up."

Mito's gentle voice chimed in, "Tsunade, let the guest come in first. Ryo, you've worked hard." She looked at Kushina's knee with concern. "Kushina is injured, healing her is the priority."

Tsunade nodded, suppressing her questions, and turned to Ryo. "Did you hear? Since you brought her back, lend a hand and help her in." She gestured toward the door.

Ryo's heart pounded like a drum.

Go in? Stay with Tsunade, Mito, and Nawaki? For a first meeting in this strange atmosphere? No. Absolutely not.

"No need. I still have training. Kushina, see you tomorrow." Ryo quickly blurted out an excuse, his words like a chanted spell. "Farewell." He turned and bolted, like an arrow shot from a bow, whooshing away in a gust of wind.

Only the silhouette of the red-haired boy wildly running remained on the stone path.

Tsunade was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Ha. This kid runs faster than a rabbit. Nawaki, didn't you say he was a Calamity Star? Why is he like this?" Her laughter echoed through the neighborhood, with a hint of amusement. The contrast between rumor and reality was too interesting.

Nawaki was completely dumbfounded. Oh right. Was this still the fierce Ryo?

Kushina stared blankly in Ryo's direction, her face confused. The warmth of being carried back was still there, but now mixed with a sense of loss. Why did he run?

"Alright," Tsunade put an arm around Kushina, "let's go in, girl, let your sister check your injury." She helped Kushina into the house.

Nawaki silently picked up the kettle and followed.

In the living room, Mito sat quietly.

Tsunade had Kushina sit down, and she herself knelt to examine the wound. "It's a bad fall, but a minor issue." Green light glowed from her palm, yang-nature chakra covered the injury, the bruise dissipated, and the wound scabbed over, leaving only a red mark. "Try moving it."

Kushina moved her legs and feet, surprised. "It really doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you, Tsunade-neesan."

Tsunade waved her hand. "It's nothing." Then she lowered her voice, her eyes inquisitive. "Kushina, that kid… didn't Nawaki say he was fierce before? This is the first time I've seen him in person, and he's like a different person. Tell me, what happened? How did he end up carrying you?" She was curious about the origin of this contrast.

Nawaki complained from the side, "Sis. He's a bully."

Tsunade ignored him. "Nawaki always says he's unapproachable, but seeing him with you… are you two secretly dating?" Tsunade teased. "Kushina, you move quick—and I've got to admit, Ryo's a good-looking kid."

Kushina's face flushed slightly, and she said flustered, "No… nothing. Sister Tsunade, don't guess wildly." Images of fighting over meat and being protected in the alley flashed through her mind, both sweet and shy, so she buried her face and whispered, "Ah, don't ask."

Tsunade noticed Kushina's ears turn red and her smile widened. "Alright, alright, I won't press. But it looks like our little Kushina's all grown up, huh?" She gave Kushina's ear a playful tug, her curiosity about Ryo easing a bit at Kushina's reaction.

Nawaki turned his head and mumbled, "The world is going to the dogs…"

Mito smiled as she looked out at the twilight, in the direction where Ryo had disappeared, her eyes growing increasingly relieved. The once stubborn red-haired boy had revealed a protective side in their reunion.

(To be continued.)

 

Chapter 15: Whetstone

Ryo almost sped back to his shabby house without his feet touching the ground. The door slammed shut behind him with a bang, shaking dust from the ceiling.

He leaned back against the cold door, running a hand through his striking red hair, coarse and rough like dry grass.

"What the hell," he cursed under his breath. The scene at the Senju main house entrance replayed in his mind. Tsunade's scrutinizing gaze, Mito's all-knowing gentle smile, Nawaki's idiotic face as if he'd seen a ghost, and… Kushina's small gesture of tugging his clothes.

That feeling was worse than being stripped naked and thrown into a marketplace.

He roughly scrubbed his face, trying to suppress the inexplicable heat and an unidentifiable irritation.

Wasn't it just carrying an injured little girl home?

What's the big deal. The key was what?

He actually ran away.

This was completely not Kamiyama Ryo's style.

Normally, he wouldn't even flinch at cracking the heads of classmates who dared disturb his sleep—yet this time, he'd run off in a panic.

Humiliating. Too humiliating.

The more Ryo thought about it, the more choked up he felt, a nameless fire rising in his chest.

No, he had to vent.

Grrrrumble.

Coinciding with his thoughts, his stomach let out a resounding protest.

Hungry. A hunger more intense than after training instantly washed away all other thoughts.

He also had to prepare for that little bandit Kushina's raid tomorrow.

Ryo sighed.

This little girl, once she latched on, she wouldn't let go. Ever since a piece of pork hock started it last time, he felt like he'd boarded a pirate ship, automatically adding a few extra ounces of meat to his lunch every day.

"Trouble." He squeezed these two words through his teeth, but his hand dutifully grabbed the old cloth bag hanging in the corner and a katana with a slightly worn edge.

No matter how troublesome, he couldn't starve himself.

The night was inky black, carrying the unique chill of late autumn and the rusty smell of soil mixed with decaying leaves.

Ryo, like a phantom merged with the night, silently scaled the outer wall of Konoha.

The patrolling ninja squad remained completely unaware of his deliberately suppressed presence.

He could find his way to the depths of the Forest of Death with his eyes closed.

At night, the Forest of Death's danger level escalated exponentially.

But for Ryo, this was his hunting ground, his refrigerator, and his training ground.

The air was filled with a strong wild scent, and the glowing beast eyes in the darkness outnumbered the stars in the sky.

His luck was good tonight. He didn't have to try too hard to encounter a lone adult wild boar.

This fellow was fat and strong, with gleaming white tusks, very fierce, and an excellent source of energy.

Swish.

Ryo didn't use a sharpened wooden stick this time. With a flick of his wrist, the katana at his waist unsheathed with a faint hum.

In the dim light, the blade reflected the cold moonlight, as intimidating as the sharp glint in his eyes.

The wild boar roared and charged.

Ryo stood firm, his feet unmoving. The instant the tusks were almost about to pierce his lower abdomen, his body slid sideways at an incredibly strange yet fluid angle, as if practiced a thousand times.

At the same time, the katana transformed into a white line, difficult to discern with the naked eye, slashing upward diagonally.

Shing!

A soft sound, like a sharp knife cutting through thick leather.

A line of blood shot out into the air, carrying a scorching heat.

The massive wild boar didn't even have time to let out a dying squeal before it slammed heavily to the ground, maintaining its charging posture. Its limbs twitched a few times, then it stopped moving.

The entire hunt was swift, precise, and deadly.

Ryo flicked off a few drops of hot blood from the tip of his blade and emotionlessly sheathed his sword.

Only the smell of blood rapidly permeated the air.

Just as he habitually dragged his prey, preparing to process it on the spot, an extremely subtle yet unusual sensation, like an ice needle piercing bone, suddenly shot up his spine to the back of his head.

Not a beast. It was a human, carrying a hidden killing intent.

In a flash of lightning, Ryo didn't even have time to fully turn around.

Swish.

A blade of water, carrying a fierce wind pressure, tore through the air without warning, precisely slicing toward the joint of his right arm, which was dragging the prey.

The speed was incredible, the angle so tricky, definitely a master.

Buzz.

Ryo's body, driven by instinct, erupted with its maximum potential. The hand holding the sword moved almost at the same instant he perceived the danger.

It wasn't a block, nor was it an evade. Instead, his body's center of gravity inexplicably sank, his arm muscles instantly tensed like steel cables, and he spun back fiercely, using the heavy wild boar corpse as leverage.

Puff.

A large chunk of the wild boar's hind leg was grazed and cut off by the water blade, splattering foul blood and taking what should have been a fatal blow for him.

"Damn it."

Ryo cursed angrily, his internal alarm bells ringing wildly.

This was an ambush.

Where did this master come from?

Could it be Danzo's old cunning Root ninja? Or an enemy spy?

He had no time to think. He pushed with his left hand, kicking away the obstructive wild boar carcass. His right hand unsheathed the katana with a clang, and he twisted like a predatory leopard, the cold blade tip pointing directly at the attacker's blurry figure.

The moonlight fell sparingly, revealing the attacker dressed in standard Konoha Anbu attire, wearing a featureless animal mask. Only a pair of eyes, hidden in the shadows, were sharp as an owl's, coldly locked onto him.

No words, no explanation.

The Anbu flickered, charging forward again, even faster than before.

This time it wasn't an ambush, but a full-on frontal assault.

He quickly formed hand seals, moving so fast that he left afterimages.

"Suiton: Mizurappa (Water Release: Wild Water Wave)."

Splash.

A massive torrent of water seemed to be summoned from thin air, forming several high-speed swirling currents that fiercely crashed into Ryo.

Ryo's pupils constricted. Instead of retreating, he advanced. The 30 percent combat experience inherited from Shanks erupted with brilliant light at this moment.

He pushed off with his feet, creating a shallow pit in the ground, and charged head-on into the roaring water currents.

A flash of sword light. So fast that only a flowing silver streak remained.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

The katana became an afterimage in Ryo's hands. Every slash, every block, precisely struck the core or weakest point of the water currents.

The immense impact made his arm muscles bulge. Every collision caused his blood to churn, but his steps remained exceptionally steady. He forcefully shattered the Mizurappa, which could have sent an ordinary chūnin flying, inch by inch.

Amidst the splashing water, Ryo's eyes grew brighter and brighter. A long-lost, exhilarating battle spirit burned in his chest.

This pressure—this oppressive feeling—was exactly what he needed to break through his limit.

"Again." Ryo let out a suppressed growl from his throat, his battle intent boiling.

He cast aside his initial surprise. Whoever you are, if you're going to throw yourself in my way, don't blame me for cutting you down to hone my edge

(To be continued.)

 

Chapter 16: The Mask Comes Off

The "Anbu" showed a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but his movements became even faster.

Hand seals changed again!

"Suiton: Suijinheki! (Water Release: Water Formation Wall)"

A thick, diamond-shaped water wall rose from the ground, blocking Ryo's sword strike. At the same time, several thinner, sharper arrows of water shot out silently from behind the wall, aiming straight at his vitals.

Clang, clang, clang!

Ryo's sword spun like a wheel, shredding every water arrow. At the same moment, he ducked low and lunged forward.

The tip of his sword instantly pierced the core node of the water wall.

Pop!

With a crisp sound, the Suijinheki shattered into fragments of water.

A slight frown appeared beneath the mask.

The "Anbu" was clearly surprised that Ryo could so easily find the weakness of Suiton techniques. This wasn't just brute strength—it required sharp insight and combat intuition.

"He" decisively changed strategy. No more Suiton, which consumed chakra and was proving ineffective. His body flickered as he switched to taijutsu.

Fists, elbows, knees, and legs… every strike carried heavy wind pressure, forceful and vicious, each coming from cunning, unpredictable angles.

Ryo met him head-on without flinching.

With Shanks' battle experience fused into him, close-quarters was exactly his territory.

His katana chopped, hacked, parried, and thrust in sweeping arcs, while his fists and feet slipped in counterstrikes that came out of nowhere.

There was no fixed pattern to his movements, only the wild unpredictability of a death match. Every impact rang out with a dull, powerful thud.

In the forest, two figures fought at blistering speed, each clash stirring up gusts of wind, metal ringing, and a flurry of leaves scattering into the night.

Bang!

After blocking a heavy punch, Ryo seized the opening and whipped his leg around like a steel lash, striking the opponent's waist. The impact felt like kicking a steel ingot wrapped in rubber.

"Ugh!"

The "Anbu" grunted, forced several steps back by the blow. Under the mask, his eyes widened slightly.

This kid's strength… it's rising? The recoil left a subtle numbness in his waist and abdomen.

Ryo, sensing the advantage, was about to press forward when suddenly, a profound, mystical sensation erupted deep inside him. It was like a dam finally cracking under floodwaters.

In his mind, the system prompt that had been stuck at [Shanks' Legacy Integration: 30%] burst into radiant light.

A cold, mechanical voice rang out:

[Host detected breaking through bottleneck under extreme pressure. Shanks' Legacy Integration increased to: 30%!]

[Legacy continues to unlock…]

[Shanks' Legacy unlocked to: 60%!]

[Shanks' Legacy Integration increased to: 35%!]

Buzz—

A torrent of power surged through his limbs and bones, vaster than ever before.

Shanks' advanced combat wisdom, refined swordsmanship, mastery of Haki and body control, all of it poured into his mind and muscle memory like a flood.

It was like a metamorphosis from within, breaking free of a cocoon. Power surged, bones resonated, dormant cells rejoiced.

[Legacy unlocked! Current Integration: 35%]

[Integration 30%-60% corresponds to: Jōnin-Kage level (potential)]

Ryo's movements stilled for a fraction of a second. His silver-gray eyes blazed brilliantly in the dark.

So that's it.

The bottleneck wasn't going to move with easy training. He needed this kind of brutal, life-or-death pressure.

"So… you were a big help!" Ryo's lips curved into a grin filled with fighting spirit and a touch of bloodlust. His voice was low but sharp with excitement. "Thanks."

This time, he charged first. His movements turned crisp, fluid, and lethal.

Every step was ghostlike. The katana in his hand was no longer clumsy hacking—it now carried an indescribable "spirit" and weight.

The sword had become part of his body.

The "Anbu" immediately sensed the difference.

Ryo's speed, strength, technique, and even aura all surged to a new level.

If before, he could maintain a slight edge with experience and stronger chakra, now a crushing pressure pressed down on him.

It was as if his opponent was no longer a child, but a veteran swordsman forged through a thousand battles.

They clashed again, but the tide had shifted.

Ryo's swordsmanship grew sharper, each strike carrying an invisible cutting edge that tore the air with piercing shrieks. Even stray leaves were sliced apart by the passing blade.

Bang!

After another fierce collision, the "Anbu" retreated with the force, then clapped his hands and aimed toward a hanging waterfall nearby.

"Suiton: Suiryūdan no Jutsu! (Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet Technique)"

Boom!!!

A deafening roar shook the forest.

The waterfall surged as if seized by an unseen giant hand, forming into a massive, ferocious water dragon that barreled forward, jaws wide with crushing force.

Even before it reached him, the gale whipped at Ryo's face.

His eyes lit up. He didn't retreat. He stepped forward instead, katana raised high. His arm swelled with explosive strength.

Slash!!!

Buzz!

The blade cut an arc brighter than moonlight, tearing the air itself apart.

A visible crescent-shaped shockwave erupted from the swing. No ornamentation, no tricks—just pure cutting intent.

Chhh—!

The shockwave sliced through the massive water dragon like tofu.

The dragon exploded into a downpour of scattered rain.

The slash didn't stop. It tore into the ground behind the "Anbu."

Rumble!!!

Dirt and stone blasted apart. A trench several feet deep and ten meters long appeared in the darkness.

The "Anbu's" pupils shrank beneath the mask.

Ryo's chest surged with battle spirit, ready to press the advantage, squeezing every drop of value out of this opponent.

But then, the flood of newly integrated power abruptly cooled.

An overwhelming wave of fatigue and weakness crashed through his body.

The intense limit breakthrough and battle had wrung out every ounce of strength.

The arm holding his katana trembled with soreness, each breath burned in his chest, his legs felt like lead, and even standing upright was a struggle.

He braced himself with the tip of his sword, panting heavily, sweat dripping down his face.

"Damn it. Eight-year-old body really can't handle this?" he cursed inwardly. The strain had completely drained his still-developing body.

The power was real, but his body needed time to adapt.

Rain fell, soaking his hair, blurring his vision.

The forest lay in ruins, the only sounds the rushing waterfall and his ragged breathing.

The "Anbu" stood not far away, watching him through the rain. There were signs of exhaustion as well, his uniform torn from the backlash of his own Suiton techniques.

Bang!

A puff of white smoke burst out.

The "Anbu" vanished.

In his place stood a tall woman.

Golden hair glistened in the moonlight, clinging to her temples and slender neck. Her soaked uniform outlined a strong, curving figure.

Her striking face carried the lingering sharpness of battle.

It was none other than the princess of Konoha, Senju Tsunade—the same woman Ryo had been desperately trying to avoid earlier.

Ryo's head snapped up, his mind buzzing at the sight.

Tsunade?!

Absurdity and irritation spiked through him.

He had come into the forest to blow off steam, specifically to avoid her and the circus-like atmosphere around her. And instead, he got nearly beaten to death by her?

"Hahahaha!"

Tsunade let out an unrestrained laugh, echoing through the wrecked forest, startling a few night birds.

"Kid!" She strode forward, a mischievous grin on her beautiful face, drawing out her words. "Didn't expect it was me, did you? Fun fight?"

(To be continued.)

 

Chapter 17: Aftermath

Ryo silently looked at the smiling face in front of him, then at the deep, long trench his slash had carved into the ground, and the wild boar carcass in the distance with half its hind leg cut off. A heavy sense of bewilderment washed over him.

What is this supposed to mean?

Just because I did not go to the Senju house for tea, you disguised yourself as Anbu, chased me into the Forest of Death, and "taught me a lesson"?

Is her brain wired wrong?

Ryo felt a herd of curses stampeding through his chest, but only squeezed out a dry line: "…Tsunade-sama?"

Tsunade seemed to completely miss the storm in his chest, or rather, she caught it and did not care.

She ignored the curves traced by her drenched combat uniform as she walked a few steps to stand before Ryo. She looked down at him, but her eyes were much gentler than during the fight, carrying the pickiness of someone satisfied with an inspection.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" She raised an eyebrow. A soft green light bloomed at her fingertips as she pressed precisely on his shoulder and arm grazed by a water blade.

Warm life energy poured in, and the small wounds visibly closed and scabbed. His sore, weak muscles felt as if a warm current had been injected, and his fatigue quickly receded.

Ryo's body recognized the technique at once, A-rank ninjutsu, Shōsen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique).

His tensed muscles relaxed a little on their own, but his guard and confusion did not drop at all.

"Tsk. Not badly injured, just too much consumption. This small body is still a bit weak." Tsunade finished the treatment, withdrew her hand, and patted it clean. Her movements were swift and decisive.

"Do not look at me like that, kid." She finally put away her mischievous smile, though a hint of teasing still lingered in her eyes. "You think I am so bored I ran over here just to beat you up and vent?"

Ryo pursed his lips and stared at her in silence.

The meaning in his eyes was clear. Otherwise?

"Phew." Tsunade wiped the rain from her face, then jerked her thumb at the boar carcass lying behind them. "Let's get this big guy back. I'm starving, and that fight took more out of me than I expected."

Her words carried the casual authority of someone used to giving orders, but there was no real malice in them—just straightforward bluntness.

Ryo: "…"

She raised a brow when he didn't immediately move. "Well? The rain's not letting up anytime soon. You planning to stand here until we're both drenched?"

Ryo took a steady breath, suppressing the urge to argue. He wasn't in top shape, and the last thing he needed was a drawn-out spat with a woman like Tsunade. Better to save his strength for something that actually mattered.

He stood up, forced down his body's protests, walked to the boar carcass, and hefted it up roughly.

Tsunade, meanwhile, casually carried the severed hind leg as if it weighed nothing.

She glanced at Ryo's strained movements, said nothing, and only raised her chin to indicate, "Lead the way."

Rain washed the forest path, leaving behind two silent sets of footprints.

Ryo carried the heavy boar, each step stamping deep into the mud.

The exhaustion in his body had been eased greatly by Tsunade's treatment, but the questions and frustration in his chest snowballed.

By the time they returned to his dilapidated house on the village outskirts, as simple as a shack, the rain had just stopped.

Ryo swung the boar off his shoulder with a clang onto the big bluestone in the yard that served as his chopping block, splashing mud and water.

He reversed his grip and stabbed the chipped, broken sword into the ground, then pushed open the creaking wooden door without a word.

Tsunade followed closely and walked in without ceremony.

The house was extremely simple, with almost no furniture. The most eye-catching things were a huge seasoning box, releasing all kinds of spice aromas, and a pile of homemade long meat skewers and baskets of smoked meat by the wall.

The air was full of firewood, dust, and spices. It was not pleasant, but for Ryo at that moment, it was the only place he could breathe. Though his safe haven had just been invaded.

"Tsk, poorer than I thought." Tsunade looked around without restraint, her gaze sweeping over a few yellowed ninja scrolls in the corner, then landing on the large seasoning box and the neatly stacked leaf-wrapped bundles beside it. "But you are pretty well equipped."

Ryo ignored her. He scooped a ladle of cold water from a chipped ceramic jar in the corner, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. Water slid down his increasingly defined jawline, washing off a trace of his ragged look.

The cold water pressed down the burn in his throat and the agitation in his chest.

He wiped his mouth, did not bother with greetings, and went straight to the big bluestone in the yard.

Konoha's night went quiet again.

Only the whistle of a blade through air and heavy chopping thuds broke the silence.

Moonlight slipped out from behind the clouds, illuminating the focused redhead in the yard.

Ryo rolled up his sleeves, revealing the clean muscle lines on his forearms. Young, but full of power.

The thick-backed cleaver felt weightless in his hands, driven with brutal efficiency.

Swish, swish, swish.

The blade flashed in the moonlight, flowing like water.

Thick hindquarter meat?

A swift chop, clean decomposition into stew-ready chunks, the crisp sound of bone separating from meat sharp and clear. Tough fascia was as fragile as paper under his knife.

Ribs with tender meat?

A precise slicing cut along the bone seam, the tip prying and turning, and evenly thick, snowflake-patterned slices scattered like petals into the rough ceramic basin.

Lean leg meat? Thin slices. The blade ran along the grain, each slice translucent and almost identical in size.

Tenderloin? Large cut. The knife swept in an arc to remove a complete strip.

Separating tendons. Deboning. Trimming fascia.

His movements were swift, precise, and dominant, every detail showing the skill of a seasoned butcher and a self-contained violent meat aesthetic.

The boar's massive body was systematically disassembled under his orderly hands, not an ounce wasted.

Sweat trickled from his forehead onto the cold stone slab. He did not seem to notice, his eyes fixed on the mountain of meat.

Tsunade leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching.

The scrutiny and playfulness in her gaze gradually faded, replaced by growing surprise and focus.

This kid's knife work, it is not just strength and speed. It is eyesight, prediction, an instinct in his bones, honed across countless cuts.

This is not cooking at all. It is another form of combat artistry.

The focus and confidence coming off his movements were more condensed and pure than many sword masters she had seen.

This kid had a terrifying sense of control.

When Ryo picked up the large ceramic basin, poured in a generous amount of coarse salt over the mountain of tender slices, then scattered dried chili flakes and various spice powders, and finally drizzled shimmering animal fat and thick miso, the dominant yet complex spicy aroma burst out at once.

Then he slipped on thick "gloves" made from bark and vines, and got to work.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

His powerful hands plunged into the meat, kneading, squeezing, and grabbing. Every motion carried raw power, making sure every piece was tightly coated with the thick spices and oil.

The air began to fill with a rich, mouthwatering aroma.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 18: Appreciation

"This smell…" Tsunade twitched her nose, her throat moving involuntarily.

This simple, rough pickling method produced a domineering aroma that slammed straight into her appetite.

Ryo stayed in rhythm, roughly wrapping and pressing the kneaded slices of meat tight with large, clean leaves, then weighing them down with big stones.

The remaining strips of meat he salted evenly and hung aside.

His hands moved so fast they dazzled the eye.

After handling the raw meat, Ryo set up the old scrap-iron pot that could boil a whole pig, filled it with water, and tossed in a few smashed wild boar leg bones and meat scraps.

He then slipped into the small woods beside the house and, in a blink, returned with a handful of wild spring onions still beaded with dew, some old ginger, a few unknown wild fruits, and a cluster of umbrella-shaped wild mushrooms, which he tore and dropped into the pot.

A big flame leapt up. Gurgle, gurgle…

Soon, steam carrying rich bone aroma, the sharp bite of wild spring onions, and the earthy fragrance of mushrooms pushed back against the dominating spice of grilled meat, rising in wisps straight into their noses.

Tsunade finally straightened and paced over to the simple barbecue grill in the corner.

The fresh-lit charcoal crackled softly. She picked up two nearly two-meter-long homemade skewers and, with fluid ease, threaded thick-cut ribs and large slices of leg meat onto them.

Her technique was as natural as picking up a kunai.

Ryo glanced at her, said nothing, and accepted the "help."

All his focus was on filling the yawning emptiness left by being drained.

Thick cuts sizzled as the flames licked them.

Hot fat dripped onto the red charcoal, flaring into bluish-white tongues of fire.

Sizzle.

Ryo took several deep breaths of the supercharged aroma flooding the yard—the char of grilled meat, the mellow stew, heavy woodsmoke, pungent marinade. His exhausted spirit felt like it had been hit with a strong stimulant.

His eyes brightened, and the subtle soreness in his muscles seemed to ease under the assault of scent.

He fed the fire, turned the meat, and tasted the soup for salt. His hands were fast, precise, and steady, and a serious gourmet's aura settled over him.

When the first golden piece of grilled meat was torn off, blown on, and popped into his mouth, the crisp outside, tender inside, erupting juices, and bone-deep spice made him narrow his eyes in satisfaction. A low, contented sound rumbled in his throat.

Tsunade was even faster. She grabbed a perfectly grilled slice of leg meat, ignored the heat, and bit in.

"Mmm." Her eyes lit up. Rich juices and spice exploded across her tongue. The chew, paired with that domineering, layered flavor, was simple, primal, and completely satisfying.

"Tch. Kid, you've got real skill."

She unceremoniously grabbed a few more of the largest pieces, eating with oil on her lips, hearty as a tomboy.

Ryo, while shoveling calories into the void in his gut, neatly laid more raw slices onto the preheated stone slab.

The hiss of fat on hot stone, mixed with their chewing and swallowing, became the most harmonious music of the moment.

Tsunade cleared her plate like a whirlwind, then, still unsatisfied, turned to the extra-large bamboo bento box Ryo was portioning.

Watching him neatly layer the enticing slices, even picking out the best thick-cut chops to place on top before covering it with the big bamboo lid, she noted the amount was clearly more than a single serving.

"Hey." A sly smile crept onto her lips.
"What's with the extra? You cooking for an army?"

Ryo's hand paused on the lid.

His reply was flat: "Stockpile."

His hand, however, pulled the box closer.

That alone answered.

Tsunade's smile lingered, but she let it drop.

She walked to the stove and saw the milky-white bone broth rolling with steam, its rich scent hitting her straight on.

"This soup looks good too." She picked up a big, chipped sea bowl beside the stove and ladled it full without ceremony. Bones, wild spring onion segments, and mushrooms soaked in broth settled into the steaming bowl.

"Hey." Ryo's voice cut.

Tsunade ignored him, blew on the rim, and took a heavy gulp. "Phew, hot, hot. Mmm…" The soup slid down her throat, warmth followed by rich, melted depth.

The heavy bone aroma, mellow oil, sharp green freshness, wild mushroom umami, and a subtle sweet aftertaste from the wild fruits all popped in layers across her tongue.

A comfortable warmth spread from her stomach to her limbs.

"Ha. Refreshing." Tsunade wiped her mouth, heat and satisfaction tinting her face.

"Lady Tsunade." Ryo's expression didn't shift much, but a vein ticked at his temple.

"You came here to eat me dry and chatter like an old hag? That's the serious business?"

Tsunade chuckled at his irritation. She finished the last sip of soup and set the bowl on the stove with a crisp clack.

"Alright, enough jokes." She straightened, expression turning steady. "I did come with reason."

Ryo stared at her, waiting.

"First, I am here to thank you." Tsunade raised a slender finger at him, her tone firm. "Tonight, you brought Kushina home safely, and kept those brainless idiots from stepping on her again. You were quite heavy-handed, but as her sister, I appreciate the protection."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 19: Thanks?

"So you chased me out here and beat me up as a thank you?"

Ryo finally could not hold it in. His voice was edged with anger and absurdity, almost a roar.

He pointed at his mud-soaked clothes. "You beat me from one end of the forest to the other and nearly had me swallowed by a water dragon. Is this how you say thank you?!"

"Right. What else?" Tsunade raised an eyebrow, so righteous it made one want to spit blood. "Beat you, make you work, sweat a little. Is that not the most practical? Do you want me to bring you tea, bow, and say 'thank you'?"

She sneered. "Empty talk. A fight stretches your muscles, loosens your body. Didn't you notice how much sharper your movements got after the spar?"

She raised her chin, referring to Ryo's integration increase during the battle, eyes slightly teasing. "What? My 'thank you gift' was not hard enough? Not exciting enough?"

Ryo almost laughed at the nonsense.

"Alright then. Thanks for the… heartfelt thanks." He let the sarcasm bite.

"Second, I am testing you." Tsunade's voice turned serious. "It is no coincidence you can dominate the Ninja Academy. That 'thank you gift' was enough for me to measure your weight."

"The result?" Ryo met her gaze, cold and steady.

He did not need compliments. He wanted to know her aim.

"So-so." Tsunade gave a neutral verdict, tone flat, eyes sharp. "Your hard power is enough. Thick skin and raw strength. Your fighting style is rough, but there is real substance in your core. Those flexible sword moves do not look like something a brat should have, which is interesting. If I am not mistaken, you are barely passable, stuck at the threshold of Jōnin."

She paused, emphasizing, "Pay attention, barely. Your only edge is being tough and strong."

She took two steps and met Ryo's stubborn gaze. "Your swordsmanship looks crude, but it is blended with a fierce intuition honed through life-and-death fights. There is also a kind of… tsk, hard to describe, like the 'intent' that only a veteran soaked in the sword for decades can possess. It is still vague, like a bud. Boy, who taught you?"

The last question, probing and scrutinizing, went straight to the core.

Her eyesight was vicious.

Even if Shanks' experience was only integrated to 35 percent, that instinctive intent and flexible skill, forged by top masters, had begun to show.

"No one taught me." He sidestepped, voice cold and hard. "I figured it out. After chopping pigs enough times, it came naturally."

"Heh." Tsunade was unconvinced, but she did not press. She snorted. "Fine, I will treat you as a rare talent among wild butchers. But," she shifted without giving room to argue, "you only have stone-like strength and the reckless charge of a boar. Without someone to sharpen the diamond, you only become a better whetstone. You think you are strong? Not even close. If all you know is fighting, you will end up as emotionless fodder for Danzō."

At the mention of Danzō, a cold light flashed in Ryo's eyes.

"Kid," Tsunade walked up, close enough to see his bristling red hair, "someone thinks you are good material and wants me to take you as my apprentice and point you the right way." She leaned in slightly, pressure settling. "Do you know who?"

An image flashed in Ryo's mind, an old pervert with a crystal ball peeping in the office.

"…Hokage?"

"That is right. Sarutobi Hiruzen has taken a liking to you. He thinks you can inherit his Will of Fire." Tsunade straightened, a hint of teasing and pride in her tone. "However, if you want to be my disciple, the old man's recommendation and your bit of brute force are not enough."

She raised two fingers, passing sentence.

"First, meeting the power requirement is your ticket. That 'exam' was the entry ticket. You barely qualify for a second look."

"The second, and most important, rule," Tsunade's eyes turned needle-sharp, her voice dropping with unquestionable weight, "your temper, character, and mindset must pass with me. If you are a disciple who does not suit my taste, whether recommended by Sarutobi Hiruzen or the son of the Rikudō Sennin, get out."

In Konoha, no one could force Tsunade to accept someone she did not approve of.

Ryo stood there, wet clothes clinging, silent as stone. He looked at Tsunade, digesting it.

Hiruzen had high hopes and wanted to push him toward a bright path.

Danzō coveted him and wanted to drag him into Root.

Danger and opportunity, together.

"So," Ryo said, his voice back to its usual coldness, anger faded, "you came tonight to beat me as thanks and to test my strength. The Hokage asked you to take me as your apprentice. You felt I was 'barely' qualified, so you decided to observe first."

"Your little brain is sharp." Tsunade grinned with a hint of malicious admiration. "Half right. Besides what the old man said, there is Kushina."

She brought up Kushina again, eyes full of meaning. "That little girl treats you… ahem. Anyway, for Kushina's sake, I am giving you more 'testing.' Otherwise, do you think your crude sword and brute strength are worth me running through the Forest of Death at night and getting soaked?"

The corner of Ryo's mouth twitched.

Tsunade did not seem to notice his displeasure. She waved the meat in her hand and jumped topics like a shunshin. "Alright, reasons explained. This meat is my medical fee."

"Medical fee?" Ryo's tone sharpened, his eyes cutting to a piece of pork neck and the best leg meat she was lifting.

His forehead vein twitched.

He jabbed a finger at the creaking door.
"The door's there. I've had enough talk. I still need to train."

Tsunade paused, studying his face, then smirked. "Hahaha. Fine, fine. I'll go."

She knew her "thanks" and "test" logic was… unique.

Goal achieved. Time to leave.

She turned, scooped up the meat, and strode off. Under the moonlight, her back was crisp and neat.

Bang. The wooden door slammed shut with a heavy thud, echoed by the earth wall.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 20: Hiruzen's Plan

 

In the dead of night, the Hokage Office was dimly lit and filled with smoke.

Sarutobi Hiruzen, a pipe clamped between his fingers, was frowning at a scroll when the door groaned under an unbearable force and was kicked open with a clang.

The spark in the pipe jumped in surprise.

Tsunade strode in, bringing with her a strong aroma of meat and the chill of a dewy night.

In her left hand, she held a large, dark brown, glistening pork neck, stained with a few dried leaves. Thick sauce slowly dripped between her fingers. In her right hand, she casually clutched a scroll, its edge still smudged with dark red marks.

The Anbu on duty in the shadows by the door, intimidated by her violence, instinctively tensed as she passed.

"Old man!" Tsunade walked straight to the desk, her voice booming. With a pat, she threw the glistening roasted pork neck onto Hiruzen's document-strewn desk. The savory aroma instantly overpowered the smell of tobacco. "Still up this late?"

Hiruzen's gaze lifted from the well-worn pork to Tsunade's slightly disheveled outfit, its corners stained with grass and wet mud, then to her greasy, possibly blood-stained hands. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. "Oh? Coming to see me with such a grand display, what is it? …And this?"

"Ryo. Kamiyama Ryo." Tsunade wiped her mouth, as if still savoring the charred and tender aroma. "I just finished testing that kid." Her tone carried post-battle satisfaction. "Satisfied. Very satisfied. From now on, he is my official first disciple. I came specifically to let you know."

She did not shy away, explaining in a few words how she had a sudden whim to test the mettle of the guy Kushina and Nawaki had been talking about, how she disguised herself as Anbu to ambush him in the Forest of Death, how she used the kid as a punching bag until he broke his limits, and how she was "thanked," only to be conquered by his superb barbecue skills.

Hiruzen listened in silence, his pipe almost slipping from his hand.

He took a deep puff, choked, and his mouth twitched slightly. "Cough. So, you call this an assessment?"

He looked deeply at his disciple, his gaze a mix of empathy for his own teacher's headaches back then and helpless amusement. "Tsunade, your method of thanking someone when taking them as a student is a bit, cough." He gestured at Tsunade with the stem of his pipe. "Unusual."

"What is wrong with unusual? As long as it is effective." Tsunade tossed her golden hair, righteous. "Isn't the effect good? That kid is tough, perfect for grinding down his wildness. Besides," she patted the scroll stained with dark red, "didn't I pull him back into the light for you? To keep him from being coveted by certain roots in the gutters." She hinted at something, then yawned, signaling the end of the topic. "Alright, I've taken him on. That is settled. If there is nothing else, I am leaving."

"Good. I understand." Hiruzen immediately caught the deeper meaning in her words, a sharp light flashing in his eyes. He responded decisively, genuine relief on his face.

His fingers imperceptibly tapped his pipe. Ryo joining the Hokage lineage, becoming his grand-disciple. Kushina and Ryo's bond deepening daily, almost intertwined, and Kushina being the future Kyūbi Jinchūriki…

These three lines instantly braided into a clear, strong rope in his mind, held firmly in the Hokage's hand. A trace of ease and the pleasure of holding the overall situation flashed in his eyes.

Tsunade saw his expression and knew the old man was once again calculating his intricate game.

She said no more, too lazy to bother with the twists and turns, and picked up the pig's trotter on the table that had witnessed her sincerity. "I am off."

She turned like a gust of wind. The office door groaned again, and her golden-haired figure disappeared down the corridor.

Hiruzen watched her leave, and once the door closed, the relief on his face instantly receded, replaced by his usual deep calm.

Smoke once again permeated the air.

An Anbu wearing an animal mask silently knelt before the desk, as if emerging from the shadows.

"Go." The Third's voice was low and authoritative, carrying undeniable power. "Inform Danzō. Tsunade has personally confirmed taking Ryo as her direct disciple, and from today, Ryo is her only direct disciple." He paused, emphasizing his words. "Warn him. Put away any improper thoughts. No one is to scheme against Ryo again. No one."

"Understood, Hokage-sama."

…

Bang. A delicate celadon teacup shattered into pieces in the depths of Ne's secret base.

Danzō's grim face twisted and monstrous like a demon in the flickering candlelight.

He clutched the small scroll just delivered from the Hokage Tower, his knuckles white, a chilling cold and fury seeping from his bones.

"Sa…ru…to…bi… Hi…ru…zen…" A hoarse voice, like sandpaper rubbing dry bone, squeezed out word by word from between his clenched teeth.

Every word on that paper was like a red-hot brand, searing his heart. Tsunade taking a disciple, Ryo becoming part of the Hokage line, the warning…

Every line declared his failure.

The promising talent he had set his eyes on, that sharp blade that could tear through enemies and stain Konoha's foundations in the future, had been snatched away.

Bang. Another furious punch slammed into the hard ebony desk, the dull thud shaking dust from the ceiling.

His eyes seemed to burn, bloodshot and bulging, staring fixedly at the scroll, threads of red crazily crawling across his eyeballs.

This was not just losing a potential new talent. It was a blatant slap and suppression.

The Third Hokage was using the name of Tsunade and her disciple to pin down Danzō and the entire sphere of Root.

"Heh… hehe…" At the peak of rage, he laughed instead, his mouth twisting upward into a strange, chilling arc that could stop a child's crying. "Hiruzen. Tsunade."

The firelight danced on his distorted face. His sinister gaze pierced the shadowed rock walls, fixed in the direction of the Hokage Tower.

"You want it all? Good." His voice was as soft as a snake's hiss, yet it carried a coldness that seeped into every blue brick of the basement. "Just wait and see. Whether it is the Kyūbi Jinchūriki, or that sharp blade. You may hold them for a while, but can you hold them for a lifetime?"

(To be continued.)

...

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Chapter 4: Chapter 21-30

Chapter 21: The Senju Meal Group

Ever since that "life-saving grace," the thread between Kushina and Ryo had become tangled in a way neither could cut loose.

To Kushina, Ryo was no longer fierce, but a peculiar guy whose words never matched his heart.

He let her steal food off his plate, tolerated her endless questions after class, and didn't even chase her away when she dragged along her unreasonable older sister, Tsunade.

And perhaps out of guilt for the chaos she had caused the previous night, Tsunade secretly dropped off bags of rice and bundles of ingredients at Ryo's place, hiding it from Kushina. Whether they truly came from her, or if Mito supplied them and she merely passed them along, no one could say for sure.

Thus, the "Senju Clan Meal Group" officially opened in his rundown little yard. The unspoken arrangement was simple: Tsunade supplied the food, easing the strain on his meager budget, while Ryo handled the cooking.

The golden glow of the setting sun spilled lazily across the yard. Tsunade sprawled on the only somewhat intact bench, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Hey! Ryo! What's for dinner tonight? Roast meat's getting boring. Let's have something else!"

Ryo was busy.

In front of him wasn't just a grill, but the full spread of his "manly kitchen" setup: a newly added stone mortar pounding spices, a wicker basket of smoked meat sending up blue smoke, and a large stew pot bubbling with fragrance.

Kushina sat beside Tsunade, her face flushed, eyes sparkling as they darted between the dishes.

"Ryo! I brought some mushrooms I found in the forest. Can they go in the soup?"

Ryo didn't look up. "Put them there. I'll use what's worth using."

He swiftly flipped a huge wild boar leg, rotating it over the makeshift grill.

The pig leg, pre-marinated with his special spicy sauce, sizzled as flames licked its skin. Fat dripped onto the charcoal with loud cracks, and the smoky aroma mixed with rich meat scent, dominating the entire yard.

On the stone slab nearby, several slices of tenderloin, thin as cicada wings, sprinkled with coarse salt and wild scallions, baked slowly in the residual heat.

"So fragrant!" Tsunade sniffed deeply, her appetite overriding her complaints.

Kushina, like a little gluttonous cat, sniffed the air vigorously, her face glowing.

Ryo deftly lifted the lid of the large iron pot. The boiling milky-white soup, filled with chunks of meat, shiitake mushrooms, and wild vegetables, bubbled. The aroma of scallions and ginger burst out with the steam, joining the olfactory feast.

This was the rich broth he had simmered since the afternoon using bones and scraps, now at its peak.

The yard was filled with the overwhelming scent of home cooking, so fragrant it made one's stomach churn.

Tsunade's appetite was bottomless, her consumption nothing short of outrageous.

But since she was basically sponsoring the food now, Ryo held his tongue. Besides, he still had his own backup stock: dried meat strips, carefully marinated and air-dried, wild spices, dried vegetables, and fungi gathered from the Forest of Death—emergency rations in case her supply ever ran dry.

…

The next evening after school, Ryo, dragging his exhausted body back home, froze at the sight before him.

A small wooden cart was parked at the gate, piled high like a small mountain.

Two whole racks of fresh jungle deer ribs, wrapped in banana leaves, sat exposed.

Beside them was a basket of wild vegetables and mushrooms, fresh enough to drip water.

Several heavy pottery jars were stacked neatly, filled with soy sauce, vinegar, and soybean oil.

And from the cart handle dangled a string of fat, squawking wild chickens.

Kushina strained with all her strength, her face red as she pushed the overloaded cart through the gate. The wheels dug deep grooves into the muddy ground.

"What are you doing?" Ryo strode over and grabbed the cart.

Kushina's eyes lit up as she wiped sweat from her brow. "Ingredients! I bought them! Quick, push it inside. Fresh fish will be delivered soon too. They'll spoil if left outside!" Her tone carried pride.

As Ryo pushed the cart in, he eyed Kushina. Her simple clothes and ordinary look clashed with the pile of expensive ingredients.

"Where did you get the money to buy all this?" he asked, frowning.

"I have money!" Kushina puffed her chest. "Grandma Mito gave me my family's rent from dozens of shops on an entire street…"

An entire street? Ryo raised an eyebrow.

So this red-haired brat trailing him every day was actually a hidden rich girl.

"While I appreciate this, don't do it again." Ryo started moving the ingredients down.

He said this, but his eyes couldn't help sweeping over the deer ribs, their texture gleaming in the sunset. Dozens of cooking methods instantly flashed through his mind.

"But Tsunade-neesan said if we eat your food, we have to pay for it!" Kushina said firmly.

Speak of the devil, Tsunade arrived.

The moment she saw the mountain of ingredients, her eyes shone like stars.

"Oh! A big feast tonight? Kushina, your eye for shopping is amazing! These deer ribs… tsk, roasted they'll burst with juice. Braised with honey oil… hurry up, Ryo, please get started!"

"Kushina, let's pick the ribs with moderate fat, cut them into chunks, rub with salt and honey, roast them to eighty percent! Leave the tender piece, coat it with spicy sauce and pan-fry it slowly!" Tsunade said confidently, clapping Kushina on the shoulder.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 22: Lonely Mito

Ryo got to work, while Kushina, her hands on her cheeks, stared at him. She found it strangely addictive.

She liked watching Ryo focus.

Even though he was always gruff, his movements were sharp and violent, like he was cutting enemies instead of ingredients. Yet the food that landed on the table was always terrifyingly generous in portion, and so delicious it made one want to swallow their tongue.

She could feel that, beneath Ryo's hard shell, he wasn't rejecting her presence anymore. That warmed her heart.

Thus, a bizarre yet highly efficient "iron triangle" formed:

Tsunade – Responsible for fighting. Under the excuse of "training," her main goal was to burn through Ryo's stamina.

Kushina – Responsible for buying. With the Uzumaki clan's little rich girl "money power," she bought top-quality ingredients that Tsunade ordered (and that she herself wanted to eat). She often slipped in spices, wild honey, and other novelties.

Ryo – Responsible for cooking.

His cooking moved as smooth as flowing water. A giant bone stick rotated, dripping oil on the grill. A whole chicken, coated in batter, was shoved into a mud oven. Deer chops sizzled on the stone slab. A pot of milky-white soup boiled heavily beside it.

The richness of the stew, the char of the grill, the subtle fragrance of the pan-fried, the sealed mystery inside the oven, even the smoky aroma from the curing rack in the corner… together, they filled the entire broken-down courtyard with an intoxicating scent.

With high-quality ingredients and Kushina's "experiments" added in, Ryo's cooking skills were thoroughly activated.

The once-empty baskets filled up with grilled skewers, dried jerky, and smoked wild game of different flavors.

The curing rack dripped with half-finished products, fragrant with pine and fruit wood.

He even started trying new tricks, using Kushina's wild honey with coarse salt to make honey-glazed jerky, or pounding spicy wild fruits into sauces to brush over skewers. Mushrooms and wild greens were tested in stews.

Occasionally, when Kushina cried from a new spicy sauce, gulping water yet still taking another bite, a flicker of amusement crossed his eyes before vanishing. Even he didn't notice it.

Day by day, the courtyard clattered with pots and pans, full of bustle and noise.

But the busier this courtyard grew, the more neglected the Senju mansion felt.

---

Inside the old Senju residence, the golden glow of the setting sun fell on the long dining table, lined with several warm, untouched dishes.

Uzumaki Mito gazed at the empty seats. Only Nawaki was there, shoveling rice silently, eating fast like it would save him from small talk with his grandmother.

Mito sighed gracefully, her voice light, tinged with just the right amount of melancholy.
"Nawaki…"

Nawaki choked, looked up nervously, and swallowed his rice.
"G-Grandma?"

"These days," Mito's eyes drifted over the two empty spots that belonged to Tsunade and Kushina, her tone soft and slow, "don't you think… it's a little too quiet?"

Nawaki stiffened. He glanced at the seats, then nodded blankly. "Y-yeah. Sister and Kushina haven't been coming back to eat." He thought his grandmother was simply stating a fact.

"Yes." Mito's voice softened further, like a drifting feather. "Before, your sister was always out. Now she has a new place. And that child, Kushina… it is a good thing to have a close friend. But…" She paused, her eyes fixed gently on Nawaki's face, "this large mansion, at dinner, leaves only an old woman and a boy silently facing each other. My heart feels empty and unsettled. The quiet is almost unnerving."

Nawaki's scalp tingled.

Mito spoke with such genuine emotion. But what could he do? A half-grown boy talking history with his legendary grandmother to ease her loneliness?

He grinned sheepishly, buried his head, and focused on shoveling rice, as if hiding inside the bowl.

Mito sipped her tea with perfect composure.

---

A few evenings later, Ryo's courtyard was at its busiest.

Tsunade licked the last of the honey glaze off a rib, wiped her oily hands on her clothes, and leaned back in satisfaction.

Ryo crouched nearby, tossing greasy skewers stripped of meat into a water bucket.

Kushina hummed off-key while sweeping up banana leaves into a basket.

The heavy aroma of meat, charcoal, and spice lingered stubbornly.

Then, a figure appeared at the gate, framed by the twilight.

Uzumaki Mito, dressed in a simple kimono, stood silently, her eternal gentle smile fixed on the lively courtyard.

Kushina froze. "Grandma Mito? Why are you here?"

Tsunade raised an eyebrow, a flicker of guilt flashing through her eyes.

Ryo stopped scrubbing and let the water drip from his hands. His muscles tensed instinctively, remembering the pressure he once felt at the Senju residence gate.

He never underestimated this widow of the God of Shinobi, this legend of Uzumaki.

"Grandma," Tsunade muttered, guilty as if caught sneaking out.

Mito ignored her. Her eyes fell on the oil-stained corner of Kushina's clothes.
"Kushina," her voice carried a soft sigh, "these days, at Grandma's house, it's just Nawaki eating with me. So quiet."

The loneliness in her tone made Kushina's chest tighten.

"Ah, too quiet." Then her gaze moved, falling on the red-haired boy in the corner. His face was cold, expression locked, water dripping from his hands. Her eyes softened, but the authority in her voice allowed no refusal.

"So, Kushina," Mito said gently, "next time, bring your friend Ryo-kun. Come home for dinner together, won't you?"

Ryo's eyes narrowed. "Huh?"

Kushina's eyes lit up in surprise.

Bring Ryo to Grandma's house? For dinner?

That was a huge step.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 23: The Red Pair

Ryo understood that Uzumaki Mito's invitation was a gesture of courtesy and grace from the matriarch of the Senju clan, the widow of the God of Shinobi.

Being invited once was giving face, and that was enough, a return of courtesy.

Going again?

That was just politeness.

If he actually took it seriously, that would mean taking advantage of their kindness, being impolite, and not knowing his place.

Ryo was extremely sensitive to boundaries.

He couldn't stand the feeling of being constrained, pulled by invisible ropes into that deep mansion, and even less could he stand the torment of being scrutinized by Uzumaki Mito's seemingly gentle yet all-seeing gaze at the dinner table.

So, he only went once, strictly adhering to the standards of a distinguished guest, acting as a chef, preparing dishes with the efficiency of someone on a mission.

Mito smiled, Tsunade watched the show, Kushina was excited and a little shy, and Nawaki buried himself in his food, trying to be invisible.

After the meal, having thanked them for the hospitality then left before the atmosphere got more awkward.

Tsunade and Kushina were sensible enough.

Mito was indeed old, and no one knew how much longer she would be with them.

Blood ties and family affection took precedence.

So, in the following days, the two girls obediently went back to the Senju residence for dinner every night, chatting with the old lady. It was mainly Kushina chattering, Nawaki grunting, and Tsunade occasionally cracking jokes, trying to spend as much time as possible with Mito in her final days.

Ryo's small courtyard finally returned to its original state for a short while.

The evening's cooking smoke belonged only to him.

The flames on the stove licked the bottom of the pot, the simmering bone broth gurgled monotonously, and the spice jars stood quietly in a row.

Only the faint sounds of Konoha's myriad lights and voices from beyond the wall made the courtyard seem even emptier.

…

Time flowed like water, and two years passed in a flash.

One afternoon in Konoha.

The scorching sun beat down on the Ninja Academy's training ground.

The bell for class dismissal had just rung, and Kushina's fiery red hair rushed out like a whirlwind, her target clear—the indifferent figure leaning against a tree with crossed arms on the training ground.

"Hey! Ryo! What are we eating today?" Kushina asked, her sweaty little face turned up, her eyes sparkling brightly, not at all polite.

Ryo slapped a huge bento box, tightly wrapped in large leaves, into her hands. It was heavy. "Here's your portion."

Kushina skillfully took the box, and quickly untied the sturdy grass rope.

As the layers of leaves were peeled back, a rich and complex aroma instantly exploded, oily roasted whole chicken legs, fragrant skewers, thick-cut deer chops sizzling and still dripping oil, glistening rice balls, fresh pickled vegetables and wild fruits. There was such a variety and quantity that it was enough to stuff three of her to death.

This was not a bento, but clearly a mobile barbecue stall.

Students passing by all turned their heads, gasps and gulps of saliva rising and falling.

They had long since become numb to this over the past two years.

The combination of Ryo the Red Devil and Kushina the Red-Hot Habanero, one a walking tyrannosaurus and chef, the other a mobile glutton and human accessory, had long become a scenic highlight of the Ninja Academy.

Kushina plopped down on a tree root, her cheeks stuffed full, gnawing on a chicken leg as she mumbled, "Are you… munch… taking me home this afternoon?"

"Yeah, whenever you're ready." Ryo was concise; his gaze sweeping over a few restless kids in the distance.

His icy stare made those people immediately shrink their necks and scurry away.

At dismissal time.

The setting sun stretched shadows long.

Most of the crowd at the Ninja Academy gate had dispersed, and Ryo appeared there punctually.

Kushina skipped out, accompanied by a few cautious female classmates.

One of them, a girl wearing the Uchiha clan crest, was even holding hands with Kushina.

"I'm leaving!" Seeing Ryo, Kushina waved goodbye to her classmates and trotted closer to him.

"Hm." Ryo turned and walked, his pace neither fast nor slow, ensuring Kushina didn't have to run to keep up. Silence along the way was normal.

He had walked this path for two years; he could draw it with his eyes closed.

But each time, it was as tense as the first.

Latent strength was coiled in his muscles, ready to strike.

His hand hung seemingly casually at his side, just an inch from the chipped and worn katana at his waist.

He remembered the original plot where Kushina was abducted.

That possibility had jabbed at him like a cold thorn for two years.

As Uzumaki Mito aged, the covetousness brought by the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki label would only increase.

Enemies might be lurking in the shadows, perhaps plotting.

What if… it was today? On this very path?

Ryo would not allow such a "what if" to happen.

So every evening after school, Ryo would escort Kushina back to the old Senju residence.

Day after day, the escort had become instinct, and also a common sight for the residents of Konoha: the silent red-haired boy and the chattering red-haired girl.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 24: Echoes of War

One of the changes in Ryo's daily life could be "credited" to the generosity of that troublesome woman, Tsunade… or perhaps it was just her own strange way of showing care.

Two years ago, one evening when Tsunade had "sparred" him into lying on the ground, gasping for breath.

Ryo was drenched, like a broken sack, leaning against the wall, so tired his eyelids were fighting to stay open.

Tsunade squatted in front of him and tossed him a scroll. "Here, take this."

Ryo's eyes, full of exhaustion, glanced over it.

What is this?

"B-rank ninjutsu, Shadow Clone Jutsu," Tsunade said, her lips curled in a teasing smirk.

"You need proper sleep. You're like an owl, active at night and sleeping in the day. Be careful you don't stunt your growth. Tsk, if you end up shorter than Kushina, how will your pride take it? I'm looking out for you." She even deliberately eyed Ryo's slender frame.

"Thanks?" He dryly squeezed out.

"No need to thank me, just remember my 'kindness'!" Tsunade clapped her hands and stood up. "From now on, use clones for training during the day, and your main body should properly attend… Ugh, never mind, do what you want, the ninja academy can't teach you much anyway. It'll save you from looking like you're constantly overindulging."

She finished speaking and swaggered off, leaving Ryo holding the scroll, his eyes switching between limpness and anger with a complex expression.

With the Shadow Clone Jutsu, Ryo's life was completely optimized and segmented.

In the morning, his main body rigorously trained in Shanks's heritage, forging his physique to its limit, then split off the first tangible clone to go to school and complete classes (sleep) for the main body.

During lunch and after school in the afternoon, his main body would have lunch with Kushina and provide a full escort service after school.

What did the main body do in the afternoon?

Skipping class?

The word "skipping class" was too gentle.

He disdained those ninja academy classes.

The main body spent most of its time diving into the more dangerous areas deep within the Forest of Death, conducting more extreme, more insane real combat training alone.

Challenging stronger beasts, honing his increasingly integrated taijutsu and kenjutsu, and engraving Shanks's combat experience into his very bones.

Occasionally, Tsunade would suddenly appear, and without a word, use her terrifying Monster Strength Fist to spar (beat) him, calling it "practical training."

As for the evening?

His main body returned to the small courtyard, processed game, prepared food, replenished his losses, and researched new recipes.

Sleep was still compressed, but at least his routine was a bit more regular.

Kushina occasionally skipped class too.

She used a shadow clone to go to school and deal with roll call, while her main body secretly sneaked to where Ryo might be training.

Sometimes she made a mess in his courtyard, nitpicking his food preparation. Other times she waited at the Forest of Death's edge during his training breaks, sticking to him like a tail

"Following me won't teach you ninjutsu!" Ryo wrung out his drenched training uniform, splattering her face with sweat.

Kushina deftly dodged, making a face.

"I don't want to learn ninjutsu! I'm afraid you'll be carried off by a bear if you're alone! And…" She sniffed, her eyes curving like a fox. "Did you use wild honey to make a new sauce today? I smell it!" Her radar for Ryo's kitchen smells was practically maxed out.

"Go back to school. If Mito-sama catches you, am I supposed to take the blame for you?

Kushina shrank her neck. Mito didn't let her skip class, hoping she'd make more friends at the ninja academy.

But she couldn't help herself, drawn by the thrill of these "secret missions."

Watching Ryo's focused profile as he processed ingredients, or his silent figure sitting on the ground at the forest's edge, gnawing on dried meat, she found it much more interesting than being in class.

She liked this feeling.

…

And so, time quietly slipped by for two years amidst the sizzling sound of roasting meat, fat dripping, and the dull thuds of punches connecting during training.

Ryo and Kushina were promoted to the fifth grade.

They had both grown taller. Ryo's frame was sturdier, his brows sharper, carrying a deepening heroic aura.

Kushina had also shot up, her red hair more dazzling, and her features had matured a bit. Except when facing Ryo, her subtle "Red Hot Habanero" spirit at school had become even stronger.

The last year of the ninja academy was uneventful.

In a few more months, they would finish their school life and officially become ninjas.

During these two years, when Tsunade didn't have missions, she came more frequently for free meals under the guise of "inspecting training results" and "caring for her disciple's nutrition." Even when Mito was still in good health, she would send people with expensive ingredients, a roundabout way of supporting and thanking Ryo for his cooking skills.

Now Ryo's movements in preparing ingredients became even more refined, and he developed many new flavors using these high-quality goods.

The wicker baskets and smokehouses were always full, with enough provisions compared to his previous broke self.

…

Change quietly arrived one evening.

Ryo's main body had just emerged from the depths of the Forest of Death, carrying a huge wild deer, and passed by the familiar street of barbecue stalls on the outskirts of the village.

Dusk was settling, usually a bustling time when diners gathered. But today, the atmosphere was a bit unusual.

Several chunin who usually loved to boast were gathered in front of the barbecue stall, and the owner had lost his cheerful demeanor, wearing a look of worry.

"…It really started? So fast?" one chunin's voice was a bit low, tinged with unease.

"How could it be fake?" another tall, thin man took a big gulp of cheap sake. "News from the front lines, that 'demigod' Hanzo the Salamander from the Land of Rain has gone mad! He announced the closure of the Land of Rain's borders, clearing out all active ninja forces and intelligence personnel from Konoha, Suna, and Iwa inside! He's being very forceful!"

The barbecue owner sighed while wiping a greasy table. "Sigh, the merchant caravans on the border are cut off, good meat is getting harder to find, and prices are soaring…"

"Not just clearing them out!" The tall, thin man slammed his sake bowl down. "That bastard even declared war simultaneously on Konoha, Suna, and Iwa! He's incredibly arrogant!"

The heavy corpse of the wild deer crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Ryo's eyes narrowed slightly, his cold gray pupils looking towards the Hokage Tower in the center of the village.

Hanzo the Salamander… the Second Great Ninja War?

(To be continued.)

Chapter 25: Democracy, Dictators

The signs of Ame launching a war against the outside world became increasingly obvious, and Konoha continuously dispatched ninja into the Land of Rain to gather intelligence.

As this went on, the friction between the two sides grew larger and larger.

They even started to get angry.

"Ame is showing off. Hanzō's goal is to warn Konoha."

"According to intelligence gathered by the Anbu, Root, and spies, Ame, under Hanzō's leadership, is no longer weaker than our Five Great Shinobi Villages. Once war breaks out, the Land of Fire will definitely be the first to suffer the baptism of war."

"So I suggest that we nip the danger in the bud and absolutely not allow Ame to grow stronger and declare war on Konoha."

Danzō slammed the table, roaring:

"Hanzō sending people to encircle and annihilate Konoha's ninja is a warning to Konoha. Hiruzen, at a time like this, are you still hoping Hanzō will calmly sit down and negotiate with you?"

Konoha's intelligence gathering on Ame was endless, and this action seemed to anger Hanzō, the leader of Ame.

Under Hanzō's command, Ame ninja began to encircle and annihilate Konoha's people.

They even ignored Konoha's requests for negotiation.

Were they really going to start a war?

And Konoha would be the one to actively initiate the war.

This was not the result Hiruzen wanted, but circumstances forced his hand.

Last year, the Land of Rain only appeared somewhat aggressive, seemingly wanting to make a move on the Land of Grass.

And as an ally of Konoha, Konoha naturally couldn't stand by and do nothing.

When Anbu and Root ninja entered the Land of Rain, coupled with intelligence transmitted by spies, it all undoubtedly told Hiruzen one fact.

That was, Hanzō wasn't interested in the Land of Grass. What he valued was the Land of Fire.

If your Ame wants to touch the Land of Grass, my Konoha won't allow it, let alone if you, Hanzō, want to target the Land of Fire.

Do you really think you're one of the Five Great Nations' shinobi villages?

This was also why Danzō was so furious.

Hanzō was looking down on them.

Negotiation requests were ignored.

"Once Konoha declares war on Ame, the flames of war will inevitably sweep across the entire ninja world. Have you all considered these consequences?"

Danzō believed Konoha should strike first and not let the war burn onto the Land of Fire's territory.

Koharu Utatane and Homura Mitokado, on the other hand, felt Danzō's words were reasonable. If Hanzō refused to recognize reality, then Konoha would simply have to remind him of his place.

Even if Konoha was willing to maintain peace through negotiation, Ame was not, and Hanzō simply ignored them.

"Does Konoha not declaring war on the Land of Rain mean that the flames of war won't spread to other countries?"

Danzō sneered, looking at Hiruzen and saying:

"Hiruzen, don't forget that since the First Great Ninja War, the strength of all the shinobi villages has recovered. It's not just Ame that shows signs of launching a war. Other shinobi villages are the same."

"If Konoha does nothing, we will only be passively beaten."

"Do you choose to strike first, or do you only retaliate after being hit?"

Hiruzen frowned.

He hadn't made up his mind yet.

Because once war broke out, the situation could spiral out of Konoha's control at any moment.

As the helmsman of Konoha, he didn't want to see such a situation arise.

One wanted to fight, the other wanted to negotiate.

Hiruzen and Danzō were at an impasse.

Finally, Koharu Utatane, a member of the Elder Council, put forward her opinion.

"Hiruzen, even if Konoha doesn't actively declare war on Ame, we still need to guard against Ame's movements. The flames of war absolutely cannot burn into the Land of Fire."

"Therefore, I suggest dispatching troops to be stationed at the border to prevent Ame from launching a surprise attack into the Land of Fire."

"I agree."

Homura Mitokado cast his vote for Koharu Utatane.

If they didn't want to rashly start a war, then they should dispatch ninja troops to be stationed at the border to prevent Ame from disregarding etiquette and suddenly attacking the Land of Fire.

"Hmph!"

This was clearly not the result Danzō wanted. He wanted to directly launch a war, not just be on guard.

Unfortunately, Hiruzen disagreed with launching a war, and Koharu Utatane and Homura Mitokado, who were originally on his side, changed their stance, which made Danzō very displeased.

Lighting his pipe, Hiruzen took a few deep puffs, and after careful consideration, he finally made a choice.

"If that's the case, then issue a conscription and dispatch troops to be stationed at the border."

Sending a large ninja army to be stationed at the border was also a form of invisible provocation and defense, but provocation was better than outright declaring war.

As the order was issued from the Hokage's office.

The announcement quickly spread throughout Konoha.

Conscripting ninja to be stationed on the front lines. Was this going to be war?

For a time, the entire Konoha was filled with the atmosphere of war.

The Second Great Ninja War was coming.

Ame's strength at this time was truly formidable, coupled with the infinitely inflated demigod Hanzō.

With even the slightest disturbance, a war between Konoha and Ame was bound to break out.

Konoha's movements would also attract the attention of other shinobi villages, and the major shinobi villages that had been recuperating for many years would not miss this opportunity for external expansion.

In many people's eyes, the Land of Fire was always the one that got hit, then passively retaliated.

Little did they know, the party that actively initiated the Second Great Ninja War was Konoha.

The atmosphere of war grew heavier, and everyone in the village was constantly discussing matters of war.

As Konoha's ninja forces were stationed at the border, the Land of Rain's reaction was even more intense than Konoha's. A similar large ninja army was stationed at their border, creating a confrontational feeling with Konoha.

Furthermore, Ame was vigorously encircling and annihilating Konoha ninja who had entered the Land of Rain.

Besides Konoha ninja, ninja from the Land of Wind and the Land of Earth were also included.

Hanzō seemed to want to forge the Land of Rain into an impenetrable fortress, strictly prohibiting ninja from other countries from entering the Land of Rain.

This was a groundbreaking first for the Five Great Shinobi Villages.

The high and mighty Five Great Shinobi Villages felt provoked, provoked by a minor shinobi village.

Now, not only did Konoha have issues with Ame, but even Suna and Iwa began to feel displeased with Ame.

In the Land of Wind, the Kazekage's office in Suna.

The Third Kazekage, hailed as the strongest Kazekage, felt this was an excellent opportunity.

"I think this is an opportunity for our Suna to break out of our predicament. We should help Konoha."

"Kazekage-sama means to actively provoke war?"

Chiyo, who held great power in the village, and her brother Ebizō, also attended the meeting.

The Land of Wind was poor, and next to it was the rich Land of Fire.

As the leader of Suna, the Third Kazekage dreamed of taking a piece of fatty meat from the Land of Fire.

"Yes, provoke a war, but not a war between Suna and Ame, but a war between Konoha and Ame."

Since neither of you is moving, just staring at each other, then my Suna will give you a push.

Help you ignite the flames of war.

Chiyo understood the Third Kazekage's meaning, so she stood up and said:

"If that's the case, then I'll handle this matter."

At this time, both Konoha and Ame were on edge. It wouldn't be difficult to ignite the flames of war.

"Then this matter is entrusted to Chiyo."

The Third Kazekage nodded, agreeing to Chiyo's request.

Konoha and Ame could afford to wait, but Suna couldn't. Suna urgently needed to launch a war to plunder resources from other countries to strengthen itself.

The Daimyo had protested more than once about the excessively high annual allocation of funds to Suna.

With not many sources of income, yet supporting a considerable number of ninja, Suna would eventually be unable to sustain itself.

The Third Kazekage was very clear that the village was out of money.

The Daimyo couldn't continue to allocate funds, unless war broke out, at which point, to maintain his rule, the Daimyo would have to provide money to the village.

Under Chiyo's leadership, some Sand ninja followed her into the Land of Rain.

The stalemate continued. Neither Ame nor Konoha fired the first shot.

What no one expected was that during this sensitive period, a group of ninja wearing Konoha headbands attacked villages and committed arson and murder in various places within the Land of Rain.

"Konoha!!"

When the Anbu delivered the collected intelligence to Hanzō, it directly ignited the rage in his heart.

Ever since Ame's military strength began to develop, Konoha ninja were always gathering intelligence within the Land of Rain, and Hanzō had encircled and annihilated them batch after batch.

Then Konoha submitted a negotiation request, which Hanzō directly ignored.

You send people to cause trouble on my territory, and then you want to negotiate with me?

What kind of logic is that? Should a small shinobi village be bullied by Konoha and then not be able to fight back after being bullied?

So Hanzō decisively ignored Konoha's negotiation request and continued to encircle and annihilate Konoha's ninja.

After being encircled, Konoha actually dispatched a large army to be stationed at the border. What did this mean?

A provocation to my Ame, or a provocation to me, Hanzō?

Konoha's various actions were all sending one message: I am going to declare war on your Ame.

During the standoff between the two armies, Konoha ninja infiltrated the Land of Rain and attacked its villages, directly snapping Hanzō's already taut nerves.

Ame declared war on Konoha.

The news instantly spread throughout the ninja world, astonishing people in all countries.

Since the establishment of the Five Great Shinobi Villages, this was the first time one had been declared war upon by a small shinobi village, and the one declared war upon was Konoha, known as the strongest of the Five Great Shinobi Villages.

In response to Ame's declaration of war, Konoha also chose to respond.

Konoha declared war on Ame, dispatching Danzō as the frontline commander-in-chief to attack Ame, with Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru all among the army.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 26: Property Damage No Jutsu

In the depths of the Forest of Death, moonlight filtered through shredded leaves, scattering like silver dust across the ground.

Two figures collided in the messy clearing, separated, and collided again. Each contact erupted with visible airwaves.

Ryo slowly raised his head, gripping the sharp long blade in his hand. His body slightly heaved, his intense aura yet to calm.

In his mind, [Shanks' Legacy unlocked to: 60%!][Shanks' Legacy Fusion: 50.3%!]

[Detected host fighting under extreme high pressure, Shanks' Legacy Fusion increased by: 0.2%]

[Shanks' Legacy Fusion increased to: 50.6%!]

[Strength evaluation: Elite Jōnin]

After two years of Ryo's desperate efforts and Tsunade's beatings, his strength had broken through to the Elite Jōnin stage.

Not far in front of him, Tsunade's hands hung by her sides, knuckles white from clenching.

Sweat traced shining paths down her cheeks and neck, revealing, along with her slightly hurried breathing, the true marks left by the battle.

She looked at the young man before her, at the ugly forest scar carved out by his long blade, her heart filled with a churning sense of absurdity.

The shocking mess before her clearly showed the young man's growth over the past two years.

From the very beginning, when this kid was sent flying by her punch, crashing into a tree trunk and unable to get up, to today… this landscape of messy wooden stakes, as if dozens of A-rank Fūton: Kazekiri no Jutsu (Wind Release: Wind Cutter Technique) had been unleashed.

The kid who could barely take a casual punch from her two years ago, now his sword's reach could force her, an Elite Jōnin, to retreat repeatedly?

Tsunade vigorously shook her head, dispelling the lingering dizziness. Her throat was dry, and her voice was a little hoarse: "Let me catch my breath? You little monster!"

Soon, she took a step closer, her toes grinding into the damp soil, knuckles cracking. An invisible pressure instantly spread. "Again!"

As her words fell, the air tore!

Chila—!

Responding to her was a dazzling, crimson arc of light, condensed as if solid, tearing through the air close to the ground without warning, aiming straight for Tsunade's legs!

Its speed was so fast that it only left a burning trail on the retina, arriving in an instant!

The surrounding flying wood chips were caught by the strong wind, suddenly pulling out fine, hissing straight lines.

"Tch!" Tsunade let out a short, dissatisfied sound from her nostrils, her eyes suddenly sharp.

Her forward momentum was forcefully interrupted. Chakra instantly erupted violently from her feet, and she, like a top struck hard, violently twisted her waist on the spot, performing an extreme dodge!

Boom!

The crimson arc of light brushed past her rolled-up clothes, fiercely crashing into the dense forest barrier of ancient trees behind her.

Dull, thunderous shattering sounds exploded in a series.

There was no stalemate, no resistance. Trees as thick as bowls were neatly severed the moment they were touched, the sound of wood fibers bursting like the wails of dying beasts.

Dozens of giant trees simultaneously let out an ear-piercing groan, their canopies tilting, interlocking as they fell, crashing, raising a sky full of murky dust and a wild storm of branches and leaves.

Tsunade didn't even have time to change her surprised expression before her vision was obscured by the overwhelming, rolling dust.

"Too slow!" A sharp shout, however, ghost-like, closed in within an inch behind her!

The young man's clear voice, filled with boiling battle intent, came coldly from behind her neck!

Too fast, there was no time to think!

A chilling sensation ran up Tsunade's spine—that was the battle instinct honed through countless near-death experiences!

Her entire body's muscles instantly tensed like iron. Without thinking, the surging chakra within her body suddenly reversed, like an erupting tsunami, forcefully pouring into her feet!

Chakra violently erupted!

The ground violently caved in, mud and gravel shooting into the sky!

Using this brute-force recoil, her body, instead of advancing, retreated, turning into a blurry afterimage against common sense, using the weight and momentum of her entire body to savagely crash towards the source of the sound behind her! Using her back as a weapon, she bravely counter-attacked!

Bang—!

A dull, heart-stopping collision sound exploded!

Ryo's backhand strike with the flat of his blade, seemingly carrying a thousand catties of force, landed squarely on Tsunade's hard, chakra-reinforced back.

A visible ring of airwaves violently burst from the two of them as the core, fiercely tearing through the sky full of dust that had not yet settled. Power violently clashed in an instant, forming a brief stalemate.

In this struggle lasting less than a thousandth of a second.

Buzz—!

A second crimson slash had silently condensed and detached from Ryo's blade!

Its angle was as cunning as a venomous snake's bite, piercing through the chaotic, swirling air between them. It was no longer a massive arc of light, but condensed into a finer, even faster and more terrifying, sharp arrow, rapidly spinning out close to Ryo's own blade!

Its target was Tsunade's completely exposed and undefended waist and abdomen, revealed by her counter-attack!

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in the solidified collision. Even the wood chips and dust floating in the air paused for a moment.

Tsunade's nerves were suddenly tightened by this insidious change in technique!

There was no time to think!

Her battle instincts, honed through countless trials, forcibly took over her body!

She forcefully twisted her center of gravity mid-counter-attack, chakra brutally pouring into her left arm. The arm instantly became unnaturally twisted and swollen!

All subsequent moves, all techniques, were forced to be completely abandoned by this vicious, insidious, and unannounced attack!

She could only take it head-on!

The thick arm, wrapped in visibly dense chakra, carrying the domineering momentum of crushing rocks and mountains, hastily yet resolutely slammed towards the fatal crimson arrow-like trajectory in front of her waist and abdomen!

Boom—!!!

The moment the arm met the slash, it wasn't a simple blocking sound, but a violent clash of airflow and a chakra energy detonation!

Dazzling light briefly swallowed the outlines of the two figures!

The sharp sound of metal cutting mixed with the explosion of energy, stinging the eardrums.

The condensed crimson slash, like an invisible beast crashing into a thick steel barrier, suddenly shattered and exploded!

It transformed into countless tiny, swirling red streams of light, scattering in all directions, cutting thousands of crisscrossing deep marks into the ground.

Tsunade let out a muffled groan. The powerful impact made her lose her footing, and she stumbled back two steps sideways before barely steadying herself.

A large section of her left arm's sleeve was torn away by the violent energy. Several thin lines of blood were cut into the outside of her forearm by the residual sword intent, and a subtle burning sensation spread.

She lowered her head to glance at the blood marks on her arm, then looked up at the figure standing as steady as a rock opposite her. Her gaze was as complex as if she were looking at a monster in human skin.

"Hey!" Ryo casually rested his blade on his shoulder, slightly raising his chin. Beads of sweat dripped along his slightly youthful jaw, but his eyes were astonishingly bright, and the corner of his mouth unconsciously curved into a youthful, spirited smile.

"Still standing? Pretty tough, aren't you, you crazy old hag!" The provocation in his eyes was so direct it was almost arrogant, burning like fire.

"You...." Tsunade shook her stinging arm, suppressing the surging emotions in her heart. The usual ferocity returned to her face, her voice rough from the battle.

"Got your wings, huh? Think you can fly just because you can cut one? Forgot how I used to beat you senseless?" She stomped her foot violently, her body shooting forward like an exploding cannonball! The ground cracked inch by inch beneath her feet!

No more probing, no more holding back!

Chakra, like boiling lava, wildly coiled, compressed around her clenched fist, forming a heart-stopping, almost solid milky-white aura!

The air in front of that fist was brutally squeezed, letting out an unbearable shriek!

Just the stance of accumulating power and rushing forward, the wild and unparalleled oppressive force, like a tangible heavy mountain, slammed towards Ryo!

"Ha!" Ryo let out a sharp laugh, advancing instead of retreating!

The blade brought forth a dazzling waterfall of cold light, slashing straight down!

It wasn't a subtle technical confrontation in swordsmanship, but the most primitive and violent direct clash between pure power and sharp edge!

(To be continued.)

Chapter 27: Attempted Murder

Clang!

Buzz buzz buzz—

The blade collided with the fist wrapped in thick chakra, and the sharp sound rang out like clashing steel.

A dull hum followed, carrying a violent shockwave. A visible ring of force expanded outward once again.

The soil beneath their feet instantly sank and turned into powder.

Ryo's slash was like striking a solid wall. After a brief pause, a huge recoil surged back fiercely along the blade and into his arm.

Deng deng deng!

Ryo felt his chest churn with blood and his palms go numb. He was forced back three steps by that unstoppable force before barely steadying himself. Each step left a deep footprint in the wet mud.

"Ha!" Tsunade sneered smugly, not pausing for even a heartbeat. Her body spun into a high-speed blur, fists hammering like a storm of giant steel hammers.

Each strike, wrapped in violent chakra, smashed forward with force that could split mountains and crack stone. The fists blurred together, shadows merging into one, the violent wind pressure sending leaves and wood chips flying into a brutal force field that rained down toward Ryo.

"Come on!" There wasn't a trace of retreat in Ryo's eyes. Instead, a ferocious light flared.

His muscles tensed, blue veins bulging under his skin.

The long blade in his hand became an extension of his body, moving and parrying within the narrow space with incredible fluidity.

The heavy weapon felt as light as a feather. Sometimes it stabbed into the tiniest gaps in Tsunade's barrage like a snake flicking its tongue. Other times it diverted power like a sail catching the wind, redirecting momentum aside. The sword light flowed down like mercury, forming a cold, shimmering barrier.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The collisions rang out densely, enough to make one's teeth ache.

Every strike against Tsunade's chakra-coated fists sent dazzling sparks flying.

Inside the storm of fists, Ryo looked like a small boat tossed in giant waves, rocking and blocking, but somehow still afloat. His footwork was unnervingly efficient and precise, every step landing at an odd angle that let him stay upright at the edge of the vortex.

Then, a sharp, bowl-sized piece of wood was whipped into the air by the violent currents. Caught by the aftershock of Tsunade's punch, it spun like a crossbow bolt and shot silently toward the exposed gap behind Ryo's right shoulder.

Puff.

The wooden shard pierced into the outside of his shoulder. Blood spread instantly across his rough shirt, the stain dark and expanding.

Ryo's body only gave a slight tremor. His expression didn't even flicker.

The sword light in his hand didn't falter. Taking advantage of the imbalance caused by the impact, he twisted his waist, the strain on the wound shifting his weight just enough. A condensed blood-red sword aura snapped out like a venomous snake, silent yet lightning fast.

It cut under the arc of Tsunade's heavy right fist as it finished its swing.

"Tsk!" Tsunade's pupils shrank. Forced to pause, she felt a chill and a sharp sting along her forearm. New blood mixed with old, staining her arm almost completely red.

She glanced at Ryo's bleeding shoulder, at how unaffected he seemed, and the absurdity in her chest surged again.

Damn it, what kind of body is this?

Anyone else stabbed like that would be howling and dropping their weapon. But this brat didn't even twitch, as if neither the wood nor the blood belonged to him.

The relentless attacks and flawless defense were draining Ryo's stamina fast.

Sweat streamed from his clenched jaw, dripping into the mud beneath his feet.

Each breath seared his lungs.

His muscles grew sore and stiff after endless rapid pivots and bursts of strength, like fine lead sand was filling his joints.

"Not good enough!" Tsunade caught the faint urgency in his breathing, the split-second delay in his movements.

She inhaled deeply, chakra in her body surging like a flood. Her presence spiked sharply.

The milky-white chakra wrapping her fists turned blinding, like two burning miniature suns. The explosive roar of her punches became so sharp it stabbed the eardrums.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three consecutive detonations like war drums shook the clearing.

Each clash with Ryo's blade sent out shockwaves and showers of sparks.

But his steps were growing heavier. Each retreat carried him back farther than the last. The veins on his sword arm bulged as if resisting a battering ram.

The fourth punch came, heavier still. The blade finally groaned under the pressure.

Ryo's body lost its balance, blasted away like a stone from a catapult.

Boom!

An ancient tree, thick enough for three people to encircle, took the impact. Its bark burst apart, spiderweb cracks spreading across the trunk. Ryo slammed hard against it, then slid down to the ground.

Dust filled the air.

He dropped to one knee, clutching his chest with his left hand, gasping for breath.

Sweat dripped like rain, mixing with blood from his shoulder, pooling dark in the mud.

Strength poured out of him like floodwater. That last blow had nearly wrung the last of his reserves dry.

His sword stuck deep in the dirt beside him, the handle trembling and humming.

Tsunade stood firm, the light fading from her fists.

She was panting, sweat beading her temples, but her aura didn't waver.

Her sharp gaze pinned the boy, rough voice biting through the heavy air. "Hmph. Tough brat. But you think this little bit of strength is enough to topple a veteran?"

She flexed her bloodied wrist and strode closer. "For all your stamina, it's still not enough. You need more training."

Ryo lifted his head. No surrender burned in his eyes—only fire.

He planted a hand on the ground, pushing himself to stand.

But his legs felt filled with molten lead, twitching painfully. A sudden burn shot through his muscles.

He stumbled, one knee nearly giving way.

His breath came faster, vision blurred by sweat.

Tsunade's shadow loomed over him.

Watching his stubborn refusal to give in, even at his limit, something flickered across her gaze—complex and fleeting.

Two years.

From a boy who couldn't even take a punch, to someone who forced her into this state…

She crouched, her broad hand slapping his sweaty shoulder, avoiding the bleeding wound.

His skin burned with heat, muscles taut with stubborn vitality.

"You little brat." Her voice was still rough and commanding, but there was something unspoken beneath it. "What a monster."

She exhaled heavily, her breath brushing his damp forehead. "Even I have to admit, you beat me down hard today. Tsk. Unbelievable. At my age, losing ground to a kid?"

Wiping sweat from her face, she threw it aside. "People call me a genius?"

Her lips twisted into a self-mocking smile, eyes clouding like she was staring back into the Senju training grounds of the past. "Genius? At eleven, I was just promoted to Chūnin, still struggling not to end up looking like a pincushion from a few senbon."

Her eyes snapped back to Ryo, streaked with sweat and dirt yet unyielding. "But you? You're a monster. At your age, with this strength… even my grandfather, Senju Hashirama, the so-called God of Shinobi, wasn't necessarily stronger."

The words tumbled out raw, then she abruptly waved them away, dismissing her own sentiment.

Her expression darkened, like storm clouds blotting out the sunset.

"Those geezers in Konoha…" Tsunade's tone turned sharp, her irritation unmasked. Straightening, her brows knitted tight. "The order came down. I'm to deploy to the Land of Rain immediately."

Her eyes cut past the Forest of Death's canopy, toward the northwest, where war clouds gathered.

"…The war has begun."

Ryo said nothing.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 28: Zero Dignity

At the edge of the forest, Tsunade leaned against a relatively intact tree.

After catching her breath, she started moving again.

"Hiss…" Tsunade let out a low groan, enduring the soreness in her body, her hands glowing with soft green chakra.

Instead of healing herself first, she pressed her hand directly on Ryo's shoulder wound, where half a wooden splinter was still lodged.

"Don't move." Her voice was sharp and commanding.

Ryo's body tensed instinctively, but he didn't resist.

He felt the immense life force in Tsunade's chakra, precisely enveloping the wound, expelling the splinter, and accelerating the regeneration of muscle tissue.

Her technique sped up recovery far beyond his natural healing.

"Freak," Tsunade muttered under her breath while working.

Her medical ninjutsu catalyzed cells, but what truly unsettled her was Ryo's own recovery ability.

The way his flesh twitched and reformed, like countless tiny organisms rushing to repair under her guidance, the bleeding stopped, the wound closed, and new pink flesh grew, all in minutes.

After fixing the worst of Ryo's shoulder injury, Tsunade turned her glowing hands on herself, treating the sword qi cuts across her body with practiced movements.

She clicked her tongue, glancing at the light scratches left on Ryo's arm. "Every time I see that ridiculous recovery of yours, it makes me feel like I'm the ordinary one here." Her tone carried equal parts awe and irritation.

Ryo flexed his shoulder, now fully healed, and stayed silent.

This was just the start, wasn't it?

Compared to prodigies who piloted giant mecha at eight and were toppling gods by twelve, his so-called healing was nothing impressive—just enough to keep him alive a little longer. In other words, a glorified training dummy.

Tsunade misread his silence, assuming he was worn out from the battle. She finished treating herself, stretched, and rolled her shoulders, almost fully recovered.

Her gaze lingered on Ryo's youthful face. Then, forming a simple summoning seal, she slapped her palm down.

"Bang!" White smoke puffed out.

Not a slug this time, but a slender, ancient katana appeared in her hands. The scabbard was jet black, the tsuba intricately carved, and the air around it radiated sharpness.

Tsunade looked at the sword like it was a hot coal in her hands.

"Here." She tossed it to Ryo with a tone that was half annoyed, half helpless. "You little brat got lucky."

Ryo's reflexes caught it cleanly.

The weight was solid, the craftsmanship flawless. Drawing it halfway, the blade gleamed like autumn water, cold and lethal. A damn fine sword.

"I was planning to give it to you when you graduated," Tsunade said, pouting slightly. "But since you won't make it to graduation, take it now."

"I burned a massive favor with that stinky snake for this." Her voice dripped venom at the words. "It's forged from the same material as the legendary Kusanagi Sword. Sharp, durable—should suit your… unique brand of swordsmanship." She almost said "butchery" but stopped herself.

Kusanagi Sword?! Orochimaru's?! Sasuke's?!

Ryo's grip tightened. That name carried too much weight.

Why would Orochimaru hand something like this over? How big of a debt did Tsunade owe? Or was this just one of his schemes?

"Appreciate it, Sensei." Ryo gave a short reply. A weapon like this wasn't something you turned down.

Years of cooking for her finally paid off. This was better than a lifetime of "thanks."

Tsunade, however, froze like she'd been jabbed. She waved her hands quickly. "No! Don't call me sensei! I haven't taught you a damn thing. That title's just for show."

Her lip curled. "And don't forget—you're still on probation. Officially, you failed my test."

Ryo just looked at her. No words, just a stare that screamed: This woman's crazy.

One moment she handed him a blade worth nations, the next she was cutting ties.

"It just sounds wrong, okay? I prefer when you call me by name. It's easier on the ears." Tsunade said, still looking unsettled.

"And with how fast you're progressing…" Her eyes narrowed at him warily. "What happens if, in a couple of years, I can't even beat you? What kind of sensei loses to her student? Where's the dignity in that?" She poked her own cheek with a scowl. "So no. Publicly, we're teacher and student. Privately, we're… friends. Got it?"

"Sure." Ryo's tone was flat. Whatever she wanted to call it.

The sword was real, and that's what mattered.

Tsunade visibly relaxed when he didn't argue further, but her expression soon darkened again.

The looming war in Ame pressed down like a stone on her chest. Nawaki's face flashed in her memory, youthful and passionate.

"By the way, Ryo." Her tone hardened, probing. "The war's begun. Do you want to go to the front? With your strength, you're already at elite jōnin level. What you lack is the fire of the battlefield. Blood and fire are the fastest shortcuts to growth."

"No." Ryo cut her off without hesitation. "I'm not graduating early."

"Just that?" Tsunade raised an eyebrow. "Reluctant to leave the academy? Want to spend more time with Kushina?"

A trace of nostalgia and envy flashed in her eyes. "Tsk. You two… I'm jealous."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 29: The “Merciful” Plan: Break His Legs

Ryo didn't respond to Tsunade's subtle teasing.

Instead, he changed the subject. "By the way, Tsunade. Nawaki… he's going to the front too?" The image of Nawaki's death from the original story flashed through his mind.

"Yes." Tsunade's voice sank, heavy with exhaustion. "It's his choice, and his destiny."

Her tone carried helplessness, but also an undeniable sense of duty. "As the grandson of the First and Second Hokage, he must inherit the Will of Fire and protect Konoha. Orochimaru will take him."

The last sentence sounded more like self-comfort, clinging to the reliability of her teammate.

Ryo let out a scoff, dripping with sarcasm. "So the battlefield's rotted to the point where fresh genin have to go die? That's the Will of Fire?"

He locked eyes with Tsunade, her face hardening instantly, and pressed further. "I read the records in the Konoha library. What was the First Hokage's greatest ideal when founding Konoha? Wasn't it to build a peaceful era where kids didn't have to go to war?"

He leaned forward slightly, each word sharp and deliberate. "So now Konoha's Will of Fire is to throw kids onto the battlefield like kindling?"

The silence that followed stretched long.

Only the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of surviving birds filled the air.

The struggle in Tsunade's expression was plain to see.

She was Konoha's princess, the battlefield's Medical Saint—but right now, she was just a sister terrified for her brother's life.

"…Maybe you're right." At last, Tsunade's voice came, utterly drained.

What kind of Will of Fire? It was all empty nonsense. She only had one brother.

Had the Senju clan not bled enough for Konoha?

Nawaki was an average genin. On the vast battlefield, he was a drop in the ocean, without any real weight.

The thought of his foolish, impulsive, hot-headed face twisted her chest painfully.

Going to war meant a one-in-ten chance of survival. No, more like none at all.

Even her formidable uncle, Tobirama, had fallen in battle.

But what worried her most was Nawaki's own mindset.

That kid worshipped the Will of Fire to the point of obsession.

If she tried to stop him, he'd sneak off anyway.

And if he did that, he wouldn't even know how he died.

Nawaki, what am I supposed to do with you?

"Hoo…" Tsunade let out a long breath, like expelling her frustration.

Finally, she looked at Ryo, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic plea. "That kid… he doesn't understand danger. He won't listen to me. His head is stuffed with 'Great-Grandpa's will' and 'protecting the village.' If I stop him, he'll just sneak to the front lines. That's no different from throwing himself into a fire pit."

Ryo listened quietly, nodding expressionlessly.

He didn't particularly care about Nawaki. But he was Tsunade's younger brother, and for the past two years, they had shared meals from the same pot—though, more accurately, freeloading off him and Kushina.

More importantly, he didn't want Kushina brokenhearted. And he didn't feel like watching Tsunade fall apart over her brother's corpse.

"Got it." Ryo's tone was flat, casual, like discussing dinner. "Not hard. Set it up in the next couple days. I'll run some practical training with him."

Tsunade blinked. "?"

"I'll 'accidentally' break his leg."

He met her eyes calmly. "And every time he starts recovering, I'll 'accidentally' break it again. He'll stay in bed until either good news comes back from the front or he grows up enough to face reality."

The words were calm, but the content made Tsunade shiver.

It was a method both brutal and brilliant. Simple, effective, and easy to pass off as a training mishap.

"…That's my brother," Tsunade finally said, voice trembling, "my blood brother!"

"I know." Ryo's eyelids didn't even twitch. His tone was steady, almost bored. "So what do you want? Cry over what's left of him on a battlefield? Or deal with him whining in a hospital bed while he heals? At least then he'll still be alive, able to marry, have kids, and let you spoil some nephews."

For once, he spoke at length. His reasoning was straightforward, he just didn't want Kushina grieving, and it balanced out Tsunade's years of sparring and today's gift.

Otherwise, why would he bother?

Tsunade was left speechless.

Ryo's words were cold, but the logic stabbed straight through her excuses.

The images clashed in her mind, holding Nawaki's corpse versus holding his hand as he grimaced in pain, alive.

Death forever, or temporary pain with future hope. Was there even a choice?

Her face shifted through emotions before she finally let out a sigh, raking her fingers through her golden hair. "Alright, alright, I get it. So damn annoying."

She strode ahead, waving her hand like she was shooing him. "But go easy! And remember, it's an accident!"

Her voice carried reluctant acquiescence, even as her mind raced on how to handle her brother and how to explain Nawaki's "serious injury" to Orochimaru.

Ryo didn't answer. He pulled the sword from the ground, slung it over his shoulder, and tucked the newly acquired Kusanagi blade at his waist.

Without a word, he followed Tsunade out of the Death Forest, a place that now looked like it had been ravaged by nature itself.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 30: Rasengan or Bust

The night was thick, seeping into the edges of Konoha.

Ryo flicked the mud from his Kusanagi scabbard and stepped into his small, simple dwelling.

A tingling sensation lingered on his left shoulder from Tsunade's rough treatment, but deeper still was a burning exhaustion spreading from within his body.

Every muscle screamed. Every bone groaned. His whole body reminded him of the insane life-and-death battle with Tsunade in the Forest of Death only hours earlier.

Did he win?

No. Strictly speaking, he'd been beaten into submission.

But forcing Tsunade to that extent, making her bleed and stumble, that was enough.

His next goal was to beat her so badly she couldn't get out of bed. How practical that was remained to be seen, since Tsunade was a medical ninja, but that didn't stop him from wanting to try.

Ryo wiped his face, sweat and dirt clumping in his palm.

He didn't light a lamp. Moonlight spilled faintly through the window, just enough to outline his cross-legged figure.

Time for a debrief. His mind spun like a precision machine, replaying the battle frame by frame.

"Integration, 50.6%," he calculated. "Elite jōnin-level combat power. Barely qualified."

But the number didn't move. It was stuck.

His body was holding him back.

Armament Haki was powerful, but it demanded extreme physical strength.

Ryo looked at his eleven-year-old body. His heart beat steady, muscles bulged, blood rushed like ocean waves. Among his peers, his physique was monstrous.

But still immature. It couldn't fully support Armament Haki.

Muscle fiber density, bone durability, blood vessel tolerance, these needed years to temper.

Right now, it was like strapping bicycle wheels to a sports car. Press the accelerator all you want, it won't move.

Frustrating.

And worse, Ryo understood the essence of Haki—unwavering conviction.

Yet his progress hit a wall for another reason entirely.

His body wasn't just immature, it was bottlenecked.

The system's integration rate couldn't climb without real life-and-death pressure. Shadow Clone drills and sparring weren't enough anymore. His instincts sharpened, his techniques refined, but without the visceral edge of true killing intent pressing down, his growth slowed to a crawl.

He wasn't afraid of danger, he just refused to throw himself into suicidal battles before he had the capital to survive them.

So his strength crawled forward only through natural development, muscle memory, and swordsmanship refinement. Painfully slow.

The irritation burned like a hot wire around his heart, tightening more and more.

No.

The scent of war had already seeped into Konoha like a cold mist.

Standing still was suicide.

Ryo forced down the frustration and the red-haired figure flickering in his mind.

His gaze turned to the other source of power within him.

Chakra.

There, he had an overwhelming advantage.

"Chakra nature?" he muttered. "All five elements, basic use, nothing special. Common sense for a transmigrator."

The real key was quantity.

Ordinary ninja had chakra. Elites had a lot.

Ryo's physical talent was so far beyond normal.

On top of that, his transmigrator soul buffed his mental power. And somewhere in his bloodline lurked the spark of Conqueror's Haki.

Quantitative change into qualitative change? Wrong. He was skipping straight to a sea of chakra.

As an adult, he would probably walk around with reserves on par with a Tailed Beast. A living chakra sea.

And for the past two years, he had abused the ultimate cheat: Shadow Clone Jutsu.

Other shinobi risked their lives using it.

Him? With his absurd physique and mind, he could tank the backlash of multiple clones at once.

More clones, more progress. Basics? Control? Tree climbing? Water walking? Nature transformations?

He had an army grinding for him.

His chakra control wasn't supernatural, but it was close to microscopic precision. That ocean of chakra obeyed him like a tame Tailed Beast.

So, ninjutsu? That was where the cards lay.

Flying Thunder God? God-tier. Sealing techniques? Six Paths level. Perfect trump cards.

But all forbidden.

Tsunade wasn't handing those over. If he could barely walk, why would she let him run?

Fine. If he couldn't reach for the top-tier, he'd forge his own path.

His target: Rasengan.

No hand seals. Instant activation. Unexpected. Deadly.

Naruto spammed his way to Super Kage with nothing but Rasengan variations.

Ryo knew the principle. Reverse-engineering it was easy. His memory was a treasure trove.

Two years of research paid off. Chakra shape transformation—second nature. Nature transformation—early progress. Rasengan with elemental attributes was already within reach.

For two years, he hadn't taught it to Kushina.

Why?

Because she was already overloaded. Academy during the day, Mito drilling sealing arts at night. She was pale from exhaustion.

Ryo just wanted her to have some normal days before the world crushed her.

But now?

The horn of war had blown.

Could he guarantee he wouldn't be drafted tomorrow?

No.

If he was gone, what about Kushina?

Her level now? Taijutsu, average. Ninjutsu, aside from some Uzumaki sealing basics and a few D-rank water tricks, hopelessly weak.

Not acceptable.

She had to be armed.

The plan crystallized.

Step one: teach her Rasengan before graduation. A trump card for both offense and defense.

Step two: once she became the Nine-Tails jinchūriki, teach her Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu.

With her Uzumaki bloodline's massive chakra and Adamantine Sealing Chains, plus the shadow clone cheat, the results spoke for themselves.

Naruto had pulled it off with less talent and only Asura's chakra cheat.

Kushina's talent wasn't any worse. She just needed the right push.

Then? Perfect jinchūriki. A complete Nine-Tails inside her. Infinite chakra. Super Kage-level combat power, guaranteed.

"Perfect jinchūriki, massive chakra, shadow clone spam, Rasengan… safe and secure." Ryo made his decision.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 5: Chapter 31-35

Chapter 31: Love Is War

The next morning, as usual, Ryo created a Kage Bunshin to attend class at the ninja academy.

His real body went to the village's ninja tool shop to order the "broken leg" prop for Nawaki, something he had promised Tsunade yesterday.

Class 5-A of the Ninja Academy, during break.

The cicadas chirped noisily outside, while the sun lazily streamed through the window.

The classroom was filled with that sticky, restless atmosphere unique to the eve of graduation.

Bang!

Kushina's head slammed heavily against the open textbook, Geography of the Land of Fire: A Study of Fortifications, for the third time.

Ink marks twisted and swirled before her eyes.

Once again, her peripheral vision swept toward the back corner by the window, uncontrollably.

That figure in his worn-out old clothes—Ryo.

His Kage Bunshin was sprawled out asleep.

And who knew where his real body had gone!

Kushina's cheeks puffed up unconsciously, her face flushed, and her heart pounded like a trapped rabbit.

Irritation, annoyance, and a strange panic crawled up her spine like vines, tightening more and more.

Graduation. Team assignments.

Those two words fell into her heart like cold meteorites, leaving behind a deep, scorched crater.

He was so strong.

So strong that he could defeat a genin in seconds, so strong that even Tsunade had to give it her all to act as his sparring partner.

After graduation?

How could someone like him possibly stay in the village as an ordinary genin?

And she…?

The secret weighing on her heart came from the occasional worried look in Grandma Mito's eyes—she was the new Nine-Tails Jinchūriki.

There was only one path for a Jinchūriki: confined inside the village, forced into silence as a cornerstone.

The cage door was about to close.

That!

Every… side…

"Hey! Ku-shina!" A sudden elbow jabbed her.

Kushina snapped out of her daze, realizing she had been staring at Ryo for far too long.

She turned around and met Uchiha Mikoto's sharp, pearl-like black eyes, which glimmered with amusement and understanding.

"Your soul's about to be sucked away by that sleeping redhead?" Mikoto leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper with a sly smile. "You're practically drooling."

"Who… who's looking at that big idiot!" Kushina's voice shot up as if her tail had been stepped on, drawing the attention of several students in the front row.

She immediately shrank back, her face turning even redder. Lowering her head like an ostrich, she muttered in a voice as soft as a mosquito, "I was just thinking about… team assignments…"

Mikoto didn't buy it.

She followed Kushina's gaze exactly, glanced at Ryo's clone snoring in the corner, then turned back to look at Kushina's red ears.

The knowing smile on her lips deepened.

"You're worried about Ryo. Worried that you won't be assigned to the same team, right?" Mikoto went straight to the point, tapping Kushina's desk with her finger.

"What if Ryo's team ends up with some pretty, cute, skilled girl who's exactly his type? Then they'll live and die together on missions, seeing each other every day. Ryo's so strong, who wouldn't admire him? Who wouldn't want to get close to him? And what if, just what if, that straight-faced blockhead develops a crack in his armor, and that girl takes the chance to swoop in?"

Boom!

The scene Mikoto painted exploded in Kushina's mind like a bomb.

A vague but graceful figure, smiling sweetly, clinging to Ryo.

Passing him water? Wiping his sweat? Even worse… tending to his wounds under the moonlight?!

"No! Impossible!!" Kushina's hair bristled, her red hair standing on end. Like a lion defending its territory, she growled, "Ryo is a complete straight man! All he ever thinks about is barbecuing and training! Nothing else! What vixen could ever flirt her way into that? No way! He won't even look twice!"

Her tone was firm, as much to counter Mikoto as it was to convince herself.

She knew Ryo best! After two years of living together, how much meat had she stolen from him? How many times had he yelled, "Get lost," "You're too loud," or "Don't bother me while I'm sleeping"?

Around him, there was nothing but trouble.

And she was his biggest troublemaker.

But deep down, a sharp thorn pricked at her inflated confidence: Did Ryo really like her? Protecting her, feeding her meat, indulging her, carrying her home, playing with her…

Was it affection?

Or was it just because she was a "little troublemaker" who needed looking after?

Her certainty crumbled into unease.

Her shoulders slumped, her bright blue eyes misting over like a young animal abandoned in the rain.

She looked helplessly at Mikoto, her best friend who always had ideas.

A guilty thought flickered in her mind: What if… I asked Tsunade to put Mikoto on Ryo's team instead? Let Mikoto watch him for me…

"Stop right there!" Mikoto seemed to read her thoughts and rolled her eyes. "You want me to be your gatekeeper? Kushina! Naive! Passive! What if I can't watch him properly? What if I start watching him too much?" That last sentence was barely audible, her eyes drifting for a moment.

Mikoto took a deep breath and leaned closer to Kushina's ear, her voice low but filled with determination. "Kushina! Happiness isn't some fruit that falls from a tree. You have to climb up and pick it! If you're sure he's worth it, if you're this scared of losing him, then don't wait! Reserved? Forget that! Take the initiative! Make it a done deal, got it?"

Take the initiative!

Those words struck Kushina like a spark, igniting the fog in her eyes into blazing flames.

That's right! By the time that blockhead Ryo realizes, the chance might already be gone!

If you wait for the rabbit, you might not catch it and worse, someone else might take the nest.

Who had Uzumaki Kushina ever been afraid of?

Anyone who tried to take what was hers would face the wrath of the Red-Hot Habanero!

So what if it meant being more proactive?

She clenched her fists.

When she looked at Ryo again, there was no hesitation, only determination.

Mikoto was right. No illusions. Prepare to fight.

"Okay!" Kushina's voice wasn't loud, but it rang with power. Her face was flushed with excitement and nerves, and flames seemed to dance in her light blue eyes. "I'll do it! I'll take the initiative! Mikoto, teach me!"

Mikoto's eyes lit up, thrilled at the chance to finally showcase her "strategist" skills.

"That's it!" Mikoto put her arm around Kushina's shoulder, pulling her close. Her voice dropped, full of practical-sounding advice (though most of it was borrowed from girl's manga).

"Conventional tactics won't work on a man like Ryo. We need to cut the problem off at the root! There's only one principle: nonstop, irresistible, high-intensity close contact! Get him used to your presence until his wooden brain can't think of anything else but Uzumaki Kushina!"

Mikoto rattled off like she was giving battle orders: "Step one, invade his personal space completely! Stick to him like glue! After class? Ask him about ninjutsu! Walking home? Link arms naturally! Training break? Sit right next to him, shoulder to shoulder! When you pass him water, 'accidentally' touch his hand! Remember, 'accidentally' is the key! Make it look natural, leave him no excuse to refuse!"

"Step two, magnify your expressions! Eyes! Use admiration, anger, or tears—make him unable to look away! Voice! Soften it! Draw it out! End on a rise! 'Ryo~ help me~' Do you get the destructive power? Pout when necessary! Stomp your feet! Works like magic!"

"Step three, the ultimate weapon." Mikoto's tone dropped lower, filled with resolve. "Escalate physical contact! Hugs! Don't hesitate! Find excuses! Hug him when you win, hug him when you lose! Happy? Hug! Sad? Hug even more! If he's hurt, cry and rush into his arms! Use your warmth to break through his cold exterior! And then… then find your chance to kiss him! Cheek or corner of his mouth, doesn't matter. Kiss him, then run! Leave him standing there, exploding inside!"

Every word Mikoto said detonated in Kushina's mind, making her dizzy, her cheeks hot enough to fry an egg.

Hugging… she could just about imagine.

But kissing?!

Kushina felt like her brain was overheating, steam rising from her head.

"Mi… Mikoto…?" she stammered, staring at her best friend in disbelief.

"How do you even know all this? You're basically… an old driver of love!" She couldn't believe the usually composed Uchiha girl had such fierce and detailed strategies.

That kind of knowledge had to come from a mountain of girl's comics—or a pile of actual experience.

Mikoto's smile froze. The air hung still for a few seconds.

"Ahem…" Mikoto coughed lightly, suddenly embarrassed. She turned away, her earlobes faintly red. How could she admit it?

Should she say, "Actually, I once thought about going after Ryo, but his cold glare scared me off, and then you swooped in and stole the chance"?

Impossible! That shameful history would never be revealed.

She tugged at her sleeves, speaking vaguely, "Of course I had to arm myself with theory! I was worried about my best friend's happiness! Enough nonsense. The battle starts now! Let's see how well you execute, Kushina!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 32: Operation Elbow Hook

The warm afternoon sun, filtered through the leaves, lazily dappled the dirt roads of Konoha.

Ryo had just stepped out of the stuffy air of the ninja tool shop, which reeked of saltpeter and metal, a heavy, slightly stiff sealed scroll now in his hand.

The shop owner's old face, crisscrossed with wrinkles, still wore a smile, but the probing look in his eyes was as sharp as a needle, clearly piqued by the custom-made items Ryo had ordered.

"Explosive tags too weak to kill a ninja? Heh, kid, play with fire and you might burn yourself…" The old man smacked his lips, his voice drifting into Ryo's ear, neither too loud nor too soft.

Ryo merely pretended not to hear, casually tucking the scroll deep into his ninja tool pouch. Too weak?

A precisely controlled burst was more than enough to break bones, especially the leg bone of a half-grown kid like Nawaki, who was not invulnerable. It was sufficient.

He continued his stride, his destination clear, the Ninja Academy.

After picking up Kushina, the next step was the planned "accident."

The old gate of the Ninja Academy, painted a cream yellow, was visible in the distance.

The afternoon dismissal bell had just ceased, and the lingering scent of dust from frantic running still hung in the air of the playground.

Ryo stood like a stone statue, leaning against the luxuriant phoenix tree beside the school gate, its shadow engulfing most of his figure.

The iron gate of the Ninja Academy clanged open with a forceful push, and a tide of students surged out, their noise reaching a fever pitch.

Amidst the surging crowd, that fiery red hair was still dazzling, like a vibrant banner.

Uzumaki Kushina walked out of the school gate, close beside Uchiha Mikoto, a trace of unspent heat still on her small face.

Mikoto was rapidly whispering something into Kushina's ear, her black hair brushing against her fair cheek, her eyes sparkling.

As Kushina listened, the blush that had faded from her cheeks suddenly flared up again, more vivid than her red hair, her earlobes glowing like ripe fruit.

She quickly glanced towards the school gate, and when she caught sight of the familiar figure under the phoenix tree, a flicker of imperceptible panic and desperate resolve crossed her eyes.

Through the surging crowd, Ryo naturally saw them too.

He frowned slightly. Kushina's expression was off.

The usually fiery red pepper now had flickering eyes and hesitant steps.

And beside her, Mikoto, the usually composed and proper Uchiha young lady, had a curve to her lips that held a hint of playful teasing and encouragement, like a mastermind.

A faint alarm bell rang in Ryo's mind.

Sure enough, Mikoto gave Kushina a push on her back, not hard, but with an undeniable urgency.

Kushina stiffened for a moment, like a fighting cock suddenly thrown into the ring, then took a deep breath, as if that air injected immense courage into her.

She abruptly quickened her pace, not bouncing over to tug at his sleeve as usual, but instead, with an extremely clear objective, almost braving the curious or knowing gazes of her classmates, she charged straight towards him.

Then, under Ryo's slightly puzzled gaze, Kushina unhesitatingly reached out both hands and tightly linked them through his right arm, which hung at his side, as if grasping a lifesaver.

The sunlight caught his sharply defined profile, reflecting the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Warmth spread from his right arm—soft, delicate, yet firm. The girl's body heat seeped through the thin fabric, carried with a nervous tremble, but her grip was tight, clinging like a vine wrapped stubbornly around a tree trunk.

Ryo shifted slightly, intending to free himself, but the small hands clutching his arm were fastened like welded clasps, tightening the more he moved.

That made him pause. She was acting strangely.

"Let go." Ryo's voice was low and steady, carrying a suppressed edge, his gaze fixed on the stubborn little swirl of hair on top of Kushina's head.

His expression remained impassive, though his arm felt uncomfortably restrained.

Kushina looked up abruptly like a startled rabbit, her eyes astonishingly bright, with a look of desperate resolve, glaring back without showing weakness. "No!"

Her voice was a little sharp, and her confidence seemed to still be floating in the air, her gaze unconsciously darting to the side.

Ryo followed her gaze. Not far away, amidst the bustling crowd, Uchiha Mikoto stood with her arms crossed, waving a small fist towards them in a "loving" gesture, mouthing silently, "Go for it!"

So, someone really was giving advice.

A barely perceptible vein twitched on Ryo's forehead.

He tried to pull his arm away with more force, but the resistance was… odd.

Or perhaps, it was the unfamiliar, soft warmth that kept his strength in check, making his movements less decisive than usual.

It was strange.

Strange—yet not unpleasant.

"Let go. People are staring."

"No!" Kushina bit her lower lip, her gaze wavering for a moment, then gathering into stubborn persistence. "What is wrong with me holding your arm? Everyone does it!"

Her gaze darted around, sweeping over several pairs of students walking side by side or with linked arms.

Ryo had no rebuttal.

He caught sight of the curious stares around them, attention steadily gathering on the unusual pair. He didn't like being the focus of a crowd.

The longer this dragged on, the worse it would become.

So, under the prickling pressure of countless eyes, he took the initiative, his right foot stepping forward, calm and deliberate.

He wasn't being dragged. He was moving first.

Kushina clung to his arm like an ornament, her presence light yet burning. With every step, her grip drew out the warmth of her body, making the sensation harder to ignore.

Kushina's heart pounded in her chest, almost exploding.

Success.

First step.

Mikoto's plan—breaking through the "comfort zone"—was working exactly as she said.

Her face burned like fire, but she could not help trying to curve her lips up, which she forcefully suppressed.

She could only bury her head lower, her gaze fixed on the backs of her feet, letting that irresistible blush spread from her neck all the way to her hairline, hotter than flames.

The familiar path back to the Senju compound seemed exceptionally long today.

Every bend, every uneven step, tested Ryo's composure.

Her arm was like a warm shackle, restraining his usual indifference and replacing it with an unfamiliar, unsteady rhythm.

He could clearly feel the pressure of her fingertips through the fabric, and the subtle, continuous throb of her heartbeat transmitted through the thin material.

Finally, the ancient and heavy black-lacquered gate of the Senju clan came into view, with no idlers at the entrance.

As soon as that symbolic black-lacquered gate entered his line of sight, Ryo, almost with a sigh of relief, suddenly yanked his arm free.

"Ah!" Kushina was caught off guard, letting out a surprised cry, her arm losing strength and loosening its grip.

The warmth that had been intimately connected was instantly severed.

Ryo did not even glance at her, sidestepping into the open gate.

Kushina lingered at the entrance, staring at her empty hand. Then, a sly little smile tugged at her lips.

Effective. Absolutely effective.

This strategy really worked.

Taking two deep breaths, she also quickly stepped through the gate.

This was Grandma Mito's house. She would not dare to act as wildly as she did outside.

In the spacious courtyard, a tranquility more oppressive than the afternoon sun permeated the air.

Nawaki leaned against a corridor pillar, his eyes somewhat glazed as he watched the two enter one after another, their atmosphere inexplicably strange.

Ryo was a rare sight here, or rather, it was rare for him to actively step inside the threshold, and Kushina's flushed little face exuded an unspeakable excitement.

Nawaki unconsciously scratched his unruly black hair, confused. "Ryo? How did you… come in?"

Ryo did not stop, walking straight toward the direction from which the smell of food wafted, his voice steady, betraying no emotion. "Tsunade called me."

Concise and to the point, it stifled Nawaki's belly full of curiosity.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 33: Nawaki’s Battle

In the evening, the air in the Senju clan's main residence was as heavy as stagnant water.

Ryo's gaze swept over the frail old woman in the main seat.

Uzumaki Mito's aging was shocking. In just two years, her crimson hair had withered like autumn grass, and her wrinkles were as deep as knife cuts.

Years of battling the corrosive power of the Nine-Tails had continuously depleted Mito's vitality.

Even the Uzumaki clan's longevity, and the Yin Seal that promised youthful looks, could not hold out.

Ryo's gaze shifted to Tsunade by the dining table, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

Just a moment ago, he had found a chance to tell Tsunade his plan, to shatter Nawaki's blind battlefield fantasies with a seemingly perilous real combat exercise.

Tsunade knitted her brows as she took the special explosive tags, her fingertips glowing faintly with chakra.

Fine chakra threads probed into the paper, precisely inspecting it.

After a moment, she looked up to meet Ryo's calm gaze and let out an almost inaudible "Hmm."

The chakra explosion range was limited to the epidermis, and the impact was concentrated and directed. It would only injure, not cripple.

She pushed the tags back into Ryo's hand, tapping the corner three times with her thumb. Plan approved.

Uzumaki Mito's hand, holding her teacup, paused. Her peripheral vision caught her granddaughter's tensed jawline, then fell upon the tags Ryo had put away.

A flicker of understanding passed through the old woman's cloudy eyes, and her leaf-like lips pressed into a flat line. That was the silent acquiescence of the Senju clan head.

The steam and aroma of oil and salt drifting from the kitchen barely stirred the air, yet they brought a deeper, sticky sensation.

Ryo watched Nawaki across the table devour the last mouthfuls of rice like a whirlwind. A strange heaviness settled in his own stomach.

Nawaki's chopsticks clinked against the bowl, his eyes sparkling with a fiery intensity, full of youthful ambition and battle lust, burning with desire and imagination for the battlefield. Ryo knew that light well. It belonged to a newborn calf, untested by wind and rain, unaware of how flesh and blood are ground into mud. Clear, yet foolish.

He could almost smell the blind excitement radiating from Nawaki.

The fastest to die on the battlefield were these hotheads.

"Sis, this time, following Orochimaru-sensei, during the mission…" Nawaki put down his bowl, his voice rising sharply. "I personally took down a…"

"Hmm, got it," Tsunade cut him off coolly, picking up the last piece of pickled radish with her chopsticks and biting into it with a crisp snap that ended Nawaki's animated speech.

Nawaki was like a duck with its neck squeezed, his words stuck in his throat. His excitement deflated, and an awkward blush spread across his face.

Ryo silently put down his bowl.

Under the table, Tsunade's foot accurately tapped his ankle, not too hard, not too soft, urging him on.

The show was about to begin.

He looked up at Tsunade.

Tsunade's eyelids were lowered, her long eyelashes casting a small shadow on her cheek. Deep within that shadow lay undeniable resolve.

Uzumaki Mito softly "hmm"-ed, a whisper as faint as wind rustling withered leaves, yet it carried the heavy weight of silent consent.

The dining table was cleared, but the atmosphere tightened even more, like a taut bowstring.

"Nawaki," Tsunade lifted her eyes, her gaze heavy, pressing down on her younger brother. "Do you really want to go to the battlefield?"

"Of course." Nawaki straightened his back as if injected with a stimulant, the extinguished flame in his eyes flaring again. "I am the heir of the Senju. I want to become a great Hokage like Grandpa. How can I hide in the village?"

Mito's fingers, holding the teacup, tightened slightly, her knuckles turning pale.

Ryo caught the fleeting hint of pain in the old woman's eyes.

Tsunade's face did not soften. "Whether you are a Senju or the Hokage's grandson," each word fell like ice on stone, "speak with strength. Shouting slogans and running to the battlefield is suicide."

Nawaki's face turned beet red, a vein throbbing in his forehead. "Sis. I'm not an academy rookie anymore. I have followed Orochimaru-sensei for over a year…"

He was eager to prove himself, but when he met Tsunade's icy gaze, his momentum faltered at the end.

"Proof?" Tsunade snorted. "Good. I will give you a chance. Beat him."

She jerked her chin at Ryo. "If you beat Ryo, forget the battlefield. I will go talk to the Hokage for you and have you put in charge of important missions. If you cannot beat him, drop the idea early."

Nawaki's gaze snapped to Ryo's face, shock, anger, fear, and disbelief mixing, then hardening into humiliation at being underestimated. His eyes burned red.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

Kushina even jumped up, her small face pale. "Tsunade-neechan. No, this will not do. Ryo, he…"

She wanted to say Ryo was too strong and did not hold back, so how could Nawaki fight him.

But seeing Tsunade's iron-cold expression, she swallowed the rest.

"Sis, you know…" Nawaki's voice trembled with fear of Ryo.

Tsunade cut him off. "Are you fighting or not. One word."

She crossed her arms. Her aura locked down the space, the air turning to lead.

Nawaki's chest heaved, his teeth grinding audibly.

His gaze swept over Mito's expressionless face. The silent worry in his grandmother's eyes pricked him like a needle.

His pride surged like boiling lava. He stomped his foot, the wooden floor groaning. "If I have to fight, I will fight. What is there to be afraid of."

He strode toward the center of the backyard's open space, each step causing a slight tremor, filled with desperate resolve.

The wind ruffled his bangs, his back burning with anger and a make-or-break courage.

"Ryo." Kushina urgently grabbed Ryo's arm, her lowered voice laced with panic and pleading. "You must go easy on him."

Her moist eyes reflected Ryo's expressionless face, her small face full of entreaty.

Ryo's gaze lingered on her for a moment, calm. "Relax. I will not use sword techniques, or taijutsu."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Nawaki, who stood tense like a bull in the center. "Today, I will only use the Academy Three, and one new ninjutsu."

Kushina opened her mouth, but her words stuck. Her worry did not lessen. It spread like cold vines through her chest.

Ryo did not look at her again, walking directly to face Nawaki.

"Only the Academy Three and a new ninjutsu?" Nawaki sounded as if he had heard a joke. His twisted smile showed contempt and irritation. "Are you looking down on me, Ryo?"

Ryo's answer was a flurry of hand signs, his hands moving like a butterfly dance, completed in an instant. "Ninpō: Bunshin no Jutsu."

Bang bang bang.

White smoke burst out, and several Ryo figures appeared at once, scattered irregularly, vaguely surrounding Nawaki.

The movements were so fast that only afterimages remained on Nawaki's retina.

Nawaki's pupils contracted. The speed of this Bunshin no Jutsu was astonishing, but his reaction was also quick. "Hmph. Suiton, Mizurappa (Water Release: Wild Water Wave)."

His hand signs were equally swift. Water roared from his mouth, crashing into the clones in front.

Puff puff puff.

The clones disintegrated under the impact, turning into white smoke.

However, just as the Wild Water Wave's power was about to dissipate, Nawaki's peripheral vision caught something, a gust of wind from the smoke on the left.

One Ryo, using the brief cover of water mist and smoke, lunged forward.

His right palm extended, and above its center, a rapidly spinning, compressed ball of chakra churned the air, emitting a low, piercing hum like venomous bees circling at low altitude. It tore through the calm air.

What is that.

Nawaki's scalp prickled.

Training instincts kicked in. He twisted his body to the right with incredible flexibility.

The Rasengan, with its air-tearing roar, whizzed past the space under his ribs. The heat from its terrifying rotation scorched his skin.

Nawaki broke into a cold sweat, no longer daring to show contempt.

Even without sword techniques or taijutsu, the pressure from this new ninjutsu was terrifying.

He quickly retreated to create distance, then formed another Water Release hand sign. "Suiton, Suijinheki (Water Formation Wall)."

Splash.

A thick wall of water rose from the ground, instantly separating him and Ryo.

The water curtain shimmered, reflecting Ryo's calm face, and distorting the lingering shock in his own eyes.

But Ryo gave Nawaki no chance to breathe.

Only scattered white smoke remained where he had stood. His true body had already used Kawarimi no Jutsu (Body Replacement Technique) to move to Nawaki's side and rear.

"Here." Nawaki growled, his combat instincts sensing the direction, and he formed hand signs again. "Suiton, Suishōha (Water Shockwave Wave)." Denser streams of water, like a bursting dam, rushed toward Ryo, who had just revealed himself.

But Ryo seemed to have predicted it. A fraction of a second before the Water Shockwave fully formed, he crouched and pushed off, moving like a swallow skimming the ground, narrowly dodging the surging water.

Splashing droplets grazed his hair and the edges of his clothes.

Nawaki's heart sank. Ryo's speed and foresight were terrifying.

His Suiton was powerful enough to defeat ordinary chūnin, but if it could not hit, it was wasted effort.

He changed strategy, trying to suppress Ryo with continuous Wild Water Waves. "Ha. Ha."

With each shout, streams of water crisscrossed, splashing mud and water, filling the air with a damp chill. Yet Ryo's figure always slipped through the gaps with despairing agility.

"Damn it." Impatience grew in Nawaki's heart like vines choking reason. "Then do not blame me. Suiton, Suiryūdan no Jutsu (Water Dragon Bullet Technique)."

Nawaki abandoned all reservations. His chakra surged at full power, and his hand signs turned complex and solemn.

Heavy water vapor rapidly condensed, and a huge dragon-shaped mass of water twisted into form. Its scales and claws still held the blur of a novice's jutsu, but its power far exceeded ordinary Suiton.

Kushina cried out in alarm. "Nawaki-nii."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 34: Death By Explosion

A giant dragon roared, carrying an irresistibly powerful current, and slammed into Ryo in the center of the arena.

The entire backyard seemed to be enveloped by its massive shadow.

Ryo faced the rushing Suiryūdan no Jutsu with an impassive face.

His body sank slightly, his center of gravity pressed low. The muscles of his right arm bulged, and the blue Rasengan in his palm suddenly hummed at high speed, its brightness surging.

The terrifying rotational force of the condensed chakra stirred the air, forming a small vortex centered on the Rasengan.

Facing the crashing dragon head, he showed no intention of dodging.

A head-on clash?

No.

Just as the dragon head, carrying immense power, was about to engulf him, Ryo twisted his body sideways like a ghost.

He did not charge head-on into the energy core of the jutsu.

His right palm, wrapped in the fiercely spinning Rasengan, moved like a precise mechanical arm, tracing an ingenious trajectory. It was precise and ruthless, yet contained a yielding roundness, pressing against a weak chakra node slightly behind the right side of the dragon's head, three inches below the "neck."

This was not brute force. It was like a butcher dismembering an ox.

Buzz. Sizzle.

The high-speed rotational cutting of the Rasengan took effect instantly.

The dragon's head was torn apart like it had been fed into an invisible blade wheel. Its structure collapsed in an instant.

The violent chakra flow was twisted and ripped apart.

Boom.

The subsequent mass of water lost control. Without the dragon head's guidance, it swept everywhere like a bursting mountain flood.

Droplets turned into a downpour, pounding roofs and walls with incessant rattling.

The courtyard ground, once only patchy with wet, became a muddy puddle.

The enormous backlash made Nawaki's chest churn, and he stumbled back several steps before he stabilized.

He stared, stunned, at the shattered water dragon turning into a sky full of spray.

This overturned his understanding. His strongest attack, the B-rank Suiryūdan no Jutsu, had been dispersed by a ninjutsu he had never heard of.

"What… what was that?" Nawaki asked, his voice lost.

"Rasengan." Ryo uttered three words.

He stood by the muddy puddle, splashed with water, his breathing steady.

Looking at Nawaki's bewildered, flustered face, Ryo felt no smugness.

The timing was perfect.

Ryo formed hand signs again. "Bunshin no Jutsu." White smoke spread, and several clones reappeared, like a trained pack of wolves, launching feints from different directions.

After the mental shock of his failed dragon, Nawaki's reactions had dulled.

Several clones surged forward. Nawaki's nerves stretched taut. He hastily formed hand signs. "Suiton, Suij…" The Suijinheki (Water Formation Wall) had only risen halfway when his movement suddenly paused.

A Ryo clone on the left, rushing closer, suddenly slipped, staggering on the muddy ground as if losing footing, exposing a clear gap in its chest and abdomen.

This sliver of a flaw was like a desert spring in Nawaki's overworked mind.

Accumulated anger and unwillingness, humiliation suppressed to madness, instantly became fuel driven by instinct.

"Opportunity." A sharp glint flashed in Nawaki's eyes. The last shred of rationality was overwhelmed.

He ignored Suiton defense and tactics, roaring, "Break him."

He drove off the muddy ground and charged at the "Ryo" that had exposed a weakness.

All his chakra condensed into his fist. He aimed to slam it into the center of that staggering clone's chest, to blast this annoying Ryo apart himself.

"Die." Nawaki's roar carried the sudden release of ecstasy and relief.

Bang.

The unadorned fist struck true.

That "Ryo" exploded into a cloud of white smoke. A clone.

The impact twisted Nawaki's ferocity into a grim, triumphant smile, as if he had avenged a great enemy.

However.

As the white smoke burst and the clone dispersed, an ominous orange-red light, like a demon's eye, pierced from the core of the dissipating smoke. Then—

Boom.

Orange-red flames and precisely controlled shockwaves, like a chained beast, tore through smoke and dust, violent yet restrained.

At the moment Nawaki's fist touched the clone, his weight was pitched forward, his defense at its weakest, and that triumphant face, inches from the blast point, had not even finished its smile.

This was not a clone being destroyed.

It was a trap, preloaded with special explosive tags and detonated on cue.

Nawaki's triumph froze into horror before it could turn to shock.

He had no time to pull back, form hand signs, or gather protective chakra. The distance was too close, the explosion too violent. The instant he saw the flare, the shockwave had already hit.

It's over.

"Ah—"

Nawaki's scream began, then was swallowed by the roar.

He flew several meters like a rag doll, then crashed into the muddy pit.

Plop.

Blood spread through the mud, glaring and red.

Nawaki's legs were torn and twisted, stark white bone fragments showing.

His eyes rolled back and he passed out, the grim triumph still stuck on his face.

"Nawaki-nii." Kushina's heart-wrenching scream pierced the fading echoes.

The smoke had not fully dissipated when Tsunade shot forward.

She moved so fast only an afterimage remained.

Plop.

She knelt in the mud, splashing murky water.

Her hands moved like lightning. A dense, tangible green chakra gathered in her palms.

"Nawaki." Tsunade's roar was urgent, but her hands were iron-steady as she pressed the Shōsen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique) onto the bloody, profusely bleeding fracture.

Sizzle.

The sharp, powerful stimulation of the Mystical Palm Technique plunged into Nawaki's body.

"Ugh, ah—" Nawaki's body jolted as if electrocuted. A broken whimper squeezed from his throat, then he went limp.

Uzumaki Mito walked over silently, her hunched back straightening.

Her cloudy eyes swept over the black-red puddle, over Nawaki's mangled legs, and finally rested on Ryo.

That gaze was bottomless, heavy as lead.

She did not speak. She extended a withered hand to press firmly on Nawaki's uninjured forearm, as if to hold something steady.

Ryo could feel a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand.

Ryo stood still, the blast's dust shaking from his clothes.

His face was expressionless, calm as if he had brushed off some dirt.

His eyes met Tsunade's glance.

Tsunade's eyes were like hot iron, filled with rage, icy reproach, and something too complex to untangle, locking onto Ryo.

"Ryo." She roared, her voice scraping bone.

The meaning was clear. Explain yourself.

Ryo sneered inwardly. Keep acting. I will carry the blame.

He lowered his eyelids, avoiding her murderous stare, but his gaze, unfortunately, fell on the frozen figure beside him.

Kushina looked struck by lightning, rooted to the spot.

A few strands of hair were disheveled by the blast.

The color drained from her face. Her lips trembled, but no sound came.

Her light blue eyes were full of shock, panic, and fear on the verge of breaking.

Most of that fear was not directed at Nawaki.

Her gaze darted between Ryo, Tsunade, and Mito.

Mito was too calm.

So calm it made her uneasy.

Tsunade's fury looked like it would tear Ryo apart on the spot.

It is over. Kushina's mind roared.

Grandma would drive Ryo away and never let her see him again.

That thought gripped her heart like a demon's claw, suffocating her.

Tears welled up, filming her terrified eyes with desperate moisture.

Uzumaki Mito let out a long breath, as if setting down a burden.

She patted Nawaki's uninjured arm, then straightened.

Her cloudy gaze swept the scene, landed on Kushina's distraught face, then turned to Ryo.

"Tsunade," Mito's voice was steady and carried undeniable weight, "take Nawaki to the hospital and treat him carefully. Ryo, you stay."

"Grandma." Kushina, like a cat with its tail stepped on, pounced toward Mito, her voice trembling with a sob. "Nawaki-nii, he…"

Mito's withered yet strong hand caught Kushina's clenched fist, pulling her close.

Her other hand supported Kushina's weak shoulders, sheltering her under her wing.

"Understood, Grandma." Tsunade growled low, deftly lifting the unconscious Nawaki and shielding his vital points.

Before leaving, she glared fiercely at Ryo, eyes like they could eat him.

There was acting in that, and real anger at her brother's state.

Holding Nawaki, she rushed out through the courtyard gate like the wind and vanished.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 35: Kushina Short-Circuits

The messy scene in the backyard was mostly cleared in an instant.

The lingering smell of blood mixed with mud stung their noses, leaving only silent wreckage and a few people standing in a daze.

Kushina bit her lip hard, almost tasting iron. Her whole body still trembled slightly, half from fright, half from immense confusion and fear.

Her grandmother's presence beside her was like a giant iceberg, exuding a chilling coldness.

She did not dare to look up, only felt Mito's grip on her hand tighten. That hand was rough and warm, carrying a strange, heavy strength.

Mito did not speak immediately.

She pulled Kushina forward two steps, her gaze sweeping over the muddy pit where Nawaki had fallen. The congealed black and red bloodstains were particularly jarring.

Mixed in were a few blown-up, charred scraps of fabric.

The old woman's gaze paused for a moment, extremely brief, so brief it could have been an illusion.

Then she turned to Kushina, her tone calm and seasoned, yet carrying an unmistakable conclusion. "Kushina, in real combat drills, there will always be injuries."

Kushina looked up sharply, eyes wide with disbelief.

Grandma is…

Mito seemed oblivious to her shock, continuing in a steady, unhurried voice. "This time, it is not Ryo's fault."

This sentence blocked all of Kushina's attempts to plead for Ryo. "Your brother Nawaki has been graduated for over a year now. He could not see such an obvious trap."

Mito's voice even carried a hint of sternness, disappointment at his failure. "He deserves to be injured."

Deserves, deserves?

The words lashed at Kushina's heart like a whip.

Were those words spoken by the grandma who doted on Nawaki?

Nawaki was lying in a pool of blood, bone showing.

Tears gushed out, blurring her vision. "But, Grandma…"

"No buts." Mito cut her off decisively, tightening her grip on Kushina's hand a little more. Her eyes, which had seen through the ways of the world, fixed on her granddaughter's tear-filled gaze.

"With your sister Tsunade here, Nawaki will be fine. Her medical ninjutsu can pull back someone with half a life left, let alone a serious flesh and bone injury. What are you worrying about?"

Kushina was stunned by this barrage of conclusions, tears clinging to her lashes as she stared blankly at her grandmother.

Her calm, almost cruel tone, the unquestionable attitude, was like a basin of ice water, freezing her burning anger and worry for Ryo.

Logically, it seemed to make sense. Nawaki did rush into the trap himself, and Ryo did not use sword or taijutsu, only clones, the Academy Three, and that new jutsu. But he still used explosive tags.

She suddenly turned her head, her gaze piercing the lingering smoke, glaring at Ryo with a mix of grievance and resentment.

Why was he so ruthless?

What if Mito really was not reasonable?

What if she got angry and wanted Ryo's life?

These fears almost tore her apart.

She clasped her fingers tightly, not even noticing her nails digging into her palms.

Ryo sneered inwardly, wanting to throw the truth in her face. Silly girl. Your grandma and your sister conspired with me to do this. All to break the leg of that reckless Nawaki who is eager to rush to the battlefield and die. To make him lie quietly in a hospital bed for a few months. To keep him from ending up a corpse on the battlefield next time.

That truth was too cruel, and too absurd.

Ryo forced down the impulse.

With Kushina's quick temper and inability to keep secrets, she would shout it at the barely conscious Nawaki in Konoha Hospital within half a day.

If Nawaki learned from her that this "bloody lesson" was orchestrated by his sister and grandmother, Ryo did not want to imagine the outcome.

Nawaki would probably collapse and question his life. Was he really "their own"?

What a huge irony.

While Kushina was left speechless by Mito's "conclusion," Ryo took a step forward, breaking the eerie silence.

He looked at Mito, his posture neither humble nor arrogant, with a hint of a junior's respect. "Mito-sama, I am very sorry about Nawaki. Although it was necessary for the drill, he was indeed injured."

Mito nodded slightly, her face unreadable. "As long as you know the limits. Ruthless, but leaving room. Tsunade can heal Nawaki, let him lie down for a few months, cool his head, and keep him from running to the battlefield and not coming back."

Mito spoke directly, without any attempt to conceal her meaning.

Ryo understood and got straight to the point. "That is Nawaki. I want to bring up another matter."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the still-dazed Kushina. "There is still some time until graduation. The battlefield situation is getting worse by the day. Kushina, she…" He left it there.

He saw Mito's eyelid twitch slightly.

"My meaning is, during this period before graduation, I want to arrange special training for Kushina." Ryo stated his purpose. "Mainly practical combat response and the mastery of a special ninjutsu."

He did not mention the name, but his gaze drifted to Kushina's face.

Her eyes had gone wide when she saw him dismantle Nawaki's Suiryūdan with the Rasengan.

Mito scrutinized Ryo.

Tsunade had already informed her of the boy's true strength.

Elite jōnin, without a doubt.

Hiruzen might not know Ryo's capabilities, but she did.

Entrusting Kushina to him for a time, to push her strength before war broke out, was a worthwhile deal.

Kushina, who carried the remaining hope of Uzushiogakure, had, in these two years, come to see Konoha as home.

Mito saw it clearly.

Kushina's sense of belonging no longer needed proof from sitting in a classroom.

Besides, there was a better bond.

This girl had tied her heart to Ryo.

She should give them space and let their relationship progress.

"Strength," Mito finally said, steady as ever, "is crucial. It is always good for Konoha to have more power."

She looked at Ryo, a flicker of approval in her cloudy eyes. "I will leave Kushina with you for a few months. Arrange it as you see fit. I will not interfere."

The last four words were both trust and acknowledgment.

Beside him, Kushina felt dazed, her ears buzzing ever since Ryo mentioned special training for her.

What battlefield. What special training. What were Grandma and Ryo talking about.

Her sluggish mind turned like old gears.

Just now, she was fearing her brother's injury and Ryo's reckoning. How did it jump to her getting individual special training with Ryo.

Not only did Grandma not blame him for injuring Nawaki, she agreed to let him train her.

When Mito's words, "I will leave Kushina with you for a few months," reached her, what exploded was not thunder, but a scorching current rushing to her head.

Her previously pale face turned red like a cooked shrimp.

Ryo, alone, guidance.

"Whoosh." Mikoto's "Ryo Emotional Progression" strategies flashed before her eyes, creating physical contact, hugs, even kisses.

Boom.

Kushina felt her scalp steam. Her whole body went dizzy, as if she were soaking in a honey hot spring, her feet floating.

Ryo's peripheral vision caught her rapidly rising blush, and he clicked his tongue inwardly.

"I understand, Mito-sama." Ryo bowed slightly. "I will arrange time and place. I will not delay Kushina's basic fūinjutsu studies with you. As for the academy…"

"Hmph, a few months of practical experience is worth years of wasted time there. If she graduates early, so be it. I will talk to Sarutobi." Mito's tone was flat, but her words carried the assertiveness of Konoha's ruler.

"Thank you." Ryo's goal achieved, the curve of his mouth flattened. His gaze turned to Kushina, who was still in a steam-engine state.

The instant their eyes met, she dropped her gaze as if scalded, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her clothes. Color rushed from her neck to the tips of her ears, and even her unruly red cowlick seemed to droop in embarrassment

"Then I will not disturb you further today." Ryo took his leave. This was not the place to linger. He had taken the blame and achieved his goal. Time to go. "I will make time to visit Nawaki."

Mito waved her hand. A hint of fatigue flashed in her eyes, tacit consent given.

Ryo turned and left, his steps swift and decisive, quickly crossing the messy courtyard and disappearing under the porch at the gate.

The moment he left, the taut string in the backyard seemed to loosen a little.

Mito turned her head, her gaze falling on her little granddaughter, who had not yet emerged from her tangle of emotions.

Kushina was still immersed in the idea of being "specially trained" by Ryo, her face red, wearing the dazed look of someone who had survived a calamity, mixed with a shy anticipation she could not put into words.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 6: Chapter 36-40

Chapter 36: Training Arc

The newborn sun had just torn through the cicada-wing-thin mist above Konoha, casting a cool light upon the path that had just witnessed a silent farewell.

In the air, it seemed as if last night's cool dew and a certain oppressive heaviness still lingered.

Ryo stood at the edge of the hidden forest behind the Senju old residence, his shadow stretched long.

The morning's silence was widened by a few intermittent bird calls in the distance, yet it could not drown out the echo of that brief scene from a few hours ago in his mind.

Tsunade had efficiently dealt with the last bit of trouble from Nawaki's broken leg, her movements crisp and clean as always.

She did not even wait for the anesthetic to wear off before slinging that familiar giant scroll onto her back.

The assembled team at the village gate had already departed. There was no grand send-off, only an urgent and somber departure.

"Hey."

Just before Tsunade was about to join Orochimaru and Jiraiya's team, Ryo's voice rang out, neither a plea to stay nor softened by any extra address.

Tsunade's steps paused.

"Do not die."

Kushina, standing nearby, bit her lower lip, her light blue eyes filled with unconcealed worry, her gaze glued to Tsunade's straight back.

Tsunade did not look back.

She just waved her hand forcefully and casually, her back to them.

That figure, representing Konoha's Princess, the Battlefield's Miracle Healer, and the last glory of the Senju, finally stopped lingering and strode forward to join Orochimaru and Jiraiya, embarking on the dusty road toward Ame.

Her silhouette gradually shrank and blurred amidst the thin mist and trees.

Until the last bit of her outline disappeared, like a distant mountain swallowed by thick fog.

…

The next sun rose over Konoha, its rays slipping through the lingering morning haze and casting a cool light.

Ryo stood at the edge of the hidden forest behind the Senju old residence, his shadow stretched long.

The morning air carried the crisp scent of damp earth and grassy dew, so quiet that only a few intermittent bird calls could be heard.

His gaze swept over the somewhat disheveled training ground, still smelling of freshly turned earth, the place where Nawaki had received an unforgettable lesson yesterday. Ryo frowned.

The thought was fleeting. Nawaki's leg was now resting under Tsunade's healing jutsu at Konoha Hospital, a decent outcome for everyone.

Just then, hurried and slightly stumbling footsteps came from behind, carrying an undisguised dominance that broke the morning's tranquility.

"Ryo!" A crisp shout pierced the thin forest mist, like a small cannonball flying at him.

Ryo instinctively turned.

Kushina ran toward him like a ball of fire leaping and burning in the morning light.

Mito's decision yesterday, "Kushina is entrusted to you for a few months," had ignited everything inside the little firecracker. She was almost the first to rush to the training ground, treading on the dew.

Her dazzling red hair was casually gathered into a vibrant ponytail, swinging with her strides. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her temples.

She was not wearing the neat academy uniform, probably finding it cumbersome. Instead, she wore a slightly faded but thick dark green short-sleeved training top, paired with form-fitting black capri training pants, revealing a section of energetic, smoothly contoured calves.

On her feet were simple canvas gaiter boots, their soles stained with damp earth.

Ryo's gaze swept over her battle-ready attire without much ripple.

"Too late."

Kushina had just reached two meters in front of him. Before she could catch her breath, she was choked by those ice-cold words. The excited flush on her face seemed to deepen, probably from anger.

She quickly took a deep breath, suppressing that spark of anger. Looking up, her voice was clear and self-righteous. "I was too excited last night. Could not sleep. Is that not allowed?"

She boldly took a step closer, instantly shortening the distance, almost close enough to feel the warm, girlish scent from her.

The sudden closeness did not shake Ryo in the slightest, but his gaze inadvertently swept over her chest, which rose and fell rapidly from running. Even the thick fabric could not completely conceal the soft curve.

"Talk nonsense again, and go back to the academy to sleep." His voice was clipped, carrying a trace of warning.

Kushina immediately plastered on a big, somewhat stiff smile, even showing two rows of small white teeth. Her voice jumped eight octaves and dragged out, "I—KNOW—RYO—SEN—SEI. What awesome thing are we learning today?"

Her deliberate fawning was like a small animal wagging its tail.

The two words "sensei" drilled into his ears, but Ryo's face didn't pay it any mind. He gave her no extra glance, only turned and strode toward the flattest open space at the center of the field.

"Keep up." Two words tossed over his shoulder.

Kushina looked at his back and pouted hard, silently making a face. Tch. Dead wood.

The complaints in her mind crackled like firecrackers, but her steps did not slow. She followed closely, her ponytail swinging in reluctant arcs behind her.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 37: Zero Hand Seals

Ryo stood still, his gaze falling on Kushina, who was running toward him. Without any preamble, he got straight to the point: "Basics determine height. Tree climbing, water walking, how long have you practiced?"

Kushina had just steadied herself when his direct approach, not even giving her time to catch her breath, startled her. She instinctively puffed out her small chest, showing the pride unique to the Uzumaki clan. "Of course I've practiced! I can climb to the top! Water walking, I can also last several minutes…"

Her voice weakened under Ryo's cold, expressionless gaze.

She mumbled softly, "…Although, sometimes I fall down…"

"Falling down means you're trash."

Ryo's evaluation was blunt, like stating a simple fact. "Chakra control, rotten."

This harsh judgment was like hot oil splattering into cold water, and Kushina instantly ignited, flames flashing in her eyes.

"Who are you calling trash?!"

Her small fists clenched, her cheeks flushed, and her ponytail seemed ready to explode with anger. Even the tips of her hair seemed indignant.

Ryo completely avoided her burning eyes. Instead, his gaze pressed down even more heavily, carrying a condescending scrutiny. "The Uzumaki have naturally immense chakra, which is a huge obstacle for fine control. Yet after two years, you're still like this."

He paused deliberately, his tone flat but every word sharp. "That proves you haven't put in the effort, or," he tilted his head slightly, a sneer curling at the corner of his lips, "you're simply incapable."

"You!" Kushina's chest heaved violently with anger, her dark green training uniform tightening and loosening. Grievance and fury intertwined, rushing to her head.

She wanted to shout back, wanted to rush forward and punch this detestable guy into the ground. Her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white, but she held herself back with visible effort.

Her voice came out strained, trembling not with weakness but with sheer indignation.
"…Who… who didn't put in effort? I just… I just have a bit of trouble controlling it, that's all!"

Ryo didn't soften in the slightest. He met her glare head-on, like steel against fire.
"Excuses. On the battlefield, no one cares why you fail. They only care that you failed."

The words hit Kushina like a whip. She bit down hard on her lip, the anger in her chest boiling hotter. Her nails dug into her palms, but she still refused to look away from him.

Ryo let the silence stretch, while he assessed the situation in his mind, her chakra control clearly exposed the conflict between her "essence" (immense chakra) and "intelligence" (fine control). As for hand seals, one of the eight core ninja basics, Ryo was almost certain she hadn't developed them well. Combined with her rough personality, complex hand seal processes would only slow her down.

He had to find a breakthrough, bypass her weaknesses, and directly boost her combat ability.

The strengthening plan he designed for Kushina surfaced clearly: ninjutsu that could be cast without hand seals.

This would perfectly bypass her hand seal weakness, directly turning the Uzumaki's immense chakra into destructive power, raising her combat strength in the shortest time.

Decision made, Ryo's tone returned to calm coldness. His words came out faster than usual, as if erasing the awkward seconds before. "Begin. First lesson, Rasengan."

Ryo raised his right hand, fingers naturally spread, palm facing up.

Just as Kushina looked at him with curiosity and a trace of mischief, a ripple spread in the depths of Ryo's calm eyes.

He slowly lifted his right hand, fingers spread, palm facing the hazy morning light.

The starting posture was unremarkable, with no complex hand seals, no roaring wind or thunder. However, in the next instant,

Sizzle!

In just one second, before Kushina's gasp even left her throat, a fist-sized, rapidly spinning, pure blue chakra sphere, the Rasengan, suspended above Ryo's palm!

Its inner light flowed brilliantly, the surrounding air churned wildly, lifting strands of Kushina's red hair.

Violent. Pure. The aura of destruction spread out like an invisible shockwave instantly.

Kushina's beautiful blue eyes widened to the limit.

Her pupils rapidly contracted under the glow of the deadly sphere.

Her small mouth gaped slightly, her earlier smugness instantly shattered by this terrifying ninjutsu, cast without hand seals, purely condensed from destructive power. Even her anger froze.

"…This… this?!" she gasped.

"It's called Rasengan." Ryo steadily held the miniature storm. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a metallic weight, each word striking Kushina's ears and pounding heart.

"A highly compressed, rapidly spinning sphere of pure chakra. No hand seals, instant cast." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the turbulent energy inside the sphere, before adding the most critical detail. "It destroys from within, with immense power."

"It bypasses complex hand seals, relying solely on chakra shape transformation. This is perfect for you, since you're not skilled in hand seals."

"It maximizes the advantage of your immense chakra."

This last sentence was like a surgical knife, directly pointing out the core problem she needed solved most.

The storm in his palm did not weaken, its low hum speaking for itself.

Seeing Kushina's captivated expression, her eyes glued to his palm, Ryo finally threw out the bait, his voice utterly flat. "Want to learn?"

"Want to learn?!" She trembled with excitement, lunging forward and grabbing Ryo's arm tightly, the one holding the Rasengan.

No hand seals. Instant cast. Internal destruction. Immense power. And it was perfect for her.

These keywords exploded in her heart like thunder.

"Learn! Of course I want to learn! Now! Immediately!" Her voice shook with excitement, her cheeks red like hot iron. Her knuckles turned white from gripping, fingernails almost digging into Ryo's arm through his training uniform. "Right now! Quickly tell me how to do it! Tell me!"

The hand seal problem that had troubled her suddenly had the perfect solution.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 38: Rotten

Ryo felt the heat radiating from his arm and the low growl of the Rasengan in his palm, caused by the slight instability from Kushina's forceful impact.

He lowered his head, looking at the girl who was almost hanging onto him.

She lifted her face, eyes burning with unshakable determination, reflecting the blue light of the Rasengan against his still-taut expression.

"Alright, Kushina, get ready."

"Put away your impulses," Ryo's voice cut in, calm but sharp. "Quiet down. Use your head."

The dangerous, ghostly blue orb in his hand slowly dissipated in the morning light, leaving only a faint scorched smell in the air.

Ryo walked over to an old oak tree with gnarled branches and mottled bark.

"First step, feel it."

He didn't use chakra, only extended a finger and pressed it against the rough trunk. His fingertip slid down the bark without obstruction. "The tree's veins are your path."

Kushina was supposed to stay back and watch, but instead she stepped forward until her shoulder nearly brushed his arm.

Ryo's hand froze midair, his eyes narrowing slightly. The sudden closeness was deliberate.

"What are you doing?"

Kushina stiffened under the weight of his tone, but she didn't back down. She took a breath, puffed herself up, and declared, "To get a clearer look! How else am I supposed to learn?"

Without waiting for his reply, she copied his movement, pressing her finger against the bark. "Like this, right?"

Her voice was edged with defiance, her fingertip landing close to where his had been.

Ryo studied her, his gaze unreadable. For a moment, only the rustling of leaves and Kushina's quickened breath filled the field.

"Fine. Since you're this close, pay attention."

He tapped another groove in the bark with precision. "Feel the flow. Don't force your chakra. Guide it. That's the difference between control and waste."

Kushina clenched her jaw, nodding quickly. "I'll get it right this time."

Mimicking him, she held her breath, concentrating her chakra slowly at her fingertips.

A faint blue glow lit up, flickering with unstable fluctuations.

"Flow. Adhere." Ryo's low voice gave the command, his gaze fixed tightly on the glow of her chakra.

Her control was crude.

The faint blue light flickered on and off, dancing like a drunkard at her fingertips. Let alone flowing like water, even keeping it stable was strenuous.

She pressed her finger against the bark, attempting to mimic Ryo's smooth, unhindered touch.

"Buzz." The chakra, like a small bird hitting an iron plate, suddenly trembled, emitted a faint whir, then dissipated.

Not even a mark was left on the bark.

"Ah!" Kushina exclaimed in frustration, stamping her foot hard, her canvas gaiter boots thudding against the ground.

"Chakra is superficial, impatient, and unstable." Ryo's verdict was merciless. "Control, rotten."

That word again.

Kushina immediately bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "What rotten! This is my first time seriously learning the Rasengan!"

Her fists clenched, her teeth grinding audibly. She was angry enough to punch the tree, but instead she growled, "I'll prove it!"

Ryo's expression didn't soften. He simply turned toward another trunk and said flatly, "If you can't control it here, practice the basics. Go climb a tree."

Kushina glared, cheeks puffed, but didn't argue further. She stomped toward the nearest large tree.

She kicked off her mud-stained boots with a huff, planting her bare feet firmly on the grass. The morning dew clung to her skin as she flexed her toes, grounding herself.

"Watch carefully," Ryo ordered. "Gather chakra to your soles. Distribute it evenly. Too little, you'll slip. Too much, the bark will tear and you'll fall harder."

"Tch, I know that much!" Kushina shot back, but she bent down, focusing as she gathered chakra at her feet.

The gravel on the training ground dug into her feet, but her smugness soared like it had wings.

She glanced sideways at Ryo, who stood with his arms crossed.

She clung to a thick tree trunk high off the ground, held there purely by chakra on her right foot.

She deliberately paused for two seconds, building anticipation.

Then, her left foot slowly lifted, moving so sluggishly it looked like a slow-motion close-up.

Her toes finally pressed lightly against the rough bark, a faint thud sounding unusually soft.

A tiny, triumphant tsk escaped her throat, smugness overflowing in her expression.

The next second, her foot landed on empty air.

Creak. Snap.

The thick branch beneath her suddenly broke. The groan of the rotten wood sounded like it was mocking her failure.

"Ah!" Her short scream was torn apart by the wind.

The sky tumbled violently, the coarse, sandy ground lunging up before her eyes.

It's over. Kushina closed her eyes in despair.

The expected crash never came.

The whistling wind suddenly stilled, and an overwhelming force abruptly clamped around her waist.

Bang.

Her back slammed into a scorching wall, Ryo's chest.

Through the thin training uniform, the heat made Kushina jolt.

What flooded her senses next was the heartbeat deep within his chest, steady and powerful, each beat echoing through her spine.

Kushina opened her eyes in alarm, her gaze colliding with Ryo's hard, clenched jawline, which still held a trace of surprise he hadn't had time to hide.

Her waist was encircled by one of his arms. His other hand firmly cradled her right knee, his grip steady and unyielding.

Her left foot hung uselessly in the air, inches from his face.

The air instantly froze.

The rustling of leaves stopped. The birdsong ceased.

The entire training ground seemed drained of sound, leaving only the rhythm of two heartbeats, loud and heavy in the silence.

Every stiff line of their bodies, every rise and fall of their chests, was clear.

Where her waist met him, it was all taut, solid muscle. His hand on her knee carried undeniable strength.

The sudden closeness overwhelmed Kushina. Embarrassment rushed through her body, wiping away all her earlier smugness.

"Still… not… letting go!" she said quickly, trying to cover her fluster.

Ryo finally released her and set her back on the ground, steady and controlled.

Kushina wobbled before regaining her balance. She glanced at him, saw his slightly awkward expression, and felt her own face heat up.

Then, unable to hold it in, she suddenly laughed.

"Pfft hahaha!" Her crisp, bright laugh startled birds from the branches above.

Ryo looked at her sudden laughter and felt speechless. "Alright, that's enough for today. See you later." He disappeared into the edge of the forest in a few bounds.

Training ended there.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 39: Cold And Hard

Kushina's crisp, bright laughter hadn't quite faded even after Ryo's figure had already disappeared into the edge of the dense forest.

Kushina held one hand to her stomach, which ached from laughing, and rested the other casually on the rough trunk of the large tree that had nearly caused her fall.

The burning heat on her face hadn't receded, a blush like a ripe cherry tomato spreading from her cheeks all the way to her delicate earlobes.

She took several deep breaths of the air, fragrant with the scent of grass, before she managed to suppress the triumphant euphoria that had been crashing wildly in her chest.

The skin-to-skin contact in that instant had made her heart tremble with heat, filling her with an unprecedented sense of fulfillment.

Mikoto truly was a genius!

…

Meanwhile…

In the Hokage's office, the light was mostly blocked by heavy curtains, leaving only a dim, yellow glow from an antique chandelier above the desk area, illuminating the swirling smoke in shadowy relief.

Hiruzen sat in a large chair, the soft light of the crystal ball reflecting on his deeply furrowed face.

At this moment, the sphere no longer displayed the training ground but the scene of Kushina and Ryo's practice, and that sudden "body slam" lingered in everyone's minds, silently exerting pressure.

A suffocating, almost palpable tension hung in the air, thick enough to condense into droplets.

The Third Hokage "clacked, clacked" on his pipe, the sound particularly rough and grating in the silence, as grey smoke continuously spiraled upward.

To his left sat Utatane Koharu, her face stern and unyielding.

"Hiruzen!" Utatane Koharu could no longer contain herself. Her plump finger stabbed toward the crystal ball, her voice sharp and shrill, her face pale with anger.

"How much longer will you indulge her?! Uzumaki Kushina is the future Nine-Tails Jinchuriki! The village's most important strategic weapon!" She was practically roaring, spittle almost splattering onto the crystal ball.

"Look! Look at how she's behaving! Flirting and getting entangled with that Ryo! Is this the temperament a weapon should have? A Jinchuriki should not get involved in such romantic entanglements! Their hearts must be as cold and hard as stone! What's more—"

She abruptly turned to Mitokado Homura, the fire in her eyes burning hot. "You and I both know how dangerous it is when a Jinchuriki gives birth! Even a slight emotional fluctuation could lead to utter disaster! Who will bear that risk?!"

Her chest heaved violently, her agitation boiling over.

Mitokado Homura pushed up his glasses, which had slid down his nose, his brow furrowing slightly, but his voice remained calm: "Koharu, you are being overly emotional. Are you unaware of Ryo's identity? Tsunade's direct disciple, someone approved and personally appointed by Mito-sama, a direct descendant of the Hokage lineage. Teaching Kushina and enhancing the Jinchuriki's combat power is Mito-sama's intention, and also a guarantee of the village's safety. Besides, Kushina is still young, pure of heart. When young people interact, a few minor incidents do not mean anything."

"Incidents? Homura, are you blind?" Utatane Koharu's voice trembled with rage as she pointed at the two figures in the crystal ball. "Look at Ryo! Was that moment when he grabbed the Jinchuriki's waist an accident?! And now! Look at him…"

"Enough!"

The Third Hokage brought his pipe down hard on the edge of the table with a dull thud, forcefully suppressing Utatane Koharu's simmering anger.

"Mito-sama has her own considerations!" His gaze, sharp as a blade, swept over Utatane Koharu's indignant face.

"Ryo teaching Kushina to train and strengthen her abilities, allowing her to better adapt to her future role, is precisely what we want to see! As for emotions…"

He choked slightly on his smoke, his tone becoming meaningful. "That is also part of a bond. A strong bond is what can truly restrain a Tailed Beast."

In the depths of Hiruzen's eyes, a hint of weariness and calculation flickered, which even he himself did not wish to dwell on.

That chaotic scene in the crystal ball, the boy's clumsy panic and the girl's bright laughter, was too dazzling, piercing through some unspoken pretenses.

He even involuntarily thought of Mito's words, cold to the point of ruthlessness: sacrifice and control are always paramount.

His gaze refocused on the image in the crystal ball, where traces of blue chakra still lingered—the residue left by a Rasengan cast without hand signs.

A subtle glint, hard to detect, flashed deep in his eyes.

"You may leave."

Compared to those minor details, the Third Hokage paid more attention to that ninjutsu, the Rasengan executed without hand signs.

Utatane Koharu's chest rose and fell violently, her face alternating between red and white. Finally, under the oppressive gaze of Hiruzen, she stomped her foot and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Mitokado Homura gave the crystal ball a deep look before silently withdrawing.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 40: Training Continues

Several months passed, and in the exclusive training ground deep within the Forest of Death, time seemed compressed and ignited by an invisible hand.

"Hey! Ryo! Take this!" A clear, laughing voice broke through the morning mist.

Kushina, like red lightning, leapt from a branch, her training shoe whistling through the air toward Ryo's face. The angle wasn't complicated, but the speed and power already rivaled most Chūnin.

Ryo didn't even lift an eyelid. His body had already calculated the trajectory.

He sidestepped, twisted his waist, and his left hand, like an iron clamp, caught Kushina's slender but powerful ankle.

There was no wasted motion. His strength was measured and controlled, deflecting the attack with ease.

But Kushina never aimed to land a simple kick.

The instant he grabbed her ankle, her body spun with momentum, like a vine twisting in the wind. Her other leg swept toward his knee joint with fierce spiraling force.

The movement was fluid, carrying a faint breeze. Her shifting center of gravity brought her soft waist nearly brushing his chest.

Bang!

A dull thud echoed.

The strike was stopped cleanly, Ryo standing solid as a rooted tree.

But Kushina wasn't done.

Her blocked leg bent suddenly, her knee driving toward his lower abdomen.

The distance closed instantly.

He could see beads of sweat on her nose, his own frown reflected in her light blue eyes, the way she bit her lip in concentration.

Her breath rushed against him, carrying the scent of morning dew, sweat, and the stubborn vitality of a girl who never held back.

Ryo didn't retreat.

His abs tightened. His grip on her ankle pulled sharply downward toward his chest.

At the same time, he leaned back slightly, narrowly dodging the sharp knee strike with the smallest motion possible.

Kushina's ankle stayed locked in his grip, and her own momentum sent her stumbling forward, her balance gone.

"Ahn~" Her cry carried three parts panic, seven parts mischief.

Ryo's pupils narrowed. That sound was planned.

Before she could really fall, his arm jerked upward, hauling her half a foot off the ground. The movement gave her just enough time to regain balance.

Kushina's other foot touched down lightly. She twisted in mid-air like a red butterfly and landed steady.

Both of them let out a quiet breath.

The air between them tightened again.

Kushina stood still, her ankle tingling with the memory of his grip, the strength and rough calluses on his palm. Even through her sock, the sensation spread up her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

And she noticed the pause—the fraction of hesitation before he let go. That wasn't the motion of someone simply blocking.

Her eyes locked on him.

Ryo had already released her and turned away, grabbing a water bottle and drinking with sharp, deliberate gulps.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, his movements forceful, as if smothering something. His broad back, muscles taut under the thin black training uniform, faced her.

"Reckless. Charging in close with no stable footing?"

But Kushina caught the faint roughness in his tone.

She stepped closer, tilting her head with a sly smile. "What's there to be afraid of? Ryo-sensei caught me, didn't he?"

Her tone was teasing, her eyes sharp like a fox. "And… you didn't dodge just now, did you? Think my move was good?"

She tiptoed, closing the gap further, her scent of sweat and sunshine almost brushing against his neck.

Ryo's hand froze mid-drink.

He turned suddenly, their faces nearly colliding.

The distance shrank to dangerous proximity.

Kushina's heart skipped a beat.

His black eyes, close enough to drown her, burned like a suppressed volcano and froze like a bottomless abyss all at once, overwhelming in their intensity.

Time paused.

Only the forest breeze remained, and their breathing, hers quick, his measured.

Then Ryo let out a faint "hmph," an unimpressed nasal sound.

He raised his hand and flicked her forehead, not hard, not soft.

"Ow!" Kushina yelped, covering her forehead and hopping back. Her cheeks puffed out. "You block of wood! That hurt!"

"Serves you right," Ryo said flatly. The overwhelming pressure from earlier vanished, leaving only his usual sternness. "If you've got the energy for stupid tricks, put it into your pathetic Rasengan practice."

He reached for another bottle of water.

Kushina didn't feel discouraged by his remarks.

Her inner self cheered wildly. Mikoto didn't lie. This so-called block of wood was changing, bit by bit.

He didn't dodge, didn't shove her away, and even flicked her forehead with an almost casual familiarity.

That was progress.

(To be continued.)

...

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Chapter 7: Chapter 41-45

Chapter 41: Hand-Holding Practice?

The training props Ryo prepared were all laid out: tough water balloons and stronger rubber balls. Each stage was an extreme test of chakra "quality" and "control."

Kushina's chakra reserves were vast, but in the balance of "refinement" and "precision," she was still an unpolished gem.

The first stage, breaking water balloons, gave her plenty of trouble.

Her chakra release was unstable. Sometimes the water wouldn't budge, other times she forced it too hard, making the balloon burst and soak her. Each time, Ryo's evaluation was merciless: "Useless."

Her light blue eyes would immediately well up with tears, staring at him with an aggrieved look. "Who's useless… I'm just trying to get a feel for it… Can't you encourage me?"

Wanting to give her a little taste of her own medicine, Ryo walked a few steps closer with a blank expression, pointing at the deflated water balloon in her hand. "A feel? The water flow is chaotic. Chakra is spilling in at least three places. Is that your version of control?"

His tone was flat, but his gaze cut straight through her watery look.

Though his eyes betrayed faint ripples deep inside, his expression remained calm and unshaken.

"You…" Kushina faltered, her tears drying instantly as she glared at him in frustration.

But just as she was about to try again, Ryo spoke. "The chakra on the left is scattered. Pull back three parts of the force to your palm. Try again."

Kushina froze, but followed his instruction instinctively.

Buzz… the water flow inside the balloon instantly became far more orderly and violent.

Though it still burst in the end, the process was clearly different.

"It seems… I'm getting a feel for it?" Kushina's eyes lit up.

This scene repeated itself often.

Kushina's Rasengan training advanced rapidly, from water balloons to rubber balls. Each breakthrough came with her feigned complaints and Ryo's sharp critiques, paired with precise corrections.

A silent understanding grew behind the words "useless" and "clumsy."

Now, Kushina stood at the final stage.

On a thick tree trunk, there was a bowl-sized indentation.

The central fibers were spirally torn apart, curling inward.

The edges were charred, and remnants of violent chakra still lingered.

This was Kushina's Rasengan (prototype) result—though not yet stable, its destructive power was undeniable.

"See Ryo! I told you I could do it!" Kushina's face was flushed with excitement, sweat glistening on her forehead. She tilted her head back proudly, chin raised at Ryo, who leaned against another trunk with crossed arms.

Sweat slid down her neckline, catching the sunlight.

Ryo's gaze swept across the spiral mark. A flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes, gone in an instant. "So-so." The words were short, stingy as ever. He stepped forward, stopping before her.

His tall frame cast a shadow, carrying the smell of soil and fresh leaves.

Kushina's heartbeat quickened. Was it going to be more close-range instruction?

But Ryo simply extended his right hand, palm open, pointing at her. "Release. Focus your chakra."

Kushina froze. Condense a Rasengan against his palm? That was harder than hitting a tree. The smaller target demanded tighter control.

"Scared?" Ryo raised an eyebrow.

"Who's scared!" Kushina snapped back, her competitive fire instantly flaring. She inhaled deeply, concentrating. A pale blue chakra glow spun in her hand, compressing, condensing into a fist-sized unstable sphere.

It hummed loudly, light flickering, edges leaking unstable chakra threads.

"Unstable form. Weak compression." Ryo's voice came from beside her, his breath brushing her temple.

Kushina's expression tightened as she tried to stabilize the chakra. But the harder she pressed, the more unstable it became, spinning violently, threatening to explode. Sweat rolled down her forehead, sliding along the bridge of her nose.

Just as the Rasengan nearly burst apart—

A large hand pressed firmly over hers.

Scalding. Steady. Powerful.

Not an attack, but an unyielding hold over her palm, locking her chakra in place like iron.

Buzz!

Kushina's mind went blank.

It wasn't the chakra that exploded—it was her pulse, her breath, her blood. The heat from his palm shot up her arm like fire, slamming into her chest.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The volatile chakra sphere froze for an instant.

She could feel the roughness of his calluses, the hardness of his muscles, every detail of his grip.

That searing touch was more direct, more forceful, more overwhelming than any accidental contact before.

"The core is here, not scattered." Ryo's voice was low and steady, guiding rather than coaxing.

His fingers shifted slightly against the back of her hand, controlling the chaotic flow with ease, steering its energy as if it were his own.

Kushina stood frozen.

Her cheeks, neck, and ears flushed crimson. Blood roared under her skin.

A thought screamed in her head: He's doing this on purpose!

"Focus." Ryo's sharp command cut through her haze. His grip tightened, pulling her hand inward.

The force of his control was absolute.

Her stray thoughts scattered instantly, dragged back to the Rasengan in her palm.

Under his firm hold, the violent chakra, like a flood meeting its dam, suddenly found its path.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 42: Release the Hand Already

The light suddenly intensified.

Then, like a tamed wild horse, it converged, collapsed, and condensed in an instant.

A smaller, brighter, but extremely contained and terrifyingly stable pure blue energy sphere appeared in the center of their tightly clasped palms.

It was no longer a turbulent nebula, but a miniature storm core, compressed to the extreme and packed with destructive force.

It spun at high speed, emitting a deep, powerful hum. The surrounding air was compressed so tightly that a visible transparent vortex formed.

It was done.

A stable, condensed prototype of the Rasengan.

"Do not let it dissipate." Ryo's voice was low, with a hint of barely perceptible tension.

His hand still firmly covered hers, as if they were sharing this dangerous energy sphere.

Kushina completely forgot about the Rasengan itself.

All her senses were occupied by that astonishingly hot hand enveloping hers, guiding her.

His breath brushed her hair as he spoke, the subtle pressure of his chest almost against her back, all of it burned into her senses.

Her body trembled slightly, not from fear, but from this unprecedented, heart-racing, blood-stirring closeness.

Could he feel it? What would he think?

Time seemed to stretch endlessly.

The training ground was silent, with only the deep, steady hum of the Rasengan and the increasingly clear heartbeats of the two, intertwined and almost indistinguishable. Thump, thump, thump…

Like two birds trapped in a small cage, colliding and trying to break free.

This damned tacit understanding.

Ryo clearly felt the delicate, searing warmth of the back of her hand, and the slight sweat from tension.

The air felt thick like honey, sweet and suffocating, with a hidden thrill.

No one spoke, no one moved.

Ryo's gaze stayed on their joined hands and the incredibly stable Rasengan.

Kushina lowered her head, her flushed cheeks almost buried in her chest, but her senses were like antennae, frantically catching his breath, his warmth, and the pressure of his hand.

He had not let go. He had not pushed her away.

This realization shot through her like an electric current, leaving her dizzy with delight.

In the end, the Rasengan's own energy consumption broke the stillness.

Maintaining a stable form required immense mental focus, and Kushina, having just mastered it, could not sustain it for long.

The stable blue light flickered.

Ryo reacted instantly.

"That's enough."

He spoke quietly, and at the same time, his hand finally left the back of hers.

In an instant, the scorching heat in her palm vanished. A strong sense of loss, mixed with the relief of release, surged into her chest.

Kushina felt a chill on the back of her hand. The sensation of being enveloped, guided, and controlled was withdrawn, leaving only cool air and clear sweat. Was it hers, or his as well?

She pulled back her still trembling hand, almost reluctantly.

The condensed Rasengan lost its final support. Its light flashed and went out, dissolving into specks of blue that faded into the air.

Ryo stepped back, keeping a safe distance.

"The form is there, but the duration is too short. Refinement and instant burst are lacking." His voice returned to calm.

"Keep practicing. Do not get cocky just because you got it once."

Kushina, blushing, couldn't look straight at Ryo, but she felt her heart like a tipped honey pot.

He held my hand for so long and did not pull away.

A surge of accomplishment mixed with sweetness made her want to scream.

She did not snap back or tease like before. She raised the hand he had covered and gently clenched her fist, as if the heat still lingered.

A soft, proud smile appeared on her face. Her voice was clear.

"Got it, Ryo-sensei. I won't let you look down on me." That "sensei" no longer carried teasing or malice, but a sweet, sticky undertone only they understood.

The scent of sweat from their training still hung in the air, and invisible threads were already quietly coiling, drawing the two figures closer.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 43: Graduation Day

Just as Ryo and Kushina were in their ambiguous back-and-forth, time flew by.

Graduation season arrived.

The relationship between Ryo and Kushina was stuck at the critical point of being more than friends but less than lovers.

On the day of the graduation exam, the heat wave was so intense it felt like smoke was rising from the cracks in people's bones.

The air at the Konoha Ninja Academy training ground was so heavy it seemed filled with lead dust, and every breath hurt the lungs.

Cicadas screamed in the trees, each shrill cry slicing through the oppressive silence like a death warrant.

The center of the grounds, under the July noon sun, was a blinding pale white that made people dizzy.

Everyone in the stands twisted their necks to stare at the figure at the edge. Wearing the Hokage's robe and puffing on a pipe, it was none other than Sarutobi Hiruzen.

His presence was a needle to the heart of the crowd. Whispers boiled like oil doused with cold water, crackling twice before dying in their throats, leaving a silence choked by awe.

"The Third… is he really here?"

"Idiot. This class has his disciple's disciple, Namikaze Minato, and that… monster Ryo."

The buzzing died completely when Sarutobi Hiruzen's indifferent gaze swept over them.

All attention turned to the two figures in the arena.

Namikaze Minato stood under the scorching sun.

His golden hair flashed sharply.

He stood straight as a javelin. Deep in his blue pupils, like charcoal sealed in a furnace for two years, a fire burned fiercely, finally breaking through the lid to lock onto the target opposite him.

His lips were pressed tight and pale. A faint tremor traced his jawline. It was not fear, but the humiliation and resentment of more than a dozen crushing defeats over the past two years, piled like a mountain and finally finding a crack to explode through.

The name carved into his bones—Kamiyama Ryo.

An iceberg that never melted hung over his "genius" title. The shadow was so deep it made him breathless.

Every time.

He gave everything every time. The result?

The outcome never changed. He was always the one on the ground, face bruised and swollen.

That bottomless despair had almost dragged him into the abyss countless times.

Not to mention…

Minato's eyes, like a snake's, could not help but drift to the sidelines.

Fiery red, like a flame.

Kushina stood on tiptoe, trying to stuff a candy into Ryo's pocketed hand. Her little face was flushed, stubborn to the end.

Ryo's face was expressionless, like a white porcelain mask. The hand in his pocket did not move, not even a fingertip.

She felt it was not enough, waved her little fist, and gestured angrily.

Finally, Ryo flicked her hand away, impatient. She exploded, jumping up to pounce and strangle his arm.

Ryo simply extended a slender finger and pressed it lightly against her sweaty forehead, like flipping a spring switch.

The red-haired chili pepper could only stand there, madly punching the air, unable to reach him.

But her sea-blue eyes stayed on Ryo, filled with pure, blazing joy and dependence, so strong it seemed to burn.

Phew.

Minato's heart felt pierced by a poisoned scorpion's sting, the pain spreading through his blood.

He suddenly turned away and took a deep breath of hot air, his throat stinging.

His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms.

Uzumaki Kushina.

He had chewed on that name in his mind for two whole years.

Her gaze, her smile, every bit of that fierce vitality… would always, always be alive only for Ryo.

No matter how much progress Minato made or how many praises he received from the instructor, in Uzumaki Kushina's ocean-blue eyes, he would always be just the long, blurry, insignificant shadow cast by Ryo on the ground.

Today was not just about winning or losing.

Today, he would shatter the iceberg in his heart and drag that damned dignity out of the shadows.

He had to win.

Otherwise, he would never escape this demon barrier in his lifetime.

At the other end of the arena, the atmosphere was completely different.

Ryo's tall frame leaned lazily against a low wooden post at the edge of the training ground, like he was lounging on the porch at home.

His fiery red hair covered half his forehead. His eyelids drooped, half open, half closed. Through the narrow slits, his gaze was empty, unreadable.

The stares, the whispers, even the exploding battle intent, seemed separated by thick glass, unrelated to him.

It was the complete laziness born from crushing everything.

A graduation exam today, just a stamp on a useless academy life.

It was rare for his real self to show up in the past two years. The one sitting in class every day was only a shadow clone to deal with school.

If Minato knew, his worldview might collapse.

As for the flames in Minato's eyes, Ryo felt they were less annoying than the cicadas dying above his head.

Ryo knew the original timeline. This yellow-haired kid would be an incredible Fourth Hokage. For the village, he would sacrifice himself and his wife.

A hero.

On that point, Ryo acknowledged it, and still found it unpleasant.

It was dangerous. A man ruthless enough to include himself in the collateral.

Ryo knew himself. He was a practiced egoist who protected only his own.

Otherwise, why did he not apply for early graduation, or just let a shadow clone handle the academy?

Because Ryo had no intention of becoming anyone's tool.

For Konoha?

For the Will of Fire?

Ridiculous.

Get close to Namikaze Minato?

He was not some clueless cosplayer ignoring reality.

He had a system.

The Strongest Legacy System.

He did not need to cling to anyone.

That yellow-haired kid with spiky hair?

At best, a strong passerby.

He had no time to think about him, and no interest in a second look.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 44: Minato’s Killer Combo

"Kamiyama Ryo! Namikaze Minato!"

Kimura Shū's voice cut through the stuffy air, a hoarseness in his throat like a string about to snap.

Minato's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the bitterness rising in his chest, his eyes suddenly sharp.

Each step he took on the ground sounded like a heavy war drum, pounding on everyone's hearts and making their scalps tingle.

And Ryo?

Lazily, he straightened his back from the wooden stake and slowly walked into the center of the field.

His hands?

Still buried deep in the pockets of his black pants.

That casual air was like taking a stroll after dinner to help digestion.

"Both sides, form the Confrontation Seal!" Kimura Shū's voice trembled, almost cracking at the end.

Minato's expression was solemn, his movements precise. His right thumb pressed against his index finger, left palm turned upward, forming a standard Confrontation Seal. Like a believer receiving an oracle, sacred and dignified.

Ryo paused.

His right hand finally, reluctantly, painfully slowly slid out of his pocket.

No hand seals, no killing aura.

He simply raised his arm half-heartedly, flicked his index finger with his thumb nail, the motion casual and even insulting.

Countless gazes locked onto that lazy motion.

Uchiha Mikoto stood just behind Kushina, silent like a shadow.

She tilted her head slightly, making space for Kushina's excitedly swaying red hair. Her gaze fell on Ryo's fingertip movement, so casual it seemed unreal.

Her delicate face was calm and unruffled.

But beneath her dark sleeves, her hands gripped her clothes so hard that the fabric was deeply indented, her knuckles turning bloodless white.

And Kushina?

Her excitement was like insects crawling through her veins. She rubbed her palms together, her small mouth opening and closing silently. "Ryo! Victory!" The lip movement was clear.

Seeing her closest companion pour out such pure, almost worshipful fervor toward that figure's back…

An indescribable bitterness swelled in Mikoto's chest, sour and aching.

That towering figure, sharp like a blade, hadn't he also left an unforgettable mark in her naive heart, keeping her awake at night?

In youth, who didn't have a first love?

But he could only be Kushina's sun.

Mikoto forced that inappropriate flutter down with all her strength, turning her head toward the swaying tree shadows in the distance.

Only by suppressing the storm in her chest with icy self-control could she keep her face expressionless.

"Begin!"

Kimura Shū's sharp shout was like a fuse lit, sparks instantly igniting.

The spot where Minato had stood blurred, erased like chalk under an eraser.

His figure dissolved.

Only golden shockwave ripples remained, his terrifying speed tearing the air apart.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Ear-splitting sonic booms!

Almost at the same time, three figures appeared, each with golden light and killing intent, lunging at Ryo from the front, left, and right like poisoned golden arrows fired from a giant crossbow.

Kage Bunshin! The clones carried the same chakra fluctuations as the original. No delay, perfect coordination.

A flawless execution, using shadow clones to their maximum potential in real combat.

"Three! There are three Minatos!"

"Damn! That's more than twice as fast as last month!"

"Kage Bunshin can be used like this? I'll be damned!"

The stands exploded in shouts of shock, students craning their necks, eyes bulging.

The assault only grew fiercer.

The three lunging Minatos left golden afterimages in mid-air. Their four arms had already split into six blurs of light.

A violent crimson aura of Fire Style.

A sharp azure edge of Wind Style.

Both almost simultaneously enveloped their arms, fire snakes wildly dancing on their left, wind blades forming on their right. No hand seals. Pure chakra nature manipulation.

"Fire!" The central Minato roared.

The crimson chakra on his left arm compressed into a blazing fireball, the size of a head, its destructive heat roaring through the air like a meteor straight at Ryo's face. The air twisted violently, the smell of burning filling the field.

"Wind!" The clone on the left overlapped his shout.

The azure chakra condensed into a terrifying wind cone, small as a bowl's mouth, shrieking like a soul-chasing poisoned needle, shooting at Ryo's waist. Its trajectory intersected perfectly with the fireball's outer edge.

Whoosh—Boom!

The compressed wind cone slammed into the crimson fireball, instantly detonating it several times over. The crimson burst into a blinding white blaze that seemed capable of incinerating everything.

A destructive shockwave of white fire mixed with countless wind blades, like a giant net of death. The hellish wind and fire swallowed everything in front and to the left of Ryo.

Scorching heat waves distorted vision.

And just as that blinding light devoured sight—

The clone on the right vanished, his body dissolving into the scorching air like a ghost, leaving no trace.

The real killing blow was hidden behind the incandescent curtain. A stealth strike, a perfect feint.

Minato had displayed the extreme of his current strength from the start: overwhelming taijutsu speed, clone feints, and the fused use of Fire and Wind chakra.

This was no longer the level of a mere academy graduate.

The stands fell silent.

Every spectator was frozen, unable to breathe.

Even Hiruzen's hand holding his pipe paused. His cloudy old eyes fixed on the center of that raging wind-and-fire hell, on the red-haired boy who still seemed motionless.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 45: Desperate Trump Card

"Beautiful! That combo is flawless!"

"Wind-Fire Combo! Overpowered! Is it beyond C-rank already?"

"All blind spots sealed! There's even a killer move hidden behind! Minato-kun… is too strong!"

On the training ground, gasps erupted like waves.

All the students watched with flushed faces, completely ignited by Namikaze Minato's precise tactics and fierce offensive.

On the high platform, Hiruzen finally let a faint smile curl on his lips, the smoke from his pipe curling upwards.

A cold glint flashed in his eyes, carrying a trace of imperceptible appreciation. Good kid. Perfect timing, chakra control is flowing smoothly. Jiraiya finally did something right. This talent, this calmness… he's a good prospect.

On the field, the situation shifted in an instant.

The scorching white fireball, capable of devouring everything, and the violent wind blade tearing through the air roared like demons, threatening to shred the lone red-haired figure in the center of the arena, Ryo, into ashes. Not even dust left behind.

A hair's breadth away. Life hanging by a thread.

Ryo moved.

Facing an overwhelming combination that would trouble even a Jōnin, he merely raised his right hand.

That's right.

The very hand that hadn't received candy from Kushina, the one always kept in his pocket, stayed in his pocket.

He simply used his free left hand, raising it casually.

Fingers spread, palm forward.

No dazzling hand seals.

No complex jutsu.

He didn't even bother changing his expression.

Boom!

An earth-shattering roar.

The ground beneath his feet trembled violently.

The twin dragons of wind and fire slammed into the air in front of Ryo's palm.

Where was the expected gruesome scene of flesh flying, bones snapping, blood spraying?

Nowhere.

The furious energy, enough to seriously wound a Jōnin, slammed into an invisible, mountain-heavy barrier.

Shockwaves. Explosions. Scorching heat that could melt steel. Razor wind blades that could cut a man into ribbons. All of it was nailed in place by an absolute, immovable force in front of that palm. Not an inch advanced.

All the students' eyes nearly popped out.

Ryo's hand was steady as an ancient boulder. Space itself twisted and compressed around his open palm.

The roaring flames and shrieking wind blades fought desperately, yet couldn't even stir a ripple against the domain formed by monstrous chakra and his terrifying body.

Why? Because he was strong enough.

He hadn't been pummeled by Tsunade-hime's fists for nothing these past two years.

That experience, being beaten half to death, had long since taught him how to use brute strength violently.

On top of that was the physique inherited from Shanks, and the abyss-like sea of chakra inside him.

Quantity had long since become quality. It had sublimated.

What ninjutsu? What tactics?

In the face of absolute power, all of it was paper.

"Empty… empty-handed… he blocked it?!"

"Shit! That's a B-rank combination ninjutsu! He pressed it down with one hand?!"

The stands erupted. This time it wasn't admiration, but fear. Gasps of cold air echoed one after another. Many girls' faces turned pale.

As the explosion smoke and blinding flames formed a blazing curtain, the true killing move came.

A figure as fast as golden lightning tore through the smoke like a phantom.

From Ryo's blind spot, the rear right corner, where the clone had disappeared before, it struck with a piercing attack.

Only now did they realize—this was the real body. Minato's real body.

That devastating wind and fire assault just now?

A feint. All of it was a feint, just to create this fatal strike.

The moment the enemy "hard-counters" a frontal ultimate move, drained of strength, unable to respond with new power… that was the instant to kill.

Minato's body turned into a golden streak.

Speed, surpassing his limits.

The kunai in his hand was no longer ordinary steel.

A violent, eerie blue lightning glow wrapped tightly around the blade, crackling, hissing with a shriek that stabbed into the heart.

Lightning Release: Ground Flash!

Not a jutsu, but pure destructive lightning compressed and bound to the kunai, forged into one killing strike.

An earth-shattering stab.

This was his trump card, his final defiance.

Two years of grueling training.

Two years of humiliation.

Kushina's sparkling eyes whenever she looked at Ryo.

All of it turned into a silent roar in Minato's chest, driving this strike. Ryo, be defeated! I will shatter the wall that is you!

The kunai tip, carrying lightning that could pierce everything, condensed all of Minato's spirit and rage, all his hope.

The timing and angle were flawless. Ruthless. Directly aimed at the unguarded back of Ryo's heart.

In Minato's eyes, the light of victory burst brilliantly. I won! This time…

But.

Just as the lightning-wrapped kunai tip brushed the fibers of Ryo's shirt, the warmth of his body close beneath—

Ryo's body, steady as a mountain, didn't shift an inch.

Only the bronzed muscle of his back, the suffocatingly thick latissimus dorsi, rippled once.

The next second.

Clang! Crackle-crackle!

There was no sound of flesh pierced.

Only a hideous screech that set teeth on edge, like a rusty saw grinding on indestructible alloy.

The kunai tip, forged from Minato's will, wrapped in lightning, bent instantly. The edge curled. The blade ruined.

And then—

The compressed Lightning Release chakra, lethal enough to kill a Jōnin in a flash?

Pop.

Like a bubble crushed by an invisible hand, it vanished.

The eerie blue sparks scattered instantly, gone without a trace.

Boom.

The light of determination and two years of burning will in Minato's eyes shattered like fragile glass.

In its place, overwhelming astonishment, helpless confusion, and a freezing despair, like falling endlessly into an abyss.

How… is… that… possible?!

Minato's mind was blank, only those words echoing in the void.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 8: Chapter 46-50

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Chapter 46: Casual Toss

Snap!

A cold, hard sensation, like an iron clamp seizing his wrist, shot through him. Excruciating pain flared.

Ryo's hand, the same one that had just crushed the kunai and lightning, had at some unknown point, like a ghost, already wrapped around from behind him, moving faster than Minato's nerves could react.

Precise. Ruthless. It locked onto the pulse point of his outstretched wrist.

Five fingers tightened.

Immovable, as if welded shut.

Minato felt his entire arm, half his body, instantly locked by an unimaginable, irresistible force. He had become a matchstick cast into a ten-thousand-ton steel ingot.

Ryo did not even bother to fully turn his head.

He merely tilted his face slightly, almost dismissively, as if shooing a fly, glancing back with his peripheral vision.

Then, the hand gripping Minato's wrist, it was not a technique.

He simply, contemptuously, threw it downward, like tossing a bag of trash.

"Ugh!" A terrifying, unreasonable force, like a bursting celestial river, surged through Minato's body.

"Wah!" Agonizing pain exploded in his chest and abdomen. His bones felt instantly crushed. His strength drained in an instant. He truly felt like a broken sack.

Whoosh, boom.

Crack. Clang.

His body flew like a cannonball, slamming into a solid wooden stake as thick as a bowl, used to reinforce the training ground. The stake burst apart with a resounding crack, splinters shooting like shrapnel.

He then smashed into the hard ground without mercy.

Bang.

Dust billowed like a small sandstorm. A shallow pit was gouged out of the earth.

"Cough, cough… pfft…" Minato curled at the bottom of the pit, as disheveled as a dying wild dog, coughing continuously. Blood foam mixed with sweat. Dirt and blood from a cut on his forehead smeared half his once-handsome face.

Everything hurt. His bones groaned. His internal organs felt displaced. A despair, cold to the marrow, spread through his body like poison.

Again, defeated.

No suspense. No dignity. A crushing defeat, trampled underfoot.

Two years of desperate training, day and night sweat and conviction, looked so pathetic, so ridiculous under that casual throw.

The humiliating images of his past dozen failures flashed uncontrollably through his mind like a tide.

Each time Ryo's "clone" looked at him with that indifferen gaze, like at a roadside pebble or dust. Each time he fell, the whispers or mocking chuckles, real or imagined, in his ears.

All that unwillingness, all that accumulation, collapsed under this cold reality, almost grinding his will into dust.

In front of Ryo, he was always a clown, a prancing clown.

Especially in front of her, in front of Kushina.

Hiruzen's pipe paused at his lips.

Wreaths of blue smoke hung for a moment.

His worldly, wise eyes stared solemnly at the red-haired Ryo standing in the center, who had ended the battle with an understatement. Then his gaze swept to Minato coughing blood in the pit, a miserable sight.

Terrifying. A brutish, unreasonable physique, a terrifying chakra reserve, the most basic absolute defense, yet showing the most fundamental power. No hand seals, effortless. Ryo, your talent is inhuman. You are a monster. Minato losing to you is not unfair at all. It is just that the gap is too despairing. I hope it does not shatter the little resilience Minato still has.

As Hokage, a deeper worry settled in Hiruzen's heart, for Minato's state of mind, and even more for the profound potential Ryo displayed, bringing changes even he could not foresee.

"Waaah!"

Just then, a clear cry, filled with explosive joy, like a sharp blade, instantly cut through the dead-silent training ground.

Kushina jumped up from her seat.

Like a lit powder keg, her iconic fiery red hair danced wildly.

Her bright blue eyes shone with extreme excitement and pride that could melt ice.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted with all her strength at Ryo standing like a god in the center.

"See?! I told you Ryo is the strongest! Minato's flashy, sissy tricks are useless! They can't even touch a single hair on Ryo! Ahhh! Ryo! Strongest!"

Her cheeks flushed with excitement, as if she herself had won.

She grabbed Mikoto's arm and shook her madly like a girl who had received her favorite candy, eager to share her joy. "Mikoto! Mikoto, look! I told you Ryo would be fine, didn't I?! Isn't he handsome?! He just went snap like that! He smacked that big fireball and big wind blade and blew them apart! Minato tried a sneak attack? Tsk tsk, he bounced around like a flea and did not even scratch Ryo's skin!"

Mikoto's body tensed the moment Kushina grabbed her.

As if struck by a faint current, then instantly suppressed.

On her fair, beautiful face, the next second, a brilliant smile bloomed, full of "sisterly affection" and surprise, like switching on a perfect mask, enough to intoxicate anyone. "Mhm mhm! I saw it, I saw it! Kushina is absolutely right! Ryo… he is unbelievably strong! Not a normal person at all! Minato-kun… sigh, he really tried his very, very best, and his tactics were perfectly planned… but Ryo… he did not even look serious. The difference is too great."

Her voice was as melodious as a spring, filled with joy and pride for her good friend's beloved.

She even naturally stretched out an arm and embraced Kushina's trembling shoulders, beaming, fully supportive of her good sister.

However.

No one noticed.

In the depths of her obsidian eyes, when her gaze brushed over Ryo's tall, mountain-like figure in the center, a flash of ardent adoration flickered deep within.

"Cough, cough, cough… pfft… cough…" From the shallow pit came harsher, heart-wrenching coughing, filled with pain and the despair of something breaking.

Minato used his only movable elbow to push his upper body from the muddy ground with extreme difficulty and humiliation.

Sweat mixed with blood and mud flowed into his stinging eyes. His vision was a blurry red.

Through the tears and swirling dust, he clearly saw, at the side of the field, that fiery red figure who haunted his dreams now had her back to him.

All her passion, all her excitement, all her dazzling light, was devoted to shaking Uchiha Mikoto, cheering with fanatic joy for the person who had trampled him into the dust and plunged him into the mud.

Cheering for his failure, for his pathetic state, for his bottomless abyss, with unrestrained shouts.

That piercing sound, that posture of cheering, was like a giant chisel smashing through the last wall of his dignity, casting him into an eternal, dark ice prison.

It is over. Everything is over.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 47: Forest Split

The training ground was dead silent.

The air solidified, even the noisiest cicadas went silent.

Everyone, teachers, students, onlookers with snacks, their eyes were fixed on the middle of the field.

Fixed on the thing curled up in that mud pit.

Namikaze Minato.

Sweat, blood, and mud smeared his face. His eyes were swollen to slits, everything he saw tinged with red.

A cough made his throat feel torn from the inside. Every breath was a cramp of bone-deep pain.

"Ugh… cough… pfft…" Bloody foam mixed with mud sprayed out.

He propped himself up on his elbows. His fingernails dug into his palms. Veins throbbed like earthworms under the mud and blood.

Pain? His whole body falling apart?

That was nothing.

What truly burned his heart was humiliation. Two years. Over ten defeats.

That monster, Ryo, did not even bother to lift an eyelid, just casually waved his palm.

"Cough… cough…" Minato stared through the blood-smeared slits at that figure.

That mountain. That nightmare.

Kamiyama Ryo.

Damn it.

He had not even broken a sweat from start to finish.

This was too much.

Hands in his pockets, the same lazy expression as always.

But around him, an invisible pressure. Heavy, cold, making everyone's breathing tight.

"Minato-kun! Give up! Don't, don't force yourself!"

Kimura Shū's voice was sharp and urgent, like a spark.

In an instant, it ignited that barrel of humiliation in Minato's chest that had been suppressed for two years, almost spontaneously combusting.

Force himself? Again, force himself?

I am not a dead last barely scraping by.

"Get out!"

A roar.

A self-destructive, all-consuming fire erupted from his bones. It burned away the pain, burned away reason.

Crack. Clang.

That muddy body was forced upright by a beast-like will. He stood.

"I can fight!"

Bang.

His palms slammed into the bloody mud, exploding it.

Using the force, his muddy body sprang out of the pit in a twisted posture. Like a broken rag doll, swaying, but nailed to the ground. Sweat mixed with blood spattered into the dirt, sizzling.

Those beautiful blue eyes, like the sky, were now blood red. Burning with madness, burning with recklessness. From the look of it, he intended to burn the entire world, along with that monster named Ryo, to ashes.

"Ryo!"

Golden hair flared, burning.

Minato himself became a scorching golden branding iron, shooting out like lightning.

Chakra? He squeezed it out with his life. Veins throbbed, blue sparks hissed under his skin. Retreat? No. Technique? Speed? Defense? All discarded. Just one word, charge.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Every step was a giant stomp. Rocks and dirt burst and rolled. Heavy footsteps beat war drums. Dust billowed, obscuring the sky.

Just a mad bull. Eyes bloodshot, only one thought in his mind, kill him. Even if his body shattered, he would charge.

"Damn it! Minato's gone crazy." Onlooker A was terrified.

"This aura… is he trying to die?!" Onlooker B's voice trembled.

Kushina's faint smile froze harder than ice, a chill rising from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. Even Mikoto had her smile frozen, shock in her eyes impossible to hide.

On the high platform, Hiruzen, puffed on his pipe, brows knotted tight.

At the center of the storm, the one called the monster, Ryo, finally reacted.

Barely perceptibly.

The hand in his right pants pocket did not move.

His left hand rested casually on the Kusanagi at his waist.

Slow.

Extremely slow.

And extremely casual.

That hand, knuckles distinct, seemingly containing endless power, slowly raised the scabbard.

The motion was light and airy, carrying an air of "this is really troublesome."

His eyelids finally opened a sliver.

In the depths of his narrow, empty eyes, a slight ripple appeared.

Like a sesame-sized pebble dropped into a stagnant pool.

His thin lips parted slightly.

The words were few, just three.

"Stubborn and unyielding."

Before the words had even finished, the killing blow arrived.

Minato, burning his life, charged. Five meters. The hot, bloody aura almost sprayed onto Ryo's perpetually calm face.

Ryo's hand on the sheath moved.

Buzz.

Not a slash.

Just a casual, light, even lazy and impatient forward swing at the air.

The blade did not even leave the sheath.

The tip of the sheath sliced out.

Tear.

The air visibly distorted, instantly drained, compressed, and torn by a terrifying force.

Blood light exploded.

A massive crimson slash, condensed like molten magma, appeared out of thin air, erupting from the sheath tip.

Crimson, violent, obscuring the sky.

A terrifying crescent several stories high. The moment it appeared, a tsunami of deathly aura swept out.

Its edges were sharp enough to cut space, to distort light.

Screech.

Silent?

No, it was a shriek so sharp it tore at the soul, flooding everyone's minds. Only the burning red crescent remained on their retinas.

"Holy crap! What was that?!" someone screamed, voice cracking.

"A slash?! No hand seals?! He did not even draw the sword?!" Kimura Shū's eyes almost popped out, his worldview shattered.

That crimson crescent did not cut Minato. It grazed the scalp of the charging Minato.

Boom.

An indescribable, irresistible shockwave, like an invisible giant palm, slammed into Minato.

Condensed power, will, burning life, snapped. Shattered.

All the momentum of his charge went to zero, crushed to powder. His bones groaned. His will collapsed.

"Puff!" A great mouthful of foul blood mixed with fragments of organs sprayed into the sky like a fountain.

His body, like a crushed empty can, flew sideways ten times faster than he had charged.

And his so-called golden lightning, ignited by burning his life, was like a candle in a hurricane before the faint ripples of the crimson crescent, snuffed out with a puff, gone.

No suspense.

Absolute crushing.

As for that crimson crescent that deliberately avoided Minato?

Its target was not Minato at all.

It was purely to make the weak see the chasm-like gap.

Its target was the edge of the training ground, the dense, unsuspecting forest.

Rumble, rumble.

The earth groaned and burst.

The crimson giant blade slashed into the ground.

Sizzle.

There was no crashing sound.

Like a hot knife cutting through hot butter. Silent, yet even more terrifying.

The incredibly solid, ninjutsu-reinforced training ground floor, like paper, was instantly torn into a bottomless, dark gully. Over a meter wide. Its length spanned the entire field.

This was just the beginning.

The soil and rocks on both sides of the gully, the reinforced wooden stakes, vanished the moment the crimson crescent passed. Not even dust remained.

Lingering power?

A destructive hurricane, an unleashed dragon, wildly rampaging, crushing everything in its path.

It spanned out, tearing through the training ground wall, plunging into the primeval forest outside.

Boom. Crash, crash, snap, snap.

A hundred meters away, entire swathes of ancient trees.

Thick, with tangled roots, centuries of growth?

At this moment, they were bundles of fragile wheat stalks, reaped by an invisible scythe.

Devastating. Irresistible.

Where the crimson path passed, trees exploded and shattered, boulders vanished, soil rolled and vaporized.

A shocking corridor of destruction, hundreds of meters long and astonishingly wide, was carved into the earth, like a scar left by a giant's casual strike, deep enough to see bone.

At the end of sight, the once lush green mountains disappeared, replaced by scorched earth, broken trunks, exposed roots, and a massive dust cloud rising like an apocalyptic column.

Buzz.

A destructive backdraft storm rolled from the forest back into the training ground.

Dust mixed with leaves and wood chips covered everything, slamming down.

Whoosh. Bang, bang, bang.

It hit the remaining walls, the stunned faces of the onlookers.

The wind brushed Ryo's clothes.

His left hand still gently held the sheath, as if nothing had happened.

His right hand stayed in his pants pocket.

His eyes returned to their usual indifference.

As if the strike that tore the earth and felled the forest had been a casual flick of dust.

He even frowned slightly, as if the dust blowing back was a nuisance to his peace.

The training ground was dead silent.

A silence more terrifying than before.

Heartbeats pounded in eardrums. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Only the wind sounded, wailing through the massive scar of the flattened forest.

At the edge of the gully, mud tumbled down.

At the side of the field, Namikaze Minato was embedded like rotten wood in a pile of collapsed wall bricks, unconscious and motionless.

In the center of the field, that tall figure still stood.

That terrifying gully that cut across the field and extended to scorched earth, the residual crack in the air still visible in the sunlight, the wailing wind in the dead silence.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 48: At Twelve?!

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Heartbeats stopped. Eyes bulged in unison.

Every onlooker felt their blood freeze, a chill crawling up their spines, coiling around their hearts, constricting their throats.

Thump! Kimura Shū swallowed with difficulty, his face as pale as a death shroud. His lips trembled so much he couldn't utter a single word, his entire body shaking like a sieve.

Kushina's hand-over-mouth pose froze in place, her palms icy cold.

That excited blush she had just moments ago while watching the fight?

Gone. Replaced by boundless terror and a complete blankness.

The eyes that always lit up when following Ryo?

Now filled with unshakable horror. For the first time, she felt what it meant to face an "insurmountable chasm"—an absolute crushing of power levels.

Just one look at that corridor of destruction extending from Ryo's feet into the depths of the forest, and her legs turned to jelly.

Mikoto's noble and aloof facade?

Shattered in an instant.

Her gaze? Never in her life had she been so shaken.

On the high platform, a crisp clack!

Hiruzen's treasured pipe slipped straight out of his agape mouth.

Carrying a few wisps of smoke, it fell onto the cold stone bricks, sparks scattering, tobacco spilling everywhere.

This old man, known as "The Professor," who had crawled his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, who always kept a steady face? He couldn't hold it anymore.

He stared fixedly at the training ground—at that terrifying gash.

It started just a meter in front of Ryo's feet, wide and bottomless, tearing through the earth, plowing across the entire training field, and savagely plunging into the distant forest.

Just looking at that savage maw, one could almost smell the aura of everything being cut.

The sound of the pipe dropping was jarring in the silence, but it couldn't suppress the thunderclap resounding in Hiruzen's heart.

"Unbelievable…" His throat was dry, and he forced out words heavy as stones. "…The sword wasn't even unsheathed? Just with the scabbard… he unleashed something so condensed? No. That was normal chakra. There's no chakra signature at all!"

He swept his gaze toward the devastated forest edge, his heart pounding, the destructive aftermath making his body tremble.

"…This kid…" Hiruzen's voice was low and deep, carrying a thousand-pound weight and a hint of hidden fear. "…Just this one attack's destructive power and that level of control… Even ordinary Jōnin can't reach this. It's already Kage-level."

Hiruzen's mind exploded instantly.

Whoosh—As the dust settled slightly, the sight at the end of the gash made everyone's hearts almost leap out of their chests.

Minato. He wasn't dead yet.

He hadn't even been directly hit by that crimson crescent.

But his state? A million times worse than death.

He had been flung by the terrifying shockwave from the side of the slash, smashing into the edge of the gash like a cannonball. His internal organs were so shaken they were almost falling apart.

Worst of all was his right arm, broken.

It hung limply at a grotesque angle, not severed only by sheer luck.

This proved one thing—Ryo had intentionally aimed off.

But Minato's boasted speed and strength?

In front of that crimson, dazzling crescent that was as fast as teleportation, they were less than nothing.

Just being grazed by the impact, his entire body felt like it had been stuffed into countless invisible meat grinders.

His clothes were in tatters, his body covered in dense cuts. In some places, bones were visible.

Blood, like spilled water, stained the scorched earth by the gash. His twisted, broken right arm and the deep gash on his left shoulder bled nonstop, bone visible beneath torn flesh.

Curled up there, the intense pain and blood loss made his body shake like a broken bellows, spraying blood foam with every tremor.

He struggled to lift his head, his face smeared with bloody mud. Only a pair of bloodshot, crimson eyes stubbornly, fixedly stared.

His gaze was hollow, leaving only despair, fixed on the origin point of the gash—Ryo, who stood with his hands in his pockets, his clothes barely wrinkled.

This damned monster.

He lost. A complete and utter loss. Not because his technique was inferior. Not because of exhaustion. It was a comprehensive, crushing defeat from spirit to will, from strength to soul, in every dimension, leaving not even a speck of dust.

Minato tried to open his mouth, but only tore the already bitten-through wound on his lower lip, blood foam mixed with dirt dripping from the corners.

His throat made "hnn… hnn…" sounds, like a broken bellows leaking air, wanting to roar, wanting to say something…

Finally.

A voice so faint it was almost inaudible, mixed with a strong scent of blood, as if scraped from the shattered remnants of his soul, trembling with collapse, tore through the silent air: "I…"

His voice caught. He desperately gathered his last bit of strength, his facial muscles twisted from pain, his voice as light as a mosquito's hum, yet weighing on everyone's hearts: "...lost..."

The two broken words left his mouth, draining the last strength supporting his head.

On the side, Kushina slowly lowered her icy hands, her large eyes misty.

Looking at Ryo again, her gaze was complex, filled with incomprehensible bewilderment. This was the first time she had seen even a fragment of his power.

Hiruzen stiffly bent his old back and picked up the cold pipe from the ground. The embers had long since died out, ashes utterly dead, like his mood at this moment.

He gripped the pipe tightly, his knuckles white.

No one spoke. Silence.

Only the wind, carrying the mixed scent of fresh earth, grass, and thick blood, swirled around the edge of the massive gash.

That gash, traversing the entire training ground and splitting deep into the forest, like a savage wound torn open by a monster's claws, stood like a silent tombstone, a cold and cruel pronouncement carved into Konoha.

It announced the arrival of a monstrous existence.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 49: The Meeting

The end-of-school bell droned like the cry of a dying insect.

The training grounds of Konoha's Ninja Academy had long since lost their usual bustle and the steamy tang of sweat. All that remained was deathly silence, and saturating the air, the thick, metallic reek of blood mixed with the raw scent of freshly torn earth and splintered wood.

That vast chasm that cut across the field, rending the ground, cleaving the forest, bottomless to the eye, was like a purging scar, seared not only onto the retinas of every witness, but onto the depths of their souls.

It felt as if the chill, rending aftershock left by that crimson slash still lingered in the air, pressing down so hard that it stole the breath from one's lungs.

At the edge of the grounds, beside a tacky pool of blood, medics were carefully tending to Minato's wounds.

Minato's eyes were empty. Blood and dirt had clotted on his face, his blond hair stuck damply to his forehead. His lips trembled, but he couldn't form a single complete syllable, only a senseless rasp bubbled up from his throat.

A sigh.

The students who had been watching had long since scattered. The few who remained huddled in the corners, barely daring to breathe.

"Minato… sigh…" Kimura Shū's lips quivered. He wanted to say something comforting and official-sounding, but in the end it collapsed into a powerless exhale. He looked toward the source of the ravine.

Near the beginning of the chasm, a figure stood motionless.

Kamiyama Ryo.

Dressed in a white training uniform, he bore only a few specks of dust, an arresting contrast to the devastation around him.

His right hand slid back into his pocket. His left rested casually on the Kusanagi sword at his waist.

The scabbard was plain, giving no hint that moments ago a lazy flick had seemed to shear through the very fabric of space.

On that perpetually unchanged face of his, tinged with a languid, world-weary look, there wasn't the slightest ripple.

Beneath his messy crimson bangs, those long, narrow eyes half-lidded, his indifferent gaze swept over Minato's sorry state, skimmed past Kimura Shū's panic, and finally came to rest on a red-haired figure not far away, Uzumaki Kushina.

Kushina still held a hand over her mouth, her petite body trembling.

The big eyes that always shone bright and chased Ryo's silhouette were at this moment crammed full of horror. She had seen Ryo fight. She had seen him "rule" the Academy. But those had all been little scuffles. This… what the hell, was that even human?

One strike. A casual swing. It split the earth. It hewed through the forest. It swatted the Academy's prodigy like a fly and left him a heap of scrap.

The terror brought on by such a colossal gulf in power seized her heart more viscerally than ever before. And yet, buried deep beneath that fear, even she could sense a shamefaced relief. The smugness she had felt about her little shows of temper and teasings? What a joke.

"Let's go, Kushina." Ryo's impatient voice snapped her rigid body awake.

"C-coming! What are you, the god of deadlines?!" That all-too-familiar tone yanked Kushina straight up out of the ice pit and shoved her back into explode-at-a-touch little chili pepper mode.

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled like overturned orange-red paint, brazenly brushing the rooftops and streets of Konoha after school. The day's heat still steamed up, and the din of earlier crowds faded into a warm hush.

Chirp, chirp.

Ryo walked the road toward the old Senju residence. Kushina bounced at his side, her red hair skipping in the evening breeze, chattering nonstop.

The earth-shattering sword stroke from earlier had long since been tossed to the back of her mind. For her, as long as Ryo was still Ryo, who cared if the sky fell?

He had just seen Kushina to the deep, old-fashioned Senju compound, a place soaked in history, and waved her goodbye as she hopped through the heavy gate.

The last trace of human warmth faded from Ryo's face, leaving only habitual detachment.

He had barely taken a few steps from the weathered courtyard gate when the air tightened.

A shadow appeared three meters in front of him as silently as a ghost.

The newcomer wore a white animal mask that left only the jawline visible, the standard garb of Konoha's ANBU, with a short blade strapped diagonally across his back.

He dropped to one knee, posture textbook-perfect and deferential, bowing so low it nearly scraped the ground.

His voice was low, tinged with unmistakable respect, and a thread of barely concealed fear. "Sir."

Ryo stopped. He did not pull his hands from his pockets, his eyes stayed lazy, only now with a faint annoyance at being interrupted. "Say what you came to say. Do not block my path."

The ANBU stiffened almost imperceptibly, but the memory of the horror at the training ground made his bow sink lower still. "By order of the Third Hokage, we request your presence. The Hokage awaits upon the Hokage Rock."

Ryo's brow twitched.

The Third? Hiruzen Sarutobi, that old lech who is always clutching his crystal ball?

What does he want?

Trouble.

In his head, the likely script flashed by, the Will of Fire, bonds, responsibility, for the sake of the village, a pile of empty platitudes.

Listening to a monkey perform was not worth as much as going home to lie down.

He tilted his head slightly. Rather than falling first upon the ANBU bowed into the dust, his gaze slid past and landed on the giant faces carved in the Hokage Rock in the sunset, the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, the Second, Tobirama Senju, and the silhouette now standing atop the cliff, the one who had summoned him, Hiruzen.

Ryo's eyes dropped to the ANBU's slightly trembling shoulder guards.

Annoying as it was, he knew that in Konoha, where the Third's power drowned the village like smoke, and especially right after the slightly serious scene they had just witnessed from him, some surface politeness was necessary.

"Lead the way."

"Yes. This way, sir." The ANBU, as if granted amnesty, rose at once. His body blurred into motion, careful to keep just half a body-length ahead of Ryo, heart thudding.

No way was he going to actually leap roofs and vault walls with this man behind him. He kept the pace to a brisk walk.

Hokage Rock, the landmark and symbol of Konoha.

The massive stone faces of the First, Second, and Third Hokage looked down upon the prosperous village nestled like a jewel in the embrace of the forest.

The sunset gilded Konoha in warm light. Cooking smoke curled upward, voices of the people rose and fell, the academy's clamor seemed far away. Peace, on full display.

Hiruzen Sarutobi stood below the Third Hokage's stone face, at the edge of the cliff.

He wore the iconic Hokage cloak, light armor beneath. A pipe hung, as usual, from his mouth, but the ember had long since died, leaving only cold ash. Hands clasped behind his back, his posture was straight as a spear, eyes deep as he gazed at the lights blossoming below.

The wind ruffled his graying sideburns and set his cloak to snapping.

For a moment, he truly looked like a king surveying the fruits of his rule, tinged with satisfaction and weighed down by responsibility.

Led by the ANBU, Ryo stepped onto the platform atop the Rock. The ANBU bowed again, then slipped away as if dissolving into shadow.

Only two remained on the platform.

Chapter 50: Will of Fire Meets a Brick Wall

One was the Hokage, overlooking his village. The other, a twelve-year-old boy with both hands in his pockets and no expression on his face.

The Third did not immediately turn. He seemed to steep himself in some deep emotion, and in a world-worn, earnest tone he spoke slowly into the empty air before him:

"Ryo, do you know…"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to Ryo's ears. It had a peculiar cadence to it, trying to conjure gravity and nostalgia.

"Back when I took this burden from the Second Hokage, I looked upon the scarred Konoha left by war, the children who had lost their families, crying for food, the defenses shot through with a thousand holes. Every step felt like treading thin ice."

He exhaled lightly, as if even the smoke from his pipe had grown heavy.

"I was afraid. Afraid I lacked the ability, that I would fail Tobirama-sama's trust. Afraid that with one misstep I would drag the village built by Hashirama-sama back into the darkness of war, that I would force the villagers who trust us to once again wander homeless, families shattered."

He paused, as if falling into a memory both heavy and shining. The performance was masterful, enough to make any hot-blooded youth's heart tremble.

Unfortunately, the one standing behind him was Ryo.

Hands in his pockets, crimson bangs tousled by the wind, Ryo's face did not move. Those long, narrow eyes of his were flat as ever, bereft even of cursory sympathy.

Oh? And then what? You came here to brag about your great achievements? To intimidate me?

What does any of that have to do with me?

Ryo rolled his eyes inwardly.

Hiruzen seemed to have worked himself to the right pitch. His tone suddenly swelled, ringing with pride:

"However, look, look at all of this!"

He finally turned, a reserved, seasoned smile on his face. His eyes burned as he looked at Ryo, and his arm swept grandly toward the village below, bathed in the sunset.

"This prosperity. That rising cooking smoke. Children laughing and playing in the streets. Elders basking peacefully in the sun at their doors. Ninja returning from training, their steps in unison. Every lamp that is lit, every face at ease, all of it declares that our efforts were not in vain."

His voice was persuasive, trying to share this hard-won peace with Ryo, to tie that towering sense of accomplishment to the boy before him.

"Together with everyone in the village, I rose early and worked late, governing with all my strength, and at last restored Konoha's former glory. This harmony, this calm, is the finest embodiment of our village's Will of Fire. Where the leaves dance, the fire is ever-burning. The guardianship of the old has bought fertile soil for the young to grow strong. I, Hiruzen, have not betrayed our forebears' hopes."

By the end, his voice quavered with emotion, his eyes moistened, as if he had poured out decades of toil from the bottom of his heart, offering a new vow to the heavens.

He fixed his gaze on Ryo, full of expectation, waiting for this boundlessly gifted boy to be moved by his confession, to pledge himself to the defense of this beautiful everything for life.

Silence pooled on the platform.

Only the wind keened across the Rock, and from below drifted the faint, busy noises of peace.

Ryo stood there, unmoved.

His crimson bangs swayed gently in the breeze.

The expected blood-stirring, tear-choking vow of fealty, none of it came.

Hiruzen's proud, waiting-for-empathy expression froze in the air for a full ten seconds.

He blinked, forcibly swallowing the flash of surprise and awkwardness rising in his chest.

What is going on?

This is not how the script goes.

Faced with such a grand Will of Fire in practice, faced with the personal account of a Kage-level powerhouse, with the village head himself speaking so earnestly, even a cold-tempered kid should say something, shouldn't he?

A single "Mm" would do.

Silence.

Ryo only looked at him quietly. That gaze was overly calm, the kind of calm one has watching an off-key street performer grind through an old routine no one wants to hear anymore.

An invisible pressure spread, not chakra, but the hollowness born of utter inner indifference and rejection.

Hiruzen even felt as if his rousing declaration had made him look like a fool.

This old monkey really thinks he has bared his heart?

Konoha? My life's work? The words echoed in Ryo's mind, and a spike of irony shot straight up his spine.

Konoha? To him it was nothing more than a comfortable perch where there was food to eat and a relatively stable environment.

Nothing more.

What did any of that have to do with him?

He thought of Mito's protection, of Tsunade's hit-or-miss teaching, and of Kushina, that troublesome girl.

But fighting and bleeding for unknown villagers below? It never crossed his mind.

Bonds?

The ones Ryo knew and needed to care about, he could count on his fingers.

As for the Hokage, that is just the headman of a village, isn't it?

Hashirama Senju, a dreamer so naive, even death couldn't end hatred. Tobirama Senju, a sharp mind who used systems to forge order, and still died to a scheme.

And this ninja hero before him?

A man living under towering shadows, coasting on ancestral shade, a mediocrity. In Ryo's eyes, not even worth a sturdy kunai.

Tooting your own horn, are we?

But Hiruzen was a political veteran. He pivoted instantly.

He coughed, and the soaring tone softened into a kindly elder's smile. He changed tack to the personal. "Ahem. To be frank, Kamiyama Ryo, I have wanted to meet you for a long time, to talk in depth."

"I still remember the year you enrolled. Because of that striking head of red hair, I personally visited Mito-sama and begged her to take a look, see if you had awakened any special Uzumaki bloodline traits."

He dredged up the past, his voice warm with an I have been quietly watching over you intimacy.

In Ryo's ears, it was just another layer of varnish.

Watching over, my ass. If I hadn't clawed my way up on my own years ago…

"But, as it turns out, Mito-sama and the rest of us all misjudged you." Hiruzen's tone turned, regret shading into admiration. His gaze shone with undisguised appreciation, as if he were beholding a long-hidden treasure newly uncovered.

"You aren't chakra-poor at all. Your gifts, your terrifying strength, are unprecedented. A true prodigy. In his day, even Tobirama-sama was hardly more than this."

He tried to close the distance with extravagant praise, deliberately invoking Tobirama to hint at Ryo's Senju lineage and emphasize a bond between them.

"That earth-shattering strike today." Hiruzen even took a small step forward, voice rising. "No draw of the blade. No hand seals. Pure physical might and the convergence of intent. Such terrifying power, such exquisite technique, such precise control. It absolutely possesses destructive force to threaten even a Kage."

His voice trembled with excitement and awe, as if the memory still sent a thrill through him. "Twelve. You are only twelve, and already you have combat strength rivaling a Kage. Ryo, do you know what this means? It means you are Konoha's truest, undisputed greatest prodigy since its founding. Your brilliance will illuminate, and protect, our shared home."

Hiruzen's voice rang like a bell, full of rhetorical fire.

He had hoisted Ryo onto the pedestal of the greatest genius in Konoha's history, painting him as the village's sole hope and guardian of the future.

A massive halo, and a crushing responsibility, lashed together.

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 9: Chapter 51-55

Chapter 51: Protector

"So…" Hiruzen's voice dropped suddenly, rich with enticement. He leaned in slightly, gaze pressing on Ryo like something with weight.

"Do you want to grow faster? To show your gifts on a broader stage? To shoulder a greater purpose?"

He cast out the bait.

"Come, join the ANBU. I will teach you personally. Even the Hokage's Restricted Jutsu Archives will become a treasure vault for your power."

He watched Ryo's face.

Still no reaction.

Ryo felt nothing inside. If anything, he wanted to laugh.

Direct-entry ANBU? Trail after you like a guard dog? On call at all hours with brainwashing on the side?

A flicker of annoyance crossed Hiruzen's heart.

Temptation like this would make any young shinobi's eyes shine.

Private tutoring from a Kage-level mentor. The Hokage himself tilting the village's resources your way.

And he was not interested at all?

Hiruzen's smile tightened at the edges.

Ryo curled his lip and cut him off. "Hokage-sama, is there anything else?" The subtext was clear. If not, stop talking. I do not have time to listen to you drone on. I am not keeping you company.

Hiruzen's throat bobbed, he swallowed his irritation. "Heh. This old man is being long-winded."

So you do know you are rambling, huh. Ryo groused inwardly.

"Farewell." Ryo turned on his heel, the wind at his back.

Watching Ryo's departing figure, Hiruzen did not get angry.

Enough. You cannot rush a recruitment. The kid is ultimately Tsunade's student, call him a grand-student of mine.

A temperament like his needs more bonds to guide him.

Time hurried by, and the day of graduation from the Academy arrived.

"Next. Uzumaki Kushina."

The proctor's voice rolled across the training field, carrying a touch of ritual fatigue.

The sunlight was a little harsh, throwing mixed looks of nerves, anticipation, and schadenfreude across the faces of the watching examinees.

Today would decide whether they could wear a forehead protector and become genin.

In the center of the field, a giant bull's-eye had been painted on the ground, with a few crude wooden posts nearby for substitution practice. The air felt tacky, as if sweat and unease had congealed in it.

Red hair blazing like fire, the girl swaggered into the center, chin tipped up, yet her eyes kept straying to the side, to the figure leaning in the shade beneath a tree at the edge of the grounds, arms folded, as if none of this had anything to do with him.

Ryo.

Red hair, silver eyes, gaze deep enough to show nothing.

Others were sweating through their palms and drumming heartbeats on the exam field. He looked like he was sunning himself in the backyard, maybe even bored.

A simple black training outfit set off his straight posture. Yet he radiated a chill that warned strangers away.

"Tch, laying it on cool again," Kushina muttered inside, her cheeks heating for no reason.

This guy, he is easy on the eyes. Why wear that dead-fish face all day?

Although, seeing that profile of him against the tree just now, maybe—

"Focus. Uzumaki Kushina." The proctor tapped his clipboard, impatient.

These cohorts get more and more unruly every year.

"Ah? O-okay." Kushina snapped back to herself, cheeks flushing, and hurried into stance.

She drew a deep breath. Her hands flashed, chakra surged.

"Ninja Art, Substitution."

Bang.

Smoke burst. A wooden post stood where she had been, and Kushina's real body landed neatly on the far side of the bull's-eye.

Crisp execution, deft chakra control. Even the arc her red hair carved through the air had a fierce snap to it.

"Pass." The proctor ticked his notes.

A sprinkling of applause sounded, along with a few audible inhales from some boys. Red hair might mean Uzumaki, but a pretty face is still a pretty face.

Kushina's face bloomed into a broad grin, bright as a sunflower.

She bounced toward the sidelines, straight for that strip of shade beneath the tree.

"Ryo. Look, does this forehead protector look good on me?" Her voice arrived before she did.

Kushina all but collided into Ryo's field of view, standing pertly in front of him, head tilted just so. The brand-new Konoha protector she had just tied to her brow caught the sun and flashed.

Sunshine, clean sweat, and a girl's bright scent washed over him, fresh and dizzying.

"Average. Tighten the knot, it is crooked."

At the edge of the open ground, under a spill of hair bright as the sun, Namikaze Minato held his freshly earned protector. The smile on his face cracked, then froze, like ice breaking over a winter lake.

He watched Kushina lean so close she might as well fall into Ryo's arms. He watched the light in her eyes blaze for Ryo alone. He compared it to Ryo's cool reply.

The metal plate in his palm should have been cold, yet it burned like a brand.

"Heh…" Minato's mouth twitched at his own expense, the smile bitter. Forehead protector? Wear it or not, what does it matter.

A sourness named jealousy and loss wrapped his heart like a snake.

"Tch." Kushina eyed Ryo's return to his ice block act.

Then she spun on her heel and marched off.

"Mikoto. Mikoto. Quick, am I cool or what?"

Kushina looped her arm through that of the black-haired girl just walking down from the other side of the exam field.

Uchiha Mikoto, gentle bearing, sleek dark hair, a delicate face wearing a soft smile like moonlight on a spring. She had just finished her own test, elegant, precise movements, earning a nod from the proctor.

Yet in this moment, her gaze had, without a trace, slipped back from Ryo's direction, carrying a dimness even she had not noticed, and longing.

At Kushina's call, Mikoto startled like a fawn, yanking her eyes away. Something flickered fast in their depths.

She smoothed her skirt on instinct, a flawless gentle smile blooming at once as she cupped her tone in playful praise.

"Wow. My Kushina is obviously the cutest in the whole world." She cupped Kushina's cheeks, her eyes almost entirely pure. "Look at that protector, paired with your red hair, it is dazzling. Like, like the brightest flame gem."

"Of course." Kushina's confidence, dented by Ryo, refilled to the brim in an instant.

"Kushina."

"Do you think, after we graduate, we might end up on the same team? If I could do missions with my best friend, that would be wonderful." Hope glimmered in her eyes. Her voice was gentle.

She truly wanted to be with Kushina.

The words were like a pin, pricking the balloon of Kushina's joy.

Her radiant smile hesitated visibly, then turned a little stiff. Team assignments?

Fighting side by side with your bestie?

For most shinobi, that was a natural hope. For her, it bordered on a fantasy.

Kushina's gaze flickered. The corners of her mouth fought to keep their curve, and still a thread of bitterness crept in.

"Mikoto, I…" she trailed off, ducking the truth as a cold river sluiced through her chest.

That she was a Nine-Tails jinchūriki candidate was top secret. It doomed her path to one starkly different from the average genin's.

A cage, watchful eyes, perhaps a future of never leaving the village for dangerous missions, these shadows never quite went away.

After the bustle fades, loneliness is the deepest undertone.

"I actually hope I am assigned with Ryo." Kushina blurted the truth in a half-sulky tone.

If anyone could make the solitude a little warmer, a little more bearable, it was the guy who scowled beside her day in and day out.

She thought of the favor she had wheedled from Tsunade months ago. Had that perpetually tipsy woman remembered…

"Eh? With me?" Mikoto's heart leapt, like fireworks going off in her chest. A joy she could not name washed away the shame and awkwardness of being seen through.

On the same squad as Ryo-kun?

The thought kicked her heartbeat up again.

She pressed a palm to the near-escaping thing in her chest and kept her face composed, adding a touch of playful sisterly loyalty.

"Well, if we are that lucky, I will make sure to keep a close eye on your treasure for you. I will not let anyone steal him, especially certain…" She left it hanging, then leaned in to whisper, switching with Kushina to the encrypted channel of girl talk, conspiratorial and sugared.

Murmur, murmur. Chirp, chirp.

The two girls huddled together, temple to temple. One snuck shy peeks at Ryo. The other flushed, eyes shining, nodding and smiling and nodding again.

The picture was youth itself.

Ryo snarked at it in his head, but his mood, inexplicably, lifted.

At least that silly girl Kushina had her smile back.

"Next, Kamiyama Ryo."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 52: The Lonely Figure

Ryo strolled out from the shade at an unhurried pace, casual as a walk in the park, utterly out of tune with the tight, exam-day air. The grounds fell instantly silent.

Dozens of gazes pinned to him.

Some curious, some jealous, some looking for a spectacle, and others, like Mikoto's, quietly intent.

The proctor eyed the boy who radiated "couldn't care less" from head to toe and frowned deeper.

He had no fondness for problem students. Talent or not, you needed a proper attitude, weight and measure.

"Tested ninjutsu: Kawarimi no Jutsu," the proctor called, voice purposefully loud and cold. "Ryo, this isn't a stage for showing off. I want standard form. Perfect hand signs. Perfect chakra control. A clear substitution effect. Not a hair short."

He was laying down rules, plain as day, itching to nitpick.

"Heh…" A breath of a laugh, so soft and yet somehow exploding in everyone's ears, snorted from Ryo's nose. And on the tail of that single scoff, space itself seemed to ripple.

An invisible, crushing pressure burst outward from Ryo's position, not a flare of chakra, but the stillness born of absolute speed and power.

Ryo's figure, no one even saw him move. Where he had been standing, only a faint afterimage fluttered, thin enough to miss if you blinked.

A fraction of a fraction of a second later.

Tick. A soft click in the air.

Ryo's real body now stood, blank-faced, composed, specter-silent, dead center on the painted bull's-eye.

Fast. Breathtakingly fast. Fast enough to upend everything the onlookers thought they knew.

No hand signs.

No warning.

No puff of smoke from a substituted log.

Only an instant shift, as if he had stepped straight from one panel of a painting into another.

The exam field went corpse-still.

The proctor's mouth was still open. The reprimand he had preloaded jammed in his throat like a broken gear.

For a heartbeat he wondered if his old eyes were playing tricks. Had he fallen into a genjutsu?

"The point of Kawarimi no Jutsu is to 'take a different place,' isn't it?" Ryo's cool voice shattered the hush, like ice beads bouncing on stone, crisp and clean.

He lifted his lids lazily and looked at the petrified proctor, the corner of his mouth bending by the tiniest, almost imaginary fraction, maybe just a trick of light.

"I," he paused, voice not loud but cutting clear through every ear, "used substitution in a more direct way."

He let his gaze rest on the proctor's face, fear and confusion written there, and added, light as asking what was for lunch, "I directly replaced the log and stood here instead. Any problem with that?"

Thump.

Someone, no one saw who, couldn't bear the invisible pressure and sagged to the ground.

Then, after that dead silence, came a chorus of gasps and cries.

"G-good, god. H-how did he do that?"

"Where were the hand signs? I didn't see any!"

Jealousy, scorn, the mood for watching a joke, crushed to powder in an instant.

Only awe remained. And fear.

Mikoto clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound.

She stared at Ryo's casually upright back, the way he seemed to suppress the entire field just by standing there, and her heart slammed like it wanted out of her chest.

The heat in her eyes nearly overflowed. Strong. Too strong. Strength beyond understanding.

This, this was what she admired. The unmatched, the invincible. That absolute confidence and control beneath the cool exterior, she was lost.

She realized she was shaking, head to toe.

Kushina's face, meanwhile, was red with excitement. She shot to her feet, waving both arms, ignoring every glance around them. "See that? That's mine. Is he awesome or is he AWESOME? So freakin' cool." She looked a second from leaping up and clinging to him.

At last the dismissal bell rang, heavenly sound, freeing the crowd from the vast shadow Ryo had cast.

Kushina practically sprinted to Ryo's side, wrapped herself around his arm, tipped her face up, her eyes still sparkling with leftover thrill, and, just a little possessively, called over to Mikoto not far away:

"Right, Mikoto. We graduated today, how about we eat together after school to celebrate? Super important occasion."

She made a point of it, then added with shameless pride, "And listen, Ryo's cooking is amazing. Best in the world. Once you taste it, you'll never forget it. A hundred times better than any barbecue."

Thinking of the parting to come, a true shadow of loss and longing crossed her eyes. "After we graduate, everyone's gonna be busy with missions, it won't be so easy to be together."

Far off, Minato paused in the act of quietly packing up. A fierce yearning flashed in his eyes.

He wanted to go, so badly. To eat with Kushina. But his gaze brushed Ryo's unchanged, unreadable face, and the memory of that slash. Minato's hand slid up to his neck. A chill climbed his spine.

He had no doubt, if he asked to join them, that blade Ryo always seemed to keep in the dark would be at his throat in the next breath.

He didn't even have the courage to try.

Forget it. Staying alive matters more.

Mikoto was carefully adjusting her new protector, trying to make it sit neatly and elegantly amid her black hair.

At Kushina's invitation, her heart skipped, and joy flooded in.

Eat with Ryo-kun?

This, this wasn't a dream, was it?

But the next second, that bright flame dimmed a notch.

She stole a look at Ryo's face.

Dinner with him? Would he agree? Would he think she was intruding?

Would he find her annoying?

A thread of timidity and inferiority she couldn't stop bubbled up.

In front of the one you like, anyone becomes small.

Hesitating, Mikoto twisted the hem of her clothes, head ducked, voice soft and unsure. "I, I'd really love to… I just… wouldn't it be… bothering Ryo-kun?"

Her voice dwindled, smaller and smaller, until it was barely the buzz of a mosquito, cautious, testing.

Ryo's gaze skimmed over Mikoto, head bowed, pitiful in a way that mixed acting with something painfully real.

"Mm, it's alright."

Molten sunset spilled along the road to Ryo's place, and across the three walking shoulder to shoulder.

The air still held a trace of the graduation bustle, but around them a quieter warmth was settling.

Kushina took the middle, hooking one arm through Ryo's and the other through Mikoto's, steps light and bouncy, humming off-key, already having tossed her earlier threat to the wind.

"Hurry, hurry. I'm starving. My stomach's protesting." She jostled Ryo's arm, all pretense of poise gone.

Being looped so openly through Ryo's arm set Mikoto's cheeks pink again, but she kept her surface grace and smiled along. "Mm… I'm really looking forward to it."

"Don't worry." Kushina thumped her chest. Thud, thud. Then winked at Mikoto. "Prepare to have your jaw drop. He plays it cool, but when he takes a knife to the board, now that's speed."

She talked with her hands too. "And when he cooks, the aroma floats down two streets. Eat it once and, who needs barbecue."

Inside, Mikoto was a knot of curiosity and nerves.

She wanted to know everything about Ryo. And now, step into his private space, taste food he made with his own hands? Perfect.

Outwardly she nodded with a smile. "Mm. You've praised him so much, I'm excited."

But her eyes kept drifting to Ryo's stark profile, and her heart beat faster.

At the door, Ryo slid out a key and clicked the lock.

He pushed the door open on a room so simple it was almost bare.

A low table. A few floor cushions. The only real feature was the kitchen, spotless, precisely ordered.

A clear, clean scent, like him.

"Sit wherever," Ryo said at last.

He toed off his shoes and walked straight to the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home, Mikoto. For real." Kushina, obviously an old hand here, kicked off her shoes and bolted to a cushion, patting the spot beside her.

Moments after they had gone in, a gold-haired shadow flickered into being in the alley's shade down the way.

Minato leaned against the wall, chest tight.

He had followed from a distance the whole way, terrified of getting too close, terrified Ryo's awful sensitivity would catch him.

Now he stared at the closed door. Kushina's clear, happy voice leaked faintly through. His heart felt dunked in lemon water, sour and stinging.

"A get-together, at Ryo's place." The thought chilled his fingertips.

Go in?

He hadn't the guts. He could picture too clearly how awkward, how unwanted, his appearance would be.

The thought of giving up wound around him like a vine.

Minato's mouth twisted into a bitter half-smile. Even his golden hair seemed dimmer in the sinking sun.

He took one last look, long, reluctant, at that shut door, as if he could see through it to the red-haired figure inside.

Forget it. Kushina's happy right now. That should be enough. Right?

A great emptiness washed him under.

He didn't hesitate anymore. He turned and slipped away into the deepening dusk, almost like fleeing.

His back looked indescribably lonely.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 53: Hokage Does

While the little group at Ryo's place was happily savoring their graduation night, elsewhere…

Hokage's Office.

Moonlight outside was so white it hurt, cold as a sheet in a morgue.

Inside, a human sauna crossed with a secondhand-smoke gas chamber.

The stench of smoke, sweat, and the mildewed rot of old paperwork mixed into something cloying enough to make a man drunk.

Under the dingy lamp, files were stacked into swaying towers, ready at any moment to deliver the Hokage a "buried alive" ending.

The Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, the "ninja hero" of Konoha, had no "hero" in him now.

He was slumped in his oversized chair like his bones had been pulled out. The ravines in his old face were carved deep with dread and resentment.

His brows were cinched so tight they had knotted.

A pipe hung at the corner of his mouth. The ember had long since died, leaving only a smear of stale tar.

His fingers tapped the wooden armrest, tok, tok, tok, monotonous and edgy, a death knell in a room too quiet.

"Team assignments… damn these graduation team assignments…" he forced the words through his teeth, each one chewed to pulp and spat out, hot with temper.

A dull thump.

His palm smacked a scroll hard enough to make the desk jump.

The name on the header blurred from the impact, Uzumaki Kushina.

"Uzumaki Kushina," Hiruzen growled around the cold pipe, a volcano muffled under his voice. "Which squad do I stuff her in? Which thick-skulled Jōnin wants this burning potato?"

There was no one else in the office. Even his personal ANBU had been pressed back into the shadows by the heavy pressure in the room.

He didn't need to mind his image. A "ninja hero's" pent-up frustration spilled out in very civilized words.

Nine-Tails jinchūriki, original sin stamped on the birth record.

A responsibility, and a live explosive.

One hiccup on a mission and the team leader will be blown sky-high on the spot.

But isolate her, treat her differently?

That sort of long-accumulating loneliness and resentment, the kind that could corrode diamond, would rot her out.

Hiruzen dragged on his pipe. Only the cold taste of tar hit his tongue, sending him hacking, face turning red.

No one wanted to take this one, but someone had to.

Vines of hassle ran rampant through his head, knotting his temples into a pounding ache.

And at the root of that throb was another name, Ryo.

At the thought, his tapping hand jerked. The pipe nearly slipped from his teeth.

The blank, near-empty look of that boy at the training ground slammed into his mind with a palpitation of pressure.

The next instant, the one scene he least wanted to recall crashed back, the chasm torn through the earth, bottomless. The slash, crimson as lava, condensed to substance. And all he did was flick a scabbard.

That instant of destruction, that pure, unreasonable crushing, was carved into Hiruzen's memory at bedrock depth.

"Combat power comparable to a Kage," he muttered. The knuckles of his pipe hand blanched and creaked.

A twelve-year-old Kage?

That was a monster walking on two legs.

The problem was that this guy was like a block.

Ryo didn't need any "squad support." He was a one-man, self-propelled disaster.

"Hah…" Smoke puffed out. Hiruzen remembered that toe-curling fiasco on Hokage Rock.

He had nearly sung the lines like a chant.

Result?

Ryo never even lifted a lid.

That stare said plainly, Are you trying to teach me how to live?

The brat was a block of ice.

No sense of belonging. No bonds.

The only exception, the Uzumaki hellion, Kushina, equally lawless. She alone could chip a crack into that glacier.

And everyone else, in Ryo's eyes?

Just obstacles while alive. Wasted space after they are dead.

"Bonds… we need to pile on the damn bonds," Hiruzen bit down on the pipe stem. It was a wonder the thing didn't snap.

With someone like Ryo, extinction-grade potential and a perverse temperament, you can't just sit back.

You need something to tie him down.

Tie him tight.

Uzumaki Kushina was a steel cable looped around one of that primordial beast's legs.

Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

The more cables, the better. The thicker, the better. A thousand threads to mire the beast in a warm bog.

"Sigh… say what you will, Jiraiya's the easy one. Obedient. Likes smut like I do. His pupil, Namikaze Minato, the obedient type too. Good heir to the Will of Fire. A proper disciple. A proper grand-disciple." The comparison soured his mood further.

Kushina and Ryo?

They were the ceiling of the problem-child world.

Chapter 54: Teammates

Hiruzen's head throbbed. He massaged the hammering temples and dragged a team-sheet scroll forward.

It unfurled. Inked names shone under the light.

Most had notes and lines drawn, first-pass assignment ideas.

Only at the very top, two names stood alone, like sharp icicles catching the eye, Uzumaki Kushina and Kamiyama Ryo.

Below them, the "prospective leader" he had filled in after long thought, Tsunade.

Memory pulled him back to a certain late night.

On the eve of her departure for the meat grinder that was the Ame front, Tsunade had slammed the desk and bellowed words that now rang with painful clarity, each one like a heated kunai chiseling at his skull. "That little Uchiha girl. Uchiha Mikoto. You will put her in my squad. In my student's team. You hear me?"

Uchiha Mikoto?

Add her to Tsunade's squad? Put her with Ryo?

You are the bona fide Senju princess, granddaughter of the First, Hashirama Senju. Tobirama is your grand-uncle.

And the Uchiha? The Senju's thousand-year enemies, on-and-off war and blood-feud.

Konoha's been around nearly forty years. The unwritten rule among the top brass is, be wary of the Uchiha, keep your distance, keep them pressed. It's political gospel, marrow-deep.

And now you want to enlist an Uchiha into your inner circle squad?

"Add? Add your—" He had nearly shouted the rest in her face. But Tsunade's golden-brown eyes had bored into him, silent, merciless.

This hellcat had smashed the Hokage's desk before. If she wanted her way, she would happily give the whole building a renovation.

And she was about to lead a unit to the rain-soaked meat grinder.

No matter how stifled he felt, Hiruzen wasn't going to break a commander's heart on the eve of war.

"Uchiha Mikoto… Kushina's best friend," he muttered, forcing the boil back down. His clouded eyes turned quick behind the smoke.

Intel on the Uchiha girl flashed past, talent above average, temperament gentle. Among her year she was near the top, but not a once-in-a-century prodigy.

The critical point, she was extremely close to Uzumaki Kushina. Inseparable. Widely known besties.

Hiruzen's pipe hand froze.

A clear, crucial link snapped into place.

Uzumaki Kushina, Ryo's only evident bond. The only warmth in that mass of ice.

The only one who left a mark on that glacier. And Uchiha Mikoto, Kushina's most intimate, trusted partner.

If he stuffed Mikoto into Tsunade's squad, into Ryo's team, what did that mean?

It meant that beside Kushina, beside Ryo, there would be a fully controllable "anchor" tied directly to the Hokage's line.

A secondary cable tied to the primary cable named Kushina.

It would reinforce a chain of bonds that was shaky to begin with. Is she not Kushina's most trusted sister? Sisterhood, perfect for a bundle-tie.

Hammer her into the Hokage's core team, and that vine would wrap Kushina, then inevitably climb Ryo's towering trunk.

"Is Tsunade's demand dumb luck, or is that brain of hers sharper than it looks?"

Kushina, the "warhead," must go into a team.

Ryo, the "glacier," needs his bonds thickened.

Tsunade's ridiculous demand to add Uchiha Mikoto? It just might kill two birds with one stone.

And Tsunade was marching to war. Could he really deny her and expect her not to flip a table?

Besides, none of these four were easy.

Kushina, special status and born hot-headed. Ryo, broken-tier strength and icy, hard to handle. Tsunade, willful, reckless, and a drunk to boot.

Tired of the mess? Then bundle it.

Dump all four walking troublemakers, Tsunade, Ryo, Kushina, Uchiha Mikoto, into one basket.

Let them torment each other.

Tsunade is the designated team leader. The Nine-Tails candidate belongs best with her. Ryo, that bristling spike, gets the only hammer that might dent him, results not guaranteed. As for Uchiha Mikoto? You wanted her? Fine. Have her. With a bow on top.

"Heh-heh… Tsunade, Tsunade…" Hiruzen leisurely relit his pipe. The spicy smoke rolled into his lungs with the sweet sting of revenge.

He could almost see it, Tsunade facing this chimera of a squad, one baby-tailed-beast time bomb, one glacier of a prodigy, and a girl from the ancestral enemy clan.

What face would the Senju princess wear?

Shock? Fury?

Or bleak despair before she remade the training field with a single monstrous punch?

You made an outrageous request, now shoulder this gigantic black pot.

Pressure? Good. You handpicked them. Bite down and swallow. You are Konoha's princess. You are its greatest medical ninja.

He could even picture her booting his office door open, bottle in hand, cursing him blue.

"As for the Uchiha?" Hiruzen's gaze drifted out the window, as if it pierced eaves and landed on the district set a little apart behind high walls, the Uchiha compound.

He had no prejudice against the Uchiha.

The core extends a hand.

The cleanest political signal you could send.

Especially now, in wartime.

Konoha's string is drawn taut. Every drop of blood is precious.

The Uchiha's Sharingan is a weapon.

Offer a sweet, soothe them, let them think the Hokage favors Uchiha. They will spill more blood, push harder, plug more breaches, fill more trenches.

As for the girl's ultimate destination?

Hiruzen's mouth tilted around the pipe, worldly-wise.

Women marry, don't they? And then their hearts tilt toward home.

A little Hokage-line gilding, so what? After children, power and glory are just embroidery on the wedding robe.

"Tsunade, grow a teacher's spine and keep these three headaches in line," he told the lingering scent of pork-bone broth in the air, tapping the pipe as if lecturing a disciple already crossing into Ame.

The smoke didn't feel as choking anymore. Hiruzen sank deeper into the chair, blowing slow rings. He picked up a brush and, beneath "Team Leader: Tsunade," wrote three names in a bold hand:

Team Leader: Tsunade

Members: Kamiyama Ryo, Uzumaki Kushina, Uchiha Mikoto

(To be continued.)

Chapter 55: What’s Wrong You?

Inside the Hokage building of Konoha, little abacuses still clattered faintly. Of course, Ryo and the others knew nothing of it.

The evening wind carried the sweltering heat of a summer night, mixed with the faint chorus of insects. It drifted past the uneven rooftops of Konoha and finally settled on Ryo's quiet little courtyard.

On the low table lay scattered utensils. The faint aroma of food still lingered in the air, the cold remnants reflecting the silence after a recently ended dinner.

But the atmosphere was taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.

Kushina stood by the table, her hands unconsciously gripping the hem of her skirt. Her vivid red hair fell forward over her brow, framing eyes filled with desperate determination.

She drew in a breath as though mustering all her courage. Her voice trembled just enough to betray her unease as it pierced the silence of the little courtyard.

"Ryo, tomorrow is graduation and team assignments. Do you want us to be on the same team?"

The hope in her words burned so fiercely it could almost scorch.

Uchiha Mikoto sat quietly on a cushion a little further away, her head lowered. In her hands, a plain handkerchief twisted tightly, her fingertips whitening with the force of her grip.

She too was waiting.

Ryo's eyes passed over Kushina's strained attempt at composure. In their depths flickered an emotion he himself tried carefully to hide, habitual avoidance or simply the clumsy defense of a boy who couldn't handle a feeling this raw.

And just like countless times before, the phrase carved into his bones as a shield slipped out of his mouth almost by instinct.

"I don't care."

It was like lighting a fuse. In an instant, Kushina's fragile calm snapped.

"Kamiyama Ryo!!!"

Her voice shot up an octave, sharp as glass shattering in someone's face.

"You're a complete and utter idiot!" Her bright eyes brimmed with tears, a blur of grievance and rage.

She wiped her eyes hard, but the harder she wiped the more the tears streamed until they soaked her face.

"Dammit!" She stomped her foot furiously.

"From now on," her voice shook with humiliation and heartbreak, "if I ever speak to you again, then I'm a dog. Woof!!!"

Before the words had even faded, she spun around, refusing him another glance. With all the wounded fury of a small beast lashed by a whip, she shoved open the half-closed door and stormed out into the dense, suffocating night.

In a blink, she was gone.

"Ryo-kun!"

Mikoto, who had been pretending to sit still like a doll, suddenly leapt up.

Her persona shattered completely. That soft and gentle mask cracked apart like broken glass, leaving nothing but sharp fragments.

In her eyes, once so tender, burned a fire as cold and cutting as blades.

"You know perfectly well that Kushina likes you. It's not just today, not just yesterday, it's always been like this. But you? You never give her a straight answer. You let her cling to hope again and again, only to crush it with your own hands. What do you think she is to you? Someone to toy with? Someone whose feelings don't matter?"

Her breath hitched sharply, her chest rising and falling as her words lashed like whips. Then came the knife, the one word sharp enough to cut through his chest.

"Scumbag!"

Mikoto threw him a glare that carried all the contempt of a woman who had once been blind to a man's true face.

She turned and stormed out.

The door slammed shut behind her with a heavy thud, the echo reverberating in the suddenly dead-silent house.

Ryo stood frozen.

Her accusations resounded in his ears again and again, "She likes you. You know it. You're playing with her heart. Scumbag."

The cruel reality of the ninja world clashed with the ideals he'd carried from his past life. This was no safe haven for childhood innocence.

Children of seven or eight were thrown onto battlefields that ground them into meat. Fragile shoulders bore kunai taller than themselves. Thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girls could already be wives, even mothers.

Here, cruel slaughter and premature romance weren't exceptions, they were the rhythm of life itself.

And what was he afraid of?

He was binding himself with the shackles of a world long gone, civilized moral codes and rules that had no place in a land where death was always a breath away.

Age differences? Responsibilities? Future plans?

In a world where no one knew if their head would still be on their shoulders tomorrow, all of it was a joke.

The biggest joke of all was himself, Kamiyama Ryo, a hypocrite from head to toe.

Worse still, his constant dodging, his false restraint, his cowardly evasions had smothered the foundation of true strength.

Faith. Absolute, unshakable conviction.

Faith that said, if I choose to act I act. If I choose to kill I kill. If I choose to love I love. No hesitation. No apologies.

But what was he suppressing?

Not something foreign. Not something wrong.

It was himself.

A part of himself as real as bone and blood.

If he couldn't even confront his own demons, his own shadows, how could he ever claim true conviction?

Bullshit.

No wonder his haki always slammed against a cold wall. No wonder his power felt like sand with no foundation.

"Damn it!"

His hand whipped up and slapped his own cheek with a thunderous crack.

The sting burned like fire. Five red finger marks stood out clearly.

But the pain was nothing compared to the release.

It was like he'd torn open a filthy dam within his soul, letting all the sludge of hypocrisy, guilt, and false morality wash away in an instant.

Cold wind rushed through the void, scouring it clean.

"Fuck it all!" His voice burst out of his throat, low but shaking the night.

"I, Kamiyama Ryo, am a complete fraud, a poser, a first-rate idiot, a hypocrite of the highest order!"

And at last, clarity.

"What am I pretending for? Talking about the future? In this blood-soaked world, tomorrow isn't guaranteed. The only truth is now!"

A roar exploded in his soul, shattering the final chain.

"So what if I like that red-haired little pepper? I'll say it loud. I'll protect her with everything I've got. Yes, I like Uzumaki Kushina. So what? Better to be honest than to keep running like a coward."

The dam burst. The last false restraint crumbled into nothing.

Like a beast long caged, he broke free.

His spirit blazed clear, shining faith.

And then—

BOOM!

Something deep inside was triggered.

An immense wave of power erupted from his soul, primal and overwhelming, like an ancient god awakening from beneath the earth.

It wasn't chakra. It was pure will, pure faith given form.

Conqueror's haki.

The air itself froze.

Invisible shockwaves erupted from him, warping light and ripping the silence. The courtyard shuddered as if struck by a meteor.

Trees outside trembled violently, leaves stripped and shredded into a storm of green fragments. The very ground cracked beneath his feet, the density of the air pressing down as though demanding submission.

Meanwhile, in the Hokage building—

"Hokage-sama, something's wrong!" an ANBU burst in, voice panicked, face pale with shock.

Sarutobi Hiruzen shot to his feet, his half-finished pipe falling to the desk.

The ink on the emergency order he had just signed, placing all clans on war footing, was still wet.

"Calm yourself. Speak clearly!" Hiruzen's voice was thunder, firm with authority.

The ANBU gulped air, forcing composure, but his words rushed out in fear.

"Preliminary assessment, it's not a physical attack. It's some kind of massive spiritual shockwave. Over two-thirds of the village, civilians, genin, even many chūnin—"

His voice cracked.

"They all collapsed instantly, as if their souls were struck by an invisible hammer."

"What?!" Even Hiruzen's composure cracked. His fingers clenched his pipe so hard the knuckles whitened.

Kumo? Iwa? Some new weaponized genjutsu? How had they slipped in undetected?

To cripple half the village in an instant, it was unthinkable.

"And Mito-sama?" Hiruzen demanded.

"Mito-sama's sensing abilities are heavily disrupted. She's forming a barrier to contain the shockwave while trying to trace the source. She believes this isn't genjutsu. It's something else. A manifestation of will itself, a storm of pure spirit."

"Will? Spirit?" Hiruzen's mind reeled.

Who could manifest will as a storm strong enough to shatter souls? Impossible.

And yet—

At the epicenter, Ryo's eyes flared with scarlet light. Not Sharingan red, but something older, more primal. A divine glow that pierced the veil of the world.

His senses surged outward, ignoring space, weaving through the village like invisible nerves.

Observation haki, awakened.

The entire village unfolded in his mind's eye, every street, every house, every person.

Not just Konoha. His will spread like roots, hungering for more.

He saw them all. The villagers collapsed like wheat before a scythe. Hiruzen's fear, Mito's barrier straining against the storm, the raging chakra of the Nine-Tails beneath her seal, all of it was clear.

And then—

A burning, familiar presence.

Kushina.

Her life-force, fading, almost extinguished.

Wrapped in a malicious aura, cold and venomous, coiled like a serpent.

She was being dragged away at unnatural speed, carried by a powerful chakra radiating thunder.

Southwest, toward Kumo.

Those bastards.

Rage ignited, pure and unrelenting. His killing intent surged, a volcano erupting.

"You're dead!"

The ground beneath him split apart in a spiderweb of cracks, stone and soil exploding upward.

"The trash of Kumo, you're already corpses!"

At his waist, his sword trembled.

Shing!

The Kusanagi sword tore free of its sheath, its blade not shining, but swallowing the light around it like a hungry abyss.

Ryo's foot slammed down, shattering the courtyard into rubble.

His body became a streak of blood and shadow, an arrow loosed toward the northwest.

Faster, faster, faster.

The air screamed around him, the village itself rattling as he ripped through like a living storm.

Unstoppable.

His destination was clear, beyond the wall.

To intercept. To kill.

(To be continued.)

Notes:

Read ahead, +100 Chapters :

/Blownleaves

Chapter 10: Chapter 56-60

Chapter 56: Under the Moon

A few minutes earlier, on the outskirts of Konoha, a dark alley lay silent.

"Target confirmed. Uzumaki clan, Nine-Tails Jinchūriki candidate. That Uchiha girl is just extra baggage." The man with a jagged lightning tattoo across his face, codename Raiga, spoke in a low, gravelly tone, his voice quivering with bloodthirsty excitement.

"Stay sharp. Avoid the ANBU's eyes. If we pull this off, the Raikage's reward will let us live in luxury for the rest of our lives."

"Mmmph…!"

Agonizing pain and suffocating fear clutched Uzumaki Kushina's throat. She bit down hard on her lip, forcing the sound back into her chest.

The sting of the ambush on her neck still pulsed, her vision swam. Cold branches lashed against her face without mercy.

Beside her, her friend Mikoto had also been bound, her face pale as paper, eyes shut tight in unconsciousness.

Kushina's heart plummeted into an icy abyss.

It wasn't her own capture that terrified her most. It was the despair gnawing at her mind.

Ryo, are you still angry with me?

That whole storming off in anger routine earlier tonight had been her and Mikoto's carefully planned trap, first stir his guilt with a show of unreasonable temper, then storm out, giving him the chance to chase after her and make peace.

A perfect script.

But none of their calculations had accounted for Kumo spies striking at this very moment.

Her fiery red hair stood out too much. As she struggled, she stealthily tore off strands and let them fall, marking the ground like drops of burning blood. She had done this all along the path, hoping desperately for even the faintest chance.

But her heart's hollow throb only filled with icy despair.

Ryo, did you see it? Will you follow my trail? Or was that cold "I don't care" really the truth? Will you even care if I live or die?

That thought, bitter and self-mocking, drowned in despair, and tears finally broke free, only to be ripped away by the rushing wind.

"Move faster. We have to reach the Forest of Death before Konoha locks the village down," hissed a voice from deeper in the alley.

Three shadows slipped like phantoms through the night.

One, built like a tower, codename Iron Pillar, carried a writhing sack over his shoulder. A strand of vivid red hair jutted stubbornly from the sack's mouth.

Another, lean and wiry, codename Lightning Flash, cradled the unconscious black-haired girl. Moonlight glanced across Mikoto's pale, delicate face, lifeless and unmoving.

Raiga led at the front, eyes sharp and predatory.

"Boss, something's wrong." Iron Pillar froze mid-step, his voice urgent. "Konoha's patrol network, it felt like something smashed it. So many signatures vanished at once. Even the village barrier is shaking like it's about to collapse."

"Don't care," Raiga barked, though a flicker of exultation flashed in his eyes. "Heaven helps us. Whatever that disturbance is, it's the perfect cover. Focus your chakra where it matters, getting to the Forest of Death."

His cruel gaze locked on the sack over Iron Pillar's shoulder, killing intent radiating.

"That cunning red-haired brat. She's been leaving hair strands as markers all along. Iron Pillar, shut her up. For good. Knock her out cold."

"Yes." Iron Pillar's growl rumbled as he raised his chakra-hardened hand, blade-like, and swung for Kushina's fragile neck within the sack, a blow that could shatter bone.

At the edge of the Forest of Death, moonlight strained through dense branches, casting twisted, ghastly shadows across the ground.

The air reeked of damp earth and the looming stench of death.

"Iron Pillar, stop."

Raiga's voice tore through the night, not in warning, but in terror.

Because in that instant, a suffocating wave of killing intent crashed down upon them. It was absolute, honed, and colder than glacial ice, clamping down on their hearts and souls like an iron vice.

It wasn't chakra. It was a curse from the depths of the underworld.

Iron Pillar's devastating strike froze midair. Not by choice, his body, his hand, his very soul had been locked in place, paralyzed by that murderous will. Even his pores screamed in agony.

And in that frozen heartbeat,

Crack. Thud.

The sack's crude strap snapped under Kushina's struggling weight, sending it crashing heavily to the ground.

Dust swirled as fiery red hair spilled free, bursting from the sack like flames.

Kushina's face flushed crimson from suffocation, wrists raw and bleeding from the ropes. Her blue eyes glared through dizziness and terror, fixed stubbornly on survival.

Her head spun, ears rang, but she had heard Raiga's panicked scream, and she had felt that soul-freezing intent.

It's him. It has to be him.

No time to think further.

A blade of darkness cleaved the night.

It wasn't light. It was the absence of it, absolute and oppressive.

Not flying toward them, but as if it had always been there.

So fast the very sound of air tearing couldn't keep up.

Iron Pillar's neck, flesh and bone, might as well have been paper.

Slice. Crash.

A whisper of steel, a spray of blood.

A crimson geyser erupted from his severed neck, soaking tree bark, earth, and Kushina's terrified face.

His massive head rolled to the ground, eyes wide in frozen fear.

The headless corpse lingered upright for a few seconds, still poised to strike, before toppling like a felled tower. Blood and dirt splattered in a grotesque spray.

"Iron Pillar!" Lightning Flash's scream tore from his throat, a sound of sheer animal horror.

The scene, Iron Pillar's head rolling, the blood still spraying, that suffocating killing aura, shattered his reason.

"Suiton, Mizu Shuriken (Water Release: Water Shuriken!)"

Survival instinct drained every drop of chakra from his body. With a desperate roar, he hurled Mikoto's limp form toward the shadows, the source of that terror.

A distraction, a shield, he didn't know, didn't care.

At the same instant, his own body twisted into a high-pressure stream of water, a distorted blur tearing into the distance.

All that remained was vapor and despair.

Clack.

A single, soft sound rang in that blood-soaked silence.

The shadow ahead, Ryo, shifted his stance by half a step. His left hand flashed, nothing but a blur, and caught Mikoto midair.

With effortless precision, he cradled her unconscious form against him, steady and gentle. He didn't even glance at her pale face.

His eyes, dark red as if dripping blood, pierced through Lightning Flash's watery clone. The gaze cut through to the true body fleeing in desperation.

No anger. No mockery.

Only judgment.

The Kusanagi Sword moved.

A razor-thin slash of sword aura screamed across the distance.

Lightning Flash felt only an icy chill pierce his chest. His Raiton armor shredded like wet paper.

The world dimmed. He glanced down, his heart pierced clean through. A hole the size of a fist gaped in his chest, moonlight shining through.

No pain, only the hollow collapse of life draining away.

His body tumbled forward, crashing heavily into the dirt, a spreading pool of blood marking his end.

Silence.

Two elite Kumo chūnin, erased within seconds.

The stench of blood thickened, choking the air.

On the clearing's edge, Raiga stood alone.

He had seen it all.

Iron Pillar's headless fall. Lightning Flash's heart pierced in flight.

Terror's claws crushed his chest, but despair burned away the last of his restraint.

"No retreat, he's blocked every path."

The figure before him, holding a girl in his arms, was death incarnate.

"AAAAAHHHH. Glory to the Raikage."

Raiga's roar cracked like thunder, hands trembling as he poured every shred of chakra into them.

Lightning gathered, blue-white arcs shrieking as they compressed into a blinding sphere. His face twisted into a demon's mask.

"Raiton, Gian (Lightning Release: False Darkness), die."

BOOM.

A massive thunder lance tore through the clearing, scorching the night, splitting earth and air alike.

It shot straight for Ryo, who still held Mikoto in his arms.

The attack carried all of Raiga's strength, burning life itself, its destructive power surpassed even most jōnin techniques.

The clearing left no room to dodge.

The world blazed in blinding blue.

But just before the thunder spear struck,

Ryo raised his free hand. Calm. Steady. Palm open.

Zzzzzzzzzz.

The cataclysmic spear crashed into his palm.

The roar of lightning strangled into a tortured hiss, as though countless serpents were being crushed by an invisible hand.

The blinding beam dimmed, twisted, collapsed, devoured by a void.

In seconds, the devastating A-rank jutsu disintegrated into nothing but sparks.

Raiga convulsed, blood spewing from his lips. The backlash of his own technique ripped through his organs like a runaway train.

He stared in disbelief as Ryo stepped forward. Step by step, across the blood and broken corpses of his comrades. Calm. Unhurried.

Every step slammed like a hammer on Raiga's heart.

Ryo stopped three paces away.

The wind stilled.

"M, monster…" Raiga gasped, blood trailing from his mouth. His eyes cracked with terror, his voice nothing but a rasp, "You're, a monster…"

"Monster?" Ryo's gaze fell upon him, calm as frozen water. "Perhaps."

And then he moved.

Faster than thought. Faster than sound.

"But you touched what you shouldn't have."

The Kusanagi Sword whispered free.

Black arcs slashed through moonlight.

Raiga never even saw the strike. Only the world spinning.

Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.

Both arms fell from his body. Both legs severed at the knees.

Four smooth cuts, clean as mirrors.

Blood fountained from the stumps, spraying across the ground in wild arcs.

The meat puppet collapsed, writhing in grotesque spasms.

His eyes bulged, throat bubbling with meaningless gurgles, terror frozen into his final expression.

Ryo flicked his wrist.

The Kusanagi Sword slid back into its sheath, spotless, untouched by blood.

The forest fell into silence once more.

Only the whisper of the wind through the branches remained, and the corpses at Ryo's feet.

A headless giant. A body with a hole through its chest. And a limbless husk, twitching in the dirt.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 57: My Little Tomato!

The enemies who had been so arrogant moments ago didn't even have time to scream before they were reduced to steaming piles of meat on the ground.

Ryo didn't even bother to lift his eyelids.

Those strange, silver eyes of his cut through the choking stench of blood, locking onto the sack lying a few meters away in the dirt.

From its opening, a pair of blue eyes peeked out, filled with pure terror, already spilling over with tears.

Step. Step. Step.

Ryo's boots pressed into the bloody, muddy ground with a sound like a death drum.

With the unconscious Mikoto still in his arms, he advanced on the sack.

Murderous intent poured off him, swirling like a storm of black mist.

Carefully, he laid the black-haired girl down on a patch of relatively clean earth.

Then,

He bent down.

That dusty but powerful hand of his ripped through the coarse rope binding the sack with a single brutal tug.

Moonlight and the reek of blood flooded inside.

The girl with the fiery red hair, Kushina, was tied up so tightly she looked like a bundled scroll.

Her slender wrists were raw, seeping blood. That unmistakable golden-red hair framed her terrified face.

Those sapphire eyes, which should have been bright and clear, were wide and trembling, staring at the boy who had broken her heart moments ago, only to reappear like a blood-soaked god of war torn from hell.

Shame, fear, rage, grievance, everything exploded inside her at once.

Her pink lips parted, and tears burst like floodwaters.

"Waaaahhhhhh!"

Hot tears splattered into the dirt as her hopeless cries ripped through the night.

Did Ryo comfort her? Say, "It's okay"?

Not a chance. Not a single useless word.

Instead, one hand clamped down on her trembling shoulder.

The other slid beneath her knees.

And then, a princess carry.

Simple, direct, domineering. The act of someone who refused to be denied.

"Uwahhhh!"

Kushina's world spun. Suddenly, she was pressed into the reeking, bloodstained chest of Ryo.

"Waaaaahhhhhh!"

Fear, shock, despair, anger, her emotions, already at their limit, broke apart completely.

She screamed and sobbed like a shrimp dropped into boiling water, thrashing and kicking in his arms.

Her small fists rained down like hail on his chest, her cries ragged.

"Let me go! I don't need you to hold me! Idiot! I don't care! Didn't you say you didn't care?! You hate me! You hate me! Get away from me! I don't need your fake concern! It hurts! Put me down!"

Her struggles pulled against her raw wrists, pain lancing through her body.

Beside them, Mikoto stirred awake at the noise, blinking in confusion.

The sight before her stole her breath.

Ryo's profile, cold and sharp as forged steel, streaked with drying blood. Moonlight crowned him in a terrible, imperious light.

He held Kushina as if she were nothing, letting her fists beat against him without flinching. His stance was immovable, like a mountain.

The slaughter just moments ago, the way he now carried her as if no one could defy him, it all came as naturally as breathing.

His brow didn't twitch. Not once.

Kushina flailed in his arms.

But his arm tightened, pulling her fragile body hard into his chest.

His voice, deep and steady, left no room for refusal.

"Don't move."

The sound froze her.

Her cries choked to silence, replaced by trembling hiccups, like a kitten too tired to keep mewling.

She looked up, her face streaked with tears and dirt, dazed and helpless.

Ryo stared back, silver eyes burning with fire, his words thundering into Kushina, into Mikoto, into even the hidden watcher in the shadows.

"Who the hell said I don't like you?"

His eyes locked onto her, flames roaring within their depths.

Then his lips curved faintly, arrogantly, his voice a proclamation of ownership.

"Because, you're mine."

A deliberate pause, his tone heavy as steel.

"My little tomato. My one and only little tomato."

Before she could even breathe,

Ryo lowered his head.

A kiss.

Firm and cold.

His lips pressed against her forehead, leaving an indelible mark. A brand.

Kushina froze.

Her cries, her rage, her despair, all of it detonated, not dissolved.

Not melting, but exploding.

Like a volcano, like a tidal wave that smashed her heart into pieces.

"R, Ryo!"

Her dam broke.

Every ounce of emotion, every fragile pretense, collapsed in that instant.

Her arms, weak and trembling, shot up to cling around his neck.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, sobbing into the blood and warmth that felt safer than the sun itself.

"I, I was so scared! I thought they'd take me! I thought I'd never come back! I thought I'd never see you again!"

Her tears drenched his chest, burning against his skin.

"I thought you hated me, thought you'd left me," she whimpered, spilling her deepest fear.

Every tear pierced Ryo's soul sharper than any blade.

Her trembling body, fragile as a leaf in the wind, twisted something deep inside him.

It hurt worse than Tsunade's punches.

He tightened his embrace, pressing his chin gently against her blood-scented hair.

"…It's over." His voice was low, steady. "I'm here."

Those words.

They shattered every defense Kushina had left.

She didn't need to pretend anymore.

She cried freely, desperately, clinging to him as if she would sink without him.

Mikoto could only watch in silence, her eyes wide, as the red-haired girl wept herself into Ryo's chest.

And in the shadows,

A golden-haired figure had arrived, following the trail of fallen strands of red hair.

Namikaze Minato.

His eyes widened as the scene scorched itself into his vision, Ryo, fierce and unyielding, holding Kushina as if she were his world.

Her struggles collapsing into sobs. His kiss on her brow, branding her as his. Her arms clutching him, burying herself into him.

Minato's heart clenched with an agony so sharp it felt like claws crushing his chest.

But his eyes never looked away.

Step by step, his hands loosened.

Moonlight revealed his bitter smile.

As long as she's safe, as long as she's happy.

And he stepped back, fading into the night.

This stage was no longer his.

The black tide of Konoha's reinforcements surged in.

At the front, Uzumaki Mito's sharp eyes fell upon the two figures at the center.

Her wrinkled face bloomed into a radiant smile, girlish and triumphant.

Behind her, Hiruzen strode in, his white Hokage robes heavy, his face grim.

But what he saw froze him.

Three mangled corpses. Clean cuts like mirror glass.

Ryo turned at last, Kushina still in his arms. His silver eyes were colder than death itself.

Hiruzen's breath caught. A chill crawled down his spine.

Even the hardened Hokage felt the threat of invisible blades at his throat.

The Konoha shinobi behind him stiffened, their blood running cold.

This boy had shed the last of his disguise.

No longer human. Something else.

Only Mito smiled brighter, her gaze proud, almost gleeful.

Ryo's eyes flicked to her for a heartbeat, a faint nod.

Then his attention returned entirely to the girl in his arms.

The rest of the world, Hiruzen, the elders, the army, were nothing but rubble at the roadside.

He cared only for her.

Kushina, asleep now, her face streaked with tears, buried against him in exhausted trust.

Hiruzen swallowed, forcing composure.

"Ryo, any survivors?" His voice was rough, but firm.

"None." Ryo's tone was flat, final. "All dead."

Like he had swatted flies.

Hiruzen's face twitched, unease surging.

But he suppressed it, barking orders.

"ANBU will handle the scene. Ryo, Kushina, Mikoto, you three return to the village for treatment."

Ryo ignored the Hokage's eyes.

He adjusted his hold on Kushina carefully, lifting her with deliberate strength.

"Mikoto." His voice was cold, but a faint gentleness lingered. "Follow me."

Like waking from a dream, Mikoto rushed to his side, following close behind.

Together, the three walked through the silent forest.

And when they passed the shadow where Minato had stood, Ryo's gaze swept casually over it.

Moonlight spilled silver across the road ahead.

Konoha's towering gates loomed against the night, shadows like giants.

Ryo walked forward, steady and unyielding, Kushina safe in his arms.

Mikoto followed close, her steps quick.

The moonlight touched the girl's face in his arms, pale, tear-streaked, but peaceful at last, cradled in the embrace she had longed for.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 58: Cool and Trying

Konoha, deep night.

Hokage Building.

Hiruzen felt his brain throb like it had been hit by a Raiton paralysis technique.

Headache.

"Damn." He gulped a mouthful of tea so strong it was nearly black. It was bitter enough to make him bare his teeth, yet the fire in his chest only burned hotter.

His rough palm slammed down on the heavy desk. The redwood surface groaned as if pushed past its limits.

"Ryo, you brat!"

Hiruzen ground his teeth, each word scraping out like ice shards from his throat.

He couldn't help seeing that red-haired boy standing amid a hellscape of severed limbs and blood, Ryo, holding Uzumaki Kushina in his arms, eyes cold as permafrost.

How had that kid done it?

Some bizarre spiritual shockwave? Some secret technique he invented?

From the Memorial Stone to the far dorms of the Academy, two-thirds of Konoha's territory, tens of thousands of people, became a wheat field scythed down in an instant.

Genin, chūnin, even some jōnin who weren't alert enough, collapsed without a sound, out cold.

The village barrier nearly buckled. Several Sealing Corps jōnin drained their chakra to the dregs and fainted, foaming at the mouth.

As for civilians?

It was as if an invisible mallet had cracked every skull. People were sprawled all over the streets.

More horrifying than a wide-area genjutsu. Creepier than a volley of Bijūdama.

Great. His apprentice shows off to impress a girl, and now the master has to clean it up.

Tsunade. What a lovely student you've raised.

…Forget it. Best not to nitpick with that pair. Tsunade isn't exactly a docile kitten either.

"Hokage-sama." An ANBU in a tanuki mask appeared before the desk, dropped to one knee, voice hoarse from overexertion. "Preliminary tally is done. Casualties…"

Hiruzen's heart clenched in a cold fist. He almost forgot to breathe.

"Zero," the ANBU said quickly.

Hiruzen sagged into his chair as the suffocating pressure loosened.

Thank the gods.

At least that terrifying shock only hit hard, it didn't kill.

Otherwise, he could hang himself and spare the apologies.

"…There are many injuries, most from falls. Some suffered backlash from overusing chakra. The worst is Akimichi Chōza from a patrol team, fell from a tree and broke an arm. And a few others…" The ANBU's tone turned delicate.

"Mm… they lost their footing in public latrines. Deeply unconscious for now, but no immediate danger to life. However, uh… the scene requires a lot of clean water."

Hiruzen's mouth twitched hard.

Into the cesspit, huh?

A truly immersive Konoha cultural experience.

The embarrassment was unprecedented.

Maybe when they wake up, he should ship them straight to the Suna front to make contributions.

"Additionally…" The ANBU paused, voice dropping lower. "Two bathhouses in the shopping district… multiple patrons, because the shock hit during, ah, vigorous activity, according to witnesses, now exhibit varying degrees of, uh, functional impairment…"

Hiruzen: "…"

Violating the Three Shinobi Taboos, and right into the crosshairs, too.

Not like they'll have the face to come complain to him.

Good.

"And one more thing." The ANBU sounded like he'd steeled himself. "Tracing the residual spiritual imprint, the epicenter appears to be at the village outskirts. Correlating with the report of an unidentified flare launched toward the Land of Lightning just moments before the event, and with the battle traces and three destroyed Kumo operatives found at the edge of the Forest of Death, the evidence points to the same conclusion,"

"Kamiyama Ryo," Hiruzen finished for him, voice rasping like sandpaper on stone.

The building's soundproofing barrier seemed to tremble.

Hiruzen could already picture the state of the streets: the cesspit victims wailing, bathhouse entrances clogged with gray-faced "I fear I'm done for" patrons, others cursing and clutching their skulls, panic spreading like plague. Fear needs an outlet. Anger needs a scapegoat. And where would the finger point?

At the Hokage Building. At his head.

He tightened his grip on the pipe.

Calming the masses? Not easy this time.

Throw Ryo to the wolves?

Never mind that the boy just saved the future Nine-Tails Jinchūriki from Kumo ANBU and awakened an almost village-level annihilation power.

Hiruzen let out a cold laugh in his heart.

If they tried to make Ryo the culprit, Mito would go dark instantly and dismantle the entire council.

Losing Ryo would be sawing off their own foundation.

Especially given Ryo's tangled bond with the future Jinchūriki, Uzumaki Kushina. To Hiruzen, it was a heaven-sent shackle. A chain to bind this humanoid calamity. Force him to death or drive him to defect? Hiruzen wasn't senile yet.

"The Hokage line's core combat power. Konoha's future… Touch him? Ōnoki will laugh himself awake," Hiruzen muttered.

Besides, who had the stature to take the blame?

Even if Ryo had done a good thing, villagers would see him as a scapegoat, no authority, no acceptance.

If someone is to shoulder a blame this big, they need status and prestige.

Which means they need a perfect black pot. A sacrificial lamb.

And one that stands up to scrutiny, that draws most of the heat.

Hiruzen's clouded eyes gleamed with calculation through the smoke.

He took a long pull of the harsh tobacco.

Kumo?

Those mangled spies were ready-made offerings…

But the big, muscle-brained brutes were far away, across the Hot Springs and Iron.

Blaming them would scratch no itch for the public.

The daimyō of the Land of Fire would die laughing.

It would only make the Hokage look like a coward shirking responsibility.

Iwa?

They had weight, but the Third Tsuchikage could turtle better than a turtle.

Why provoke the Stone while the Sand war wasn't even resolved?

That's not diverting conflict, that's opening two fronts to die on.

Suna.

Best target.

The western front with Suna was a meat grinder.

Blood from Konoha and the Sand could dye the whole Wind Country red.

Reports of deaths arrived daily.

Konoha's hatred for Suna was dry pine waiting for a spark.

Perfect. A ready, weighty scapegoat with genuine blood feud.

"Damn Sunagakure," Hiruzen said, voice cold with decision, knuckles tapping the desk. "They deployed a covert Spiritual Secret Arts strike team, exploited a weak point in our barrier, and launched this large-scale harassment. Aim: paralyze our rear, break supply lines, shake the front's morale. Our warriors' blood isn't even dry, and those scorpions in the desert reach for our wives and children."

He grew more fluent as he spoke, eyes lighting with the fervor of manufacturing facts.

"As for those dead Kumo spies? Hah. Disposable pawns Suna used to mislead us, diversion tactics. Their sinister intent is clear."

He patched the plan on the fly. "Pin all blame on Suna. Push the propaganda hard. Steer the civilians toward hating Suna, the path of least resistance."

"Understood, Hokage-sama," said the ANBU under the tanuki mask, eyes flashing.

Yet the gravity on Hiruzen's face didn't fade.

Civilians were easy, serve them steaming bowls of Will of Fire and remind them of Suna's blood debts, and they'd be chanting for vengeance.

But the shinobi clans, the old foxes at the power table? The senior advisors? Would they buy it?

"The clans see too clearly." Hiruzen exhaled a long plume of smoke. In the haze, he seemed to glimpse the elders' cold, scrutinizing eyes.

"Foxes, all of them. If we want to run this trick before them, we need seasoning. Stir them up from the inside."

His fingers tapped the desk's cold edge, thud, thud, thud.

His gaze fell on a name at the bottom right of a scroll, marked with the Uchiha fan.

Uchiha Mikoto.

A habitual thought rose from the depths of his mind.

Uchiha.

Konoha's perennial dartboard.

The best at taking the pot.

Every clan had wariness and bias toward the Uchiha, engraved in bone.

Let them shoulder a little more.

"Notify Intelligence," Hiruzen said, voice low as a chill wind from underground, brooking no dissent. "Before the council meeting, let some rumors fly. Subtly, mention that, amid the spiritual storm, someone sensed extremely powerful and unstable Yin Release waves. Direction? Roughly pointing to the edge of the Uchiha compound. Details should be vague, but don't miss the keywords: Yin Release, Sharingan traits, verge of losing control… Let the rumor smolder like a grassfire and reach the perfect heat right before the council. Understood?"

The ANBU's body twitched ever so slightly. "Yes."

"Mmh." Wearied yet savoring a flicker of control, Hiruzen closed his eyes. "The Uchiha have gotten good at bearing blame in the cracks these years. Debts pile high, but they don't crush you. For Mikoto to enter Tsunade's unit and become a core disciple of the Hokage line, bearing a little harmless rumor is a contribution to clan and village. Mikoto is Kushina's closest friend? Good. Nail them firmly into our camp. This small grievance, Uchiha Shana, that old fossil, will swallow it."

He flicked his hand, dismissing the ANBU to carry out orders that would whip Konoha's upper echelons into another storm.

The office fell silent once more.

But Hiruzen couldn't relax yet.

A heavier shadow pressed on his chest, Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu. His peers, custodians with long, sticky fingers and lingering influence.

They weren't like the clans who could be bought off with benefits or divided by rumors.

They stared at power like vultures eyeing carrion.

He could almost see Koharu's pinched, joyless face masked in "anguish" and "let's see how you fix this" hypocrisy.

"Damn it. I still have to settle those two," Hiruzen muttered, pushing to his feet.

Danzō was easier; he could carry the blame. And as Hokage, Hiruzen could keep him caged.

If Danzō were still in Konoha, this would be simpler.

He'd almost become the Scapegoat Kage.

His pipe had long since burned out, only cold ash remained.

He rapped it on the desk, frowning.

There was only one person who could silence those two completely.

Who wouldn't care for their carping about political impact and village stability, and who could muzzle the clans as well.

Hiruzen looked out the window into the ink-black night. At the village's edge, it was as if a silent, heavy mountain stood there, warding off the noise.

Uzumaki Mito.

Night cooled like water, sinking deeper.

Mito's residence lay far from the center, quiet, layered courtyards, air rich with the scent of leaves.

But the moment he stepped past the gate, the calm broke. A weight settled on his heart.

Mito wasn't in her bedroom. She waited in a simple tearoom.

On a small brazier, a kettle simmered, bubbles rising in steady, soft gloops, steam curling upward.

She sat on a cushion, posture still straight, but weariness shadowed her brows, a heaviness of burden she could not quite smooth away.

Kushina was likely soothed and sent to bed.

"Sit, Saru." Mito's voice was calm, unreadable. She gestured to the cushion opposite.

Hiruzen obeyed, kneeling. He shed his public mask, revealing the worry, and the plea, of Sarutobi Hiruzen.

No time for small talk. He went straight in. "Mito-sama, the situation… is extremely delicate."

He laid it out cleanly: the impact, the dual pressure from the masses and the upper ranks.

No embellishment, but each cold number and inference weighed a thousand pounds.

"…So, Suna for the civilians," Hiruzen said, locking eyes with Mito's still-bright gaze. "And Uchiha for the shinobi circle, the bait, the buffer. But… Mito-sama, Homura and Koharu, and some clans, they need an unquestionable conclusion."

He put weight on that last word.

Silence for a heartbeat. Only the kettle's near-boiling rattle, like a taut heartstring quivering.

Mito watched the rising steam. After a while, she spoke, soft, distant, cutting through all pretense. "You want this old body to shut their mouths? To spend my remaining days and what name I have left to shield that child, Ryo, and press down every so-called concern?"

Hiruzen's heart leapt to his throat.

His cheeks warmed with shame. To ask a woman who had given her life to Konoha to spend the last of her strength and prestige, blatantly, was hard even to say.

He swallowed, ashamed, but resolute. "Lady Mito, I… have no other choice. Ryo is Kushina's lock, and Konoha's sword. He cannot be broken on this blame."

He drew a deep breath, spine straightening, eyes bright. "You have guarded Konoha for decades, held onto the First Hokage's dream. I beg you, guard it once more. Not for me, Sarutobi Hiruzen, but so Kushina has the pillar she accepts, and so the village's foundation does not crack. I will bear all effects and costs. Let the infamy fall on me alone."

He spoke the last line like a hammer blow.

The tearoom stilled.

Mito finally turned her head. Eyes that had seen too much rose and fell on Hiruzen's anxious yet unwavering face.

No blame, no anger. Only a quiet compassion, and understanding.

"Heh… So the Will of Fire really has become your heirloom," Mito murmured, shaking her head, the faintest, most complicated smile tugging her lips, half sigh, half release.

She didn't answer his request directly. Instead, she dropped another stone into the still water, her voice quiet, but shaking the air.

"Recall Tsunade."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 59: It’s Time to Find a New Landlord for the Nine-Tails

Hiruzen's eyes flew wide. For a moment he thought he'd misheard. "R–recall Tsunade? Now? But the front line..."

Mito cut him off. Her voice was steady, but carried the finality of dust settling. "I can't hold on much longer. Even the Nine-Tails' chakra that's only acting on animal instinct is almost beyond my control."

She slowly lifted her thin, withered hands, hands that had once maintained the strongest Tailed Beast seal. They trembled. "While there's still a little strength left in these old bones, while I can still suppress that beast, it's time for Kushina."

Hiruzen felt struck by lightning.

Lady Mito had decided to transfer the Nine-Tails now.

Terror and sorrow drowned out every calculation in an instant.

It meant the First Hokage's wife, the true anchor of Konoha, was about to burn the last wick of her life.

"Mito-sama! Isn't this... too hasty? You—"

Mito raised a hand to still him.

Deep in those aged eyes flashed a strange light, not grief, but a settled resolve.

She remembered the blood-streaked boy beneath the moon declaring, "My little tomato," and Kushina burying her face in his chest to cry without restraint.

"Don't worry, Saru." Mito's voice pressed down his panic, the firmness in it even overshadowing her fatigue. "Kushina has found the light she wants. That is a lock stronger than any seal. Her heart has a place to rest. This old woman can hand the burden to the young."

Her gaze focused on Hiruzen's face again, calm as if entrusting a thousand-pound weight. "As for today's incident... I know what to do. Go and do what you must. This old woman will preside over the high council meeting."

It was as if a mountain that had been crushing Hiruzen's chest vanished.

Tremendous relief surged up with a sharp, inexplicable ache.

He bowed low until his forehead struck the cold floor, voice choking with emotion as he forced out two words. "...Thank you."

Uzumaki Mito waved weakly, saying no more.

The gesture clearly dismissed him.

She needed a final stretch of quiet to gather the last threads of strength, for the storm to come, and for the ultimate ritual.

Hiruzen withdrew from the tearoom with respectful haste, suppressing his breath.

When he closed the door that separated the tearoom's warmth from the night's chill, then lifted his head to the Konoha sky still turbulent with the aftertaste of chaos, a granite-hard resolve gathered once more in the eyes of the "ninja hero."

Mito, by her sacrifice and resolve, had cleared the board for him.

The high council meeting?

Let them come. Let's see who dares stand in the Hokage's way.

The last darkness before dawn ripped open. A pale first light slid through the thick bulletproof glass of the great conference room, sketching everything in cold clarity.

The sun had not fully risen.

Konoha's towering walls cast vast shadows over a land just waking from a silent calamity.

In the decision chamber deep within the Hokage Building, the air was thicker than Hiruzen's pipe smoke, laced with the tang of blood and powder and a subtler reek of power plays.

Uzumaki Mito arrived very early.

In a plain, dark-violet kimono, she sat quietly at the head.

Her posture was still upright and elegant, but her lids were lowered, hands folded inside wide sleeves, a fatigue tempered by years of wind and frost settling about her.

She was the village's anchor, and also a lone lamp about to gutter out.

Hiruzen sat at her left, face a stony calm, fingertips tapping the hardwood in a rhythm edged with impatience.

For the first time, the white Hokage cloak felt like a mud-smeared prison uniform.

The door opened without a sound.

Mitokado Homura entered first, slicked-back hair, gold-rim glasses, advisor uniform with no crease out of place, his face arranged in the "Konoha is doomed" mask of heavy concern.

Utatane Koharu followed, features drawn and sharp as a bow at full draw. Her cloudy triangular eyes locked on Hiruzen, and her lips pinched as if she'd just bitten a raw bitter melon.

They sat, bringing not just bodies, but a low-pressure front of scrutiny and accusation.

Silence.

Even breathing felt weighted, pressing on the chest.

The meeting hadn't started, but the smoke of war already curled on the table.

Homura struck first. His palm slammed the table, tea cups jolting as he shattered the staged stillness.

"Hiruzen!" he drawled, scolding and "heartbroken." "Look outside! Konoha, our Konoha! What does it look like now? Half the village, tens of thousands, scythed down like wheat! Shinobi and civilians alike! This is your peace under your governance? Can't even guard our home! A disgrace! An utter disgrace!" Spittle almost reached Hiruzen's face.

Koharu's voice stabbed in, frosted needles dipped in poison, each word aimed at Mito. "That power last night, Mito-sama, our strongest barrier in Konoha, did the enemy slip in right under your nose? Is this... negligence?"

She didn't name anyone, but the arrow pointed straight at Kushina, the unappointed yet inevitable core of the storm, the future Nine-Tails Jinchūriki.

Homura landed the follow-up, the lenses of his glasses flashing with political venom. "Yes! A thorough investigation! This was clearly a vicious attack aimed at the Uzumaki, at our future Jinchūriki! Those Kumo vermin got what they deserved, but for them to penetrate so deep and aim for the Nine-Tails, there must be a bigger hand behind them! Mito-sama, do you know any hidden details? Anything could be critical to the village's survival!"

He framed the incident as an attack on the Jinchūriki, ducking managerial blame and pinning the pot on Uzumaki blood and the Hokage's failure to protect.

Hiruzen's eye twitched hard, jaw clenching.

These two old classmates, perfect harmony. One slaps on "inept governance," the other shoves the blame onto the Jinchūriki and Mito.

They'd nail him and Mito to the pillar of shame if they could.

He was about to retort,

A faint, bone-weary voice sounded, and stole all the air in the room.

Uzumaki Mito.

She didn't even raise her head. Only the hands on her knees trembled, barely.

Just that.

Hum.

The two cups of steaming tea before Homura and Koharu cracked in a spiderweb of fine lines with no warning. In the next instant, as if squeezed by an invisible giant hand, pop, pop, they shattered. Yet the tea didn't splash; it lifted as two thin streams that evaporated in silence.

The tabletop held not a single drop of water, only two small piles of crazed white porcelain shards.

Homura and Koharu froze like puppets with their strings cut. Their righteous bluster stuck in their throats; even the wrinkles on their faces seemed to solidify.

Cold sweat drenched their undershirts.

What they felt was the lingering pressure of the abyssal chakra and sealing mastery within this frail old body, and a will that would gladly burn to ash, taking enemies with it, to guard what mattered.

Too many years of smooth sailing had made them float, forgetting who ruled Konoha. Forgetting that before them sat the First Hokage's wife, the village's ultimate power, someone their own teacher, the Second, bowed to with respect.

By prestige, by standing, by strength,

They were nothing before her.

In a single breath, the chamber's balance snapped back.

Even Hiruzen's tapping fingers stilled.

His eyes on Mito were complicated, respect, guilt, and a guilty thrill at seeing those two cowed.

Mito's lids remained lowered, as if that silent show of power had only brushed away dust.

She finally spoke, voice firm, unarguable. "Last night... there was indeed an enemy attack. Kumo remnants forced a passage through a gap in the barrier at any cost. Their target was the child of my Uzumaki clan."

Each word nailed the event down as enemy plot and aimed at the Jinchūriki, leaving no room for quibbles.

She lifted her lids a fraction. Eyes that had seen rise and fall, that could embrace all things, were now stone-hard as they swept over Homura and Koharu's blanched faces. "You wish to investigate Kushina?"

The calm question chilled more than a scream.

Homura jerked as if shocked. His mask of grave concern for the village shattered, leaving raw panic. "Never! Mito-sama, you misunderstand! We... we're only worried about defense gaps, afraid the enemy has a follow-up!"

He redirected at once.

Hiruzen seized the opening and surged to his feet.

He didn't spare the two elders a glance, crushed by a single look from Mito, but turned to stare down the clan representatives gathered for the council.

"Gaps? Defense?"

His roar cracked like thunder in the chamber, making hearts quiver.

"Open your eyes! Enemies don't fall from the sky!" He slashed a hand toward the northwest, toward the Forest of Death, and, far beyond, the Land of Wind.

"The front! The Rain Country front! Our warriors bleed every day! Die every day! For whom do they stand? For whom do they bleed? For this peaceful rear of ours!"

Spittle flew with the Third's blazing fury. "And last night, while our soldiers on the front held Suna's main force with flesh and blood, buying us time,"

His voice rose to a near howl, every syllable an accusation. "What did those sewer vermin hiding in the desert do, Sunagakure?!"

Hiruzen's fist slammed the table. Even Mito's teacup jumped.

"They sent their most insidious Spiritual Secret Arts unit! While our guard was thin, they bypassed the main battle line, followed the scent of death, followed the blood in Rain, and slipped into our belly without a sound!"

He painted the picture like a witness, killing intent thick in his tone. "Their goal: break our morale! Paralyze our logistics! Throw our rear into chaos so we can't support the front! Make our parents, our wives and children live in fear!"

"And those Kumo insects?" He sneered, eyes as if looking at trash. "Just Suna's disposable pawns! A decoy to mislead us! Once their kidnapping of Kushina was exposed, Suna used them as a cat's paw, divert the blame east, dump the chamber pot on Kumo, and keep us too busy to see the real culprit! Heinous!"

He yanked a scroll from under the table, stained with dirt and grime, and slammed it down.

"This is the site survey from last night's battle. Look! Look at the residual chakra traces! The Sealing Corps' elite verified with their lives! In the core band, that snake-cold, clinging feel, if that isn't Suna's secret Sand-Binding spiritual technique, what is?! That unique frequency, only those soul-twisting scum can produce it!"

Breaths hitched around the room as clan representatives fixed on the blood-smeared evidence.

They couldn't see the details from here, but the scroll's aura of death, and Hiruzen's iron accusations, cast a long shadow over their hearts.

Especially at "verified with their lives," a weight that silenced doubts.

"No question, the mastermind behind this chaos, this vile raid, is Sunagakure!" Hiruzen's voice was a quenched steel blade, chopping the charge into place.

"They think a handful of pawns can shake Konoha? Dream on!"

His chest heaved. His gaze raked the room like burning coals, finally settling on the clan reps, lingering, especially, on those who weren't fond of the Uchiha.

"The front's blood hasn't dried! Our grief isn't over! Suna's poison claws have reached for our home, our parents, our wives, our children!"

"Comrades of Konoha! This calamity isn't a natural disaster! It's man-made! It's another blood-debt Suna owes us!"

"How shall we collect that debt?!"

His roar fell like a torch into dry tinder, igniting anger long held down by fear.

"Damn Suna! Three fine sons from my Hyūga branch family died in Rain to their poison sand!" a Hyūga elder raged first, Byakugan flaring.

"Blood for blood!" a Nara representative, normally the picture of cool logic, rose with red eyes. His younger brother had been on the death list just the day before.

"Kill them!"

"Reinforce the front! Sharpen the blades! Let them taste Konoha's fury!"

"Kill! Slaughter those desert hogs!"

The tide of rage exploded.

Hiruzen had precisely redirected civilian panic, clan grief, and war fear into iron hatred of Sunagakure.

Homura and Koharu parted their lips to spout the usual "political implications," "international optics," "proceed cautiously" drivel,

But the cold sting of Mito's Uzumaki chakra mark pricked like invisible needles, making their hair stand on end. Not a word came out.

Hiruzen saw it, and knew the timing was ripe.

He drew a deep breath, donned a mask of solemn resolve, and sank his voice, heavier, weightier. "Blood-debts must be paid in blood. But..."

At the single "but," the room quieted. All eyes turned to the Third.

Hiruzen's gaze swept like a searchlight, pausing on certain faces, especially among the clans usually unfriendly to the Uchiha.

"Fellow Konoha shinobi," he said somberly, "amid the chaos, while the Sealing Corps conducted emergency spiritual scans, we detected..." He paused deliberately, thickening the air.

"A powerful, chaotic, highly corrosive Yin Release wave. Not a naturally occurring disturbance, and unlike Suna or Kumo techniques."

Among the Uchiha, old Uchiha Shana, rigid face, shadowed eyes, felt a tiny twitch in his brow. Deep in his aged Sharingan, a flicker of wariness.

"The source... in the western sector of the village." Hiruzen didn't say "edge of the Uchiha compound," but his glance brushed Shana's seat, and his finger drummed, ever so casually, on that general area of the map.

It was enough.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 60: Uchiha Was…

In an instant, a rain of glances, doubtful, disdainful, cold, shot like silent arrows and fixed on Uchiha Shana.

The air seemed to fall below freezing.

The seeds of suspicion had been planted with precision.

No evidence was needed, only a vague direction, a few words like "chaos," "Yin Release," and "overwhelming," plus the Sharingan's unsettling reputation, to carve a clean crack through Konoha's upper ranks and the clan circle alike: Uchiha.

Uchiha, again.

Were they scheming amid the chaos?

Had they been used by the enemy?

Or… something even worse?

Uchiha Shana's withered face went iron-hard, jaw clenched.

He could feel those barbed stares prickling his back, wordless, cold exclusion and wariness.

He didn't refute it at once. His Sharingan, darker and colder than ever, locked back onto Hiruzen.

Old fox. Vicious play. He was using the other clans' doubts to choke off any Uchiha protests before they could start.

Damn it, are the Uchiha born to carry the blame?

But Hiruzen's next words fell with surgical accuracy on his heart.

"Of course," Hiruzen's tone softened, and his eyes returned to Shana with an expression that could almost be called trust, or expectation. "Elder Shana's granddaughter, Uchiha Mikoto… happened to be at the scene last night. She and Uzumaki Kushina are as close as sisters, and she protected her companion with courage and composure."

His voice rose, the Hokage's commendation brooking no dispute. "After discussion with Mito-sama, Uchiha Mikoto is hereby approved to join Tsunade-hime's squad. Alongside Uzumaki Kushina and Kamiyama Ryo, she will be trained as one of Konoha's future pillars. This affirms the Uchiha clan's loyalty, and repays Elder Shana's excellent guidance."

A slap, then a honeyed date, wrapped in the gilded banner of the "Hokage line" and "Konoha's future pillars."

The looks that moments ago had brimmed with suspicion and hostility shifted at once.

"The Uchiha have entered the Hokage's inner circle?"

For other clans, that alone was a clear signal, the Uchiha were being courted and contained by the top.

The Hokage needed the Sharingan's power.

Doubts remained, but the pressure on the surface bled away by half.

Hiruzen had successfully dragged attention from the incident itself into a subtler political question.

Uchiha Shana's Adam's apple moved with difficulty.

Refuse?

And give up the enormous lure of "the Hokage line" and "Tsunade's disciple"?

It was a chance the Uchiha had dreamed of, to step into the core circle.

Even knowing Hiruzen was sealing their mouths with sugar-coated poison, he had to pinch his nose and swallow.

The price: endure the rumors.

So be it. The Uchiha have never feared slander.

He closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching once, an acceptance of the favor laced with venom.

The flicker of sardonic satisfaction at Hiruzen's eye corner did not escape Uzumaki Mito's gaze.

She sighed inwardly, almost imperceptibly.

To still the internal storm, Hiruzen was using the Uchiha's awkward position once more… so be it.

Her gaze returned to its calm, ancient stillness.

Clack! Hiruzen slammed the table again, snapping all attention back and ending the little bout of political grappling. "Konoha's priority is unity! We throw everything westward! Sunagakure will pay tenfold, a hundredfold! The front needs more support, more shinobi! Avenge those who suffered last night! Guard our home! Uphold the Will of Fire!"

"Yes, Hokage-sama!" the clan representatives, everyone but Uchiha Shana, answered in unison, anger surging.

Internal strife was suppressed, for now. All blades turned outward.

The high council adjourned with a strange "consensus," thick with gunpowder and restrained calculation.

The aftershocks of that meeting were far more violent than last night's silent, kingly shockwave, exactly as Hiruzen had planned.

The smoke in the Hokage's office hadn't even cleared, yet he felt lighter than he had in days. He stood before the huge window, watching a village rousing from stupor.

The streets were no longer littered with fainted bodies. In their place, a molten heat, stoked and guided, was about to erupt.

The ANBU worked fast.

Notices prepared the previous night spread like snow, bulletin boards, key intersections, even bathhouse doors.

Scarlet headlines slashed like marks of vengeance:

"Sunagakure's Secret Arts Raid Konoha! Scorpion Claws at Our Door! Frontline in Peril! Blood Debts Paid in Blood!"

What Hiruzen had thundered in council turned to even more incendiary text, every word bleeding, every line in tears.

The point couldn't be clearer: while Konoha's warriors bled in Rain, Suna sent a vile Spiritual Secret Arts squad to paralyze the rear and sever the front's lifeline. Those mangled Kumo spies? Just Suna's throwaways, framed blame, diverted hatred!

Panic, aftershock, concern for one's own safety, distilled and ignited into a tidal rage, all aimed at the Land of Wind.

"Damn those Suna bastards!" A man just dragged from the public hot springs, reeking suspiciously and sporting a lump on his head, howled at the poster. "I fell in the cesspit, so it was those sand freaks! I'll fight them myself!"

"I knew it felt wrong, chill to the soul!" a woman rubbing her bruised skull snarled. "Suna's vile secret arts!"

At the bathhouse doors, the crowd boiled hotter still.

"Hell with them!" a gray-faced, robe-clad middle-aged man cursed at the signboard, despair dripping from his voice. "Last night I almost 'died young', traumatized! My happiness for the next half of my life, ruined by those Suna bastards! Where's the front? I'll cut them down for a sacrifice!"

"Me too!" another despondent patron nodded fiercely, hatred flooding his eyes. "I'll donate! Three years' wages! Buy the front the sharpest kunai, feed them well, slaughter those desert rats!"

Konoha Hospital's temporary wards bulged with patients.

Those who fell and broke bones, those who overdrew chakra, became the loudest voices.

"Suna scum! No guts to face us head-on, so they crawl in the gutters!" boomed Akimichi Chōjiro, arm in a sling, voice shaking the ward. "I was on tree patrol, who did I offend? Arm snapped! Once I'm healed, I'm going to Rain! Even if this arm's useless, I'll bite a few Suna-nin to death with my teeth!"

Beside him, another badly injured but riled-up shinobi shouted hoarsely, eyes red. "Blood for blood! For my cousin, he died two days ago in the Valley of Wind!"

The Chūnin Exam training field was converted into a frontline enlistment point.

Lines stretched out the gate, genin, young chūnin, even hot-blooded civilians, eyes blazing, itching to charge into the Wind Country.

"Sign me up! My whole family's Konoha! We won't be bullied!"

"My old man died at Suna's hands! I'll take that debt back myself!"

"Count me in! Kill one, break even, kill two, profit one! Slaughter those Suna dogs!"

Clerks shouted themselves hoarse; stacks of enrollment forms climbed into little mountains.

The air stank of fervor and iron, the scent of hatred catching flame.

Fear had been swept away by a flood of rage, leaving only one thought, vengeance. Against Sunagakure. With Suna blood to wash last night's humiliation.

Hiruzen watched it all, the corner of his mouth curling in a thin, satisfied line.

Perfect heat.

The black, heavy pot on Suna's head sat snug and unmoving.

The civilians' fury became fuel to accelerate the war machine.

But that was only the lowest rung.

In the clan districts, the mood was subtler.

In the Aburame compound's humming insect gardens, newly minted jōnin Aburame Shui walked with measured steps.

He tilted his head, speaking quietly to a cloaked clansman. "The residual chill in that shockwave… its overlap with Suna's signature is indeed low. But if Hokage-sama says it is, then it is."

His tone held no ripple, just a stated fact. "Our concern is the order: send more kikaichū west. Rain Country will be their new hunting ground."

In another great compound, on Hyūga training grounds,

Hyūga Tennin stood with a face like still water, Byakugan open to the void, reliving the night.

At length, he closed his sight and said to the youth standing behind him, Hyūga Hiashi, calmly, "The stray waves of Yin Release in the chaos did point toward the edge of the Uchiha compound, but the intensity… far from enough to explain last night's scale. Still, it's good that Elder Shana's granddaughter joins the Hokage's inner squad."

He paused, a blade-glint flashing in his eyes. "Tell our people at the front to keep close watch on the Uchiha. The Sharingan's power can be used, but must never leave our sight." His voice was soft, but brooked no dissent.

Within the Uchiha compound, walled off by high stone, pressure built.

The secret chamber beneath Naka Shrine was dim.

Uchiha Shana sat at the head, the cold fire in his aged Sharingan burning like a provoked wolf.

A few elders with equally grim faces whispered.

"The upper ranks… tch! A neat 'divert the flood east', leave the pot on us."

"Mikoto entering the Hokage line… bait. Poisoned with barbs."

"So for the sake of Elder Shana's granddaughter entering the core circle, we swallow this filth? Those spiteful rumors last night, clearly from them!"

"Enough!" Shana slammed the table, voice hoarse but sharp with killing intent.

"Mikoto must go. This is our chance to wedge into the core. As for the rumors,"

A razor-cold curve tugged his lips. "Some of our brats need tempering anyway. Pass the word, initiate the clan's extreme training. Let them turn that humiliation into killing intent on the battlefield. Uchiha honor will be rebuilt on the enemy's corpses."

His murky eyes lifted toward the Hokage Building, the chill deepening.

"Sarutobi Hiruzen… this debt is noted."

Hiruzen knew all this full well.

The clans' old foxes were not so easily fooled, but he didn't care.

All he needed was to divert attention and forge a common enemy, for now.

As long as every spear pointed outward, internal hazards could be shelved, even turned into the drive that scatters the wolves.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 11: Chapter 61-65

Chapter 61: Team 8 Combination

Morning in Konoha still carried last night's rain-soaked humidity. The air was sticky with blood-red posters calling for vengeance against Sunagakure.

Puffy, red-rimmed eyes hadn't faded from the streets; anger sizzled like hot oil.

Ryo, hand in hand with Kushina, stepped over the battered threshold of the Ninja Academy.

A second ago the place croaked like a frog pit; the next, the air seemed sucked clean out.

Kushina's trademark flame-red hair was as bold as ever. Walking beside her was the same Ryo who had split a training ground and carved up Kumo spies days ago.

"What are you staring at?!" Kushina snapped, shooting fire at a spiky-haired kid lurking against the wall.

The boy blanched; the pouch he was polishing slipped right from his hands.

Whispers reignited behind them, clammy and uncomfortable as grease on skin.

"Hmph!" Kushina snorted, hugging Ryo's arm even tighter, like she wanted to set herself into him.

Ryo didn't even twitch an eyelid, letting her pull him along.

The war fever had rolled straight into the Academy, unsurprisingly turning class talk into a draft board.

Class 5-A was a steam box.

The ceiling fans churned in vain, stirring hot air and teenage hormones with nowhere to go.

Sweat, ink, and the faint sweetness drifting from the girls in the front row mixed into one.

"Hey, did you see the team list?" a lanky boy elbowed his desk mate, eyes gleaming. "Once we're in squads, maybe next month we can take a C-rank! If we're lucky and meet a few clueless enemy shinobi, couple slashes, fame across the shinobi world! When we get back, man, the girls will be lining—"

"In your dreams! Fresh grads killing enemy shinobi? Don't get your guts punched out your ass," snorted a buzz-cut. "I just want a reliable squad, learn something real from a senpai. Maybe do well on the front, make chūnin, hell, maybe jōnin…" His eyes slid off toward the shining allure of that flak jacket.

In the back, a few girls huddled, cheeks pink, whispering:

"Namikaze Minato has to land in an elite squad! He's so handsome, and strong…"

"Shh! Keep it down! Don't forget Ryo… gods, that day… that world-ending…" The speaker's tone dropped; color drained from her face as the memory chilled her again.

Every conversation sliced off at once, as if cut by an invisible blade.

For half a heartbeat, silence.

Thump, thump.

Boot heels, slow and heavy on hardwood, punched right through corridor noise and into everyone's ears.

The classroom fell dead quiet.

Heated debates, crude jokes, sweet fantasies, gone in a snap.

The fan's dull drone suddenly felt sharp.

At the door, two figures.

The first to step in, a red-haired boy in a black, cloud-patterned short jacket, shoulders straight.

No expression. That face was almost too handsome, and oddly lazy, like he couldn't be bothered to register the room.

One hand sank in a pocket. The other hung loose, except the long, clean fingers locked tight around a slender, pale hand.

Uzumaki Kushina, being led in, was a little flushed.

Her flaming hair still burned, but the usual prickly swagger seemed forcibly tamped down, her spicy aura reined in.

Her eyes were bright, too bright, two blue flames dancing. Whenever her gaze flicked toward Ryo, a secret pride, and a deeper sweetness, shivered there.

That posture. That distance. That blazing declaration.

The air froze; only the fan buzzed on.

All eyes were dragged by a colossal magnet to the place their hands met.

Silent.

By the window, Namikaze Minato sat in pale gold sunlight, his pale gold hair catching it.

At their appearance, the neat strokes of his pen hiccuped; a blot of ink bled on the page.

He didn't look up. His lashes trembled once. The knuckles gripping his pen whitened, then slowly released. He wrote the next character, calm as if nothing had happened.

In the corner, Uchiha Mikoto turned just enough to show the side of her face, the calm, polite silhouette of a model student.

Black hair fell smooth over her shoulder. Jawline delicate. Posture impeccable.

Only she knew how deep her nails bit into her palm inside those wide sleeves. The cool sting grounded her.

She stared at a point on the chair back ahead, fighting to keep her gentle composure. Only she heard the tiny crack somewhere in her heart.

She inhaled, shifted her breath with the slightest motion, and tore her gaze from Ryo, focusing on the textbook lines as if they were lifelines.

Bang!

Homeroom teacher Kimura Shū pounded onto the platform with bedhead and two heroic dark circles. His temper burned hotter than the fresh Suna-bashing posters outside.

"Noise! All you do is noise! Men are dying on the front! The village is bleeding! And you brats can still think about anything else?!" His eyes were bloodshot; his stare flayed the room like a bone-scraper. "Quiet! Team placements!"

He snapped open a scroll.

"Squad One: Takegawa Sō, Aburame Shimi, Hyūga Nichiya!"

"Squad Five…"

He rattled names off fast and flat, like announcing obituaries.

Those called sat on needles, eyes locked on the door, praying their famed jōnin leader would kick it open and haul them into glory.

Only low pressure and heavier breaths remained.

"Squad Seven!" Kimura barked louder than before. "Namikaze Minato, Sarutobi Shin'nosuke, Shimura Yami! Jōnin leader…" He paused, gaze lingering on Minato. "Jiraiya-sama." The last two words came out oddly small, like they had bumped something on the way out.

The tight lines in Minato's posture loosened a notch. Before he could fully exhale, Kimura's voice came down again, cold and hard:

"Squad Eight: Kamiyama Ryo, Uzumaki Kushina, Uchiha Mikoto! Jōnin leader, Tsunade-hime!"

The classroom dropped into a vat of boiling oil.

Tsunade-hime! Konoha's princess! A living legend!

But that wasn't the point.

The point was that lineup.

A monster with the Scarlet Pepper, plus an Uchiha?

Air crystallized. Every gaze glued to those three names; even breathing cut off.

Ryo propped his chin in one hand, eyes drifting past the window toward the Hokage Rock, unreadable.

Kushina's eyes flashed like they had been filled with syrup. She clung tighter to Ryo's arm.

Up front, Minato's neck creaked around gear by gear, painfully slow. His gaze brushed Kushina's radiant face; his eyes filled with loss.

"Quiet!!" Kimura's rasp ripped the shock apart. "Tsunade-hime and Jiraiya-sama are currently on the Rain Country front, return date unknown! Squad Seven will be led temporarily by jōnin Sarutobi Hoshizora!"

Then he turned toward the god statue in the back corner. "As for Squad Eight—"

Kimura drew a deep breath and forced himself to meet Ryo's gaze. Those eyes held no ripple, so calm it scraped at the heart.

"Hokage-sama," Kimura croaked, throat dry, "wants to see the three of you. Now. Immediately. Report to the Hokage Building." He snapped his head away.

"Wow!" Kushina's eyes flared with delight. She shook Ryo's arm. "Hiruzen wants to see us himself? Our squad has to be super important!"

Ryo said nothing, rising to his feet.

He didn't even look at Kimura. His eyes slid over the sky.

A black crow flapped down onto the shadow of the Hokage Rock, black wings beating twice against the pale morning.

Looked like his awakening of Conqueror's haki and the panic it caused in Konoha would be settled today. He wondered what Sarutobi Hiruzen had planned.

Worst case, become a rogue ninja. Except, Kushina.

Unless there was no other choice, he would rather not walk that path.

Kushina skipped after him; Mikoto followed half a step behind in silence.

From the moment Ryo stood, the entire room's spine seemed to bow under an invisible weight.

When he was nearly at the door and the battered panel creaked open a crack, a strained, cracking voice broke the deathly quiet. "Wait!"

Minato shot to his feet.

He stared at Kushina; his lips trembled. "Congratulations" stuck in his throat like a lump of lead and wouldn't come out.

Ryo stopped.

He tilted his head slightly. His eyes, two ice awls, drilled across half the room and pinned Minato.

No anger. No threat.

Minato felt the breath he had just drawn freeze in his lungs; his blood seemed to stall.

"Minato?" Sarutobi Shin'nosuke sensed trouble, muttering low, wary eyes flicking to the red-haired calamity at the door.

Minato didn't move.

Time stretched thin.

"Hmph!" Kushina flicked her hair, pride and a touch of smugness open on her face, like a small beast guarding its food. "Minato-kun, we're in a hurry, please move."

The two voices, so different, yet both cutting, scalded Minato into a shaky lurch. He stumbled back a step and thunked against his desk.

Ryo drew his gaze away as if he had brushed off a speck of dust. He stepped forward and crossed the invisible threshold.

"Ryo!" Kushina chirped, racing to catch up.

As Mikoto passed Minato, her steps hitched. She looked like she wanted to speak. One quick glance at his pale face and the white-knuckled grip on his desk, then she bit her lip and lowered her head, hurrying after the other two.

The door closed behind them, sealing off the sticky air, and that silent stare.

Inside the Hokage Building, the corridors were chill and drafty.

A few gray-faced administrative shinobi jogged past clutching teetering stacks of reports that looked ready to explode.

"Damn it, again!" a clerk with a fresh lump on his temple darted around a corner, nearly colliding with the stack-bearers. He cursed under his breath. "The Third just slammed the table calling Suna sewer worms! Those battle reports are about to catch fire! Now they're rushing the medical supply ledger again? We just turned it in! What are we, ghosts?!"

"Shut it!" someone snarled ahead. "The western line is dying! Three more squads wiped out last night in Rain! Corpses piling high! You think you get to clock out and go cuddle the wife?! Move!"

The shinobi with the stack clenched his teeth and sped up, back stiff like a man running explosives to a bunker.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy black-lacquered door stood ajar.

Before they even reached it, two dying beasts were roaring inside.

"Bullshit! Utter crap!" Mitokado Homura's voice screeched ragged. "Money, Hiruzen! You think you print it?! How many years have you been Hokage and you dare write this budget?! Do you know what it cost to overclock the village-wide sensing barrier last night?! Drain Konoha's funds for a decade and it won't fill that pit! Where will you find money to expand two full-strength regiments?!"

"Scrape? Scrape my ass!" Hiruzen's thunder shook the room. "Suna's filthy claws reached into my house! Listen up! Even if we pawn the village blacksmith, we're burying those bastards in sand! Money? Supplies? That's your job, Homura! Keep yapping and I'll come 'celebrate' at your mansion next!"

Thud. Thud.

The muffled blows rattled through the thick door.

"Sandaime…" a senior clerk, white as chalk and clearly rattled, tried to speak, his voice fluttering like a leaf.

"Get out!" Hiruzen's roar smashed through next.

The door jerked open a crack. The clerk practically crawled out, even paler after seeing Ryo; fear twisted his face. He squeaked and skittered along the wall like a lizard.

The storm inside poured through the gap.

"It's not just money, Hiruzen! Don't you get it?!" Utatane Koharu's sharp tone joined the fray. "The village is a busted beehive! People are terrified! Who's going to donate? Who'll send their sons to Rain to die as cannon fodder?!"

"No one? Great!" Hiruzen's voice took on a razor's edge of madness. "Then let's all stay home! Let Suna's blade rest on every neck! Today we get mowed down like wheat, tomorrow we're trussed pigs sold for cash! The next day you two hold a banquet in your mansions! You think when Konoha falls, you'll sit on the stump drinking tea? Keep dreaming!"

Silence. Only harsh, bellows-like breathing leaked through the door.

Ryo's face didn't change.

Kushina, excited, rose on tiptoe to peek. Ryo's arm slid out without a word and blocked her.

Mikoto stared at her shoes, lashes veiling every emotion, fingers pinching her skirt hem without thinking.

"Ahem…" A few awkward coughs finally sounded within.

"Enter," Homura forced out, voice wobbly with varnished calm.

Ryo lifted a hand and pushed the heavy door open.

Behind the massive desk, the Third slumped in his high-backed chair like a lion not yet cooled after rage, his red Hokage hat tossed aside, hair skewed.

Bloodshot eyes slashed toward them, still crackling with thunder.

Homura and Koharu stood rigid to left and right.

Smoke stung the air, mingled with the scorched-paper smell of ripped files.

"Kh—" Hiruzen cleared his throat hard, wrestling his face from tectonic fury to something like a smile, and ended up with a stiff grimace.

He grabbed his pipe and tried to pack it, hands shaking so badly he couldn't strike the flint.

Ryo stopped two paces from the desk, gaze dropping to the scroll listing "Squad Eight," one corner crushed under a wad of torn documents.

Kushina looked around, the oppression making her uneasy. Her fingers tugged at the back of Ryo's shirt.

Mikoto fixed her eyes on her nose, her nose on her heart, standing like the perfect statue.

For a long beat, the only sound in the big office was Hiruzen's irritable click, click of the stubborn flint.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 62: Situation

"…Hah."

Hiruzen finally gave up trying to light his pipe. He tapped it against the desk with a dull clunk.

"Koharu, Homura, you two can leave. Go handle your duties." His voice was edged with command. Some things were not meant for the elders' ears.

The two advisors were shrewd enough not to protest. Since the Third had issued the dismissal, they bowed out quickly.

"Good. You're here at the right time."

Hiruzen's eyes, heavy with authority, scanned Ryo like a searchlight, then shifted, reluctantly, to Kushina and Mikoto. His voice tried to stay calm, but the gunpowder tension underneath could not be hidden.

"You three are grouped together. The documents already bear the seal. Tsunade herself requested this team."

He rifled through the mess of papers on his desk until he dragged out a scroll stamped with a crimson seal, the official list for Squad Eight. He set it on the desk between them like evidence.

Kushina let out a small cheer before Mikoto discreetly tugged her sleeve, silencing her.

"Tsunade…" Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, looking as if he had burned through his last bit of strength. One hand rubbed his temple. The pipe in his palm was nearly snapped in two from his grip. "She's on the Ame front. I've already summoned her back. By rights, her team should be led by her in person."

He exhaled through his nose, voice thick with fatigue. "The reason I called you here was to explain the situation. For now, you're free to use your time as you wish. When Tsunade returns, she will take over."

But in truth, his real purpose was Ryo. The past few days' events, the psychic quake that shook the whole of Konoha, had to be addressed face to face.

Mikoto was also part of this meeting to ease tensions after her clan had been scapegoated. She was meant to carry Hiruzen's intent back to the Uchiha.

Kushina was here more as a gesture. To show her face, to reassure, to smooth over anxieties about the Nine-Tails.

"Kushina, Mikoto, if you have no other business, you may leave. I have matters to discuss with Ryo." His tone was kindly, but firm.

"Hey, old man, don't you dare bully Ryo!" Kushina immediately bristled, puffing up like a small lioness, baring her fangs at the Hokage.

"Don't worry, I won't bully your little boyfriend," Hiruzen teased back with a smile.

"…Kushina, it's fine," Ryo cut in, voice edged with weariness. "I'll be fine. Go."

"Hmph." Kushina was not one to throw a tantrum without reason. She knew Ryo had serious business to handle. Still, she gave Hiruzen one last dagger-like glare before tugging Mikoto out the door.

Clack.

The heavy door shut behind them, sealing the office in silence.

Their footsteps faded down the corridor.

The room grew still. Oppressively so, like cotton stuffed into every corner.

Smoke coiled lazily from Hiruzen's pipe, catching the overhead light. His gaze, sharp and weighted, pressed down on Ryo's shoulders, stripping away the last trace of youthful aura the boy might have carried.

Outside, sunlight burned harsh white across the jagged Hokage Rock.

Time stretched.

Finally, Hiruzen drew a deep pull from his pipe, the embers crackling. He let the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling slow and heavy. His voice came with it, gravel-edged from tobacco and age.

"…The psychic shockwave that blanketed half of Konoha the other day, was that you?"

No detours. Straight to the point.

Ryo's eyelids lowered for a beat, then he raised his eyes and met Hiruzen's stare head-on. No flinch. No panic.

"Yeah." The word dropped into the silence like a stone into deep water.

Hiruzen's grip on his pipe tightened, knuckles whitening. Smoke veiled his expression, but his eyes narrowed. He waited.

Ryo's voice cut through, steady.

"It was the awakening of a kekkei genkai. My emotions spiked, I lost control. It was instinct, breaking out of its cage."

No excuses. No lies. Just fact.

"Kekkei genkai…" Hiruzen rolled the word on his tongue. A flicker crossed his eyes, part light, part shadow. A new bloodline in Konoha was a gain. But if it could not be inherited, then it was also a dead end.

That thought was gone in an instant, buried under deeper calculations.

Silence stretched longer this time.

Finally, Hiruzen knocked his pipe against the ashtray, the sound sharp and dull at once.

"Details. Control, conditions of activation?" His words were shuriken, one after another. This was not something he could afford to leave vague.

He would never allow a repeat of that disaster.

"Currently controllable," Ryo replied just as bluntly. "But that time was an accident. Emotional surge past the threshold triggered it."

He tapped his temple with a finger. "My body itself resisted the awakening. A form of self-protection."

Hiruzen's eyes sharpened. "Self-protection?"

"Power too great. Vessel too weak," Ryo said flatly. "If I force it, it will kill me. So my instincts sealed it back. I can't call it out at will. To reach the point where I can, I'll need…"

His eyes gleamed. "The battlefield. Only real battle can push it out. I'll need pressure. And…" His voice lowered on the last word, sharp as a knife dipped in blood. "…nutrients."

Hiruzen chuckled once, short and bitter. "You don't hold back, do you? The boy demands Konoha feed him." He leaned forward, eyes narrowing to blades. "And the price?"

Ryo's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "Anything but my life. Or, does Konoha want that too?"

The office froze over again.

Hiruzen sucked hard on his pipe, smoke burning his throat.

This boy, his composure, his raw, transactional bluntness, it was nothing like a twelve-year-old. He was a cub, yes, but already growing fangs, already measuring the weight of power like a predator.

"Your life?" Hiruzen exhaled, eyes cutting through smoke. "You just saved the Nine-Tails' future jinchūriki. You've earned a great merit. Konoha won't throw away its roots over this." His hand rapped the desk with a dull thud. "The chaos you caused, I'll shoulder that with the council. I'll suppress their whispers."

He leaned forward again, his voice turning like steel. "But the damages are real. Homes smashed. Facilities wrecked. Medical costs surging. Even the bathhouse incident, all of it stirred panic. And the bill is astronomical."

His eyes hardened. "That debt, you'll repay it."

The smoke twisted between them.

"When Tsunade returns, you'll go to the front. Every mission, every kill, every reward, it all goes toward paying your debt. That is your price, Ryo."

His voice cracked like a hammer. "Konoha gives you the battlefield. Konoha gives you the ladder to grow. Konoha shields you. And you, repay with your blade, with your blood, with your commission. Then we're even."

Ryo didn't blink. Only the faintest glimmer flashed in his crimson eyes.

"Battlefield missions as repayment?" His tone stayed flat, but there was an edge there, something primal.

"Bounty counted by head?" he asked, each syllable a weight dropped onto a scale.

His mind already conjured images of the Ame front, the chaos, the enemies hidden in the storm. A hunting ground, ripe and bloody.

The raw, unmasked calculation in his words made even Hiruzen twitch at the corner of his eye.

This child, was he treating war like a slaughterhouse assembly line?

He shoved down the absurd thought, face darkening. "Konoha doesn't put price tags on corpses," he snapped. "Mission pay is fixed by rank. An S-rank pays highly, but only if you live to take it."

His eyes bore into Ryo's. "All rewards are settled after war. Every merit weighed and balanced into resources, or ryo. After deductions, the rest is yours."

Ryo nodded once. "Understood."

War was the whetstone he needed.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 63: Got It for Free

The moment the deal was sealed, the atmosphere in the office shifted.

The thick pressure of negotiation disappeared, leaving only the faint tapping of Ryo's fingers against his knee and the soft hiss of tobacco as Hiruzen exhaled a long stream of smoke.

"The debt is cleared."

Hiruzen's murky eyes glimmered with sharp light through the haze. "Now, let's talk about another kind of business."

He leaned forward, crossing the cluttered table. His shadow stretched across it, heavy with authority.

"That blue chakra sphere you taught Kushina, the one called Rasengan." His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, his voice thick with desire. "And that sword technique of yours, the one that split the ground with a swing of its sheath."

His gaze turned razor-sharp. "Interested in making a deal with the village? Exchange them for something more… useful?"

Ryo didn't lift his eyes. "What kind of exchange?" His tone was curt, straight to the point.

Hiruzen leaned back, reaching beneath his desk. A deep scraping sound followed as he pulled out a massive ancient scroll bound in dark ebony wood.

With a thud, it landed on the table. The yellowed parchment was covered in dense crimson sealing scripts.

"The Scroll of Seals." Hiruzen's fingers brushed across it with reverence. "From the time of the First Hokage, this scroll records every forbidden technique in Konoha's history."

He tapped the hardened casing with a knuckle. "Your Rasengan, stabilized chakra shape transformation, fully controllable, devastating against defenses, no hand seals required. That's A-rank at least."

"As for that sword technique, barehanded, no chakra required, yet it split the ground open. That's S-rank material."

His gaze sharpened. "You can pick two jutsu of equivalent rank from this scroll. How about it? Do we have a deal?"

His voice carried temptation, and just a trace of unease.

Ryo finally moved.

His eyes scanned the twisting runes, silver pupils faintly rippling with hidden energy.

"Deal." The word struck like a hammer.

"Agreed!" Hiruzen's heart skipped. He had accepted that easily? He had expected to negotiate half the day.

But it made sense. The Scroll of Seals held countless forbidden techniques, many unusable. Trading a few to gain new foundational arts was profitable from a Hokage's point of view.

For Ryo, it was simpler.

The Rasengan was something he had gotten for free. That swordsmanship from another world? Also free. Whether others could master it was not his concern.

He was about to trade two things he got for nothing for two high-tier jutsu. Pure profit.

Afraid he might change his mind, Hiruzen quickly formed hand seals. His fingers blurred.

Chakra light shimmered at his fingertips as he pressed the central "Seal" symbol.

A deep hum rippled through the air. The complex seal patterns quivered like water, then shifted aside.

Moments later, a portion of the scroll unfurled, revealing lines of black ink.

"Check the index yourself," Hiruzen said hoarsely. "Only this portion is accessible. The rest is sealed."

Ryo's eyes flicked through the list, each name carried blood and legend.

Wood Release: Deep Forest Emergence (S-Rank, Forbidden) Impure World Reincarnation (S-Rank, Forbidden) Yin Seal (S-Rank) Flying Thunder God Technique (S-Rank)

One by one, jutsu that had shaken the world appeared before him.

Then his gaze stopped, not on the top entries, but on a modest one marked in red.

Multiple Shadow Clone Technique (A-Rank).

His eyes narrowed. Then they stopped again, Flying Thunder God Technique (S-Rank).

He tapped the table lightly. The sound was soft, but it hit Hiruzen's heart like a hammer.

"These two," Ryo said calmly.

"What?!" Hiruzen's hand jerked, almost dropping his pipe. "Cough, cough, what did you just say?!"

"Multiple Shadow Clone Technique," Ryo repeated. "And the Flying Thunder God Technique."

Clack.

The brass pipe hit the table and rolled twice before stopping upside down.

Hiruzen didn't even glance at it. His eyes bulged. "Are you insane? Do you even know what the Flying Thunder God is?! S-Rank forbidden art. Spatial teleportation. Tobirama-sama spent his entire life creating it. One misstep and you'll be shredded in spatial turbulence. Do you have a death wish?!"

"Young people!" he roared. "Just because you killed a few Kumo-nin doesn't make you invincible. These techniques aren't toys. Geniuses have died trying to learn what's written here!"

Ryo waited silently as the old Hokage fumed. His face stayed calm.

When the shouting stopped, he spoke quietly. "Then, can we trade?"

The calm weight of those words froze Hiruzen mid-breath. His face turned red, then pale.

Right. He was the one who made the offer. Jutsu for jutsu.

The Flying Thunder God was S-Rank. Ryo's sword technique was S-Rank.

He couldn't refuse.

Hiruzen sighed. "…We can trade."

He sank back into his chair, voice weary. "Of course we can."

Rubbing his face, he muttered, "The permissions are open. Copy what you need. Paper and ink are in that cabinet."

Before he finished, Ryo was already moving.

He pulled out standard Konoha scrolls and charcoal pens. His movements were clean and deliberate.

Hiruzen watched but said nothing.

Ryo's full attention was locked on the opened scroll. Beneath each jutsu title, short notes glowed faintly, pulsing like living warnings.

 

---

Multiple Shadow Clone Technique (A-Rank): A forbidden variant of the standard Shadow Clone. Consumes enormous chakra to create multiple, theoretically unlimited, physical clones. Each clone has independent mobility and thought. All experiences return to the user when dispelled. (Risk: High danger of chakra exhaustion and mental collapse.)

Flying Thunder God Technique (S-Rank, Forbidden): A secret technique for instantaneous teleportation through space. Uses spiritual imprints and spatial folding to move between marked coordinates. (Core Principles: Spatial Anchoring, Coordinate Analysis, Phase Folding, Vector Displacement Control.) (Risks: Loss of coordinates → dismemberment. Chakra miscalculation → dimensional tear. Drift → body fragmentation.)

Ryo picked up the charcoal pen. His hand was steady. He closed his eyes for a moment before writing.

The title "Multiple Shadow Clone Technique" appeared in bold strokes.

He wrote swiftly, copying every rune, every chakra diagram. The sound of charcoal scratching filled the room.

Soon, one scroll was complete. He set it aside and began the next.

He needed the Flying Thunder God.

Once his "little tomato" became a Jinchūriki, she would become everyone's target.

Strength alone wasn't enough. If he couldn't reach the enemy, it was meaningless.

He needed speed, speed that ignored distance.

He began writing again.

The diagram of the Flying Thunder God was ten times more complex. Each line carried the weight of space itself.

Time blurred.

Finally, the last stroke fell.

Two fresh scrolls lay before him, ink still glistening.

"Youth really is a kind of capital," Hiruzen murmured, breaking the silence. His tone carried weary admiration.

He toyed with his pipe, eyes softening. "The Flying Thunder God… I tried studying it once."

Ryo looked up.

Hiruzen avoided his gaze. "I held Tobirama-sensei's notes once. Just constructing seven basic anchors nearly tore my mind apart."

He rubbed his temples, as if feeling the pain again. Then he looked back at Ryo.

"So, listen. Don't rush. Don't copy blindly. When you write your sword technique notes, let me see them. I'll help you avoid the dead ends. So you don't end up in pieces."

The room smelled faintly of old paper and wood.

Ryo packed the scrolls, then stood.

"I owe you one," he said suddenly.

Hiruzen blinked.

"For that day," Ryo clarified, eyes calm. "For your protection."

Surprise flickered in Hiruzen's eyes, followed by something softer.

The tension between them eased.

So, the kid isn't completely cold after all.

Hiruzen chuckled quietly, polishing his pipe. "Didn't think the ice block could say something human." His tone was warm for once. "Alright. I'll remember this favor."

Ryo nodded, opened the door, and stepped out.

"I'll send the sword technique notes later," he said as he left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Hiruzen sat alone in his vast office. The Book of Seals lay open on the desk, surrounded by the faint scent of tobacco and the lingering chill Ryo left behind.

The wind was gone. Silence returned.

It was as if the entire exchange, words, tension, forbidden arts, had been nothing but a fleeting illusion.

Hiruzen's smile faded into exhaustion.

He slumped in his chair. Schemes were useless with Ryo. Only honesty worked.

Among the mess of documents lay a scroll labeled: Team 8 — Tsunade, Ryo, Kushina, Mikoto.

Outside, the air over Konoha was taut like a drawn bowstring.

Hiruzen lit another pipe and took a slow drag.

For now, the mess was contained.

Once Tsunade returned, the battlefield in Ame would turn into hell itself.

He wondered how big a storm that boy would stir up in the Land of Rain.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 64: We’re So Close, But You’re Using Your Brain!?

The granite steps of the Hokage Building cast long, slanting shadows.
Kushina dragged Mikoto behind a pillar, her little face flushed with excited mischief.

"Mikoto, you know what?" She lowered her voice, a bit smug. "Ryo—he likes my feet!"

The air froze for a heartbeat.

Mikoto's eyes widened slightly. "No way? Ryo-kun, with that icy personality…"
Her gaze instinctively dropped to Kushina's feet in her ninja sandals—slightly dusty, but pale and delicate.

Her eyes flicked to her own feet beneath her skirt, just as slim and well-shaped in wooden clogs.

She shifted, pressing her soles lightly against the stone slab.

Mine aren't bad either…
The thought stabbed into her mind like an icicle, followed by a wave of burning shame that flooded her cheeks.

Uchiha Mikoto, what are you thinking?! she scolded herself inwardly. Kushina is your best friend!

"Hey! Mikoto?" Kushina waved a hand in front of her face, red hair leaning close, blue eyes full of suspicion. "Spacing out? Jaw drop, right? Hah!"

Mikoto snapped back, pinching her palm with her fingertips, forcing a flawless smile.
"Kushina, you… you're so lucky! I'm happy for you."

She paused, voice softening with a playful lilt as she deflected the topic.
"But you little minx, telling me this means you want your strategist to keep plotting for you, right? So, how do we bring him down next?"

"Mikoto! You get me!" Kushina puffed up proudly, her eyes sparkling. "We're besties! Thanks to you, Ryo and I have come this far! And in the future… my kids will call you godmother!" She thumped her chest solemnly.

"Mhm." Mikoto lowered her lashes, hiding the faint flash of sourness and unwillingness in her eyes, smiling gently. "We're best friends, of course."

Sunlight filtered through the columns, slicing patchwork shadows across the two girls.

Mikoto took a deep breath, then leaned close to Kushina's ear. Her warm breath brushed the redhead's small earlobe.

"Actually… I've got a brilliant idea. You can 'reward' Ryo-kun without looking too forward, and it'll make him even more attached—he'll treasure you himself…"
Her whispers were soft and quick, like fine raindrops tapping against Kushina's heart.

The details were impossible to hear.

But Kushina's vivid blue eyes widened, her pupils shrinking like a startled cat's. Her long lashes trembled rapidly.

The blush on her cheeks shot to her ears and down her neck, painting her face a ripe, glowing tomato.

Her body stiffened. Her toes curled uneasily in her sandals. She tried to press her knees together, then froze—like a puppet hung on invisible strings.

A tiny, almost inaudible whimper escaped her throat.

It was as if invisible sparks exploded between them.

Just then, the heavy dark door of the Hokage Building opened.

A tall figure stepped out into the sunlight—Ryo.

His face was calm as ever. Those silver eyes, faintly tinted red by the sun, swept over them and stopped on Kushina's flushed face.

A flicker of confusion crossed his gaze. What's with my little chili pepper today?

"Wah! Ryo!" Kushina reacted like a small animal with its tail stepped on. She bounced back a step, then slid forward again, fumbling to hide her blush.
"Y-You're out! That old—uh, Grandpa Third! Didn't give you trouble, right? If he dares bully you, I'll burn his precious beard right now!"

She babbled, trying to bury her slip under exaggerated bravado, her eyes darting everywhere but at Ryo.

Ryo's gaze paused on her flushed face, automatically ignoring her beard-burning threat. He walked up to her.

"It's fine. Good news."
His tone barely changed. He reached into his cloak, pulled out a pale yellow scroll, and handed it to her.
"Here. Multiple Shadow Clone Technique, A-rank. With your chakra reserves, it suits you."

The scroll felt cool in her hands as it unfurled. The bold inked characters seemed almost alive.

"Wah—A-rank!" Kushina gasped in delight. Her blush melted into excitement.

She caught the scroll instinctively. The cold paper felt warm in her hands now. She looked up at him, eyes shimmering like a lake full of stars. "Ryo, thank you…"

"Kushina." Ryo cut her off, brow twitching slightly. His voice was low, leaving no room for argument.

"Between us, don't say that again."

A strange warmth welled up in her chest, washing away her earlier embarrassment.

She sniffed, the shine in her eyes brightening. Forgetting all strategy, she lunged forward, clinging tightly to his arm, pressing close as she tilted her rosy face up.

"Okay! I won't say it!"

Her soft warmth and faint sun-dried scent surrounded him. Ryo's body stiffened slightly, but he didn't pull away.

He looked down at the fluffy red hair nestled against his arm and let out a quiet, resigned hum.

"Can't do anything about you."

He lifted his hand, dropping his palm onto her head—not gentle, even a bit rough—as he rubbed twice at her messy hair.

He avoided her forehead and cheeks with measured care, like a clumsy lion tending to something that belonged to him.

Only Kushina could feel that faint note of comfort in his touch.

The air went still. Even the wind curved around their corner.

A few steps away, Mikoto stood frozen like a porcelain doll in shadow.

The earlier "strategy talk"—that faint flutter over toes—faded into nothing.

She watched Kushina cling to Ryo's arm, watched Ryo—usually cold to everyone—deliver that awkward yet indulgent head rub, watched Kushina's goofy smile drown in sweetness.

A lump of cold lead settled in her stomach. The spark of thought and plan that had flared when she'd glanced at her own feet was smothered.

She could feel the warmth inside her chest cool rapidly to nothing.

Her nails dug deep into her palm. The sting brought a thin illusion of calm. Fine. Very fine, Kushina.

The corridor's stone columns stood grey and solemn. Light cut harsh lines across everything.

Only Kushina's red hair and the pale hand holding the scroll burned vividly bright.

Mikoto's heart twisted like the crescent mark in her palm.

She couldn't stay.

"Ahem…"

A deliberately muted cough broke the silence.

Ryo and Kushina turned at once.

Mikoto's head was slightly bowed. A few strands of black hair fell across her forehead, hiding half her face.

She hid her bleeding palm inside her sleeve, the other hand lifting to smooth a nonexistent stray hair near her temple.

The motion was stiff, as if to hide the tremble in her fingers.

Her voice came light and calm.
"Kushina, Ryo-kun, I… just remembered the clan elders assigned me something important. I have to go back before afternoon. It's urgent."
She didn't even try to make it sound convincing. "So… you two talk! Let's stop here today. I'll go now!"

Before the last word fell, she turned and fled, the hem of her kimono fluttering around her ankles.

Only then did Kushina seem to realize.
"Ah?" She blinked, loosening her grip on Ryo's arm, looking after Mikoto in a daze. "Clan business? Oh… Mikoto, you… take care!"

Her big eyes still held a trace of dampness, not fully understanding her friend's sudden exit. She waved the scroll without thinking.

Only afterward did something feel off.

She caught a glimpse of Mikoto's downcast eyes—dark and bottomless like a lake at night.

Then, as if startled by Ryo's calm scent, she instinctively leaned closer to him again, mumbling, "Then hurry home! Don't delay it!"
Her tone mixed real concern with a faint hint of possessiveness.

Mikoto swayed slightly. I shouldn't be here.

The next moment, she pivoted cleanly. Her dark braid flicked behind her as she walked away.

She didn't look back. Her steps tapped softly on the cold stone—tak, tak—fading into the wide plaza.

At the last moment before vanishing around the corner, her slender back straightened slightly, like a drawn bowstring.

But the shadows of the buildings swallowed her whole, leaving only silence and the faint trace of pride that Konoha's vastness quickly devoured.

"Hmph! This is all your fault!"

In the shadow of the pillar, Kushina suddenly kicked Ryo's calf—lightly, more a pout than a hit.

Her emotional wave had passed

Hands on hips, she glared at Ryo's calm face. "If you hadn't come out so suddenly, I wouldn't have lost face in front of Mikoto! You scared her off with that ice-face of yours! Hmph!"

The awkwardness from Mikoto's departure she redirected entirely toward Ryo, forgetting who had melted into their two-person world first.

Sunlight sliced through the gaps between columns, dust drifting in the golden air.

Kushina's blush hadn't fully faded. Mixed with her fiery glare, she looked like a sugar-coated chili pepper—bright and stinging.

She tilted her chin arrogantly, her sharp jawline cutting against the light and shadow.

"Hey! Mikoto's gone—what are you staring at?" Kushina waved her hand hard in front of Ryo's face, trying to pull back his attention.

Ryo drew his gaze from the corner where Mikoto had disappeared. The sunset stretched their shadows long across the ground. Kushina's waving arm shadow poked into his outline.

He looked down at her small, puffed-up face.

That unreadable chill he'd seen in Mikoto's eyes—like a deep current—slipped quietly from his thoughts.

His world steadied again, fixed on this burning splash of red before him.

"Nothing," Ryo said flatly, as if stating a fact.
He lifted his hand and lightly tapped his knuckles against Kushina's smooth forehead with unarguable force.

A soft bonk cut off the words she'd been winding up to yell.

"Ow!" Kushina covered her forehead, eyes round. "Why'd you hit me! Can't I complain a little? You—"

The rest faded.

Ryo's hand didn't leave her forehead. It slid down, warm and rough, brushing over her ear and tucking a strand of red hair aside.

His palm rested at the nape of her neck, firm yet strangely gentle—an undeniable command.

"Let's go." Ryo said simply, striding forward. Drawn by him, Kushina stumbled, then matched his pace.

Wide-eyed, she forgot her anger. All she could feel was the spot where he'd touched her neck, a tiny flame running down her spine and making her limbs weak.

Ryo's profile was calm in the fading light. He looked ahead, as if knocking her forehead and guiding her along were the most natural things in the world.

But that single gesture said more than any words could. She was his. No need for explanations.

The sunset stretched their shadows longer and longer. Kushina's steps shifted from passive to eager, until their two silhouettes on the road home overlapped, merging into one along the stone streets of Konoha.

A few fallen leaves spun in the breeze, settling behind them, left quietly in shadow.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 65: Mikoto’s Feeling of Stealing

Mikoto did not know how she made it back.

Scarlet posters screamed from both sides of the street, "Blood debts must be repaid! Annihilate Suna!" The air was steeped in a mix of iron rust from ninja tool shops and the bitterness of apothecaries' herbs.

The villagers' whispers pricked her ears like needles:

"That one's from the Uchiha."

"Heard the sensory barrier picked up a Yin Release fluctuation near their compound yesterday. Hokage-sama forced it down."

"Tch, shifting the disaster east, right? Only fools buy that. Still, that little Uchiha girl climbed high, got into Tsunade's squad. Tsk, tsk, must have used her tricks."

Mikoto's steps nailed to the ground.

The sting in her fingertips spread, but a stronger emotion surged up, anger.

She remembered the suffocating council meeting her grandfather Setsuna had told her about.

Hiruzen's face, outwardly gentle, in truth cold and calculating.

To appease public fury and redirect focus, he had taken a vague report, "The source of the psychic shock might have brushed the edge of the Uchiha district," and twisted it into a shadow of suspicion stamped onto every Uchiha.

Grandfather Setsuna had sat below, the suppressed fire in his Sharingan so cold it could have burned through the roof.

But in the end, he had to swallow that toxin wrapped in sugar, the so-called favor of an entry ticket into the Hokage's inner circle.

For the Uchiha. For a slim chance to squeeze into the core.

And the cold stares and suspicion from the other clans became the interest on that favor.

But why?

Her joining Team Eight was clearly political compensation, Hokage's balm and calculation rolled into one.

Why should she bear baseless slander and gossip?

Just because she was Uchiha?

Because the rabble and scheming clans needed a target for their fear?

Because Hiruzen needed a scapegoat?

Anger, like magma, blasted aside the sour ache and disappointment in her chest.

Even the grievance stoked moments ago at the Hokage Building, sparked by Kushina's oblivious third wheel stunt, sizzled and burned in the fire.

The brave get to enjoy the world first.

The thought cleaved through Mikoto's tangled mind like ice-tempered lightning.

Breathing a little hard, she leaned against the cold wall and closed her eyes.

Back came the image, clear as day, of that red-haired loner in a faded, washed-out shirt, standing like a solitary wolf at the back of the classroom.

How many girls had snuck glances at his face back then?

But besides Kushina, who had the guts to go near?

Even a second glance left you frozen by those glacier eyes.

She remembered her own faint yearning then, and a small, guarded pride, yet she had not dared step closer.

And the result, cowardice is a sin.

Then came Uzumaki Kushina.

A clueless, reckless girl from outside the village. On sheer, shameless courage alone, like an irrational wildfire, she crashed straight through Ryo's keep out ice wall. How many times had she snatched his food and been barked at, "Beat it," "You're noisy"?

Anyone else would have frozen to death.

But Kushina?

The more she got knocked back, the braver she returned. With that shameless, stubborn, fear-nothing energy, she became the one closest to that lone wolf. In the end, she even took that cold, hard heart.

And Uchiha Mikoto?

Clutching laughable restraint and a noble girl's pride, she watched, late to the race, overtaken in the end.

A fierce, choking frustration and unwillingness battered around her chest.

Why? What did Uchiha Mikoto lack?

Beauty? Brains? The poise of a highborn Uchiha lady?

She had noticed that boy named Ryo even earlier than Kushina.

Why did the prize go to that simple, smiling Blood-Red Chili Pepper?

"Hmph… Kushina…" Mikoto opened her eyes. Deep within them flashed, for an instant, a glint of jealousy that even she found frightening, then it drowned a heartbeat later in helplessness and complicated feeling.

After all, Kushina was her best friend.

This stifled breath, she could only swallow it with blood.

Hard to accept. That was Uchiha Mikoto's greatest hard-to-accept.

But the more she choked on it, the clearer her circumstances became, a catalyst instead of a cure. As the granddaughter of the Uchiha Grand Elder, her very existence had never been her own to command.

There was only one road, political marriage, a bargaining chip to secure the clan's interests.

Look at the men in the clan. Not much skill, eyes growing out of their foreheads. They prattled all day about the so-called glory of the Sharingan and how glorious the ancestors were, drowning in yesterday's fumes.

Compared to him, the monster who split the earth with a few sheath strikes, who carved through Kumo spies like chopping melons, whose psychic shock swept half of Konoha.

Nausea rolled through Mikoto's gut. That clogged frustration curdled into disgust.

Especially that sticky fly she could not shake, Uchiha Fugaku.

"Mikoto, you are back?"

A graceless face thrust in, false concern and oily smiles blocking her path back to herself.

Uchiha Fugaku.

Here we go again.

Inwardly, Mikoto flipped the Sharingan like a Hyūga's blank Byakugan glare.

This pest. Flaunting his status as deputy clan head and being five or six years older, he had actually asked Grandfather Setsuna for her hand.

Couldn't he take a long, hard look in a puddle at least, at that visage that shamed the Uchiha name?

Generations of Uchiha, handsome men and lovely women, how did he end up such a failed half-breed anomaly?

Looking unfortunate is not your fault. Being unfortunate and narcissistic and trying to lay hands on me, that is your original sin.

"Fugaku-nii, hello."

Mikoto lowered her lids. The flawless noble-lady mask slid over every real emotion.
Her voice was cool, polite yet distant, shutting out all approach. No expression on that exquisite face. A slight dip of the chin, and she moved to pass.

Uchiha Fugaku seemed oblivious to the silent go away, or maybe he had long grown used to her reserve.

He kept half a step at her side-rear, eyes gleaming with what mattered most to him.
"You have worked hard. Oh, how did the team assignment go today? Did the Hokage make good on the promise?"

On assignment day, he had parked himself on the route Mikoto had to take home.

Comfort and concern did not matter. He had one goal, did Mikoto squeeze into Team Eight, the symbol of the Hokage's inner power core. It decided whether Elder Setsuna's concessions in the council had been worth it, and whether the Uchiha could use this chance to merge deeper into the core.

Clan. Clan. In these Uchiha men's eyes, beyond those paltry calculations and face, was there anything else?

Mikoto stopped dead. A hot, foul fire shot straight to her crown.

Both are straight-laced men. Ryo was cool and distant, few words, yet he had the strength and presence to hold up the sky, and he doted on Kushina.

But Uchiha Fugaku here, bared his intent to use her as a tool, an infiltration piece to question for intel.

The politeness and tolerance she had maintained for her grandfather's sake and his title snapped.

"Tsunade-sama will return to Konoha in a few days." Mikoto spun around. The gentleness was gone from her voice. In its place were impatience and tamped-down fury.

"When she does, Tsunade-sama will personally lead our squad. Deputy Clan Head, you may report back with peace of mind." She addressed his station directly, eyes cold as steel.

Fugaku flinched beneath the sudden sharpness of her tone and the chill in her gaze. His caring smile froze.

He finally, belatedly, sensed that something was wrong with Mikoto's mood, but had no idea why the fire. Instinctively he started to explain, "Mikoto, that is not what I meant. I was just worried about you, "

"Mikoto, you, "

"Fugaku." An elderly, hoarse voice cut him off, iron authority brooking no argument.

Uchiha Setsuna had somehow appeared at the main gate not far away. His clouded Sharingan skimmed over Fugaku, gaze indifferent, as if at a roadside stone.
"You may go. I have matters to discuss with Mikoto."

Fugaku's face flipped from blank to embarrassed, then flushed with a trace of slighted anger, but before the iron-blooded Elder, he did not dare to protest.

He forced his temper down, squeezed out a respectful fake smile.
"Yes, Elder Setsuna. I will take my leave."
He bowed stiffly. When he turned, his hurried steps were uneven. His back was all fluster and shame.

Watching his hasty retreat, the foul fire in Mikoto's chest did not fully die. Instead, a deeper fatigue and helplessness welled up.

This was the man she was meant to face in the future, a deputy clan head who could be waved off by the Grand Elder and did not dare talk back.

"Grandfather." Mikoto followed Setsuna into the compound, through the winding corridors. Their footsteps sounded unnaturally clear in the empty, silent courtyard. They reached Setsuna's private tatami room, and the paper door slid shut without a sound.

He did not ask about assignments right away. He gestured for her to sit.

"The assignments are as you wished, Grandfather." Mikoto spoke first, her tone unreadable.

"Team Eight. Tsunade-sama is the jōnin leader. Ryo, Kushina, and me."

She deliberately pressed weight onto Kushina, tangled threads of secret struggle and the complicated feelings of submitting to her grandfather's marriage plans knotting together.

Uchiha Setsuna stood with his back to her, looking out at the winter daphne tree in the courtyard, the emblem of the Uchiha flame.

At her report, he only made a faint, almost inaudible sound.

After a pause, his rasp returned, this time hammer-solid, the cadence of command.
"Mikoto, from now on, you must find a way to draw close to that Ryo, of the Kamiyama line."

He turned sharply. His clouded yet piercing Sharingan locked onto her face, no longer a grandfather to a granddaughter, but a clan lord to a precious tool to be used to the utmost.

"You must make it so he sees only you. At any cost. Hold him in your hands."
Setsuna's tone burned with fervent ambition.
"He is Tsunade's disciple, monstrous potential, bearing the makings of a Hokage."

His voice rose with excitement.
"If you can secure him, you could one day be the Hokage's wife. If you sit firmly in that place, then we Uchiha can step on the Senju and reach the summit, become Konoha's true masters. Then we will see who dares make us take the blame again."

His withered fingers trembled with force, sketching a blueprint that could drive the entire Uchiha into a frenzy.

Hokage's wife?

Mikoto's body went rigid, fingertips like ice.

She had long guessed she would be used for marriage, but "draw close to Ryo," "Hokage's wife" seared across her heart like red-hot brands.

Ryo, that cold, powerful boy, become his wife, control him?

The thought itself carried a forbidden, breathtaking allure.

All the more when his figure, his strength, and those intimate moments with Kushina had just been roiling through her mind.
A sudden, indescribable thrill, part theft and part shiver, shot electric down her spine.

And right on its heels came a stronger wave, the guilty pleasure of stealing and the weight of sin tangling together.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 12: Chapter 66-70

Chapter 66: A Great Tonic

"You do realize Kamiyama Ryo is Uzumaki Kushina's lover, right? You want me to cut in as the third party? What does that make me? Kushina is my best friend!"

Her eyes rimmed red, both hands clutching the front of her kimono, her body trembling.

The guilt toward her friend she had forced down, and the fear of her own ambition, surged back up. In Uchiha Setsuna's clouded old eyes flashed the look of someone unsurprised, mocking and impatient, as if at a child who did not understand the world.

He stepped closer. His voice dropped to a hiss, cold as a snake's tongue slipping into the ear: "Friend? Best friend? Hah." A contemptuous snort rumbled from his nose.

"Mikoto, put away that pointless sympathy. Use the mind I have honed in you and see reality." A glint shot through the murk of his eyes. "That best friend of yours, Uzumaki Kushina," he enunciated each word like a blade, "she is the future Nine-Tails jinchūriki in waiting. That is her essence."

"What?!" Mikoto's pupils shrank. It felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. The shock wrenched a soundless cry from her.

Konoha's jinchūriki? That carefree, big-hearted Kushina she knew, a vessel for the Nine-Tailed Fox?

Watching his granddaughter blanch, Setsuna spoke with cruel certainty:
"This is top secret, but an iron rule the leadership accepts. The Nine-Tails jinchūriki is the village's greatest weapon and deterrent. And that means she is a caged canary. She will never be free. Her existence is to seal the Nine-Tails. When the next jinchūriki is of age, the beast is transferred to the new container. And her? Hah. Best case, she fades away in some hidden corner. Worst, she dies on some dark operating table, or gets drained as a sacrifice."

Setsuna's words stabbed like poisoned ice awls into Mikoto's heart.
"See it now? The Konoha leadership will never allow someone like her to marry, much less to conceive."

His tone hammered at the core obstacle, cold with worldly certainty. "Childbirth by a jinchūriki could bring disaster on Konoha. She and Ryo were never destined to end well. That is a fixed reality."

"And," he pivoted, deliberately coaxing, "as a jinchūriki, she can never leave the village's cage. You, better than anyone, should know what that means."

Mikoto felt the strength drain out of her. She staggered half a step back, her spine striking the cold paper lattice with a dull thud.

Jinchūriki, caged, operating table, destined tragedy, no freedom.
The words whirled and sliced through her mind.

Her earlier worry that Ryo might leave after graduation, the small, childish fear of losing him, felt laughably naïve.

Kushina's future was dyed in primordial black.

Her laughter and sweetness with Ryo now looked like poison flowers blooming on the edge of an abyss, brief and fatal.

Setsuna's tone softened at just the right moment, the practiced whisper of a schemer certain of his investment, a devil's murmur threading Mikoto's turmoil:

"And Ryo? You have seen his power, his potential with your own eyes. A terror that swept half of Konoha. He will surely leave the cage that holds the jinchūriki and soar like an eagle. Under Tsunade's lead, he is destined for the bloodiest battlefields."

A cold arc tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Mikoto, that is your opportunity."

"Now, think carefully about the road I have paved for you since childhood." He pinned her with a look, savoring his long game. "Kushina will be locked in the village as the new Nine-Tails jinchūriki. And I had you work your way close to her, into her circle. Did you truly think it was just to keep up appearances between Uchiha and Uzumaki? Childish."

"Look now, you are about to be a formal teammate of Kamiyama Ryo." He stepped in, energized. "Field hospital and front lines, those will become the perfect stage to apply what you have learned."

"Remember? I hired the finest bridal tutors for you since you were small, spent blood and breath honing your strategy, bearing, and speech. I taught you how to read faces, steer emotions, grasp a man's weaknesses. I even allowed you to use those means to help your best friend Kushina get closer to Ryo. You thought it was some girlish game of friendship?"

His voice lowered, thick with wicked allure.
"No. Every so-called strategy you taught Kushina, every contact with Ryo under the banner of helping her, each was practice. Each sharpened the blade named bridal training forged for you. Each was rehearsal for the final moment, when fate itself clears the obstacle named Kushina, so you can slip in seamlessly and take the opening."

"Picture it. When Ryo is out bleeding on the field, you are the one by his side with tactical support and solace. When he is loneliest and most dejected, you, the comrade who understands him best, whom he trusts most, are there to listen, to stay."

Fervor lit Setsuna's eyes.
"With my granddaughter's wit, and these years of hammer-and-anvil bridal training, that powerful man will fall wholly into your hand. That is the road to lift Uchiha's glory to Konoha's peak."

"In the future, you will stand upon this land and look down upon the Hokage's shadow."

"Mikoto, remember this. Power is a woman's tonic, and it is a great tonic."

"Grandfather would never harm you."

Hokage's wife.

The words became a real crown, cold and heavy, yet dazzling to the point of vertigo.

Power is a woman's tonic. A great tonic. Setsuna's words dropped into the dead water of her heart like stones. Wicked ripples spread outward, no longer merely furtive delight, but poison mixed with honey, steeped in the reek of betrayal and the greed to possess.

Thump. Thump.

Mikoto could hear her own heart pounding, dense drumbeats against fragile ribs.

A scalding torrent named ambition smashed the dikes named friendship and guilt in an instant.

Hokage's wife. Uchiha's glory. Master of the village to come. One beneath ten thousand above.

The words gathered into an irresistible flood, grinding Kushina's face, stamped now with doomed tragedy, beneath its weight.

The brutal essence of that bridal training flared in her mind.

It had never been about the romance of first love strategies. It was power politics at its coldest.

She was a weapon, honed to breach the target man.

Setsuna's aim was always sharp and cold, use her as the tether to bind a boundless talent with Hokage's potential, Ryo, and drag Uchiha back to Konoha's core, washing away decades of exclusion.

The insight, feigned gentleness, and mastery of hearts she had learned were blades serving this bargain.

Duty? Belonging?

Absurdity yawned before her.

Her value, in the end, was a stepping stone for the clan's return to power, a more ornate chess piece.

To be taught love only to steal more efficiently, to take.

Kushina's naïve, proud face and Ryo's indulgent downward gaze ripped back and forth in her mind. Her best friend's unreserved trust and the surging betrayal within her twined like two venomous snakes, tearing her spirit ragged.

Her nails bit deeper into her palm. Sharp pain tamped the turmoil.

She lowered her lashes. The dark fringe cast deep shadows across her pale cheeks, hiding the storm and leaving only heavy fatigue and a helpless struggle.

"…I will think about it."

The five words scraped out between her teeth, draining her strength.

Was it surrender, delay, or the reflex buffer of someone torn by pressure and temptation?

Setsuna caught it, the wavering spark deep in her eyes, guttering then flaring again, now tinged with a new certainty in her capability.

A subtle satisfaction flickered in his murky gaze. Enough.

The seed had been planted. Press further and he would spoil it.

His old eyes eased, like a wily fox catching the scent of prey stepping into a snare.
"Good, good, Mikoto." He reined in his force and resumed the solemn elder's tone, even with a faint, nearly soothing note. "Grandfather will not force you. Think it over."

"As for Fugaku?" Setsuna snorted.

"In time, I will see him kept away from you. I, Uchiha Setsuna, do not need a weak grandson-in-law. He is unworthy."
He gave Mikoto a long, loaded look, then turned and strode down the corridor, leaving the weight of choice on the shoulders of a girl whose heart was a snarl, and whose ambition now burned bright.

His figure vanished past the door. The air held only a musty scent, rotted wood mixed with naked ambition.

A few days later, news of Tsunade's return spread through Konoha.

Morning mist clung low. The Uchiha compound remained deathly still.

Heavy wooden fences sliced the grey light into bars, like a cage's ribs.

Mikoto drew a deep breath. The cold stung her lungs. Setsuna's poison hummed through her veins. The mantra of bridal training echoed like a spell. The specter of Hokage's wife burned against her eyelids.

She straightened her back. The first step toward Konoha's power center had to be clean.

Creak—

A familiar face squeezed out of the shadow by the gate.

Fugaku rolled his sleeves and forced what he thought was a tender smile. "Mikoto, shall we—"

Before he finished, Mikoto swept past in long, decisive strides.

Her fingers clenched and opened inside her sleeve, steady, no tremor.

She stamped to a halt, pivoted. Sunlight lit half her face at last.

Her step paused for only a heartbeat.

No hesitation. No preface.

Just as Fugaku arranged his habitual smile and opened his mouth for the same tired lines, Mikoto slipped in like a cold wind, closing to a single pace before him.

Too close, close enough that Fugaku could see the permafrost compacted deep in her dark pupils.

Instinct prickled. Something was wrong. His smile froze. His Adam's apple bobbed.

Mikoto spoke in a tone deliberately calibrated, a noblewoman's cool clarity bestowed by her bridal training, her pace even and crisp, not a ripple in her voice, yet striking like a judge's anvil:
"Fugaku-kun."

She even shifted to the most distant honorific.

"Thank you for your past regard and feelings. But—"

She lifted her face and met his startled eyes. Each word precise to coldness, like a wintry gust nailing him in place: "You are a good man."

Fugaku's expression locked, a plaster mask flash-frozen on his face.

"We," Mikoto paused deliberately. Her gaze swept over his face as if appraising a trivial, flawed item. "Are completely incompatible."
The words fell like ice.

She did not wait for any response.

Before his expression could fully collapse into shock and humiliation, she turned on her heel. Her black ponytail drew an arc in the air without a hint of reluctance, slicing past his slack mouth.

Something snapped in that instant, restraint, endurance, the disgust for clan-arranged marriage.

The sheer pleasure of rejection roared up like lava, searing her insides.

That furtive unwillingness born from Kushina was swallowed by the flame of exhilaration.

This, too, was in the curriculum, when a target's value is insufficient, the most dignified, yet most lethal farewell.

She could almost hear Fugaku's shocked gasp behind her.

Her steps quickened. Wooden clogs tapped the stone, tak, tak, tak, crisp beats shattering ten years of forced gentleness.

The shadow of the Uchiha estate reeled back. The leaden lump in her gut peeled away.

The street to the Hokage Building unfurled ahead. At its end stood the eagle fated to fly, and the light fated not to belong only to her best friend. She strode away without looking back.

Wind teased the wisps over her brow.

Her pace was steady and swift along the gravel-strewn path. She left the gates without a backward glance, leaving Uchiha Fugaku frozen in place, ears ringing with that cold, knife-edged "You are a good man," and the lingering trace of her sharper, prouder aura.

Sunlight slanted across his vacant face.

"Didn't she call me Fugaku-nii just the other day…?"

His baffled mutter drifted after her, as if through a thick wall of water.

At the corner of Mikoto's lips, the curve of satisfaction widened, silently.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 67: Damn Hiruzen

Time shifts back to a few days earlier.

Ame no Kuni front line.

The low, leaden sky sagged. Endless cold rain drenched the sodden earth of Ame no Kuni, turning the muddy trenches into wide, murky pits.

The air reeked of wet soil, blood, and the stubborn stench of rotting medicinal herbs. In Konoha's hastily assembled command post, oil lamps guttered and threw dim light.

A huge situation map, its edges soaked by rain, sprawled across the table. Tiny flags marking friend and foe bristled over it like a hedgehog's spines.

Shimura Danzō sat at the head. Days of strain had swollen the bags under his eyes like two overripe prunes, and bloodshot veins crawled across the whites. Even the mantle signifying Konoha's supreme battlefield command was spattered with dried mud and ink.

"Trash. An entire platoon, wiped out again by that old hag Chiyo's poison mist." Danzō slammed a fist into the oak tabletop. The dull thud sent several dossiers skidding off a corner.

"Hanzō's poison rain piled over Suna's stiffening toxins, this damned Ame no Kuni is one giant gas chamber. What comes in every day is not the wounded, it is meat waiting to die." He pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples throbbed. He felt like an old wolf trapped in a pit, snarling without relief.

Watching the death toll climb coldly on reports, hearing the wails from the front, this was a slow knife carving flesh. It would drive a shinobi mad.

What made it feel like swallowing flies was Tsunade.

The granddaughter of the Shodai, grandniece of the Nidaime, Konoha's princess, now blazed like a beacon in the field hospital.

Every time that golden hair appeared in a tent of the gravely wounded, the green glow of Shōsen no Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique) bloomed, and that soft yet massive Katsuyu split and spread to cover the injured, the camp would rise in honest gratitude. "Thank you, Tsunade-sama."

Those words pricked Danzō's ears like needles.

It was him, Shimura Danzō, sitting here, wringing his mind dry to analyze intelligence, deploy forces, bearing the pressure of supreme command, stitching together a collapsing line.

Yet who received the thanks of those mud leggers?

Tsunade.

It was she who dragged men the reports had already consigned to the dead back from the Gate of Hell, again and again.

Her names, "saint of medical ninjutsu," "slug princess," spread among soldiers and junior officers, and even began to overshadow him, the commander in the center.

That honor, that popular support, should have been the harvest after victory, the laurel that lifted Danzō to the summit.

And now?

All of it was flowing to Tsunade, a flood he could not ignore.

"Damn woman." Danzō swore under his breath, a gleam of gloom cutting through his eyes.

More than once, in the insomnia of exhausted nights, a dangerous thought born of frustrated jealousy had stirred. If, if there were no Tsunade, casualties would spike, morale would crumble, the war would turn even bloodier. Yet in the end, the honor of a pyrrhic victory, or of grinding the enemy down, would fall wholly to Danzō. He was the commander of this meat-grinder.

The thought flickered up, and he stamped it out.

"No." He forced it down at once.

Without Tsunade, the front would collapse immediately.

Chiyo's new toxins kept coming. Hanzō's rain-nin were ghosts.

With no medical pillar from Tsunade and that disgusting but indispensable Katsuyu, they would never last to the day Suna ran dry.

If the front shattered for lack of medical support, Danzō knew the man in the Hokage's office would not spare him.

That seemingly gentle Hiruzen would seize the chance and dump every charge and chamber pot on Danzō's head.

"Hokage's aide fails, leading to the collapse of the Ame no Kuni front"?

That one line could end his political life on the spot and nail him to a pillar of shame forever. What talk of Hokage then.

"Danzō-sama, urgent transmission." A masked Root operative slipped into the tent like a ghost, knelt on one knee, and presented a tightly sealed scroll with both hands. Rain dripped from his cold armor onto the floor.

Danzō's heart sank. At times like this, the word "urgent" was the last thing he wanted.

He snatched the scroll, poured chakra into his fingertips, and ripped the sealing script open.

The scroll unfurled.

The first was from Konoha's Hokage Tower, bearing the flaming seal of the Sandaime, Hiruzen.

Special order. One of the Sannin, Tsunade-hime, upon receipt is to immediately disengage from the front and return to Konoha headquarters at once, without fail. Signed: Hokage Hiruzen.
(Addendum: matter is classified. Details will be given in person.)

"Recall Tsunade?" Danzō's brows knotted.

The front was deadlocked, the poison threat unresolved. Recall Orochimaru and Jiraiya, fine, but summon away Tsunade, the medical core, at this exact moment? Had the Hiruzen gone mad?

He burned to know why, but the scroll held only the cold order and the word "classified."

A fresh sting of being shut out from the inner circle rose. He was the highest commander on the battlefield, yet he was not told why a core general had to be pulled back urgently.

He almost tore open the second scroll in anger.

This one came from Root's secret node in Konoha, his true ears.

Its phrasing was colder and more detailed.

Though the body was not to be reproduced, a handful of conclusory phrases pierced Danzō's mind like ice awls:

… mental power outburst … a massive psychic shock blanketing the entire village … preliminary center point of the burst, Kamiyama Ryo … triggered widespread panic, chaos, hidden damage to infrastructure … estimated energy level of the shock source, Kage class or higher … destructive power and range assessed as follows, data attached … extreme hazard …

"Kamiyama… Ryo?" Danzō clenched the scroll so hard it almost tore.

The name branded itself on his memory like a red-hot iron.

In an instant he recalled the smoke-filled office years ago, how highly he had valued that fearsome commoner brat, how he had asked Hiruzen to place that born Root seedling in his hand.

And then?

"The light on him, it grows best under the sun, inheritor of the Will of Fire. Hiruzen takes all." That damned refusal, heavy with moral superiority, rang in his ears.

And that damned line.

"I, Danzō, refuse."

Smothered.

A suffocation that could flip his blood surged from his soles to his crown.

Years flashed like lantern slides. His desire to bring the boy named Ryo into Root, Hiruzen's rejection, the pivot to demanding control of the jinchūriki Uzumaki Kushina, Hiruzen parading Mito to refuse again, and finally, even the bright prospect of Ryo was cut off when Tsunade took him as a disciple. All that bottled fury found a fuse in this instant.

"Ah."

Bloodshot eyes drilled into the name on the scroll, Ryo. This brat had thrown Konoha into a terror like that.

But this power. This potential. This report's assessment of Kage and above.

It was power Danzō had recognized years ago, tried to claim for Root, to forge into Konoha's sharpest hidden blade.

It should have been his. Root's.

Now that strength, that fang he had craved, had once again been snatched and flaunted by the one man he hated most, Hiruzen.

"Hiruzen." Danzō ground his back molars. His breath came hard. His chest heaved, every inhalation heavy with resentment and venom.

"You stole from me again. You greedy thief. That power, that Ryo, should have been my blade. Mine." Helpless rage and the sting of betrayal gnawed at him.

He could already see Hiruzen in the Konoha office, smugly admiring the tool named Ryo, while pushing all blame for rear-area disruption onto someone else.

Why? Why did all good assets and seedlings fall into Hiruzen's lap? Disgusting.

He shielded the jinchūriki. He hoarded a potential stock like Ryo. Was the fat harvest all his orchard?

Blood rushed to Danzō's head.

He hammered the table. The oil lamp shuddered hard, light and shadow careening across the tent walls.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 68: Danzō’s Boiling Point

"Messenger!"

Danzō's voice was hoarse and filled with fury.

"Immediately! Right now! Tell Tsunade to get herself over here, now!"

He nearly roared the words, releasing all the frustration that had been suffocating him for days.

The messenger flinched under the weight of his anger, standing rigid.

"Y-Yes, Danzō-sama!"

He stumbled out of the tent, almost tripping as he sprinted toward the medical camp.

Danzō slumped heavily into his chair, eyes shut, chest heaving.

Perhaps it was for the best that Tsunade had been away.

At least he didn't have to see her basking in praise every day, surrounded by gratitude at the medical camp, while his pride burned in silence.

He knew perfectly well that once she left, the casualty numbers on the frontlines would soar.

The medical corps relied on her completely.

But so what?

If soldiers died by the hundreds, that would be Hiruzen's fault for recalling her, not his.

Accountability?

Let the Hokage bear it.

His gaze fell on the intelligence scroll lying on the table, a report from the Root.

The name written there, Kamiyama Ryo, gleamed in his mind like a poisoned blade.

Outside, the rain kept pouring, beating against the thin canvas roof like a war drum, relentless and urgent.

The sound drowned out the restless anger and venomous thoughts twisting in Danzō's chest.

The air inside the tent was colder and heavier than the storm outside.

A guard's cautious voice came from beyond the curtain.

"Danzō-sama, Tsunade-sama has arrived."

Danzō drew in a deep breath, forcing down the rage that threatened to boil over.

Not yet.

It isn't time yet.

The Hokage's seat is still out of reach.

Tsunade… I can't afford to make her my enemy now.

I still need her, or at least, I can't afford to make her an obstacle.

Tsunade pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

Her green medical vest carried the scent of herbs and dust, mixed with the damp chill of rain.

The smell cut through the stuffy air inside the tent.

Her golden hair was tied loosely, slightly disheveled.

Her sharp eyes swept over the shattered sand table and Danzō's darkened face.

"If you have something to say, say it fast. The medical camp is full of men waiting for stitching and detox. I don't have time for politics."

Her tone was edged with irritation.

She was exhausted and had no patience left for this old man's ideals.

Danzō's face remained unreadable.

He tossed a scroll onto the desk in front of her.

The motion carried a trace of suppressed anger.

"The village's order. Tsunade, you are to return to Konoha immediately."

Tsunade's brows furrowed.

She didn't even glance at the scroll before glaring at him.

"Immediately? Has that old man lost his mind? Does he even know what the situation is out here? Chiyo's poisons evolve every day. The medical tents are filled with comrades hanging between life and death. If I leave, how many will die by tomorrow?"

Her voice rose sharply, cutting through the heavy air like nails striking wood.

To her, as a doctor, the lives of the wounded always came before politics.

If it had been any other time, Danzō would have lectured her about the greater good, the cruelty of the ninja world, or the necessity of sacrifice.

He might even have called her compassion a weakness.

But right now, his anger over the intelligence report and his resentment toward Hiruzen's orders were twisting inside him.

"The command is right there," Danzō said coldly, his tone like steel scraping ice.

"I'm only delivering it. It bears the Hokage's seal, Hiruzen's personal stamp. You will comply, or not?"

He deliberately emphasized the words Hokage and Hiruzen, reminding her of authority and washing his hands of responsibility.

His eyes seemed to say, This isn't my doing. If you have a problem, take it up with the Hokage. If you dare.

Tsunade's hand clenched into a tight fist, her knuckles whitening.

She snatched up the scroll and unrolled it quickly.

There was nothing but a terse recall order, no explanation, no reason.

A chill crept into her chest.

Not directed at Danzō, but something deeper, instinctive.

The last time she had felt this way was right before her second grandfather, Tobirama, fell in battle.

Her instincts had never been wrong.

The fury in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by a sharp urgency.

Konoha is in danger.

A major danger.

Something grave enough that she was needed immediately.

That certainty overrode everything else, even her medical duty.

Tsunade drew a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Fine. If it's an emergency summons from the village, I'll leave at once."

"But," she said sharply, her eyes blazing, "I'm taking all critically injured soldiers who need long-term treatment. I won't leave them here to die."

"I'll compile all antidote inventories and suppressant formulas before I go. The medical squad can hold against Chiyo's poisons for a while, but remember, they can only suppress them, not cure the new strains. Tell the frontlines to minimize assaults and avoid unnecessary casualties."

"And one more thing."

She walked to the table, grabbed a blank scroll, and began writing swiftly.

"This contains my research notes on Chiyo's toxins and the framework for potential counteragents. It's the medical unit's final fallback plan."

Her thoughts were sharp and orderly, her battlefront experience condensed into clear directives.

Danzō listened in silence, his expression blank.

He knew she was right.

This was the best possible course.

Taking the worst injured back reduced losses.

Leaving behind antidotes and plans stabilized morale.

Maintaining communication ensured continuity.

He wanted desperately to keep her here, healing his men and strengthening his command.

But Hiruzen's recall order, and the disturbing report about Ryo, left him no choice.

If he tried to stop her now, morale would collapse, and Tsunade's backlash could destroy him.

"Understood," he said through clenched teeth.

He knew her worth, and he hated that he had to let her go.

"Hmph."

Tsunade didn't bother with another word. She gathered her notes and scrolls, turned sharply, and strode out into the rain.

Her footsteps faded into the storm and the distant cries of the wounded.

The tent fell silent again, the air heavier than before.

Danzō stood motionless, staring after her, his face unreadable.

With Tsunade gone, the frontline would bear even greater strain.

And in Konoha, Hiruzen, and that cursed "super weapon" that should have been his, Kamiyama Ryo.

The intelligence report echoed in his mind.

["A mental energy output covering two-thirds of Konoha. Power approaching Kage-level threat potential."]

Hiruzen, you old fool.

You hoard every treasure and dump every problem on the frontlines.

I drown in blood and mud while you sit in your office and hide a monster like this from me?

A long, ragged breath escaped Danzō's lips, thick with resentment.

He picked up the scroll about Ryo, his fingers tightening until the edges crumpled.

Outside, the rain kept falling, steady and suffocating.

He turned toward the sand table, staring at the blurred markings of Hill 3 through the damp haze.

The war continued.

Shimura Danzō would keep fighting in this swamp of blood and ambition.

And on the scales in his heart, the ones marked Hokage, a new, heavy weight named Kamiyama Ryo had just been added to Hiruzen's side.

That imbalance made the darkness in Danzō's eyes deepen even further.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 69: Late at Night, Did Kushina Come to the Door?

On the scroll of Hiraishin no Jutsu (Flying Thunder God Technique), the intricate and arcane spatial nodes stared back like a silent mockery at anyone trying to decipher them.

An S-rank kinjutsu was worthy of its name.

Without a solid foundation in fūinjutsu, attempting to anchor spatial coordinates was no different from throwing sand by hand in the middle of a storm.

To make up for lost time, he summoned dozens of Kage Bunshin at once. This kinjutsu demanded enormous chakra and a robust life force, but with his vast mental power and unusual physique, he could bear it.

The clones worked like a precision assembly line, efficiently parsing and memorizing the sigil schematics and energy node theory of Hiraishin.

However, committing it to memory was one thing. Putting it into practice was another.

The symbols on the scroll writhed and warped like living tadpoles.

Every step of sensing, anchoring, and phase shifting each spatial node jammed up against the same door, the one labeled "fundamentals of fūinjutsu."

The Uzumaki clan's fūinjutsu was the anchor that allowed Hiraishin to cross space. What he lacked was precisely that core.

"Efficiency is too low."

Ryo dropped the torn scroll pieces with a cold snap.

Tsunade would be returning soon, and his own deployment to the front drew closer by the hour. Before then, he had to master the core application of Hiraishin, not to become some fearsome wraithlike assassin like Namikaze Minato, but to reach any battlefield instantly and stand by Kushina's side, tearing apart any threat.

Long-distance, pure spatial jumps, as fast as possible.

Kushina's bright eyes flashed through his mind.

Right. The deep fūinjutsu foundation she had absorbed under Mito since childhood was the key to unlocking Hiraishin's threshold for him now.

Outside the old Senju residence, the great Hokage Rock loomed like a silent guardian. Ivy sprawled lush and green, crawling over the stone walls of the compound.

Ryo lifted his hand. Before his knuckles touched the old wooden gate, it creaked open a crack.

What peeked out was not the fiery, fluffy red hair he had expected, but a wary face.

"You again." Nawaki wedged himself in the doorway with a scowl, one leg subconsciously pulling back half a step. "Last time you broke two of my legs. The time before that you blew one off. Granny hasn't even settled accounts with you yet. You, you…"

His tone sounded less like pure anger and more like a picky little brother sizing up a future brother-in-law.

After all, the family had long tacitly accepted his relationship with Kushina. It was just that Ryo himself didn't seem fully adjusted to that shift.

Ryo's mouth twitched.

As for Nawaki's "blown off" leg, it had been a scrape from a seal tag he himself had set to detonate during extreme training.

The unlucky brat was just jumpy now about anything that came near him, classic paranoia.

"Move, Nawaki." Mito's aged yet steady voice carried through the courtyard. Nawaki pouted and shuffled aside.

Mito stood beneath a maple tree, her dark kimono giving her an unusually grave air.

"Ryo, for Kushina's safety, she cannot go out these days and cannot receive visitors." She looked at him and got straight to the point. "You came for fūinjutsu. You want to learn."

Ryo nodded, concise and direct. "I need it for Hiraishin."

Mito's clouded but still keen eyes paused on his face for a moment, then softened with understanding.

"You can." She turned the subject at once, gesturing to a neat row of rooms along the west side of the yard and handed him a key with an old wooden tag. "You can only study here. Move in."

The key sat heavy in his palm. Ryo asked nothing else.

Kushina was grounded, and a sudden weight in Mito's voice had leaked through for just an instant.

It was like the last tide at dusk, surging and then receding, carrying an unspoken sense of something about to fade away.

He did not say it aloud.

Uzumaki Mito, the First Hokage's widow who had once shaken the world, did not have much time left.

Kushina was the successor she had nurtured with everything she had.

Keeping him here made it convenient for him to learn fūinjutsu, and it also added a reliable layer of protection for Kushina during a critical period. The calm arrangement felt like a silent entrustment.

"Mm." He inclined his head again.

Nawaki nearly jumped. "Granny, he's moving in? If he moves in, can my legs even survive?"

Mito gave her grandson a flat look. "If you break them a few more times, you will get used to it. Think of it as prewar rehearsal so you don't get blown to pieces for real later."

Nawaki's face collapsed at once, eyes flicking between Ryo and Mito with tragic resignation, especially regarding the future of his legs.

So, a special uninvited guest took up residence in the west wing of the Senju compound.

At dawn the next day, the atmosphere of fūinjutsu training in the guest room hardened to an almost solid intensity.

In the spacious room, he sat seiza.

Before him hovered a model of runes woven from chakra, packed tight and flickering with dim blue light.

A clone of Kushina sat across from him, trying hard to put on a strict little teacher act, explaining how to use chakra threads to precisely construct stable spatial restraint field nodes.

At Ryo's side, seven or eight of his own clones popped one after another into white smoke.

He kept his eyes shut, his brows knit tight.

On the screen of his mind, several basic spatial anchor models collapsed in succession, leaving ragged tears in space.

"Tch." The Kushina clone nearby couldn't help stamping her foot.

Even as a mouthpiece for the original, she could clearly sense Kushina's frustration and the obstacles in front of them.

"You. Your mental power is ridiculous, but your fūinjutsu basics are full of holes. You skewed the most basic spatial stabilization seal three times in a row. Learn Hiraishin?" She planted her hands on her hips, rattling off the kind of jabs the original would never say to his face. "That's like trying to build a castle in the sky without tamping the foundation. Dream on."

Ryo opened his eyes, silver light flowing in his pupils.

"The geometric optimum for node energy convergence." He pointed at the lingering afterimage of the collapsed model, laying out the same analysis.

The Kushina clone blinked, then rolled her eyes. "Idiot. The optimum alone is useless. Energy flow doesn't move in straight lines. You have to factor the node's own tolerance threshold and how chakra nature changes impact spatial stability."

As she spoke, she drew up pale-gold chakra and swiftly formed a more complex and precise three-dimensional model before him. Lines of script danced at her fingertips, weaving like living threads into a basic framework that looked intricate yet extremely stable.

"Look. This is the base structure that actually resists spatial shear. The one you made?" Her tone dripped with disdain. "Use that in real combat for Hiraishin, and the first spatial fold will blow you into paste."

The small clone pointed and lectured with the flair of a little empress of fūinjutsu.

She didn't notice that her expressions and gestures made Ryo momentarily see the original Kushina's usual hopping, tooth-and-claw demeanor.

"Continue." Ryo kept it brief and closed his eyes again.

More clones burst and reformed with rapid pops, plunging into the next round of even wilder simulations.

Weak fundamentals?

Then he would fill the gap by brute-forcing it with exceptional will and nearly inexhaustible mental power.

Meanwhile, in the adjacent room with only a thin wall between them, the real Kushina had cocooned herself in her blanket, rolling around like a shrimp tossed in a hot pan.

Her cheeks were so hot she could have cooked a pancake on them.

For all her solemn act when teaching through a clone during the day, her real thoughts were in chaos.

Mikoto's "dating upgrade guide," whispered to her in secret at the Hokage Building, echoed in her head like a bewitching mantra, looping nonstop.

"Create natural physical contact." "Nighttime, alone, just the right amount of care is the golden opportunity." "Take the initiative, but act casual."

He had moved in. Right in the next room, only a wall away.

"No no no."

Kushina shook her head like mad, trying to banish the thoughts painting her face crimson.

But that thunderous heartbeat wouldn't quiet down.

She recalled how Mito had suddenly become strict about her fūinjutsu training lately. She didn't know the specifics, but a faint, uneasy haze hung over everything.

Even so, another feeling quickly pushed that thought aside.

That big blockhead Ryo had been grinding ninjutsu all day, clones blowing one after another. He had to be exhausted at night.

Checking on his body and mental state was basic. Obviously.

Yes, it was simple concern. Pure concern.

Pumping herself up, Kushina sprang out of bed.

She fussed with her trademark red hair in front of a small mirror, then, after a moment's hesitation, took off her ordinary outerwear.

Underneath she wore only a close-fitting cotton short nightdress that fell to mid-thigh.

She nervously tugged the hem down, revealing straight legs wrapped in over-the-knee pure white stockings. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then tiptoed like a little cat thief to Ryo's door.

Holding her breath, she pressed an ear to the wood and listened carefully.

Inside, there was only the faint, low hum of chakra circulation.

Kushina's hand trembled as she carefully pulled the door open a crack and poked half her head inside.

Her cheeks were pink. Her voice was a mosquito's buzz, with a nervous tremor she couldn't hide. "Ryo, are you… still practicing?"

Ryo lifted his eyelids.

Those silver eyes looked especially deep in the dim light, like the deep sea.

In the doorway's shadow stood Kushina, freshly bathed.

A few damp strands of vivid red clung to her fair cheeks flushed with a rosy sheen.

The cool short nightdress fit with awkward shyness.

That strip of pure white just over the knees set off the slim, lively lines of her legs.

She was enveloped in a warm mist, fresh and dewy, carrying a clean, gentle sweetness.

"So late." Ryo's voice was steady as always, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment.

"Ahem." Kushina cleared her throat and forced herself to act composed as she slipped fully through the crack and gently shut the door behind her. Her heart pounded like a drum. "I, um, saw you… using clones so hard all day. You must be mentally spent. Do you want me to…"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 70: At Your Age?

Kushina's face grew redder as she spoke, and her voice grew softer.

"…I can massage your head. When I had headaches before, Grandma pressed here and it helped."

She looked up at Ryo, clutching the hem of her skirt with nervous fingers. Her sapphire eyes were bright with a mix of expectation and fluster.

Ryo's gaze passed over the tips of her reddened ears and her tense, intertwined fingers. He stayed silent for three seconds. The chakra that had been running fast in his body from working on Hiraishin settled slightly.

The faint scent of soap and herbs clung to the anxious girl.

He gave a low acknowledgment and let his body relax a fraction. It was tacit permission.

He was tired.

Breathing in Kushina's clean scent and that warm, familiar fragrance, a brief ripple of distraction passed through his chest.

Success.

Kushina lit up like a child who had sneaked a candy. She held down her excitement and quickly knelt beside his bedding.

Ryo turned his back to her.

She extended her small hands, fingertips a little cool, and carefully touched his temples. Feeling the warmth and firmness beneath her fingers, her hand trembled.

"Relax."

She muttered softly, imitating Mito's technique and doing her best to ignore the solid feel of muscle.

She pressed with the pads of her fingers, worried that too light would be useless and too heavy would be uncomfortable. Clumsy, but earnest.

Her warm fingertips worked at the acupoints. A few loose strands of hair brushed his neck as she moved, carrying the clean scent of soap and her own simple fragrance.

Ryo shut his eyes.

The jumbled symbols of the day receded.

Tense nerves began to loosen under the careful, cool touch.

A thread of odd comfort spread from his temples.

He leaned back the slightest bit, allowing her to draw a little closer.

Sensing his change in breathing, Kushina brightened.

Her courage grew.

She shifted a little closer, steady and focused.

"Here, and here. Grandma says this point helps the most." Her slender fingers, now warmer, moved from the temples to the back of his neck, searching out acupoints with care.

Each press, each brush of hair, dropped like pebbles into the calm lake of his mind, sending quiet ripples across the surface.

His clean scent mixed with the faint sweetness that was uniquely hers. Her heartbeat raced.

Time flowed by quietly.

Only their faint breaths sounded in the room.

After several days of this routine, she felt the timing was right. Following Mikoto's step-by-step advice had worked. The pace between her and Ryo had indeed warmed quickly.

Kushina's courage increased.

She rubbed her palms nervously against her skirt, took a deep breath, and, face flushed, patted her own knee.

"Hey." Kushina's voice suddenly sounded. With some hesitation and a bit of do-or-die resolve, she broke the warm quiet of the room.

She stopped her hands, cheeks burning hotter, and lowered her voice. "If you lie here, on my lap, it might work better."

Ryo paused for a moment at the suggestion.

Looking at the space she indicated, he exhaled once and shook his head without hesitation. "No. This is fine."

They had kept the massage routine proper these past few days. It helped him settle, and that was enough.

Kushina grew anxious at once. Her shyness flipped into determined insistence. "No. Try it. Grandma said it really helps you relax. Do you think I can't do it right?"

She rocked slightly, flustered but stubborn.

Ryo met her wide blue eyes, saw the look that said she would not let it go, and let his resistance drop.

He let out a small, almost inaudible sigh. "Suit yourself."

He adjusted his posture and relaxed his support so he could rest more comfortably.

Kushina straightened, steadying herself to support him. The weight was not light, but what she focused on was keeping calm and doing the technique correctly.

Kushina startled, then held herself steady.

Her heart pounded, embarrassment and nerves nearly overwhelming her. She almost moved away, but seeing his calm face with eyes closed, the impulse subsided.

Mikoto had said to hold steady.

For the effect, this much effort was worth it.

She urged herself on and focused.

Ryo felt the brief stiffness and the rise in her body heat.

Through the thin fabric, the contact point was warm. Her simple, clean scent wrapped around him and eased the last tightness from his thoughts.

Kushina took a deep breath, forced down the pounding in her chest, and continued.

A chance. Perfect timing.

She reached out again, fingers trembling slightly, and placed them carefully at his temples.

This time she did not hold back. Her fingertips pressed against warm skin with a measured, testing force and began to knead.

Her movements were still a little clumsy, but her focus was much sharper than before.

Her fingertips slid over the tense temporalis, adjusting pressure as she searched for the right points. Now and then a cool finger brushed his ear by accident.

A few strands of her red hair tangled around her fingers and swayed with the motion.

Each press made the muscle contours clearer under her touch. Each faint brush of hair seemed to speak quiet closeness.

She could feel the strong pulse beneath her fingers and his steady, long breaths, one by one, like beats landing on her heartstrings.

The tension beneath the quiet was more moving than any sound.

Kushina's face burned bright. Each accidental touch made her breath go thin and nervous.

In the room there was only Ryo's almost inaudible breathing and her own pounding heartbeat.

Moonlight fell through the window, tracing a soft halo along Ryo's calm profile and outlining Kushina's focused, shy expression.

The rare, warm stillness with its hint of innocence lasted a long time.

Perhaps only a quarter hour.

Then the door was yanked open with brute force.

The rough motion slammed it into the frame with a crash like thunder.

The air filled at once with the scent of battlefield smoke, bitter medicine, and harsh wind and dust. Along with it came a scorching gaze, full of restrained fury, pinning the room like a searchlight.

Tsunade was back.

She had been urgently recalled by Hiruzen earlier. Leaving the Hokage Building with a stomach full of frustration, she learned that Hiruzen had not consulted her about the Nine-Tails jinchūriki transition. He said it was better for Mito to tell her granddaughter herself. He left only a vague instruction for Tsunade to "clean up the mess" caused by Ryo.

Naturally, she assumed that was the entire reason she had been called back.

With nowhere to vent, she headed straight for the Senju residence.

Back home, she meant to ask Mito about Ryo in detail. But at this hour, Mito was already asleep, and Nawaki was out cold. Even so, Tsunade immediately caught a presence that was not family, one that was very familiar and made her angry, the culprit Ryo.

Her expression shifted again when she sensed a second, familiar presence in the same room.

At the doorway, Tsunade's blonde hair was a little mussed. Sweat beaded on her brow. Her eyes held both the fatigue of forced travel and the anger from being brushed off by Hiruzen.

When her gaze cut through the drifting dust and landed on the scene inside, she saw her little Kushina in a short cotton nightgown, arms and calves pale under the moonlight.

Her pupils tightened further at the sight of Kushina bowing her head with focused hands and a red face, her small palms working at Ryo's head.

That was not the main point.

The main point was that Ryo was resting comfortably while Kushina supported him.

Moonlight traced the outline clearly.

Kushina's face was red as a ripe tomato.

The air froze for an instant.

Kushina yelped like she had touched a hot iron. She snatched back her hands, pushed Ryo away in a panic, and sprang back. Her entire face went scarlet. She fumbled at her hem, trying to pull it down, and stammered, "Tsu, Tsunade-neechan, I, I wasn't, he, I was just, massage, Mikoto said, no, no…"

Her mind crashed.

Ryo steadied himself with one hand on the floor. He sat up, no embarrassment at being "caught," only slight irritation at being interrupted. He looked toward the doorway where a golden-haired figure radiated pressure.

Tsunade leaned on the frame with arms folded. Her gaze paused for a beat on the spot where Ryo had been resting, then lifted like a blade to Kushina's flushed face.

The anger from the Hokage Building evaporated. In its place rose something sharp and dangerous, a mix of fury and the mood of someone catching trouble in the act.

A slow, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It made Kushina's heart stop.

She drew out her words on purpose, her tone bright and teasing, each syllable landing like a hammer on Kushina's overloaded nerves. "Hey, hey, Kushina, little brat."

Tsunade tipped her chin and deliberately let her eyes sweep over Kushina's flat stomach, her smile turning even more "wicked." Her expression made it clear what she was implying.

"You are still so young." Her voice brimmed with pointed teasing. "If you ended up pregnant…"

Tsunade stretched the last three words long, the tail rising with mean amusement, like throwing a huge bomb into the silent room.

"Then I…"

She spread her hands, as if to say even the sky could fall and it would not be her problem. Her eyes flicked lightly over Ryo's calm face, then dropped hard back on Kushina, who wanted to sink through the floor. She spoke each word slowly. "Would not operate on you."

The words lit a fuse.

Kushina exploded, turning from a tomato into a shrieking steam engine, as if white steam really spouted from her head. "Tsunade-neechan, what are you saying! Idiot, idiot, big idiot! We did nothing. It was a massage!"

She stopped caring about anything else, clapped both hands over her burning face, and wailed with a thick fake-crying tone. She barreled past Tsunade at the door.

Tsunade stepped aside with interest.

Kushina scrambled out, hands and feet both working.

Her pounding footsteps boomed down the hall, mixed with muffled sobs of embarrassment and anger, each step like crushing what remained of her dignity.

Moonlight lay cold across the guest room.

Ryo stood up, composed as he straightened his slightly rumpled clothes, and adjusted his breathing.

Tsunade leaned against the frame, arms folded, that dangerous, amused smile still on her lips. Her eyes said, "Kid, not bad," as she looked him up and down.

Outside, Kushina's frantic running and choked cries faded at the end of the corridor.

The night felt like it had only just begun.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 13: Chapter 71-75

Chapter 71: Sleep with Me?

Tsunade withdrew her gaze and looked at Ryo, who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor with that expression that clearly said, "Are you done making a scene yet?"

The trace of mischief she had shown when teasing Kushina vanished instantly. The anger she had been suppressing all the way back flared up again, burning so fiercely it made her lungs ache.

She reached into her robe and pulled out a recall scroll, the same one that Danzō gave her. Pinching it between two fingers, she snapped her wrist and, smack, the scroll landed precisely in front of Ryo. It unfurled, revealing Hiruzen's unmistakable red seal.

"Impressive. You have really got some nerve now, huh?"

Tsunade folded her arms, stepped forward, and blocked the doorway completely. The killing intent rolling off her made the air in the room tense. Grinding her molars audibly, she glared daggers at him.

"Not only did you charm that little vixen Kushina until she is dizzy and dazed, you even had the guts to cause a mess this big?"

Her voice suddenly rose, carrying the rasp of exhaustion and the heat of her suppressed frustration.

"Two-thirds of the village was covered by the blast. Tens of thousands knocked out cold. The medical corps is still packed to bursting. If the ANBU had not moved fast enough to clean things up, logistics would still be drowning in the aftermath."

She took another step forward, the murderous aura honed on the Ame frontlines flooding the small room. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"Do you even have a clue how much the cleanup is going to cost? We could sell you for parts and still not cover a fraction of it."

Tsunade took a deep breath, as if imagining the horrifying sum, and her anger only grew hotter.

"Because of you, that old man sent me an emergency recall order like my life depended on it. Do you know what the front lines are like right now? Without me there, without my antidote formulas, people are dying by the dozen every day. And you, you little brat, were out here playing around?"

The more she spoke, the angrier she became. She could almost see all the funding, research budgets, and medical supplies that should have gone to saving lives on the frontlines, now all pouring like a flood into this bottomless pit of a disaster.

She, who should have been out there saving lives, was instead stuck here cleaning up after this brat.

After listening to her tirade in silence, Ryo finally moved.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to dodge the flying droplets, then raised his eyes to meet Tsunade's furious glare, calm, steady, and unreadable.

"Are you done?" he asked evenly, his tone completely devoid of panic or excuses.

That only poured fuel on the fire.

Tsunade felt the blood rush to her head.

Ryo merely reached down with two fingers, lazily picked up the recall scroll from the floor, and glanced over it as if it were some unimportant scrap of paper. His tone carried the faintest edge of mockery.

"All this, just for that?"

He looked up and met her gaze.

"That old man called you back for this?"

Before she could answer, Ryo tossed the scroll aside again, as casually as if throwing away trash.

That did it. Tsunade's temper detonated.

"Do not you dare change the subject. You are the one who made this mess."

"Who said you needed to clean up after me?" Ryo interrupted, his tone steady but unyielding.

Tsunade barked a laugh, her eye twitching with disbelief.

"Oh really? Look at you, talking big. You are just a snot-nosed brat. Even if we skinned and sold you, you could not pay off a fraction of the damage. What did you negotiate, huh? You think Hiruzen can be fooled by a few sweet words? In the end, he dumped the bill on me."

Ryo looked at her, his silver-gray eyes as deep and cold as still water. When he spoke again, his words struck like a hammer.

"I made a deal with Hiruzen."

Her tirade stopped cold. The contempt on her face faltered for a moment.

Ryo continued, each word dropping like stones into still water.

"He called you back in a hurry," he paused, his eyes gleaming with knowing coldness, "and it had nothing to do with me."

"What did you just say?" Tsunade exploded, almost leaping in anger. "Nothing to do with you? What else could it be for, then?"

But the doubt slipped in anyway. Her brows furrowed deeply, confusion and unease flickering in her eyes.

Something was not right.

That familiar, icy shiver ran down her spine, the same dread she had felt on the battlefield right before the Second Hokage's chakra flickered out forever.

Her face went pale.

Blood seemed to rush up to her head and then drain all at once, leaving her cold and trembling. An unspeakable fear rose from the depths of her heart.

Could it be, Grandma?

No. Impossible.

Mito's seal on the Nine-Tails had always been stable. Hiruzen would not, but if it was not about the family, about the village's very survival, and about her most precious relative's life and death, then why would he pull her from the front lines in the middle of a war?

It could not have been about cleaning up Ryo's mess. That was a ridiculous excuse.

Fragments of realization snapped together in her mind, forming a horrifying possibility.

Hiruzen's vague, evasive tone.
Ryo's calm, knowing demeanor, like someone who had already seen through everything.

Tsunade swayed slightly, gripping the doorframe until her knuckles turned white.

"Heh," Ryo chuckled softly, almost mocking her moment of shock.

He stood, tall and imposing in the dim light, giving her no chance to question further.

"Enough," he said flatly, voice leaving no room for argument as he strode toward the door. "It is late. Go sleep."

He stopped in front of her, leaning down slightly to look her in the eye. His cold, sharp face twisted into a teasing smirk.

"What is wrong, Tsunade," he drawled, eyes flicking over her pale, unsettled expression, "you planning to stay and sleep with me?"

That one line snapped Tsunade out of her shock. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she gawked up at him.

"You brat. Who do you think you are talking to? Trying to hit on me?"

The shame and anger flared back to life. She pointed a trembling finger at his face, her temper rising again.

"Do you have any idea what happened to that idiot Jiraiya the last time he said something like that? He was drunk and ran his mouth, and I sent him flying out of the bathhouse and into the old crooked tree at the village gate. Hung there for three days."

She huffed, clearly intending to scare him straight.

"I am not curious," Ryo cut her off coldly. He moved suddenly, stepping forward and shoulder-checking her aside without hesitation.

The motion was abrupt and forceful. Tsunade stumbled back a half step, caught off guard.

Ryo's voice followed, calm but ringing with youthful defiance.

"I am still growing."

He rested one hand on the doorframe, half-blocking the entrance, and added dryly,

"Some irresponsible person once said staying up too late would stunt my growth."

He looked directly at her, at her pale, furious, utterly conflicted expression, and drove the final nail in, one deliberate word at a time.

"Do not. Stay. Up. Late."

Her mind blanked. Memories flooded back, that night long ago, when she had tossed him the Kage Bunshin scroll and scolded him for his late-night training.

"Kid, go get a proper night's sleep. Keep staying up like this, you will stunt your growth. Hah, when you are grown and still shorter than Kushina, we will see how your fragile pride takes it. I am doing you a favor, you know?"

Her own teasing words echoed vividly in her ears.

Now, they had come back to bite her. Hard.

Ryo glanced at her mortified, color-shifting face, pale one second, red the next, and his lips twitched ever so slightly.

"Now get out of here," he said, tone final. "You are in the way of my training."

With that, he slammed the door shut with a bang so hard the frame shuddered and dust fell from the ceiling.

"?!"

Tsunade barely dodged in time, almost getting her nose flattened.

"You brat. Open the damn door," she shouted, furious, kicking it hard enough to shake the walls, but the chakra-reinforced door did not budge.

Inside, silence.

Only moonlight answered her through the window.

She smacked the door a few more times until her palms stung, then stopped, realizing it was pointless. Her grandmother was asleep, and Nawaki would wake up if she kept yelling. She could only grind her teeth, curse under her breath, and storm off down the corridor, her footsteps heavy and echoing against the stone floor.

The house fell silent again.

Inside the room, Ryo leaned against the cold door for a few moments, listening until her footsteps faded away. Then he turned back, sat down on his bedding, and exhaled slowly.

His silver-gray eyes reflected the moonlight, calm and deep.

He closed them again, sinking into meditation.

His vast chakra surged through his body like a silver current. In his mind, the intricate patterns of space-time jutsu unfolded, lines of chakra flow, formulae, and seals continuously being formed, broken, and reconstructed.

A Kage Bunshin silently dissolved beside him, reforming anew.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 72: The Pillar of Konoha for an Era Is Finally Shedding Its Burden

Morning light struggled to pierce the gloom hanging over Konoha's sky. In the Senju residence, the dining room held the warmth of breakfast, and a faint, lingering heaviness.

Nawaki took a vicious bite out of his rice ball, but his eyes stayed locked on Ryo across the table, who was calmly sipping soup.
That stare looked like it could burn two holes straight through his face.

The memory of his thigh being blown apart seemed to ache again deep in the bone, despite it already being the third time it had rapidly healed.

"Sis." Nawaki slapped his spoon down with a sharp clack, having found his outlet. His voice carried grievance and accusation. "You have to do something about Ryo. He is a walking hazard. Look at what he did to me. Combat drill? He went for the kill on purpose. My leg was practically roasted. Three times. Three whole times."

He raised his voice on purpose and shot Ryo a provocative look. The message could not be clearer. My backer is home, just you wait.

Tsunade, seated at the head, was sipping miso soup. At his words, she did not even lift an eyelid. Instead, she rolled her eyes so hard they nearly flipped to the ceiling.

"Eat. And stop whining," she rasped, hoarse with a hangover and impatience. She tapped the rim of her bowl with her spoon. "You think I am blind? With your so-called skill, you cannot even cast a proper Water Dragon Bullet. You rush in with fake-outs full of openings like a rabid dog. Getting your leg blown off is your own damn fault. Ryo is doing you a favor, so you do not step onto a real battlefield and leave nothing but scraps for us to collect."

She shut him down without mercy, not even sparing him a glance, much less the conspiratorial look he was begging for, hoping she would help him teach Ryo a lesson.

Nawaki's mouth opened and closed like a punctured balloon, all his bluster deflating at once. He was left with nothing but stifled humiliation and the sting of his sister's ruthless truth. Head down, he shoveled rice into his mouth with tragic vigor. Is this really my big sister? Was I picked up out of a trash can?

Beside the head seat, Uzumaki Mito had been quietly watching the lively morning unfold.

Sunlight filtered through the window, laying gentle shadows across her timeworn face.

She watched her noisy grandchildren, and the silent, straight-backed redhead. Beside him, little Kushina's face was flushed as she kept sneaking glances his way. Mito's lips curved with a tender, seasoned smile.

Breakfast ended beneath that delicate mood. Nawaki was still sulking.

When everything was tidied, they gathered around the low table in the sitting room.

Tsunade, sharp as ever, noticed Mito was different today, not the usual relaxed warmth of an early morning. There was a solemnity to her that felt like the quiet before final instructions.

Uzumaki Mito sat up a little straighter. Her eyes, calm and all-seeing, swept over the gathered children. Nawaki, stubbornly holding back his disappointment. Tsunade, feigning composure while her knuckles blanched. Kushina, nestled close to Ryo, ignorant in her youth but starting to feel unease.

Her gaze paused on Ryo's calm face, then lifted to meet Tsunade's searching, faintly fearful eyes.

"Children," Mito said. Her voice was not loud, but it settled over every stray sound in the room, grounded and resolute. "I have decided to transfer the Nine-Tails."

Transferring the Nine-Tails meant the jinchūriki would die.

Silence.

Even the birds outside seemed frozen mid-song.

The sitting room felt sheathed in invisible ice.

They had expected it. But when Mito said it herself, Tsunade felt all the blood drain from her body.

Her heart clenched, caught in a cold, iron grip that made breathing hurt.

She clenched her fists, forcing down the sting burning behind her eyes.

Do not cry. You are the elder sister. Nawaki and Kushina are watching. You have to hold it together.

"Uwaa, Grandma. No. I do not want you to go." Kushina's tears burst like a broken dam. She flung herself at Mito, clinging to her as if to life itself, her small body shaking violently. "I will be good. I will study sealing. I will never sneak out again. Please do not leave me. I am scared."

Hot tears soaked through Mito's dark clothes in an instant.

Mito's thin but steady hands patted the trembling little back, soothing her like an infant. Her voice was gentle, helpless. "Silly child. Grandma is far too old. See, that Nine-Tails has been in me a long time, its temper has gotten bigger, and I can barely hold it down now. Let it move into your new home, hmm? It is roomier there. You will have to manage it well for me."

She brushed Kushina's wet cheeks with the pad of her thumb, the warmth tinged with aching reluctance. "Besides, your grandfather Hashirama, that old rascal, must be so bored alone in the Pure Land. If I do not go keep an eye on him, who knows what ruckus he will stir up next. Grandma has to go make sure he behaves, do you not think?"

The tone was coaxing, but the parting it carried was irreversible.

Kushina only cried harder, tears dropping like beads from a broken string. She buried her face in Mito's chest, sobbing too hard to form full sentences.

Over Kushina's quivering red hair, Mito looked to Ryo, the boy who had personally ended the Kumo spy, protected her precious granddaughter, and shown Konoha both his breadth of heart and monstrous potential.

"Ryo," she called, the weight of entrustment in her voice.

Ryo stood without a word and moved the teacup aside.

His face was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes were more focused than usual.

With a gravity that belied her frail hands, Mito gently took Kushina's small, sweaty, tear-damp fingers, then firmly, without leaving room for refusal, placed them into Ryo's broad, steady palm.

Two hands overlapped, strength and fragility meeting in one point.

Mito lifted her gaze, looking deep into Ryo's silver-gray eyes. There was no doubt there, only the most earnest plea and trust. "Promise Grandma Mito that you will take good care of our little Kushina. Guard her for a lifetime. Watch over her, keep her safe and happy as she grows up. Will you?"

The cold tremor in his palm made Ryo's heart tighten, just slightly.

He glanced down at Kushina, crying so hard she could barely breathe, then met Mito's eyes again. His lips parted. No hesitation. Each word fell like hammered iron, heavy and clear.

"I promise."

No flowery vow. Just two words.

From his mouth, they weighed a thousand pounds.

Every wrinkle on Mito's face seemed to ease at once, relief blooming quiet and deep.

She patted the back of Ryo's hand, then let go.

Her eyes moved to Nawaki. He sat like a puppet with its strings cut, head down, shoulders trembling as he tried to swallow his sobs.

Her reckless, pure-hearted grandson, whom she had watched grow up.

"Nawaki," Mito's voice brimmed with love, and a tinge of complication. "You are the one Grandma worries about most."

Her words pricked him like a needle.

Nawaki's head snapped up. His eyes were scarlet at the rims, tear tracks not yet dry.

Mito looked into those eyes so like Tobirama's and sighed. "Those three broken legs were arranged by Grandma."

"What?" Nawaki froze. The grief on his face solidified into shock as he stared at her.

"I had Ryo do it, to make you remember, in the most painful way, that the battlefield is not a game. It is not a place where you charge in shouting Will of Fire and come out covered in glory. It is a place of blood and death." Mito's tone sharpened, the final lecture of an elder pressed for time. "I do not expect you to plan like your Sensei Orochimaru. But at least use your head enough to protect yourself. Recklessness is just another word for dying. I am afraid, afraid you will end up like your grand-uncle, losing your life on some nameless patch of ground, for nothing."

Her voice caught for an instant, sinking into an old, unhealed ache.

Nawaki looked like he had been struck by lightning. The blankness and confusion on his face were drowned by a flood of shame and regret.

So those shattered bones were not Ryo's cruelty, but Grandma's heavy love and worry. He had been a fool, reckless and impulsive, nearly trampling her painstaking care.

He scrubbed a hand hard across his face. When he looked up again, his eyes still swam with tears, but now there was a steadiness there he had never had before.

He met Mito's gaze and spoke, one word at a time. "Grandma, I was wrong. I will change. I will use my head. I will protect myself. I will come back safe."

Mito smiled and nodded, ruffling his stiff, short hair.

At last, her eyes returned to Tsunade.

The proudest granddaughter of the First Hokage. Konoha's healer-saint.

She sat ramrod straight, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a stubborn line, fighting to keep the tears from spilling.

But the faint tremble of her shoulders betrayed the storm inside.

"Tsunade," Mito softened her voice to a caress, filled with reluctance and apology. "Do not mind Grandma nagging. My temper has always been too quick, I never managed to teach you how to tame that firecracker temper of yours. I worry, that there will be no one left to help you rein it in."

Tsunade bit her lower lip hard. A heavy sourness surged up her nose. She blinked rapidly, forcing the dampness back.

"How I wish, I could stay with you a few more years," Mito murmured, voice soaked with affection. "To see you wear white and marry with splendor, to see you find someone who truly cherishes you, accepts your temper, and protects you, but Grandma does not have the blessing. I will not be there to see it."

"Grandma." Tsunade finally could not hold it anymore. Her voice cracked as she cut in, terrified that another word would shatter her. "I will not marry. I just, I just want to stay with you forever. Like when I was little."

She straightened her back with effort, but the reddening corners of her eyes and the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Mito looked at her brave front and smiled, like a mother indulging a willful child. "Silly girl."

The time that followed felt like they had forgotten the coming farewell. Like any ordinary family, they sat together.

Mito spoke slowly, telling stories of Kushina as a toddler. Of the time Nawaki first refined chakra and flipped over from excitement. Of Tsunade's first wall shattered by monstrous strength, and the guilty, secretly proud face she had made after.

Nawaki chimed in with red-rimmed eyes, trying to keep things lively. Kushina leaned against Mito, sometimes giggling through hiccups, mostly clutching her hand as if never to let go. Tsunade listened quietly, a tender smile at her lips, gaze never leaving Mito's face, memorizing every expression. Only where no one could see did her clenched knuckles betray the torment inside.

Ryo sat beside Kushina in silence, listening to the tapestry of memories and goodbyes, like a steadfast shadow.

Sunlight shifted across the wooden floor through the lattice window. The tea was refilled several times. The pastries had long gone cold.

When the sunlight finally crept to the edge of the low table, Mito gently patted Kushina's shoulder where it rested against her.

No matter how long, every farewell must be said.

There were no more reminders left to give.

Mito simply looked around one last time. Her warm gaze lingered on each young face, Nawaki's forced strength, Tsunade's hidden grief, Kushina's swollen, clinging eyes.

At last, she smiled and rose.

In the Senju sitting room, a long, voiceless quiet settled.

In the slanting sun, fine dust hung motionless in the air, as if time itself had stilled, sealing this thick, unyielding sorrow of parting within the space called home, pressing heavy on every heart.

The pillar of Konoha for an era was, at last, laying down her burden.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 73: The Nine-Tails Transfer Ritual

The main hall of the Senju ancestral home was like an ancient well sunk into an abyss. The air was so still it felt as though it might crush the moonlight.

Mito's hoarse murmurs of comfort and Kushina's muffled sobs were the only living struggle within that dead silence.

The old woman's wrinkled hand stroked that blazing red hair again and again, endless tenderness smoothing the girl's grief in this moment before farewell.

"Kushina, do not be afraid." The elder's voice was aged yet vast as the sea, unable to banish the chill of night. "Grandma will watch over you from the sky, eyes open, watching you grow up, watching you live your life."

"Do not go. Grandma, do not go. I cannot let you go." Kushina buried her whole face in the warmth of Mito's robe. Her sobs broke apart against the fabric, her small body shaking so hard it hurt to see. Her swollen eyes were like breached springs, tears rolling and staining the cloth a darker despair.

Every ragged breath hitched with a tearing, helpless sound, the sound of a child thrown against the flood of fate.

Mito's clouded eyes drifted to the moon, veiled and revealed by torn clouds. At last, with immeasurable reluctance, she gently pushed the burning bundle of tears from her arms.

Her thin fingers brushed the girl's wet, tear-streaked cheeks, soft but steady. "Do not fear becoming a jinchūriki. Your heart will often feel empty, but there is always something that can fill it."

Her gaze slipped, almost casually yet knowingly, toward the shadowed courtyard, where a red-haired figure stood like a stake driven into the earth. "Is that hollow in your heart not already filled?"

Kushina's sobbing cut off, as if a hand had closed around her throat.

Something hot slammed into her chest.

That moonlit declaration, "And now," the silent, steadfast back she could sense even through the door, both exploded in her mind.

That overbearing warmth that allowed no refusal was the only light she could cling to in this vast, falling dark, the last thread holding up her crumbling heart.

Outside the hall, Tsunade paced like a caged beast, boots crusted with the front line's blood and dust grinding dead leaves under heel with sharp, bone-like snaps. Rage quivered at every pore, near detonation.

"Damn that old monkey." Her growl was followed by a dull thunk as her kunai sank deep into a pine trunk, wood chips flying.

Ripped from the front to attend a ritual she could not change and that split her heart, her fury was a living thing.

In a corner of the courtyard, Hiruzen and his advisors Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu stood like three cold statues. The air was drawn tight as a bowstring, every breath dragged through thorns.

Then the thick shōji slid open. Mito stepped out, leading Kushina by the hand.

The elder kept her back as straight as she could, but the mountain-heavy dusk of age and exhaustion could not be hidden.

Kushina's hand was locked within her grandmother's, old but unyielding, as they walked, step by step, toward the sealing dais.

Moonlight flowed like water across the deep-carved, ancient fūinjutsu lines in the stone. Those lines seemed alive as they coiled and writhed, exuding a chill that froze even the air.

A thick stone post rose at each corner of the platform.

Mito sat. Hiruzen, Homura, and Koharu took their places as well, each face iron-hard and grave.

"Come up, child." Mito's voice was calm, as still as a bottomless pond.

Kushina drew a deep breath. The cold air, mud and rot of fallen leaves, filled her lungs in a fine sting.

She shoved down the last bit of dependence in her eyes and replaced it with something like tragic resolve.

She released Mito's hand and stepped alone into the center of that cold stone, an altar that meant power and prison.

Her gaze swept the shadows of the courtyard and locked onto Ryo, standing by the wall with his arms crossed.

Through the density of night, his silver-gray eyes met hers with perfect clarity, calm and steady, like the surest mooring point driven into the churning sea of her heart.

She clenched her fists tight.

Mito's ten withered fingers suddenly began to weave signs, so fast they blurred into a gray haze.

"Begin." Her bark cracked like thunder.

The three advisors dared not slacken for an instant. Chakra flared blindingly in their hands.

But when their refined chakra poured into the etched edges of the platform, it only formed a glowing framework.

The true core, the tidal surge, vast and ancient, carrying the blood-deep power of the Uzumaki, rose from Mito herself. Her last reserves, the bedrock of the ritual.

Whoom.

Every seal-line on the platform lit at once, crimson as blood.

A colossal scarlet barrier whirled up like a vortex, enveloping the platform and the slim red figure at its center.

Across the barrier wall, dense tadpole-like seal script raced and writhed, weaving a net meant to bind gods and demons.

ROAR.

A howl of primeval fury and unending humiliation hammered straight through the scarlet dome, slamming into the soul of every witness.

The beams and pillars of the Senju home shivered. Civilians across the sleeping village jolted awake, hearts pounding in terror at that sound from the depths.

A heartbeat later, hell itself descended on Kushina.

The Nine-Tails' chakra, ominous, icy, and hot enough to burn the world, flooded into her like molten rock, rending meridians and pouring through a too-young body.

It was not the pain of broken bone. It was the skin, the flesh, every nerve screaming at once, an agony that defied language.

Her pale skin flushed crimson, like iron thrown into a forge. Fine blisters rose in a rush across her exposed neck and arms, swelling tight.

"Ah." She threw back her head and screamed, the sound cracking and tearing. Her body arched, every muscle locked, as if an invisible fire scorched her again and again.

Her throat seized under the pain. Only ragged, bellows-like gasps scraped out.

Sweat, mixed with a thin seep of fluids from beneath the skin, soaked her clothes. No blood, yet crueler than bleeding.

Above, the scarlet barrier keened at a pitch that stabbed the ear. It warped, bloated, baring the cataclysm within.

"Hold the sealing formation." Starlike brilliance erupted in Mito's eyes. Her hands blurred past their limits, a storm of signs. Power poured from her until even her frail body trembled out of control.

Hiruzen, Homura, and Koharu clenched their teeth so hard it sounded like steel grinding. Veins roped their temples. Their faces blanched paper-pale as they fought to keep the outer frame steady, only the edges.

Against the Nine-Tails' true fury, the brunt fell entirely upon Uzumaki Mito's shoulders.

"Kushina. Unleash your Uzumaki blood, now. Lock it down." Mito's shout was a war drum across time, rattling souls, edged with a do-or-die resolve.

A different power surged forth, tough, pure, ancient, like a sleeping dragon waking within Kushina's breaking body.

The purest Uzumaki lineage boiled.

Across her flushed skin, dark-gold seal formulae, old as ages, lit along the paths of burning pain, racing and entwining until they shone with dazzling light.

At her lower abdomen, centered at the navel, a precise, impossibly intricate Eight Trigrams Seal flared into view, radiating unshakable stability.

That newborn strength resonated with Mito's final sealing force, becoming countless cold, iron-strong spiritual chains of dark gold. With the momentum to suppress all things, they snapped taut.

And, along the path of the scarlet torrent, they bit back against its source, driving straight toward the fox within Mito, the beast that sought to break free and devour its host.

Thud. Crack.

The great scarlet barrier imploded to a pinprick, then burst outward in a ring of invisible, annihilating ripples.

In that instant, Mito's last glance held, unyielding, gentle, bright as ever.

The light in her eyes faded like quiet stardust, full of blessing, trust, and a charge for the village's future, as she slipped away without a sound.

All her life, all her strength, and her everlasting longing for Senju Hashirama flowed into those Uzumaki chains, their warmth wrapping Kushina's raging seal.

"Hashirama, I am coming to meet you now."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 74: The Second Generation of the Nine-Tailed Jinchūriki

The final wisp of the Nine-Tails' wild crimson chakra sank completely into Kushina's body.

The Eight Trigrams Seal etched upon her abdomen flashed violently, then dimmed. The golden light folded inward, settling deep beneath her skin until only a faint, intricate sealing mark remained, small but brimming with immense power.

On the stone dais, that terrifying scarlet radiance flickered out like a dying wildfire, vanishing into silence.
Deathly stillness followed.

Only the ragged, shallow breaths of a small figure at the center of the altar broke the quiet, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of burned flesh.

Hiruzen was gasping for breath, utterly spent.

Koharu's face had gone pale as paper, and Homura's trembling hands could no longer be stilled.

The shinobi standing guard nearby instinctively took half a step back, horror widening their eyes.

Kushina stood at the heart of the altar, her small frame covered in scorched wounds, head bowed, her skin still faintly glowing with dark golden lines that slowly faded beneath her flesh.

Sweat soaked every strand of her vivid red hair, clinging to her tattered clothes.
She stood motionless upon the still-warm stone, bathed in the afterglow of the ritual.

Against the far wall, Ryo hadn't moved an inch.

No one noticed that his left hand had never released the cold hilt of the Kusanagi Sword.

---

Within the vast expanse of her inner world, Kushina's soul floated above a boundless sea of thought.
Below her, the colossal Nine-Tailed Fox thrashed and roared, its fury shaking the void.

"Damn it! You dare—"

Its roar was cut short.

From the emptiness above, countless chains of dark gold burst forth, radiating cold will and absolute dominance. They snapped around the beast's throat with brutal precision.

Thicker, heavier chains followed, binding its limbs and nine ferocious tails until its mountain-sized body was forced into a humiliating, suspended stillness.

"Shut up, you stupid fox."

Kushina's voice was cold and level, echoing through the sealed space like a decree.
Her will suffused the realm, silencing every trace of the fox's rage.

Only the grinding of the chains and the creature's muffled growls remained, low, venomous, but utterly powerless.

---

Back in the Courtyard of the Senju Estate

The suffocating air of violence gradually dispersed.

Ryo stepped forward toward the altar and extended his arms in silence.

Kushina lifted her head. Her small face, blurred by sweat, tears, and pain, tilted upward.

Her willpower, stretched to the breaking point, gave way. Exhaustion and fear flooded through her body all at once.

Her knees buckled. She fell backward, only to be caught firmly in Ryo's embrace.

"Ryo…" Her voice was faint, like the last flicker of a dying candle. "Now I'm just… a monster, aren't I?"

Tears welled again, spilling over the streaks that had only just dried.

"Will you… not want me anymore?"

She remembered the villagers' whispers, the fearful eyes behind her nickname Red-Hot Habanero.

Now that the source of calamity itself was sealed inside her, the title monster had become undeniable.
That truth pierced deeper than any physical pain.

Ryo's arms tightened around her, as though he could fuse her trembling body into his own.

He bent close, his breath hot against her ear.

"Have you forgotten?"

"What did they call me? I'm a monster too."

His tone hardened. "We were born for each other."

The declaration struck like thunder, shattering the ice of fear in Kushina's heart.
All the agony, panic, and exhaustion of the night surged out of her in a wave, and she finally collapsed, sinking into darkness.

"Sleep," Ryo murmured, his voice softening to a whisper.

He brushed the sweat and tears from her face with his sleeve, awkward but gentle, smoothing her tangled red hair with tender care.

"Kamiyama Ryo!"

Homura stepped forward, his face like stone, eyes sharp as blades. "Release the Jinchūriki immediately! She's in an extremely unstable state and requires maximum isolation and protection. She is the village's core secret, its greatest asset. You—"

Koharu cut in sharply, "He's right! If you provoke the Nine-Tails again, the consequences will be catastrophic! Step back at once!"

Ryo didn't move. Still cradling Kushina, he slowly turned his gaze toward the two advisors.

Their eyes met.

Boom!

An invisible explosion of killing intent tore through the courtyard, cold, suffocating, and absolute.

It wasn't chakra. It was pure will.

A warning.

The two advisors froze mid-sentence, their throats constricted by invisible hands.
Their faces drained of color, pupils contracting to pinpoints. Tremors wracked their bodies as icy dread crawled up their spines.
Cold sweat beaded across their foreheads.

They understood perfectly.
That gaze carried an unmistakable message. Say one more word, and face the consequences.

Tsunade's heart seized.

Damn it. She knew Ryo too well, a man who followed only his own heart, heedless of authority or consequence.

She darted between him and the advisors, arms spread wide, her tone sharp with urgency. "Ryo! Calm down!"

Hiruzen, still pale from the strain of the ceremony, finally found his voice. He stepped forward, his tone firm with the authority of a Hokage.

"Enough!"

His gaze swept over the trembling advisors. "Homura. Koharu. You've both been awake all night. Emotions are running high. The sealing is complete, Kushina's stability is our top priority. Return and rest, both of you."

His words carried the weight of command.

Then his eyes turned to Ryo, still stern, but softer now. "Ryo. Take care of Kushina."

The crushing pressure that filled the courtyard dissipated as if it had never been.

Ryo's attention returned to the girl sleeping in his arms. The murderous aura vanished without a trace, leaving only calm, unwavering devotion.

Only the soft rustle of leaves and the sound of steady breathing remained.

---

Three days later.

The funeral of Uzumaki Mito was held in quiet solemnity at the Memorial Stone deep within Konoha's forest.

The sky hung low and gray.
Though no rain fell, the air was heavy with the damp chill of an unspoken sorrow.
The scent of wet earth lingered thick in the air.

No grand ceremony. No crowds.
Only a handful of mourners stood among the trees: Tsunade, Nawaki, Hiruzen, Homura, Koharu, and Ryo, silent and steadfast at the side of a cloaked Kushina.

Before a simple wooden monument carved with the deceased's name, Kushina's red-rimmed eyes brimmed with grief. Yet beneath the sorrow, something deeper had taken root—a quiet, unyielding strength.

Teardrops slid down Tsunade's cheeks unnoticed as she looked at the grave.
Her voice was low, hoarse. "Grandmother…"

She paused, then turned to Kushina with a weary smile touched by bitter understanding. "Grandmother Mito used to say that meeting my grandfather, was the greatest blessing of her life. Now…"

Tsunade's lips curved into a sad, knowing arc. "Maybe I finally understand what she meant."

Kushina's head snapped up, eyes burning red once more. Her lips trembled, but no words came.

Instead, she bowed deeply, a silent gesture carrying all the emotion words could never hold.

Her hand drifted to her abdomen, where faint heat still lingered—the place that now sealed a power capable of both destroying and protecting Konoha.

Grandma Mito, she thought, you can finally rest. The burden you carried your whole life is now mine to bear.

The cold morning breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it a gentle drizzle, as if the heavens themselves wept for the passing of a great kunoichi.

The era of Konoha's first Nine-Tailed Jinchūriki had ended.

And the era of the second, Uzumaki Kushina, had begun.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 75: Flying Thunder God Mark

Konoha Village, Hokage's Office

The heavy, dark red curtains shut out the harsh sunlight. The air inside was thick with cheap tobacco smoke and the silent scent of gunpowder.

Hiruzen stood with his back to his desk. The brush in his hand hovered over an urgent battle report from the Suna frontlines. A drop of black ink fell silently onto the parchment, spreading like a small, ominous shadow.

Homura's voice nearly sprayed the back of Hiruzen's neck.
"Did you see what that Kamiyama Ryo did? He dared to show killing intent right in front of you! He wanted to kill us, plain and simple! Today it is the advisors, tomorrow it could be you! Someone that dangerous and unstable must be contained, watched closely!"

Outrageous. The gall of that upstart, threatening him, an elder of Konoha.
Did he still have the village in his eyes? Did he respect authority at all?

If this was tolerated, what would stop other shinobi from following suit?
Such defiance must be crushed, immediately.

Koharu's thin, sharp face twisted as she chimed in, her voice as shrill as a knife scraping bone.
"He is absolutely right! And that is not even the worst of it! We are talking about the Jinchūriki, the village's ultimate weapon, its greatest treasure! She is not Ryo's girlfriend! He must be kept far away from Uzumaki Kushina! If he manipulates her emotions, it could end in disaster! And you, Hiruzen, you know exactly how dangerous it is when a Jinchūriki gives birth and the seal weakens!"

Hiruzen slowly turned around. His graying beard trembled slightly as his weary yet razor sharp eyes swept across the two faces before him, faces painted with false righteousness but shadowed by fear of losing power.

He slapped the battle report flat onto the desk with a sharp thud.

"Enough, Homura. Koharu."

His voice was not loud, but it carried the iron weight of Hokage authority.

"Kushina and Ryo are both pillars of Konoha, Tsunade's disciples, and my students' students. I trust their character completely. Just as I trust you both to maintain Konoha's stability when I eventually step down."

He paused deliberately, watching their expressions sour.
"Ryo's will to protect the Jinchūriki is steadfast. That is exactly the bond Mito-sama and I hoped to see. As for the rest," his tone hardened, "I have not gone senile yet. Do your jobs. That is the best support you can give me. Understood?"

The warning in his words struck deep. Both advisors went pale, as if someone had clamped invisible hands around their throats.

The phrase when I step down hit them like a bucket of cold water, dousing the faint flames of ambition smoldering in their hearts.

Their lips twitched, desperate to retort.

"Out!" Hiruzen's roar cut through the tension.

He slammed his pipe against the desk, the dull thud echoing like a gunshot.

The two advisors flinched as if struck, glaring resentfully at the pile of paperwork, the symbol of absolute power, before turning on their heels and leaving the room in silence.

The heavy wooden doors closed behind them, shutting out both the noise of the world and the whisper of political schemes.

Hiruzen let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing his throbbing temples.

The aftereffects of the Nine Tails' transfer had not yet faded, the frontlines were strained, and the village was riddled with petty troubles.

He leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe once more.

White smoke curled upward as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Ryo. Tsunade. Jiraiya. Orochimaru.
All powerful, all loyal, for now.
As long as their strength stayed aligned with his, as long as they did not threaten the authority of the Hokage, they could live and act as freely as they wished.

After all, which great shinobi was not a bit unruly?

Even his three students had their vices, gambling, debauchery, rebellion.
And as for Homura and Koharu?
He chuckled quietly.
Two old relics clutching to power, they were just reacting to the new generation's rise.

Still chuckling, he reached for the crystal ball on his desk.
After all that hard work, a little entertainment would not hurt.

Senju Estate, Ryo's Room

The afternoon sun streamed warmly through the paper doors, casting soft golden stripes across the tatami.

The air was still. Only the faint scratch of a brush against skin and Kushina's stifled, ticklish gasps broke the silence.

Ryo sat cross legged behind her, his long, steady fingers glowing faintly with concentrated chakra.

With delicate precision, he was inscribing a minuscule but intricate Hiraishin no Jutsu formula along the side of her smooth, pale abdomen, close enough to her Jinchūriki seal to link with it, yet far enough not to disturb it.

The completed design resembled a small, round tomato.

Its scarlet hue was not ink, it was pure chakra light, softly pulsing against her warm skin like a living mark.

"Ahh… Ryo, are you done yet? That tickles…"

Kushina squirmed slightly, the tips of her red hair brushing against his arm. Her cheeks glowed pink, caught somewhere between shyness and sweetness.

Since becoming the Jinchūriki, her senses had sharpened immensely. She could even detect the faint chakra of the hidden ANBU watching from beyond the walls, those who claimed to protect her, but in truth only monitored her every move.

That invisible cage of surveillance weighed heavily on her heart.

"Do not move," Ryo murmured, voice low but gentle. His hand remained steady as stone. "Almost finished."

He watched the forming seal intently, adjusting the chakra output with microscopic control.

"I know about the ANBU."

Kushina stiffened slightly, then slumped, deflated like a pufferfish.

"They are always there, like flies," she muttered sullenly, her voice small and bristling with frustration. "So annoying! They will not even let me leave the village! Always saying they are afraid I will lose control, hmph!"

"Done." Ryo's tone was calm but certain.

The final rune clicked perfectly into place.
The tiny chakra tomato glowed once, then dimmed, fusing seamlessly into her skin, like a natural birthmark.

Ryo exhaled softly, drawing back his hand, the warmth of her skin still lingering at his fingertips.

"It is complete."

After days of relentless training, burning through shadow clones and guided by Kushina's own deep knowledge of sealing, he had finally grasped the basics of the Hiraishin no Jutsu, an S rank space time ninjutsu.

His foundation was still shallow, far from the effortless mastery of the future Fourth Hokage, but the core function, long distance teleportation, was finally stable.
The key to survival and rescue was now within reach.

He looked up, meeting Kushina's bright blue eyes. There was a new depth to them since the sealing ritual, traces of the Nine Tails' crimson glint mingled with the unyielding strength of her Uzumaki blood.

"Hiraishin?" she repeated, eyes wide with wonder as she touched the mark. The surface was cool and smooth, leaving no trace of discomfort.

"That is the one, right? The super cool technique that lets you whoosh across space instantly?" Her eyes sparkled, then dimmed a little. "But even if you can do that, it is not like they will ever let me leave the village." She pouted, looking heartbreakingly dejected.

Ryo reached out, resting a broad, calloused hand atop her soft crimson hair, ruffling it gently, awkwardly, but full of quiet affection.

A faint breeze stirred the room.

Kushina blinked. For a moment, Ryo vanished from sight, and before she could gasp, warmth bloomed behind her. His arm slipped naturally around her waist from behind, his chin brushing the curve of her neck.

"Do not worry."

"The mark is set. Once I am strong enough to crush every obstacle, I will take you anywhere you want to go."

The instant his words faded, his body flickered again, gone and back in the same heartbeat, as though he had never moved at all.

The speed was breathtaking. Even a shadow clone could not react that fast.

"Wow!" Kushina clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief before bursting into pure delight.

Then she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest with a fierce little smile.

"Mm! I believe you! We will travel the whole ninja world together!"

The gloom that had clouded her heart for days melted away, replaced by dazzling excitement and hope.

(To be continued.)

...

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Chapter 14: Chapter 76-80

Chapter 76: What’s Wrong with Enjoying Myself

The heavy curtains of the Hokage's office shut out every ray of sunlight.

The air was so thick with the stench of cheap tobacco and mildewed paperwork that it could almost be cut with a knife.

Hiruzen was rewarding his own "diligent service to Konoha" by staring so hard into his crystal ball that his eyes seemed welded to it.

His face was flushed, drool glistened at the corner of his mouth.
The mighty Third Hokage looked less like a leader and more like a senile old pervert.

"Hokage-sama."

At the voice, Hiruzen jerked upright, snatching the crystal ball out of sight, his expression snapping into feigned composure.

A masked ANBU emerged soundlessly from the shadowed corner, dropping to one knee. Beneath the tanuki patterned mask, his voice was flat and emotionless.
"Danzō-sama has sent a second encrypted dispatch from the Ame front."

He set a wax sealed Root scroll on the desk. "Contents: When will Tsunade return? Suna's counterattack is intensifying. The medical corps is gravely undermanned."

The moment Hiruzen heard "Danzō's message," the brief ease in his brow vanished, knotting tight again.

"The messenger from Danzō-sama has already requested an audience three times," the ANBU continued evenly. "Additionally, we have confirmed Tsunade-sama's current location, she is at the gambling house by the village gates."

A pause. "Eyewitnesses report she is, losing heavily."

Bang.

Hiruzen's fist crashed down on the desk. Ink splattered from the jar, spattering the casualty list from the Suna front like fresh blood.

"Damn it. Does she think the Hokage's office is her personal bank? Shinobi are bleeding out on the front lines, and she's wasting her days at the dice table."

The ANBU stiffened imperceptibly.

Hiruzen took several sharp breaths, forcing his blood pressure back down.
He had recalled her to the village to let her see Mito one last time, to stabilize the Jinchūriki transfer, to be the failsafe in case something went wrong.

With Kushina's seal only days old, the Nine Tails was like a live explosive tag with the pin half pulled. Keeping Tsunade nearby was pure insurance.

But that reckless girl, she really thought this was vacation time.

Meanwhile, Danzō was at the Ame front sticking his neck out, demanding medics, three messages in a single day, and she was gambling.

Hiruzen raked both hands through his thinning hair in exasperation.

He had dumped all his biggest headaches, Kushina, Ryo, and even Uchiha Mikoto, onto Tsunade's newly formed Eighth Squad. It was partly necessity, partly a petty bit of payback to watch his strong willed student squirm under the weight.

And now, she had simply vanished into leisure.

"Go," he barked through clenched teeth, jabbing a finger at the ANBU. "Drag that reckless brat here, now."

The Gambling House, Lucky Cat Pavilion

The gold painted sign gleamed above the reek of sweat, liquor, cheap perfume, and half spoiled food.
Dice clattered, coins rang, voices rose in cheers and curses, a roaring chaos of greed.

In the VIP corner, Tsunade had one foot propped on a stool, her crimson Gamble cloak hanging open to reveal a tight scarlet bustier beneath.

The small mountain of chips before her was collapsing in an avalanche of defeat.

"Two points, small," the dealer intoned, face blank.

"Damn it." Tsunade slammed the table, sending chips scattering. Without even looking, she slapped her last two gold coins onto big. "Again. I refuse to believe my luck is that rotten."

The oily faced pit boss sidled up, rubbing his hands together, wearing a servile smile that could not hide his calculating eyes.
"Tsunade-sama, perhaps you should rest a bit? About that loan from last time, "

"Quit yapping," she snapped, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "I am about to win it all back. Roll."

The pit boss flinched, swallowing whatever he had meant to say about her previous debts.

No one with half a brain argued with this woman. And with that generous fool Jiraiya always footing the bill, why risk his life? Better to treat it as buying peace of mind.

Half an hour later, the last fifty ryō chip was swept away by the dealer's bamboo rake.
The table before Tsunade gleamed empty.

"Rotten luck." She surged to her feet, knocking over the stool behind her. Her golden hair, tangled from hours of frustration, flared as she clawed through it. Her eyes, red rimmed from fatigue and anger, burned like a cornered lioness's.

The pit boss appeared again like a ghost, holding out a thin scroll sealed with a tiny Uchiha fan emblem. His voice was all caution.

"Tsunade-sama, this came from the Hokage's office earlier, about your Eighth Squad's task assignment and team confirmation, "

Already seething, Tsunade snatched the scroll, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into her bulging, and completely empty, coin purse.

"Got it. Now get lost." She kicked aside a chair, shouldered past the gawking gamblers, and stormed out of the hall, the floor trembling under her boots.

Her head pounded with a single thought. Win it back.

Find somewhere to win it all back.
Damn that stingy old man, takes forever to approve funding.
And those stupid team rosters, what do they have to do with me anyway?

Senju Compound, Late Afternoon

The courtyard basked in the lazy orange glow of sunset. Nawaki lay sprawled under the veranda.

He had just been dragged out by Ryo for chakra control training. His best attempt at Water Bullet had been cleaved apart by a casual sword wave, not even splashing Ryo's pant leg. The humiliation still burned.

"Why, " he muttered at a fallen leaf, fists clenching till his nails bit deep. "Grandma's last words were for me to prepare for missions. Am I really going to spend my life splashing water at logs? I am a Senju. I belong on the battlefield."

Then he remembered how the Second Hokage Tobirama had died, and his defiance sank into dull self pity.

He punched the post beside him, shaking down a sprinkle of dust. "Useless."

He flopped over, muffling his voice in his arm. "Ryo is a monster, and I am, just the leftover nobody, "

"Nawaki-sama. Nawaki-sama."
A young attendant sprinted into the courtyard, gasping. "Order from the Hokage. Tsunade-sama is to report to him immediately."

Nawaki blinked, still half dazed. "Who? My sister? Now?"

"Yes. And, Hokage-sama is very angry. Something about Danzō-sama, "

Before he could process that, the sharp clack of high heels struck the stone path outside, rapid and furious.

Tsunade strode into the courtyard, sunlight gilding her silhouette in gold and flame. Her face all but said, I am in a terrible mood, do not test me.

Dark rings bruised the skin beneath her eyes. Her red robe was stained with wine and grease, her hair a disheveled halo of wrath. The air around her shimmered with raw temper.

Nawaki swallowed hard. The word Sis reached his throat, and wisely stayed there.

Hokage's Office, Moments Later

Bang.

The door slammed open.

"Old man. You haunting me now? Trying to rush me into the grave?" she bellowed before even stepping inside.
"People dying at the front, so what? I am on standby guarding Kushina, are I not? That is real work. I have fought half my life, can I not blow off steam without you losing your mind? I did not wreck your house. If Danzō is that desperate, let him haul the wounded back himself."

Hiruzen's face turned blacker than soot. The sight of her outfit, and hearing her shout Kushina's name, was like salt rubbed into the wound left by Homura and Koharu's earlier complaints.

He slammed a palm on the desk so hard the pen holder jumped.

"Tsunade." His voice rumbled like a volcano on the verge of eruption. "Do you even understand what you are saying?"

He rounded the desk, jabbing a finger at her nose.

"What was Mito-sama's dying wish? You. She wanted you to carry on after her, not to gamble away the Senju name and drag your teacher's face through the mud. You are the Princess of Konoha, not some thug collecting debts in the street."

The blast of authority made her instinctively step back. "I, "

"Save it." Hiruzen thundered on. "Uzumaki Kushina is the village's keystone. The Nine Tails' transfer was days ago. That thing is not a kitten, it is a bomb. You of all people know how unstable that seal is. I left you here so if anything went wrong, you could stop the bleeding and save lives. That is your duty. That is what is at stake."

He thrust a finger toward the window.
"That out there, the village, is what I am breaking my back to protect. Not your dice cup."

He drew a long breath, forcing his fury into a colder edge.
"And yet," he said with a bitter smirk, "you were the one who slammed my desk demanding Uchiha Mikoto be placed under you. The squad list has been on your desk for days. You think being captain means doing nothing? Or are you scared now? Think I set you up to fail? Waiting to watch you crash and burn?"

The words hit like hammer blows.
Scared? Cannot handle it?
The taunt seared through her pride, burning away hesitation.

Who was she afraid of? Him? Failure? Not a chance.

Her hand went to her waist, the purse there hard and lumpy. She remembered the forgotten scroll inside.
With a snarl, she yanked it out, half crumpled and stained with sake and grease. The Senju and Hokage seals were nearly rubbed away.

"Nonsense," she shot back. "A good squad? You mean a pile of headaches you dumped on me."

She tore it open, paper rasped under her hands.
Her eyes flicked over the print. Team Eight, Captain, Tsunade. Members, Kamiyama Ryo, Uzumaki Kushina, Uchiha Mikoto,

At Kushina's name, her rage stuttered.
Mito's dying eyes flashed across her memory, clear, pleading.

"Kushina, out of the village? Over my dead body." she roared. "You want the Nine Tails running loose for fun? Not happening."

Hiruzen folded his arms, cool again. "Kushina is exempt. She will stay here to recover."

Tsunade's fingers whitened around the scroll. Two names left.
Ryo, the walking weapon.
Mikoto, an Uchiha political figurehead.

A team too small to qualify.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nawaki, hovering in the doorway, dirty from training, eyes wide with unspoken longing.

That same look he had worn every time she had packed for a mission.

Grandmother gone, his hunger to prove himself had only grown.

The afternoon's memory, his crushed expression under Ryo's effortless victory, rose unbidden.

Hiruzen's goading still rang in her ears. Scared? Cannot handle it?

The Senju were not cowards.
They did not coddle their own like fragile glass.

If she and Ryo could not protect one brat, they might as well quit and plant potatoes.

Tsunade snatched the crooked pen from Hiruzen's desk and, without ink, stabbed it across the scroll's blank backside.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

She slashed through Uzumaki Kushina, nearly tearing the paper, then scrawled four new characters in rough strokes, Senju Nawaki.

"Here." She slapped the scroll into her brother's face.

He caught it reflexively, the paper sticking to his cheek. Pulling it away, he blinked, and when he saw his name in the roster, his eyes bulged like lanterns.

Tsunade did not even glance at him. She barked to the waiting servant at the door,
"Take that roster to Personnel, now."

Her shout drowned out Nawaki's strangled "Huh?" that came from pure disbelief.

"And inform Uchiha Mikoto, assemble at the village gate before dawn tomorrow."

Her gaze snapped back to Nawaki, still frozen like a statue. "Listen up, brat. If you do not want me carrying your crying carcass on the battlefield while Suna nail your legs to the dirt, you had better get moving. Train that sorry excuse for chakra control till you can at least walk without blowing yourself up."

She jabbed a finger at his nose, each word sharp as an icicle. "Tomorrow. Before sunrise. One second late, and you can spend the rest of your life guarding the courtyard."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 77: Awakening

The overcast sky that had hung all morning finally allowed a thin ray of sunlight to break through, spilling lazily across the vast expanse of the Third Training Ground.

A few withered leaves spiraled down, landing on the dew-damp earth, only to be swept away again by a passing chill wind.

Tsunade stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, her brows furrowed in habitual irritation.

It had only been a few days since she had finished handling her grandmother Mito's funeral, followed by Hiruzen's endless roaring lectures. The restless agitation in her chest had yet to fade.

Her eyes drifted over to where Kushina was clinging to Ryo, chatting animatedly about who knew what. Tsunade shot them a sharp glare.

Her gaze finally settled on Mikoto, standing neatly in the center of the training field.

Tsunade had to admit, the girl's bearing was exceptional.

Her raven hair was tied back with a silk ribbon embroidered with the Uchiha clan's fan crest, revealing a smooth forehead and a slender neck.

The modified dark high-collared training uniform outlined the budding elegance of youth, her movements infused with that innate Uchiha nobility carved deep into her bones.

Composed expression, lips curved in a polite smile.

A textbook noble lady.

Tsunade snorted inwardly.
Delicate little doll like this… Her eyes flicked from Mikoto's slim limbs to her own increasingly violent little sister Kushina, and then to that freakishly strong "apprentice" Ryo.

The battlefield isn't a temple fair.

Kushina's endless pestering, plus that old fox Hiruzen's attempt to "make amends" by shoving this girl into Ryo's team… Tsunade rubbed her throbbing temples.

Life and death are fate. If Mikoto dares to be a ninja, she had better have the resolve that comes with it.

Clearing her throat, Tsunade spoke, not loudly, but with that commanding presence only a top-tier shinobi possessed. It immediately silenced Kushina's chattering.
"Nawaki, step forward."

Nawaki, who had been fidgeting with excitement and sneaking glances at Mikoto, jumped to attention.
"Yes, sis!"

His face glowed with barely contained enthusiasm, his cheeks even flushed red.

"You." Tsunade pointed at Mikoto, her tone brisk and decisive. "Spar with her. Let's see what you've got."

Nawaki spun to face Mikoto, took a deep breath, trying to sound steady, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness.
"M–Mikoto, please take it easy on me."

He could feel his heart hammering behind his ribs.

His long-time crush, the perfect girl in every sense: face, figure, poise, talent.
That gentle, refined aura so unlike his violent older sister—it was lethal to a boy who had grown up under Tsunade's rule.

Mikoto dipped her head gracefully. "Nawaki-senpai, please go easy on me."

Her stance was textbook-perfect, eyes focused, completely ignoring Kushina's silly winks from the sideline.

Tsunade didn't even bother raising an eyelid. She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Begin."

Nawaki's blood surged. He roared to psych himself up, drove his foot into the ground, and charged—a full-force frontal attack.

Powerful, aggressive, but predictable.

Mikoto reacted instantly, sidestepping and raising both hands.

Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!

A flurry of kunai flew out at impossible angles, sealing Nawaki's path forward.

Classic Uchiha shuriken technique—her fundamentals were solid.

Nawaki gasped, abruptly braking his charge and tumbling awkwardly into a roll, spraying mud all over himself.

Embarrassing, he groaned inwardly, hastily weaving signs.

"Earth Release: Mud Wall!"

The wall rose, but before he could catch his breath, Mikoto had already finished her own sequence.

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"

A blazing orange sphere the size of a basin roared forward, smashing into the earthen wall with a thunderous boom. The wall shuddered and crumbled, scattering burning fragments that forced Nawaki to retreat several steps.

Wiping the sweat and soot from his face, Nawaki was both awed and anxious. She's good—really good. No backing down.

"Water Release: Wild Water Wave!"

He inhaled sharply and unleashed a torrent.

Mikoto, calm and poised, danced lightly across the wet ground, moving like a butterfly through flowers. The water hissed past as her shuriken continued to harass Nawaki with uncanny accuracy.

The exchange quickened—fire, water, steel, and shouts colliding in the air.

Nawaki had more chakra and brute force, but lacked flexibility. Mikoto's movements were refined, her ninjutsu fluid, her shuriken work deadly precise.

Flames flared, water splashed, metal clashed, it looked impressive enough.

But to Tsunade and Ryo, it was little more than two rookies flailing.

Tsunade nearly yawned. Ryo didn't even bother focusing on the match; his eyes occasionally drifted toward Kushina, who was busy digging at the dirt with a rock.

"Stop, stop, stop." Tsunade finally waved her hand, impatience dripping from her voice. "Enough. You've been floundering for half a day, my nap's over already."

Both combatants immediately halted, breathing hard.

Nawaki looked crushed, so much for impressing his crush.

Mikoto's face was flushed from exertion, strands of hair clinging to her cheek, making her appear even softer, but her stance remained steady.

Tsunade stepped between them, her sharp eyes landing first on Nawaki.

"How many times have I told you? Growing taller doesn't mean growing smarter. Charging headlong without thinking, keep that up and you'll be cannon fodder on the battlefield."

Nawaki winced, shrinking under her glare, face burning with embarrassment.

Then Tsunade turned to Mikoto. Her tone eased a fraction, though still cool.
"Your basics are solid. The Uchiha upbringing shows. Good with weapons, passable taijutsu, average ninjutsu."

She paused, studying Mikoto's calm yet expectant dark eyes, deciding bluntness was best.

"Girl, I'll be honest with you."

Mikoto's heartbeat stuttered. Her practiced smile stiffened slightly.

"Frankly," Tsunade folded her arms, "a delicate girl like you should've gone into medical training."

Her eyes flicked toward Kushina, who had perked up instantly, nervous as a cat. Tsunade's lips twitched.

"But my foolish little sister wouldn't stop crying and clinging to my leg, begging me to take you in. Well, even fools get lucky sometimes. It's rare she's found someone who treats her like a true friend."

Tsunade's words struck Mikoto's heart like a hammer.

Her noble composure cracked; the serenity in her eyes shattered into shock, disbelief, and then overwhelming gratitude.

Kushina… it was really because of her…?

Tsunade didn't pause. Her gaze deepened slightly, her voice lower, edged with weary realism.

"Besides, there are people in the village stirring things up, some political mess."

She meant Hiruzen's maneuvering.

Tsunade didn't elaborate. There was no need for a girl Mikoto's age to hear how the elders had shoved her into Ryo's team as "compensation" for clan politics.

"It's done. No point dwelling on it." Tsunade flicked her hand, brushing off the matter like dust. "Since you're in my Squad Eight now, you follow my rules. The battlefield isn't a playground. Understood?"

"Yes, Tsunade-sama." Mikoto answered clearly, voice trembling but firm.

"Dismissed."

Nawaki drooped as Tsunade dragged him off by the ear, lecturing the whole way.

Kushina bounded toward Ryo, full of excitement, proudly boasting about how she had "helped her best friend" join the team.
Ryo let her tug his arm, his face as unreadable as ever, listening silently to her cheerful chatter.

No one noticed the storm quietly brewing in Mikoto's eyes.

The last rays of sunlight vanished behind a blanket of gray clouds, pressing down on Konoha with a suffocating weight.

The long street of the Uchiha compound, filled with the faint scent of old sandalwood and the cold air of proud isolation, now felt to Mikoto like a lonely, endless prison corridor.

Tsunade's words—"Kushina clung to my leg, crying and begging me to take you in"—seared into her mind like a hot iron.

Kushina's face, always smiling so openly, so trustingly, rose vividly in her memory. She had always treated Mikoto as her dearest friend. Since their academy days, that had never changed.

Her joys, her troubles, her silly infatuation with Ryo, all had been shared without reservation.

Even those ridiculous "how to win Ryo's heart" plans, they had designed together.

Guilt surged through Mikoto's chest like an icy tide, drowning her instantly.

What have I done?

Her grandfather's voice echoed in her mind like a curse.

"Power is a woman's nourishment. The wife of the Hokage, Uchiha will rise over Senju."

"Kushina's fate is tragedy. She's a Jinchūriki, a prisoner for life."

"That Ryo boy is your ladder to the top. Use your bride training to control him."

That cursed "bride training"… every time she had helped Kushina devise ways to charm Ryo, every time she had watched his reactions under the guise of helping her friend, she had merely been rehearsing how to steal him.

Rehearsing how to take her best friend's beloved for herself.

For the sake of power.
For the sake of her clan's ambition.

Shame. Betrayal. The thrill of forbidden desire. Guilt as thick as poison vines wrapped around her heart, choking her breath.

Ryo's image burned in her mind.
Cold. Powerful. Unshakable as a mountain.
And yet, he showed that rare, tender indulgence only toward Kushina, enough to make Mikoto ache with jealousy.

The Hokage's wife… Uchiha's glory… my own ambition…

Her grandfather's expectations, her clan's burden.

That forced destiny, that feeling of being used as a bargaining chip, it all boiled over again.

Her thoughts tangled into chaos, her mind a battlefield of colliding armies.

Gratitude and betrayal tore at each other.
Duty and desire clashed violently.
Her secret longing for Ryo warred with her guilt toward Kushina.
Anger at being manipulated and shame at being exposed churned together.

All of it fused into one molten, explosive surge within her chest.

"Ugh—" She stumbled at the Uchiha gate, nearly falling against the cold stone steps, nails digging into her palms.

At that instant, something inside her shattered.

The world suddenly shifted.

Color drained from her vision. Everything dissolved into stark black and white—cold, jagged outlines of stone steps, twisted door frames, and the faded Uchiha crest above.

Then from deep within her eyes, a searing crimson light burst forth.

Like a drop of blood falling into still water, spreading outward.

The Sharingan had awakened.

A single black tomoe slowly took form within the red, spinning faintly in her eye.

Mikoto clutched her face, warm tears slipping silently through her fingers, while her other eye burned cold, the tomoe whirling in eerie stillness.

The monochrome world before her seemed frozen and distorted, her heart pounding violently in her chest.

The storm of emotion still raged within her, but now, the newborn power of her Sharingan suppressed it, sealing the chaos beneath a layer of icy calm.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 78: Special Training Before Going to the Battlefield

"Water Release: Wild Water Wave!"
Nawaki's shout carried desperate determination as his hands blurred through seals so fast they nearly tangled.

A surge of chakra exploded from his body, then a roaring jet of water shot from his mouth, racing straight toward Ryo on the far side of the field.

The torrent was so fierce it looked ready to sweep the entire training ground away.

Ryo didn't even bother lifting an eyelid. With a faint motion, he grasped the air with his left hand and flicked it casually.

An invisible wind blade formed instantly.

Shhh!

The water column split midair, bursting apart into a fine mist that drifted harmlessly across the ground. Ryo's pants didn't even get wet.

Nawaki froze in his sealing stance, strands of wet hair plastered to his face. He stared blankly at the muddy mess before him—and at the man opposite, who hadn't even moved an inch.

A wave of crushing defeat seized him, his fingernails digging into his palms.

"Fifteenth time," Ryo said evenly, voice flat as still water. He didn't spare Nawaki another glance. His eyes slid past the drenched boy to the red-haired girl standing tensely at the sidelines.

"Kushina."

"Y–Yes!" Kushina jolted upright like a startled cat, fists clenched tight.

Ryo's gaze settled on the faint blue chakra glow pulsing in her palm.

"The Rasengan's stability reflects your will. Six hundred and ninety-three chakra cycles. It scattered. Start again."

"Ugh, fine…" Kushina puffed her cheeks in frustration, and the blue sphere instantly fizzled out.

Her eyes darted toward the front line. Ryo's going to the battlefield soon…

A sharp ache bloomed in her chest, sour and anxious. Her nose burned.

Not far away, Nawaki wiped the water and dirt off his face, muttering under his breath, "Same thing again… I can't even make him move… Am I useless? Did none of Grandpa's blood come through—"
He swallowed the rest of the words, voice trailing into a bitter growl.

"Save it, Nawaki." Tsunade crossed her arms as she walked up, flicking him sharply on the forehead. "At your current level, the only thing you'll do on the battlefield is provide target practice for the Suna shinobi."

Ignoring Nawaki's flushed embarrassment, she swept her eyes over the group.
"From today on, training intensity doubles."

Her sharp gaze lingered on Nawaki's pale face before shifting to the silent figure of Uchiha Mikoto.

The past ten days had been nothing short of hell under Tsunade's relentless regimen.

Nawaki's body was a map of bruises and scrapes. Mikoto, however, was Tsunade's personal target—forced through three-hour sessions of nonstop weapon precision drills, with even the slightest mistake punished by twenty laps of weighted endurance running.

Mikoto's hair clung to her sweat-slick cheeks, her face pale. Yet her dark eyes remained still as a frozen lake. Only occasionally, when they flickered toward Ryo and Kushina, did a trace of complicated emotion ripple beneath the surface.

"Hey! Focus!"

Tsunade's bark snapped Nawaki out of his daze just in time for him to dodge a shuriken that whizzed past his ear.

He shook his head violently, trying to banish thoughts of Sis's favoritism or Mikoto's glance at him.

"Water—!"

He gritted his teeth and forced chakra to gather once again.

On the other side, Kushina stood with both hands extended.

A pale blue sphere of energy spun violently in her palm, its unstable rotation drawing the surrounding air into a low, howling vortex. Sweat streamed down her temple.

"Hold it steady! Don't let it explode!"
Ryo's deep voice rumbled beside her ear, his breath stirring her hair, sending a faint tremor through her body.

Kushina's cheeks flushed scarlet. She bit her lip and anchored her mind to the storming energy in her hands.

"Don't… burst."

Just as the sphere began to tremble, on the verge of detonation, a dry, steady hand covered hers.

Fwoom!

The violent energy froze, compressed, collapsed inward, then reformed.
In place of chaos, a smaller, brighter orb hovered in her palm, perfectly stable, glowing with a soft, mesmerizing blue light—like a miniature star.

"Like that," Ryo said, withdrawing his hand.

Kushina stared at the obedient Rasengan resting in her palm, her heart still pounding from the near explosion. But beneath the adrenaline came a deep, swelling sense of safety and warmth.

Ryo merely grunted. "Keep it stable. On the battlefield, it might save your life."

Kushina gazed up at his sharp profile. His words fell into her heart like pebbles dropped into still water, small ripples spreading wider and wider.

He was leaving her soon…
Leaving her behind in the grand old Senju estate that Grandma Mito had left her—a golden cage that suddenly felt emptier than ever.

A sour lump rose in her throat. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to focus on compressing the chakra sphere even tighter.

The condensed ball hummed faintly in her palm, glowing blue, its light trembling like her heart.

Time slipped away like sand through fingers, impossible to grasp.

The day of departure arrived.

A deep, grim trumpet call split the silent dawn, echoing coldly through the air from the direction of the Hokage's building.

The chilling note hammered against every heart, brooking no defiance.

Kushina stumbled out of bed, rushing onto the veranda.

In the distance, near the village gate, she saw crowds gathering—countless figures moving in formation. Her heart clenched painfully, as though gripped by an invisible hand.

The sunlight broke through the clouds, but it brought no warmth.

The long street leading from the Senju residence to the village gate was lined with silent onlookers.

Mothers clutching their children. Husbands forcing smiles at their wives. The eyes of old men clouded with worry.
Soft sobs drifted through the heavy air like a muted background hum.

Nawaki, now in a brand-new chūnin vest, stood tall beside Tsunade, scanning the anxious, tear-streaked faces around him. The excitement of youth going to war warred with the weight of fear pressing on his chest.

Tsunade's sharp gaze flicked toward her brother. His Adam's apple bobbed, betraying his nerves despite his forced composure. The sight made her sigh inwardly.

Then her eyes fell on Mikoto.

The girl walked quietly, head bowed. In the pale morning light, her face looked almost translucent, like a sculpture of ice.

Tsunade frowned.

That girl had been like this for days now.

Ever since the last training session, when Tsunade had bluntly told her that Kushina had cried and begged her to join the squad, Mikoto had grown quieter and colder.

Those elegant Uchiha eyes now carried a depth that even Tsunade couldn't read.

"Keep up," Tsunade ordered curtly.

Nawaki responded instantly, quickening his pace.

Mikoto lifted her head. Her gaze slid past the crowd and locked onto the tall, solitary figure at the front of the column.

The man her grandfather Uchiha Shana had called "the only ladder worth climbing," the one she had been told to control at any cost—Ryo.

The Hokage's wife… the glory of Uchiha's rise…

The words drummed in her head like poison.

But when her eyes drifted to Kushina, clinging tightly to Ryo's arm, her eyes brimming with unrestrained attachment—something molten and venomous erupted inside her, burning through her chest, her lungs, her fingertips.

She turned away quickly, unable to look any longer.

"Really leaving?"

Kushina's voice came out muffled, thick with the traces of recent tears. She rubbed her cheek against his arm like a forlorn kitten.
"Can't you… stay just a few more days?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 79: I’ll Reward You When You Come Back

Ryo halted and turned toward her.

The shadow of his tall frame almost swallowed her whole.

"The battlefield won't wait."

He raised a hand and, with the lightest brush of a calloused fingertip, wiped away the damp trace at the corner of her eye. The motion was clumsy but focused.
"Remember what I told you."

Kushina nodded hard, reddened eyes fixed on him without blinking. "I'll... I'll check the seal space every day, keep my chakra steady, and I won't embarrass myself. Also..."

She counted rapidly on her fingers, as if grabbing hold of something slipping away. "You promised you'd come back to see me often! Using that... Flying Thunder God!"

"Mm."

Looking at his familiar, hard-edged profile, Kushina felt a tiny sting at the tip of her heart, as if a small bug had taken a bite.

She sniffed sharply, forcing the tears to retreat.

The next second, she rose on tiptoe and leaned toward his ear.

Her warm breath, tinged with the clean, sweet scent of soap, brushed his neck; her red hair tickled his skin.

"Then you have to promise me too, come back alive!" Kushina's voice was low and urgent, words tumbling out as her cheeks flushed as red as a ripe tomato. "I... I'll... I'll reward you when you do!"

Not far away, Tsunade's ears pricked. She snapped her head around, golden brows lifting in dangerous angles; the air around her seemed to crackle.

A storm front of mixed emotions, shameless little brat colliding with that punk better keep his hands off my pretty little Kushina, lowered the pressure around her in an instant.

Kushina darted back, skittish and pleased like a mischievous little fox that had gotten away with something. She dropped her burning face in a hurry.

Ryo's expression, however, remained composed, as if he wasn't the one who had just been given such a bold promise.

"All right! Haven't you finished saying your goodbyes?"

Tsunade's irritable bellow cracked like thunder, drowning out the murmur of muffled cries around them. "Form up! Roll call! One second late and I'll mark you as deserters!"

Her gaze slashed toward Nawaki and Mikoto.

Nawaki jolted, instinctively wanting to keep watching Kushina and Ryo, and to catch the farewell drama with his crush, only to wrench his legs mid-step and dart like a startled hare to Tsunade's spot at the front.

Mikoto withdrew the last complicated glance she had sent toward Ryo, pressed her lips together, straightened her back, and walked quickly and quietly to the assembly point.

As she passed the edge of the crowd, something gaunt and shadowed flickered in her peripheral vision.

Uchiha Shana.

He stood like a specter in a deeper pocket of shade at the street corner. Through a gap in the crowd, those clouded old eyes locked on Mikoto, glittering with a greedy fervor, as if they could see the moment power returned to its throne.

His gaze met hers, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a blade-cold curve, something only Mikoto could notice.

His wrinkle-mapped fingers made the barest, most concealed motion against his chest, a slow, deliberate squeeze.

The meaning was carved in bone. Crush your useless scruples; seize your ladder to the heavens; Uchiha's glory is in your hands.

Then his withered fingers spread like talons and clenched into a heavy fist.

Mikoto's breath hitched.

Her grandfather's silent signals splashed over her like a basin of blood-water filled with ice.

The guilt and betrayal she had only just managed to tamp down erupted again under this naked command.

Reminder? Warning? No, the cruelest goad. Sharp emotions rammed through her chest; her vision swam.

Deep in her eyes, that trace of crimson rose unbidden and began to turn.

She jerked her head away, refusing to look in Shana's direction again.

Her steps stumbled as she squeezed into the front ranks, ending up right behind Nawaki.

Neck craned, he had been nervously trying to sneak peeks at Ryo and Kushina, and her slightly frantic movement bumped his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Sorry..." Mikoto murmured, her voice carrying an uncontrollable tremor.

She kept her gaze down, fixed on the cold seams between the stone slabs beneath her feet, as if sheer force of will could pin her in place.

Ryo gave Kushina one last, deep look.

In that look was room for all her confusion, grievance, and reluctance.

He reached out; rough knuckles brushed gently at the dry corner of her eye.

"Wait for me to come back."

Kushina's nose stung; her stubborn courage collapsed all at once. Tears spilled in heavy drops without warning, splashing hot against the back of Ryo's hand.

She nodded hard. Her throat closed so tight she couldn't make a sound. All she could do was clutch his vest with everything she had, like someone clinging to driftwood before the flood of fate swept it away.

At the front, Tsunade watched, and the irritation of the coming campaign tangled with the annoyance of having a team stuffed with headaches by old man Hiruzen, coiling into something more complicated.

She drew a breath and tore open her voice like ripping the sky. It crashed down with iron finality.

"Time's up! Move out!"

The long line of shinobi began to move toward the village gate.

Boots thudded on blue stone, each step landing heavy on the chests of those who stayed to see them off.

Kushina watched as Ryo turned with crisp precision, his back straight and solitary as a spear, and merged with the flowing human tide.

That familiar blaze of red hair shone in the sea of green flak jackets, so vivid yet quickly receding.

"Ryo!"

Kushina couldn't hold it back anymore. The cry tore out of her, ragged and hoarse with tears.

Through her blurred vision, Kushina could only see that solitary silhouette growing smaller and smaller, until it vanished beneath the shadow of the village gate.
Her tears streaked her cheeks and fell silently into the dirt at her feet.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 80: A Mess on the Front Line

Rain.

Pouring, icy, seemingly endless rain.

Murky water, thick with mud, hammered against forehead protectors, sluiced down dark-green flak vests, and finally bled into the uneven brown sludge underfoot.

The air reeked of wet earth, rotting plants, and the faint, metallic tang of blood.

The ground, pitted by countless footprints and ceaselessly washed by rain, had become a maze of ruts and rivulets.

Under a gray, sagging sky, Konoha's relief column pushed forward with difficulty.

"Ugh!"

Nawaki's foot skidded. He pitched headlong into a water-filled pit, splattering his brand-new chūnin vest with mud from collar to hem.

Grumbling about this "damned place," he scrambled up under Mikoto's worried glance, cheeks burning.

Mikoto's fine brows knit slightly. Rain had soaked her bound black hair, pasting it to her pale cheeks. Chakra flowed steady at her feet, her light, measured steps spoke of excellent fundamentals.

At the very front, Tsunade's crimson jacket with the giant "Gamble" character was soaked through, clinging to her powerful frame. Water dripped in steady beads from her golden bangs.

Her eyes, sharp as blades cutting through the rain, swept the rolling low hills and sparse, dead woods around them.

At the slightest stir of grass, every nerve in her body drew taut.

Ryo walked beside her, tall. Short, flame-red hair plastered to his brow, water traced the severe lines of his face.

His calm gaze slid across the porridge-soft ground and the blurred curtain of rain beyond. His brow creased, just a fraction.

"This damned place…" Nawaki wiped his face again, repeating himself with more feeling. The rain distorted his voice.

Ryo's voice was low but carried cleanly through the deluge, edged with chill. "Worse than expected. Why isn't the main camp on the Fire Country border?"

Tsunade didn't hide her annoyance. She shot him a look, temper suppressed but audible. "Because the commander ordered it."

She didn't need to say who. Everyone in earshot knew, Shimura Danzō.

Ryo said nothing more.

Rain slid along his brow and down his cheek.

Setting the main base where the supply line would bog into mud and the wounded had no chance to recover?

Danzō's field command defied description.

Orochimaru would have done better.

The comparison flickered across Ryo's mind. Orochimaru might be crueler, but in jungle terrain he would at least choose higher, drier ground for a camp.

"How's the situation?" When Tsunade reached the outer sentry line, she asked the air directly.

Orochimaru seemed to seep out of a crack in the rocks. His pallid face looked even more somber in the rain. Gold serpentine pupils glinted, not with Danzō's paranoia, but with pure contempt for inefficiency and incompetence.

"Not ideal," he said evenly, eyes cold, mind clearly racing.

He had a dozen plans, faster and perhaps harsher, but under Danzō's rigid, dead-handed command they were worthless.

That old fool…

"I never thought Amegakure would be this strong," Jiraiya muttered nearby, voice drained and touched with lingering dread.

He slumped against a slick boulder, white hair matted like seaweed, spattered with mud and gods-know-what. The swagger was washed out of him by cold, ceaseless rain.

"The old man's right. If we let Hanzō keep growing, he'll be a serious threat."

Tsunade joined them, heavy with the scent of herbs and damp earth.

She didn't spare Jiraiya a glance. Her eyes drilled into Orochimaru. "And the intel you gathered doesn't match the strength Amegakure is showing. What did you miss?"

Jiraiya pushed himself upright, scratching at the mud in his hair with a bitter smile. "Ask our commander, why don't you? I'm the errand boy." He leaned hard on the words "commander."

Tsunade snorted, arms crossed. Rain traced the tight lines of her shoulders, clenched with anger. "Hmph. I'd rather fight out here than go back and look at that face." The words found their target, Danzō, and the floodgate opened. "I've finished the antidote formula for salamander toxin and handed it to the head medic in the infirmary. They can handle follow-up casualties."

"But…" Jiraiya glanced at her stormy expression, then asked carefully, "Is it okay to walk out of the primary battle zone like this and come straight to our outer line? Danzō will—"

"What's not okay?" Tsunade cut in, voice like a blade. "I'm a doctor, and a combat ninja. I've seen enough of his face. Out here I can counter Hanzō's raiding parties and reinforce you at once."

The subtext was crystal clear. Stay far from Danzō. Free to operate.

Tsunade's pissed? Orochimaru's pissed?

Of course. Danzō's been disgusting people for years.

Only Jiraiya, thick-skinned as leather, could still force a grin.

"I heard you left your student in the village."
Orochimaru turned to Jiraiya. The grin on Jiraiya's face froze. He sprang up, cursing, "And who are you to talk, didn't you leave Nawaki back in Konoha too?"

"Heh."

Orochimaru's laugh rasped. His golden eyes lingered on Jiraiya with malicious amusement.

"Laugh all you—" Jiraiya started, then every hair on his back stood up. A killing intent like a sheet of ice dropped over him.

He turned stiffly.

Tsunade stood behind him, expressionless.

Her pretty almond eyes held no warmth. A pale-blue chakra aura wreathed her clenched fist, blazing, terrifying against the gray rain.

The air thrummed, low and heavy, with pressure.

Jiraiya's scream sliced the rain. BOOM!

He hit the boulder like a battering ram smashing a wall. The rock webbed with fractures. Jiraiya stuck at the center like a grotesque fresco, limbs askew, unmoving, save for a slow, bloody trickle mixing with the rain down his brow.

Orochimaru's pupils narrowed, then smoothed. The faintest curve touched his lips, almost pleased.

Nawaki gaped at the human-shaped dent, mind blank.

Mikoto lowered her eyes.

Ryo merely cast a brief glance at the embedded silhouette, confirmed the life force was intact, then looked past them into the deep veil of rain.

He didn't much care about Jiraiya's bruises, but that surge of power from Tsunade, that he filed away.

Tsunade slowly unclenched her fist. The chakra halo faded.

She exhaled hard, as if spitting out the sticky irritation clogging her chest, disgust at Danzō, at this bog of a battlefield, at the feeling of being hobbled.

She turned to Orochimaru. "How's the camp? The supply lines are a river of mud."

"Enormous pressure," Orochimaru said, flat but barbed. "Transport losses skyrocket in this weather. Rations barely hold at the front. Medical stores exist, but they're burning fast. As for the wounded, in this environment, infection rates are staggering."

Danzō's incompetence, another ankle weight dragging them down.

Tsunade's frown deepened. "No response from Danzō?"

"Him? He's considering moving the command post into a drier cave." Orochimaru's sarcasm all but steamed in the rain, voice as cold as the mud.

At that moment, a courier in a standard dark vest, face smeared with fatigue and muck, splashed up and bowed deeply to Tsunade, chest heaving.

"Tsunade-sama! By order of Commander Danzō, report to headquarters at once for urgent war council!"

The tone brooked no dispute.

But "urgent war council," in this suffocating gloom, sounded especially suspect.

Fury flashed in Tsunade's eyes. She drew breath to snap, but thought of the collapsing lines, the men dying in filth, the chain of command snarled around Danzō's ego.

She clenched and unclenched her fist, then said coldly, "Understood."
She looked back at the team she had brought, Nawaki, still half-caked in mud, Mikoto, quiet and tired but composed, Ryo, impossibly calm.

"Move." Her order to Nawaki, Mikoto, and Ryo was clipped and iron-hard, pure battlefield command.

Then she turned to Orochimaru and to Jiraiya, who had just pried himself out of the rock and was rubbing a lump visibly swelling on his head. "The perimeter is yours. Any anomaly, summon me."

"Count on it," Orochimaru nodded.

"Y-yeah, ow, got it, got it!" Jiraiya winced, hand cupping his throbbing skull.

Tsunade led Nawaki, Mikoto, and Ryo after the courier toward the main encampment.

Nawaki tried to stand tall, but the mud and rookie jitters showed through.

Mikoto kept her silence, guarding her poise.

Ryo remained a silent reef in the storm.

The rain thickened. Sight shortened. The mud sucked at their steps, demanding more strength with every pace.

Nawaki gritted his teeth, matching Ryo's unbothered stride as best he could.

At last, through the heavy gray of rain, the outline of a sprawling camp wavered into view.

Not the expected fortress of high palisades, but a sprawling, hasty encampment thrown up along the edge of slightly higher marshland.

Crooked wooden chevaux-de-frise sagged in blackened, waterlogged soil.

Cloaked sentries slogged along, spiritless, like sleepwalkers in a wet nightmare.

In the center of the muddy tracks lay rows of wounded, shrouded in tarps or strapped to rough stretchers. Pained groans and suppressed coughs blended with the rain into a dirge of despair.

The stench hit them, sour armpits, blood, and the foul tang of waste that couldn't be washed away in the damp.

Med-nin hurried between stretchers, vests stained with suspicious smears, faces drawn and numb.

The air was thick with the odor of herbs, but it couldn't mask the rot and reek of death.

Near the rear, against a rock face, several larger tents marked the core area.

One black command tent, hung with a banner, stood out, deliberately solemn, out of tune with the chaos around it.

"This way, Tsunade-sama."

The courier brought them to a massive tent labeled as the temporary infirmary. "Danzō-sama orders that you settle your subordinates, then report to the command tent immediately."

Tsunade stared at the canvas heavy with the stink of medicine and muffled moans, and remembered the antidote formula she had prepared, the instructions she had left.

Danzō's intent couldn't be clearer, dump the mess on Tsunade and walk away.

Not happening.

She drew a long breath. Her cold anger felt almost solid.

Ignoring the courier, she strode forward and ripped open the reeking, sodden flap of the infirmary tent.

(To be continued.)

Notes:

Read ahead, +100 Chapters :

/Blownleaves

Chapter 15: Chapter 81-85

Chapter 81: Do You Take Me for a Fool!?

Crack!

The sky split open like a shattered dam. Sheets of rain battered the Land of Rain, turning heaven and earth into a gray curtain. The stillness was so suffocating it seemed to crush the air itself.

The mud clung to Nawaki's ankles like it was alive. Every step came free with a wet squelch.

His brand-new green chūnin vest?

Unrecognizable. Covered in mud, tangled grass, and a dark red stain that refused to wash out, he looked like a walking rag.

"Damn it!" Nawaki shouted, stomping the ground in frustration.

Thud!

Mud splashed upward, coating his face and even peppering Mikoto a few steps away. Her black uniform was instantly speckled brown.

Mikoto's brows twitched slightly. Rain streamed down her soaked black hair, plastered to her pale cheeks.

She said nothing, quietly stepping aside, out of range of Nawaki's mud barrage, her empty gaze sinking back into the endless gray rain.

Only the sound of rain remained.

They circled the outermost ring of the massive encampment, the muddiest buffer zone, again and again. Defense? Purely symbolic.

The assignment was miserable, monotonous, and exhausting. Whatever war hero dream Nawaki had was long gone.

"Ryo!" Nawaki wiped mud from his face and shouted toward the broad-shouldered figure walking ahead in a dark, battered rain cloak.

The rain distorted his voice. "How long are we going to rot here? We haven't even seen a single Suna shinobi! My new blade's gonna rust!" He slapped the scabbard at his hip, splattering more mud.

Ryo didn't respond. His steps were steady, boots pressing through the sludge.

The hood hid his face, revealing only a sharp jawline.

"Rusty blades," a voice colder than the rain replied, "are better than broken people."

"…."

Nawaki swallowed his retort, cheeks burning beneath the mud.

Restless, his gaze darted toward Mikoto. "Mikoto, say something, will you? What's the point of walking in circles like mud monkeys? Can't we get a real assignment? I'll even go as bait if it means action! Look at my sensei, Orochimaru."

His head was filled with visions of glory, but he was trapped here instead, simmering with frustration.

Called out, Mikoto finally turned her empty eyes toward him.

"Mm." The shortest answer possible, cold as frost. Her lashes trembled with raindrops before she lowered her gaze again.

A dull camp. Boring patrols. Compared to the storm in her chest, it was nothing.

Her grandfather's expectations, the elders' pressure, and Kushina's bright, trusting smile, all tangled around her heart like a frozen serpent. The rain couldn't extinguish that fire.

"Nawaki! Shut your mouth!"

Tsunade's voice erupted like a whip.

She stopped abruptly, her crimson cloak flicking a spray of mud. Nawaki nearly collided with her back.

"You've been whining the entire way. Tired of living already?!" She spun around, her golden hair plastered to her face, her eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. The rain couldn't wash the fury from her expression.

"Keep talking and I'll send your name straight to Danzō's suicide squad! You want to serve Konoha? Go die gloriously, how about that?!"

Nawaki shrank under her glare, his neck retreating into his shoulders.

"Hmph." Tsunade snorted, done wasting breath. Her gaze slid past Ryo's solid back and landed briefly on Mikoto, whose shoulders stiffened slightly.

Tsunade's tone dropped low, edged with the bitterness she carried from the infirmary.

"You two, keep an eye on this loudmouth. This is the west-wing buffer. Orochimaru and Jiraiya are fighting Hanzō's main force. As for Danzō…" Her lip curled in contempt. "Who knows what kind of snakes he's hiding in his gut. The infirmary…"

At that word, her eyes flashed with fury. Her teeth clicked hard. "I risk my life and use these hands to clean up his messes. He better have every hand and herb ready when I ask. If he's missing one needle…"

Her fist clenched. "Then no one rests!"

That rat in the gutter, Shimura Danzō. Ever since they arrived in this waterlogged hell, he hadn't stopped his schemes.

"'Tsunade's medical expertise is vital, she must not be moved.'"

"'The camp's stability depends on Tsunade's unit, they cannot be deployed to the front.'"

Utter nonsense. Her elite squad should have been the spearhead breaking the stalemate in Ame, but Danzō had pinned them in the mud, disguised under noble-sounding excuses.

"Securing the flank"? A joke.

The Princess of Konoha, reduced to a patcher of wounds in a swamp? It was humiliation, deliberate and political. He had buried her under logistics, away from the command table.

She remembered the day she first entered the camp. The stench nearly made her gag.

She pulled open the flap and stepped into hell. Harsh lamplight illuminated rows of wounded piled on stretchers, blood and pus seeping through filthy cloth. The muffled cries pressed against her throat like a hand.

The med-nin?

Drained husks, hollow-eyed and bloodless, stumbling between bodies, trying to stitch, stanch, and heal. Their faces were gray and lifeless.

This was Konoha's infirmary? No. It was a slaughterhouse.

To tighten his grip, Danzō had planted the camp in a low, muddy sink, perfect for his Root to lurk and perfect for burying the wounded.

When Tsunade stepped in, rage exploded in her skull. She wanted to storm the command tent and crush Danzō to paste. She was born to break lines, not to be chained to a blood-soaked table. She refused to clean up his filth.

But she didn't move.

Hashirama's blood gave her monstrous strength and a compassion too heavy to ignore.

Something stronger than rage forced her to stop. A healer's duty is to save lives. That voice from deep in memory restrained her.

By sheer will, she swallowed the fury.

She ripped the tarp from a wounded recruit, half-conscious from pain, his leg rotting with green necrosis. Her voice snapped: "Medical Unit Four, everyone, here, now!"

She shoved stretchers aside. Hands that could crush stone were slick with blood as she grabbed a stunned medic by the collar. "Don't just stand there! Herbs, serum, clean cloth, move!"

Days passed without sleep. Tsunade became a relentless machine, an angel of death wielding a scalpel like a god.

Through sheer authority and discipline, she dragged the chaos back under control. She brewed antitoxin serum to counter the salamander's poison, enforced isolation and sanitation, reorganized teams, redrew sectors, and issued do-or-die orders.

The "Tsunade Iron Code" was burned into every medic's mind. They spent every drop of chakra and will, and finally, the death toll slowed.

The price? She was spent, her heart turned to ice. This wasn't who she was meant to be. She was a fighter, not a surgeon. Every stitch was another scar on her pride. It was degrading.

The moment she caught her breath, Danzō's vultures came calling.

"Tsunade-sama, Danzō-sama requests your presence!"

"Tsunade-sama, Danzō-sama awaits to discuss strategy!"

"Tsunade-sama, to the command tent. Frontline intelligence needs your analysis!"

Excuses piled high as corpses.

"Crisis at the front." "Defense adjustment." "Logistics review."

Empty words. Every time, that old face put on the same mask of "sacrifice for Konoha," preaching about "the greater good" and "necessary balance," wearing her patience thin.

Again and again, he provoked her, testing her limit, hoping she would explode.

She wasn't naive. He was trying to force her into a mistake.

If she lost control, he could send her unit into the grinder, and once she was gone, Ryo's team would be "headless." In Danzō's camp, taking a genin was as easy as pocketing a kunai.

Even if she stayed, could she restrain herself forever?

He had plenty of excuses to scatter her subordinates, sending them to meaningless patrols or abandoning them to the mud.

And most of all, Ryo.

The boy Danzō wanted most.

To Danzō, someone like Ryo belonged in the shadows of Root, the perfect weapon.

That greed bloomed the moment he read Ryo's file:

"Innately cold, near-emotionless. Absolute rationality. The essence of his power, pure annihilation."

A born assassin. A perfect killing machine.

And then?

The "benevolent" Hiruzen snatched him away with talk of "humanity" and "the village's future."

Worse, Tsunade stood against him, her Senju influence protecting the boy right under his nose.

Every time he remembered that, Danzō's eyes burned. He had lost his perfect specimen.

Tsunade's fists tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her nails dug into her palms.

Standing in the cold rain, the dried blood washing off her cloak, she could feel the fire in her chest burning hotter than ever.

Danzō wanted to steal the tiger from her mountain?

Her lips curved in a predator's smile. Her eyes sharpened like blades.

Shimura Danzō, do you take me for a fool?

Step.

A ghostly figure emerged from the rain, boots striking through half a foot of sludge with hard, steady steps. One of Danzō's loyal Root operatives.

A puppet dug up from a grave, his dead eyes swept over Tsunade's cold face, then fixed like poisoned needles on Ryo's back.

His voice rasped like metal on stone. "By order of Danzō-sama. Genin Kamiyama Ryo, report to the command tent. Immediately."

The air froze. Only the rain kept falling.

Nawaki and Mikoto stiffened, forgetting to breathe.

A killing intent so cold it seemed to freeze the air burst from Tsunade like a tidal wave.

Boom!

A visible shockwave erupted, blasting mud into a fan of spray. The Root operative's cloak snapped like a flag.

"An order?!"

Tsunade stepped forward, mud shattering underfoot. In an instant, she was face-to-face with the pale Root agent. Her crimson cloak flared like fire.

Her voice dropped, molten pressure boiling beneath it. "Ryo is mine."

She stepped closer. Instinct made the Root agent recoil half a step, mud splashing at his boots. "Tell him to crawl out here and say that to my face. Hiding in his little den, barking orders like a coward? If he loves hiding so much, he can crawl back into his mother's womb!"

The last word struck like a hammer.

For a moment, fear flickered in the man's dead eyes, then vanished. He straightened again, rigid as a corpse. "Tsunade-sama, this is Danzō-sama's direct order. I only deliver it." He avoided her gaze and gestured stiffly toward Ryo. "Genin Ryo, please."

Fwoom!

Tsunade's cloak snapped upward like a banner of flame.

The fire in her eyes wasn't sparks anymore, but shards of molten fury.

The west wing of the camp turned ice-cold, the air twisting with invisible heat.

"Shimura Danzō!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 82: Danzō Makes Grand Promises

Ryo stood on the training ground. Tsunade's fist was still hanging in midair, anger trembling through her like a volcano about to blow. Bloodshot eyes, voice squeezed out between her teeth.

"Ryo, what petty trick is that old viper up to now? Don't stop me. Let me go smash Danzō's office."

She stamped her heel. A thin crack split the ground.

She was Tsunade-hime, Konoha's princess, quick to flare and fierce to explode, especially where Danzō was concerned. He was always scheming in the dark, and lately he had been making a mess on the Ame front. Just hearing it made her see red.

"Calm down, Tsunade." Ryo's hand settled lightly on her shoulder, steady and unmistakable.

It wasn't that he couldn't block her punch. At his near-Kage level, even if Tsunade went wild, he could diffuse it.

He just disliked trouble.

Tsunade was a straight arrow. If she stormed in hot, it would only breed bigger problems.

"Go rest. I'll handle this."

Tsunade glared toward Danzō's camp and growled low, but Ryo's eyes hit like a splash of ice water. She ground her teeth and let it go.

In the end she exhaled and flicked her sleeve. "Have it your way. But if Danzō plays dirty, I'll tear his Root out by the stalk."

She vanished into the trees, leaving Ryo alone.

Silence rolled back over the training ground. The rain kept hammering down.

Ryo rolled his neck.

Time to pay Danzō a visit. Overdue.

In a past life as a programmer, he had seen all the big-company tricks, bosses drawing pie in the sky, shifting blame, sowing division. Call it what it is, corporate gaslighting. The shinobi world wasn't any different. Same game, new wrappers. But Ryo wasn't here to play.

He had the power. He didn't eat from anyone's hand.

Observation Haki sharp as a knife, swordsmanship at a high tier, Flying Thunder God under his belt. Only his physical hardware lagged. Once his body caught up to awaken Armament Haki, even Kage-class wouldn't necessarily be his match.

He turned and set off.

Danzō's post was a "secret" compound behind the main base, ringed by bamboo.

Ryo didn't hurry, but every step bit solidly into the dirt.

Tsunade's anger flickered through his mind. His resolve didn't.

Tsunade was a friend. Ryo's rule was simple, stand alone, stand strong.

Hiruzen's high-table games. Danzō's shadow-hand recruiting. Not worth his eyes.

Worst case, he would take Kushina and walk from Konoha, vanish into the mountains for a few years.

With Flying Thunder God, the world was a blink wide.

Half an hour later, the bamboo path ended at Danzō's hideaway.

Not a shack, a carefully appointed washitsu with sliding doors, sound dampened so even insects seemed to hush.

Two Root operatives flanked the entrance, black-clad and masked, eyes cold on Ryo.

He didn't break stride. One stepped out. "This way. Danzō-sama has been waiting."

Ryo glanced once, cold as a drawn edge.

The man yielded half a step and held the door.

Ryo slid it open. Incense coiled in the air, rich and oppressive, like a wake.

Warm lamplight. Danzō sat at the head.

The "Nabekage" of Konoha, the internet's "Fifth-and-a-Half Hokage," actually made Ryo blink.

Danzō was in his prime. Hair combed razor-neat, black garb crisp as iron, all limbs intact, no bandages blinding his eye, pupils hawk-sharp.

Clearly, this was an earlier Danzō.

He nodded faintly at Ryo, a thin smile tugging his mouth. "Ryo-kun, sit."

Low, magnetic voice. Hard-edged presence.

Decent stagecraft, Ryo thought.

Square face, tight thin lips, short beard, he wore the warlord look. Cool, steady, in control.

Ryo smirked inwardly.

Looks and aura? In his past life, the suits were sharp and the knives sharper.

He dropped into a seat without ceremony. "Danzō-sama, speak plainly."

His gaze skimmed the room, maps lining the wall, a tasteful tea set on the table.

Danzō wanted mystique?

Ryo refused to play along.

Danzō didn't flinch. He poured tea himself and passed a cup over, practiced and smooth. "Hard work at the front. Tsunade's temper hasn't given you too much trouble, I hope?"

It sounded like concern. Ryo heard the angle, sowing discord. He took a sip. "Tsunade is my teacher. You didn't summon me for small talk."

Danzō's eyes narrowed with approval, aura ticking up a notch. "Straight talk, I like that." He leaned in, voice dropping. "But Konoha's situation, you see it as well as I do. Sarutobi Hiruzen postures as virtuous, but underneath he is soft. On the Ame front his command leaks like a sieve. Do you know how many lives that has cost? I, as commander here, have grown Root quickly. Coercion? Bribes? No, we are talking power. I have recruited elite from other villages and expanded enough to counter the elders."

His cadence quickened. The tone turned rally-speech. "Sarutobi is a paper tiger. A talent like you, why follow him? Join Root, and your future, limitless."

Ryo's face didn't move.

Sky pie. He had seen it a thousand times in conference rooms, execs hyping numbers, building fiefdoms, sweet-talking overtime.

Danzō was the same.

Tearing down the Third?

Cute. Hiruzen was still Hokage. Danzō was just the shadow hungry for the throne.

Ryo drummed a slow finger on the table.

Danzō shifted tactics at once.

He leaned back, the voice turning weighty. "Ryo-kun, you are strong. But there is one issue you cannot ignore. Kushina is a Jinchūriki." The tone cut cold. "The other elders will oppose you two. Sarutobi will not risk his feathers for her. He will not let the Nine-Tails become a scandal."

He paused, then leaned in again, eyes like blades. "But I am different. I have the will to clear your path. Root has strength. Stand with me, and I will move obstacles. Your matter with Kushina, I will press it through."

Confidence sparked in his eyes. He had started to believe his own expansion, Root swelling fast under his command post.

He had imagined it a hundred times. Ryo joins him, Root power spikes, he squeezes Sarutobi, Hokage's seat, within reach.

Ryo couldn't help a short, dry snort.

Hot air, end to end with a side of threat, classic. Back when he coded for a living, bosses sold you glory, then crushed you with performance quotas.

What could Danzō give, fight for him? Train him? As for high-table politicking, he couldn't care less. He wasn't Orochimaru, neck-deep in forbidden labs.

He had already struck his bargain with Hiruzen. Kushina's protection was a line in Ryo's terms.

More importantly, any chips Danzō offered, resources, rank, Hiruzen could match. Why choose the black-gloved middleman?

Silence stretched. Danzō's smile began to crack.

Ryo stood. "Lively speech, Danzō-sama." His voice was cool. "But I don't lean on anyone. Kushina is my concern, not yours. As for other elders, any who come at me will learn manners from my blade."

He met Danzō's eyes. "Good day."

He turned and walked out, without leaving a scrap of face.

Danzō froze.

All that set dressing, the mystic washitsu, the cultivated gravitas, wasted.

The door slid back. Rain struck Ryo's face.

Danzō managed, "Go safely, Ryo-kun," in a cultured tone that rang hollow.

Ryo's back vanished into the downpour. Danzō's mask fell with it.

He slammed the table. Porcelain shattered across the tatami.

"Ingrate." Veins jumped at his temple.

If lure fails, suppress.

Tsunade was the boy's teacher. Her faction was strong. A rogue nearing the Kage line, and the Nine-Tails Jinchūriki tied to her?

Right now, Tsunade was the biggest stone in Danzō's path to the Hokage's seat.

His mind spun gears. The front was full of knives. Could he not contrive a mission to eat Ryo alive?

(To be continued.)

Chapter 83: Danzō’s Promises Fall Flat

The rain fell without end, soaking Konoha's entire camp until it swelled and stank.

The mud clung like glue. Every step lifted with a heavy squelch. Tsunade's face was set like frost. Her crimson cloak was drenched and dragged at her shoulders, but it could not press down the smoldering anger in her eyes.

Nawaki slogged into a pit of sludge, coming up like he had been dredged from a swamp. His brand-new chūnin vest had turned into a brown rag. He flicked muck from his arms, muttering curses at the weather and the tedium of patrol.

Beside him, Mikoto was as silent as a shadow. Rain slid from the black hair plastered to her cheek. Her empty gaze pierced the downpour, fixed on nothing.

Ryo led the way.

From the direction of the command tent, a Root operative glided in like a clay idol come to life. He cut through the rain and stopped squarely before Ryo.

"Tsunade-sama," the monotone voice carried through the storm, "by order of Danzō-sama, proceed to Defense Zone Two. Immediately."

"Defense Zone Two?" Tsunade's voice rose, sharp as a blade scraping iron. That was where Hanzō's main force pressed hardest, a meat grinder. The toughest bone in the camp, and closest to death. Danzō could not wait to cast her into the hottest furnace. "Are Orochimaru and the others taking losses? You want me to hold the line?"

The Root ninja's face did not change. "Lord Danzō believes your battlefield value should be exerted in a core sector."

Core? To die would be closer to the mark. Tsunade's chest heaved with fury. Hypocritical on the surface, venomous beneath, she read him like glass.

"And my squad?" Her tone turned cold enough to freeze.

"Your team lacks sufficient strength to enter that danger zone," the Root agent droned. "They will remain in camp to rest and await orders. This is Danzō-sama's strategic allocation."

"Strategic allocation? My ass." Tsunade nearly exploded. She knew it. Danzō was not sending her to the spearpoint for the sake of the core sector. He was severing her from Ryo and the others.

The front was too hot. Tsunade had the might to carve her way out of the Ame-nin encirclement, but her squad? Ryo's power was uncanny, but could he stand against Hanzō's salamander and its poison? Nawaki and Mikoto? They would be tender meat tossed into the grinder. Bring them, and one misstep meant no remains to retrieve. It was the cruelest daylight trap, forcing her to go alone.

Without the she-beast guarding her cubs, Ryo, Nawaki, and Mikoto, three little genin, would be declawed pups in a camp where Danzō's word was law. Any jōnin, or even a chūnin, hiding behind a command title could, under camp regulations, wartime orders, or some airy support assignment, legitimately move, exploit, even expend them.

Rules are dead, people are alive, especially in wartime camps, where the lowest rank sits at the bottom of the food chain. Ninja obey orders by law. Refuse, and it is mutiny under wartime codes.

Would any jōnin risk offending a top medical ninja by harassing her disciples? Of course not.

But not offending only meant surface politeness, not protection.

They were still genin. Danzō could hold them in the palm of his hand.

What he wanted was exactly this outward calm.

Ryo was strong, strong enough to clash with a sector commander. But would he dare?

Would he dare cause a scene in camp?

One step over the line, and Danzō had hats ready for his head, undermining morale, disrupting order, mutiny in wartime. Black or white, Danzō would call it.

He hoped Ryo would make noise. The bigger the noise, the harder Danzō's fist could fall, righteous and by the book.

As for penning Ryo in camp to rot? No, too wasteful, too small-minded.

In the gloom of the command tent, Danzō's eyes gleamed with cold calculation.

Kill Ryo now? Too costly, pointless.

The Land of Rain's bog needed a sharp blade like Ryo.

That strange, god-knows-where-he-learned-it skillset, especially that terrifying swordwork tailor-made to shred puppets, was crucial to the balance of engagements. Killing him now would hurt Konoha and help the enemy, contrary to Danzō's sacred rule, all for Konoha, and for me to be Hokage.

Use him. Squeeze him dry.

Let that blade carve glory in the Land of Rain. Let him earn enough merit that Danzō, crowned by talent-spotting and grand strategy, could step over the corpses of Suna and Ame to don the halo of Hokage. Then would be the time for the autumn reckoning.

Before that, some knockdowns and attrition were essential. This proud blade had to learn whose hand moved the pieces.

"…Understood." Tsunade ground out the word, teeth clenched, eyes carving a mark toward the command tent.

Nawaki looked blank, still not grasping the implications. Mikoto stayed silent, the emptiness in her eyes darkening.

Ryo, beneath the hood's shadow, held a gaze like a deep, still pool, utterly calm. Danzō's order was a ripple skimming the surface.

"Here," Tsunade's voice rang iron-hard, each word a nail hammered into command, "protect yourselves. Keep your heads down. Don't give anyone an excuse. Wait for me to come back. Understood?"

She fixed Ryo with a long look, warning layered with something like trust, then said no more. Her crimson figure cut a decisive line through the rain, a blade drawn toward the slaughterhouse of Defense Zone Two. Mudburst flared where her steps fell.

Nawaki gaped, then blurted, late to the dread, "Ah." He glanced from Ryo to the silent Mikoto, confusion and panic fighting on his face.

Without his sister, what now?

The air in camp grew heavier.

Those eyes in the shadows grew bolder.

Ryo tugged at his rain-soaked hood and turned toward their cold, wet tent, as if nothing had happened.

Not long after, another Root messenger blocked the entrance. That same rigid mask of a face.

"Genin Kamiyama Ryo, Genin Senju Nawaki, Genin Uchiha Mikoto," came the flat voice. "Report to Logistics immediately. Assist Supply Squad Three. Execute wartime transport assignment, batch seven. Ensure safe delivery of supplies to the forward observation post at Eagle Howl Cliff. No delay permitted."

"Escort duty?" Nawaki's eyes lit up, like a hound finally catching a scent. "Finally, real work."

After days patrolling that swamp, his bones felt rusty. Escorting supplies? Fine, at least it was proper wartime duty. He cracked his knuckles. The fog of aimlessness blew away.

Mikoto's lashes lifted. She shot the Root ninja a quick glance and lowered her eyes again, fingers rubbing the edge of her tool pouch. Escort mission? Leaving this suffocating camp, these prying eyes? She drew a quiet breath. The pressure seemed to ease, barely.

Ryo leaned against the cold, damp tent pole, brim dipping lower. He could taste the faint malice in the air and its source.

Danzō's pie had failed. The payback was prompt.

Assist Supply Squad Three? They were the real muscle? No. He and Nawaki, Mikoto, the inserted executors Danzō had arranged.

Eagle Howl Cliff. Ryo brought up the crude maps he had studied. A projecting height between the camp and the core battle zone, not the foremost trench, but a perilous perch, routinely harassed by Ame-nin infiltrators. Observation post or not, the workload was heavy, supply burn was high.

Escort supplies? The task itself was fine.

But the executors, three genin without a direct jōnin leader, slotted into a seemingly full squad, two jōnin plus four chūnin plus twelve genin, counting them.

In that formation, what were they? Who gave them orders? What roles would they shoulder? If something went wrong, who took the blame?

Danzō meant them to run a gauntlet, bleed through fatigue and accidents on a dangerous route. The iron pot he handed them could not be dodged. It came with a wartime stamp.

"Got it." Ryo's voice cut through the rain, flat and unreadable. He straightened, rolled his neck. The vertebrae clicked softly. He stepped out first.

The rain thickened. The mud closed on their ankles again.

Nawaki followed in high spirits, murmuring, "Finally something real… Eagle Howl Cliff, right… I hear the view's amazing."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 84: Betrayed?

Gray rain poured endlessly, turning the Land of Rain into a swamp.

The Konoha Heavy Transport Unit No. 13 dragged forward through the mud like a dying beast, every step sinking deep. The mule's ribs stood out sharply, groaning as it struggled. The stench of decay filled every breath.

Crates wrapped in oilcloth were piled high on the wagon, the unit's only hope.

The march was silent. Faces numb.

At the front, Tanaka Nobu and Odagiri Toshiya moved like statues, exhaustion dulling their eyes. Four chūnin wiped cold rain from their faces, their fingers stiff as stone. Twelve genin followed behind, mud on their forehead protectors, uniforms soaked, hands shaking on their weapons.

Fear crept over them like invisible frost.

Clack.

Three figures in dark cloaks appeared through the rain, merging silently with the column. Water trickled down their forehead protectors.

"New arrivals?" Tanaka barely looked up, his rough finger almost touching Ryo's nose. "You and you," he pointed at Nawaki, "go behind the third wagon. And you," his tone sharpened as he eyed Nawaki's new blade, "fall back. Cause trouble and I'll flay your skin."

Odagiri's cold voice followed. "Trash sent to die. Don't expect to last long."

Nawaki's anger flared, face red, hand gripping his hilt. Mikoto caught his arm and whispered, "Let it go."

Ryo didn't react.

Their insults were meaningless, like buzzing insects.

He stepped into the mud pit Tanaka pointed out, the deepest and filthiest part. Mud rose to his calves, but he stood steady, rain sliding down his face.

Nawaki followed, his steps heavy, dragging through the muck. Frustration gnawed at him as he forced himself forward.

He looked at Ryo.

For an instant, a faint red light flickered in Ryo's eyes.

Hum.

His perception expanded. The direction of the rain, subtle tremors in the ground, the faintest heartbeats, every detail flooded into his mind. The world sharpened to deadly clarity.

Nawaki's heart seized. The forest was silent. Even the rain seemed to stop.

"Enemy."

His warning was swallowed by the roar of an explosion.

Boom.

Flames burst, mud erupted, and shockwaves ripped through the convoy. Wagons splintered, the mule was torn apart, blood mixing with rain and smoke.

"Scatter!" Odagiri's shout cut off mid-word.

Pff.

A dark blur swept across the ground. A curved blade flashed. A headless body flew into the air, blood painting the rain red.

"Kill them all! Take the supplies!"

A dozen Suna shinobi in dark cloaks leapt from the trees, blades gleaming. The ambush struck like lightning.

"Defend! Fight!" Tanaka roared, hurling kunai, but four elite Suna shinobi surrounded him. Blades clashed, sparks flared. The genin screamed, falling one after another into the mud.

"Damn it!" Nawaki's eyes burned. He drew his sword and lunged forward.

"Don't move."

Ryo's cold voice froze him.

Nawaki turned.

Ryo's eyes were dark and still, like a beast ready to strike.

Hum.

Ryo moved.

Speed beyond sight.

By the time the afterimages faded, he was already before the first Suna shinobi. His kunai flashed once.

A red dot appeared on the man's forehead.

Eight Suna elites surrounding them froze. Each bore the same mark on their brow or throat. None even had time to bleed.

Ryo stood back in place, calm, rain washing his blade clean.

Nawaki stared, speechless. Eight enemies gone in an instant. He hadn't even seen Ryo's hand move.

"Nawaki, right side!" Mikoto's voice broke the silence.

He turned just as the Suna captain, face painted in blue, lunged from where Odagiri's body lay. His poisoned blade sliced through the rain, aimed straight for Nawaki's heart. Too fast to block.

Nawaki froze.

Ryo moved again.

With one step, the air split. The Kusanagi sheath pierced the captain's throat, launching him backward.

Bang. Crack.

The body slammed into a tree, neck half-severed, blood and rain spilling together. The Kusanagi sheath quivered, humming faintly.

Ryo twisted his wrist. The blade slid back into place with a quiet click.

Tick. Tick.

Silence returned. Only the rain remained.

Nawaki trembled, his neck cold with the memory of death brushing past.

The remaining Suna shinobi froze in terror. Their comrades had fallen before they could react. Panic overtook them.

They screamed, threw smoke bombs, and fled into the forest, dropping weapons and armor.

The rain's rhythm returned, steady and heavy.

Mikoto clutched her chest, her heart pounding wildly.

The afterimage of Ryo's movement burned into her mind.

Tanaka stumbled back, bloodied kunai in hand, armor torn. His gaze swept over the corpses, the red marks on their brows, the captain pinned to the tree. His body shook.

That wasn't ninjutsu. It was pure speed and power, terrifyingly real.

He remembered how he had mocked Ryo earlier. His gut turned cold.

Nawaki forced himself to breathe. His anger and pride were gone, crushed by the difference between them.

He finally understood. Ryo's presence wasn't arrogance. It was the quiet confidence of a predator among prey.

The survivors gathered shakily, their eyes filled with fear and awe.

Those who had sneered before couldn't even look at him.

"Tanaka," someone whispered.

"Shut up. Stay back." Tanaka's voice trembled. Despite his wounds, his tone carried something close to reverence.

Ryo ignored them. His eyes swept across the battlefield, then toward the misty horizon.

He stepped forward, boots sinking into blood and mud.

"Let's go." His cold voice cut through the rain.

He walked past a corpse, crushing its empty stare beneath his heel.

Nawaki stumbled after him. Mikoto took a breath, forcing the chaos in her heart down, and followed.

Ryo walked through the rain, calm and unmoved. Blood mixed with water, washing into the ground.

Tanaka watched his back, the white cloak stained with blood, like a faint light in the storm.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 85: Three-Nation Melee!

Rumble!

The sky over the Land of Rain had split open. Endless sheets of water poured down, turning the land into a boiling swamp.

A three-man Konoha squad trudged out of the storm like Shura climbing from a pool of blood, step by step toward the main camp.

At their head walked Ryo. His dark rain cloak clung tightly, outlining a lean, hard frame. His expression was unreadable, his eyes deep as an ancient well. The air around him, heavy with the scent of blood, felt cold enough to freeze the rain. His cloak was stained dark with dried and half-clotted crimson, some of it from their enemies, and some perhaps his own.

Half a step behind came Nawaki, stumbling, legs trembling. His brand-new chūnin vest had lost all color, now caked with mud, blood, and grass. His face was pale, lips bluish, eyes vacant as he muttered to himself, "Six… seven… damn it… they just keep coming…"

A little farther back walked Mikoto. She still tried to carry herself with a trace of composure, but her eyes were hollow, her pride ground down by the weight of reality. She moved silently, knuckles white on the handle of her kunai.

They had just crawled out of a cursed place known as Wailing Gorge. An S-rank escort mission "personally assigned" by Danzō, to deliver a batch of "special antiserum effective against salamander venom," along with strategic scrolls, through a kill zone claimed by both Ame and Suna.

The result: mission accomplished. The price: enough to break any sane mind.

Barely ten kilometers from camp, the first ambush came, three veteran jōnin leading a chūnin platoon from Suna. Their plan was simple, crush the escort and seize the supplies.

What greeted them was Ryo's blade.

A flash of light too fast to follow. Nawaki saw only a cold gleam before heads flew skyward, blood streaking through the rain. The elite of Sunagakure never even finished their grins before terror froze their faces.

Nawaki's blood surged, his hand shooting for his sword, but Ryo's glacial voice stopped him.
"Watch."

Then came three days of nightmare. Traps everywhere, poison mist drifting through the gorge, Rain's puppet squads striking from the shadows, Suna elites attacking in waves. Every victory brought another assault.

How many times did Nawaki think he was dead? He lost count. Mud sucking at his legs as a Suna kunai lunged for his chest, a poisoned blade grazing his throat, three Ame-nin cornering him on a narrow ledge.

And every time, that figure appeared. Swift as a shadow, unshaken by chaos. The Kusanagi would flash, knocking away killing strikes by a hair's breadth, or Ryo would step between blows with impossible precision, ending two lives in the same instant.

Nawaki could only watch, stunned. No wasted motion, no flair, only pure efficiency. Draw, thrust, cut, advance. Movements beyond normal reaction, pure killing instinct refined to perfection. Not ninjutsu, but body and mind honed past human limits.

His worldview shattered. "Jōnin"? "Technique"? All meaningless against Ryo's speed. The Senju blood he'd been proud of, his new rank, all crushed to dust. He finally understood what a real difference in class meant. He wasn't a hero, just a burden Ryo had to keep protecting.

Mikoto fared no better. She clung to her Uchiha pride, activating her Sharingan, weaving signs, reading movement. But every time her eyes caught an enemy's attack, Ryo had already ended it before she could react. Against his speed, even her pupil power felt useless.

The gorge was a purgatory of shredded limbs, mangled bodies, and blood mixing with rain. Each time Ryo stepped past a corpse he had just cut down, the wound still gushing, an eye bursting under his heel, Mikoto's heart twisted between fear, awe, and something darker she couldn't name.

Was this really the quiet boy from the Academy, the one who once seemed invisible?

Three people forced their way through Wailing Gorge.

Mission completion: 100%. Supplies delivered intact.

The cost: Nawaki's spirit fractured, mind on the edge of collapse. Mikoto's pride crushed beneath the weight of war. And Ryo, soaked in blood, unchanged. To him, this was normal.

The main camp loomed ahead, a muddy square lined with broken barricades and stretcher tracks. Sentries straightened when they saw the three figures approach, fear and awe flickering in their eyes.

Their name had already spread through the ranks, the "Shura Squad." Their leader, Ryo, whispered of as "The Blade."

Their tent stood in a cold, damp corner of camp. Nawaki stumbled inside and collapsed onto a cot, half-dead. Mikoto sat down, wordless, wiping her weapons with mechanical precision.

Ryo didn't sit. He pushed back his hood, rain dripping from his red hair, dried blood streaking his face. He stood at the tent flap, gaze fixed on the storm outside, his thoughts elsewhere.

---

Main Command Tent, Camp Center

The air was thick and heavy. Incense smoke drifted through the damp canvas.

By lamplight, Danzō's face was half-buried in shadow. A faint gleam lit his single eye as he studied a map.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue. A masked Root operative appeared and bowed, handing him a blood-stained report.

Danzō read quickly. Two Suna jōnin dead, six chūnin eliminated, four Ame puppet squads destroyed, supplies delivered intact.

"Hmph. As expected." His lips curved faintly, satisfaction mixing with wariness.

Ryo's sharpness had surpassed all estimates. For days, Danzō had worked the team like beasts of burden, sending them on suicidal assignments, deep raids, infiltration strikes, high-risk ambushes. Yet every time, they returned covered in blood but victorious.

Each success added weight to Danzō's calculations. The Kusanagi's power, Ryo's monstrous instincts, his unmatched killing efficiency, all perfect for the battlefield of Ame.

As long as he kept that knife in hand and let it cut down enemies for him, Danzō's ambitions could continue to rise.

The problem was simple. The knife was too sharp, and it refused to obey.

He remembered that "meeting" days ago. His carefully prepared setting, his rhetoric, his authority, all dismissed with a single cold line.

"I'll handle it myself. Anyone who gets in my way, I'll cut."

Even now, Danzō could still feel the chill of that gaze. In that instant, he had known Ryo could kill him without hesitation.

"Genius or monster," he muttered. "Either way, a blade that won't bend is a threat."

Still, not one he could afford to break yet.

He sealed the payout for Ryo's squad without deduction, even marking it A-rank.

Not out of generosity. He knew if he skimmed a single coin, Ryo would storm the tent with his sword to "discuss payment." The boy's greed for mission rewards matched his skill in killing. Best not to provoke him over money. There were subtler ways to control him later.

"Danzō-sama! Front line, urgent!"

A drenched messenger burst in, panting hard. "Emergency! Encrypted Anbu signal from B-7 High Ground! Orochimaru-sama requests immediate support!"

"Explain! Who sent it? What's the situation?" Danzō snapped.

The runner gasped out, "Signal confirmed. Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, joint distress call! Large-scale Iwa ambush! They're surrounded on three fronts, with massive rock-type summons in play!"

"Iwa-nin?!" a strategist exclaimed. "How did they get through undetected?!"

Danzō's face hardened. So that was it. Iwa had stayed quiet at their border, biding time, shifting elites into Ame. Waiting until Konoha and Suna were exhausted, then stabbing straight for the heart.

This was no longer "Konoha versus Ame" or "Konoha versus Suna." It was a three-way slaughter, Konoha, Suna, and Iwa tearing Ame apart and each other with it.

Hanzō of Amegakure, the so-called "demigod," had long since fallen from his pedestal. His salamander venom and lone power meant nothing now. All he could do was cling to survival and drive the invaders from what was left of his land.

The board was chaos.

Konoha and Suna tore at each other publicly while secretly fighting to control Ame. Suna wanted a path into Fire Country, and Konoha wanted to stop them. Ame, trapped in the middle, fought back with poison, ambush, and desperation.

And now Iwa had entered the field with one goal, kill the Legendary Three and cripple Konoha's morale.

"Useless, all of you!" Danzō slammed his hand on the table, wood creaking. "An Iwa force big enough to trap the Three, and Root didn't see it coming?!"

His mind raced. Orochimaru's unit pinned, the front collapsing. Reinforcements from Fire Country were days away. Camp reserves, too weak.

Then a single name cut through his thoughts like a blade.

His gaze turned toward the camp's edge.

There was only one person who could cut through Iwa's ring and bring the Three back alive.

A monster.

"Orders!" Danzō's voice sliced through the tent. "Level-three emergency protocol!"

His eyes swept across the room, sharp and cold.

"Ryo Squad, to the command tent. Now."

He paused, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

"Main camp, full mobilization. Target: B-7 Cliff. The Three are pinned. Ryo Squad leads the charge. Ten minutes to departure. Bring Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya back alive."

The camp erupted.

Back in the outer tents, Nawaki startled at the sudden alarm, nearly falling from his cot. "W-what's happening now…?"

Ryo stood unmoving at the flap. When Danzō's order echoed through the camp, something flickered in his eyes.

B-7. Iwa.

He lowered his head, rain dripping from his bangs. After a long moment, he lifted it again, his expression carved from stone.

His hand tightened on the Kusanagi's hilt.

"Stay here," he said quietly. "I'll go cut."

The last word fell heavy in the air.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 16: Chapter 86-90

Chapter 86: The Three in Despair

The rain continued to fall, endless and merciless.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, smoke, and rotting earth.

Ryo's silhouette tore through the storm, a red spear thrown toward the depths of hell.

B-7 High Ground.

Mud, shattered rock, broken weapons, and pools of dark, congealed blood painted the field. The air still tingled with the residue of explosions and the clash of chakra that made the skin crawl.

Behind him, Konoha's reinforcements struggled through the mud, their shouts echoing. But Ryo's inhuman speed left them far behind, only splashes of muddy spray marking his path.

Emergency rescue? No. Ryo trusted only his blade.

Bringing Mikoto and Nawaki would only slow him down. They would be liabilities.

Now, speed meant survival.

Beneath the cliff at B-7, the mouth of a hidden cave exhaled damp, heavy air that pressed down like a weight.

Outside, the rain hammered against stone and earth in an endless roar, smothering the distant battle where death reigned.

Inside, a few weak strands of light seeped through the cracks, revealing three fading figures.

Tsunade knelt on one knee. Her golden hair clung to her blood-drained face, her cloak torn to ribbons that revealed wounds deep enough to show bone. Rain-thinned blood trickled from them in steady lines.

She had nearly burned out her chakra with medical ninjutsu. Each circulation through her meridians stabbed like needles, scraping her soul raw.

Ignoring her own pain, she forced the last of her chakra into her trembling hands, pressing them against Jiraiya's head. His brain beneath her palms was the final line she refused to lose.

The pale green glow of medical chakra flickered weakly, like a candle guttering in the dark, fragile but stubbornly holding on to the last trace of Jiraiya's life.

Jiraiya lay sprawled on the cold, wet stone. His once-white hair was matted with blood and mud. His powerful body had become a broken husk riddled with mortal wounds. The worst was the gaping hole in his side, as if an unseen hand had torn it open, his organs exposed to the air.

Each shallow breath bubbled with blood at his lips. Pain had numbed him, leaving only a faint, exhausted smile.

"Hey… Tsunade… save your strength…" His voice rasped weakly. "Seventeen, eighteen broken bones… lungs… pierced too… what's the point…" He tried to grin, but only managed a twitch.

"Heh… feel a little bad for my student… Minato… told him I'd teach him the Mount Myōboku summoning… guess that's off…"

"Shut up!" Tsunade's voice cracked, raw and shaking. Sweat rolled from her jaw and fell onto Jiraiya's face, mixing with blood. "Save your breath to live! You're not dying here, Jiraiya! You hear me?!"

Jiraiya coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth and wounds. Tsunade bit her lip hard, forcing one more flicker of chakra from her exhausted body, veins bulging as she pulled him back for another heartbeat from death.

His skin turned gray, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Let it go… dying in front of you… not the worst way to go…" His eyes moved to the shadow where Orochimaru stood.

Orochimaru was in better shape, but barely. His pale face was smeared with blood and grime, golden slit pupils cold and calculating. His left arm hung limp, but he could still stand.

"Orochi… maru…" Jiraiya's whisper barely carried. "Be… reasonable… don't… be sentimental…"

Orochimaru's throat moved once. His eyes locked on Jiraiya's ruined face, and whatever warmth was left in them died. Only logic remained.

"He's right, Tsunade," Orochimaru said coldly. "Any movement will finish him. Carry him, and we all die. Leave him, and two of us might live."

He stepped forward. A kunai slid silently into his hand, its steel glinting faintly in the darkness.

The light stabbed into Tsunade's eyes.

"Cut clean." Orochimaru's voice didn't waver. "Jiraiya knows what this means. It's his last dignity. And the only one we can give him." The kunai leveled over Jiraiya's heart.

"Dignity, my ass!" Tsunade screamed, voice raw with grief and fury. Her golden eyes burned red with veins, her face contorted in pain and rage. The medical chakra in her hands faltered as her body trembled, the faint light breaking apart.

Orochimaru said flatly. "Which is why you should understand. Stay, and we die. Carry him, three die. End it, and two live." His hand moved, the kunai darting for Jiraiya's chest with a viper's precision.

At the last moment, Tsunade's snarl tore through the cave. "Over my dead body!"

Her broken body moved before thought, driven by pure will. Chakra, long dry, erupted one final time from the depths of her life force, ignited by her instinct to protect.

Her golden hair whipped through the air as she hurled herself between the blade and Jiraiya.

She didn't block it with her body. She guided it, forcing her arm directly into the kunai's path.

Shhk.

The kunai punched through her forearm, through an old, half-healed wound. Blood burst out in a hot spray.

It splattered across Orochimaru's face, freezing him in shock. A few drops hit his eyes, steaming against his skin.

More blood dripped down, striking Jiraiya's pale face below.

For a moment, time stopped.

Outside, shouts broke through the storm. "Movement! Over here, quick!"

Orochimaru's kunai arm trembled. The sight before him, a comrade's blood dripping down his blade, stilled even his cold logic for an instant.

He felt it. The tremor in his arm. The raw, reckless power of Tsunade's choice, burning her life away for one impossible act of defiance.

Drip. Drip.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, Tsunade's ragged growls of pain mixed with Jiraiya's faint, rattling breath. The shouts of Iwa-nin drew closer, their armor clattering, boots squelching in the mud. The vines at the cave's mouth trembled.

Orochimaru's shock hardened into deadly calm.

His eyes darted from the kunai through Tsunade's arm, to Jiraiya beneath her, to the cave mouth about to be torn open. Countless thoughts collided in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Tsunade's body shook violently, blood streaming from her arm and dripping onto Jiraiya's cold face. Her hair hung in clumped gold strands, slick with blood and sweat.

Jiraiya's pupils strained to focus. Tsunade's face was only inches from his own, her pain carved into her every line, her blood spilling for him.

He tried to speak, but no words came. Only a broken rattle escaped his throat. A faint smile twisted his lips, half sorrow, half resignation.

Despair filled the cave.

Outside, the vines suddenly tore apart with a sharp rip.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 87: The Red-Haired Monster Comes to the Rescue

Boom!

Savage force tore the flimsy camouflage from the cave mouth.

In the thin moonlight, the entrance snapped into cruel relief. Iwa forehead protectors glinted with rain. Countless greedy eyes burned through the downpour and locked onto the prey inside, the Legendary Three of Konoha, three bodies slashed and battered, hanging by a thread.

The leading Iwa Jōnin stepped forward. A blood-smeared metal bracer lifted, the kunai in his grip sliced the silence.
"Heh. Konoha's Sannin? They're just, uh—"

Rrip.

An anomaly.

A dark-crimson meteor, beyond sight's limit, like blood lightning fallen from the ninth heaven, smashed into the tight Iwa formation.

KRAKOOM.

A shock blast roared out, braided with the crack of bones and the shriek of twisting steel.

The seven or eight Iwa at the very front took the hit like a million-ton hammer to the face. Terror froze on them as their bodies turned to ragdolls, hurled backward without the slightest resistance.

Splut. Splut. Splut.

Scarlet blossoms burst in the cold rain, death's red lotus.

The aftershock slammed the side walls. Rocks tumbled and rattled, mixing with mud and blood into a single, viscous smear. Crimson.

In an instant, the Iwa vision filled with searing scarlet. Time seemed to clot with the raindrops. From the core of the soul, cold dread clutched every Iwa heart. Fear, like liquid mercury, rushed through limbs and marrow. Weaker Chūnin collapsed outright. Weapons fell from numb hands. Bodies shook like leaves.

At ground zero, where a killing void had been wrenched open, steam boiled up and veiled the world.

A figure took shape within the haze, blurred to sharp.

Red hair.

Sopping, flame-bright red hair, like fire in the rain.

He crouched low, one knee bent, on mud slicked with blood. Under his feet the ground had caved in with a spiderweb of fractures. A battered white rain cloak clung to a lean frame coiled with force, stained deep with blood.

He rose. Straight as a spear.

Rain slid from a jaw cut like a blade. Neither steam nor pounding rain could blunt the cold light in those long, narrow eyes. They aimed with unerring precision at the back of the cave, at the gold-haired woman shielding two comrades with her own body, swaying like a candle in a gale.

A thin, icy snort, like a knife scraping frozen earth, cut the lull and struck Tsunade's ear.
"Turned yourself into sludge again, crazy woman."

Tsunade jerked her head up, burning the last scraps of strength to focus on a silhouette that should not be there.

Shock snapped through her frayed nerves.

Then came the sting of being seen through, and a surge of shame and fury. Even now this brat still had jokes.
"Idiot brat. Trying to die?!" she rasped. Her breath heaved from a body bled dry of chakra. Every word snapped, half in rage, yet under it, a small tremor of relief. He came alone. Mad. The words jammed in her throat and tore out as a snarl. "Can't you see someone's dying!"

In the shadows, Orochimaru's pupils cinched to slits. The serpent's gaze locked on Ryo in the rain, then snapped to the ancient blade at his hip, that unmistakable hilt.

Kusanagi.

"So, it's in your hands…" a strangled hiss rasped in his throat. Fingers whitened around his kunai, a strange light quivered in his eyes. "Heh, no wonder…"

On the other side, Jiraiya pried his eyelids open as if iron weights hung from them. Through the smear of blood and rain, he saw the bright red at the cave's mouth.

His blown pupils struggled to focus.
"R-red… red-haired kid… khh, khh…" His split lips twitched. Blood foamed, choking off words. "Minato… that punk always said… a monster… heh…"

"Shut it! Idiot! Don't waste air!" Tsunade's roar almost shattered his chest. At the same instant, she caught it at the corner of her eye, three flecks of cold light flaring in the dark beyond the vines.

Three poisoned streaks, angles wicked beyond belief, vipers through the rain, arrowing for the cave mouth. Target, Ryo. A kill shot loosed from cover in the chaos.

A soft, contemptuous breath, so faint it barely existed, still made every Iwa hair stand on end.

Ryo blurred, then wasn't there.

No chakra flare. Pure speed that seemed to rip space.

Only torn rain remained as an afterimage.

Three tiny spurts of blood popped at three separate points, the outer ring of the Iwa formation.

The three Iwa Jōnin, arms cocked for another throw, froze mid-motion, eyes locked in disbelief.

A neat, pin-round hole opened at each brow's center.

Smooth. Circular. Not a drop wasted. As if death itself had tapped them with a needle. The bodies fell backward without a sound and sank into the red mud.

The next instant, Ryo stood where he had begun again, like he had never moved.

He tilted his head as if brushing off dust. Breathing calm.

His eyes slid across the huge Iwa host already shuddering into panic. No contempt, only a chill absence. As if nothing stood there at all.

A quick scan, blurred ranks upon ranks in the rain, a sea of bodies. More than a dozen elite Jōnin chakra signatures, lighthouse-bright in the dark, mingled among hundreds of killing-hungry Chūnin and thousands of hollow-eyed Genin smothered by fear. A colossal blood mill.

Without looking back, Ryo spoke. "Take the two dead weights behind you and fall back."

"Kill him! Rip him apart!"

A shrill, shamed bellow blew from the rear, Commander Akagan. Veins bulged in his gaunt face, spittle flew. He slammed a hidden control beneath his heavy vambrace and shrieked, "Spatial Lock Barrier, full power! Seal and suppress! Let's see you summon your big frogs and snakes now. Grind him down. If we must, we'll bury him in bodies!"

Vwoooom.

Crushing pressure rolled out.

Space congealed. Raindrops grew heavy and slow, even their impacts dulled. The whole cliff locked beneath a vast, glass-clear dome, isolating the zone. All spatial techniques, summons, Flying Thunder God, smothered dead.

"Earth Release: Multiple Earth-Style Wall!"

Around Akagan, a dozen veteran Iwa elite Jōnin roared in unison, moving as one. Their chakra poured out like floodgates blown.

BOOM. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

The world howled. The ground bellowed. A dozen titanic earth walls, mountain-thick and ten stories high, ripped upward from the wet ground, caging the cave mouth and the patch where Ryo stood, blocking all light and exits.

Not enough. The kill followed.

"Earth Release: Earth Dragon Bullets!"

"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"

"Combination Technique, Rock-Thousand Burst Burial!"

The shouts fused into a tide of ruin. Iwa's killing intent went white hot.

The earth rolled and bucked. Stone dragons tore from the rising walls, maws yawning, force enough to grind anything to grit, lunging for the intruder.

Wind screamed inside the sealed space, shredded into a storm of knife-edge blades, slicing and flensing. Air's shriek became a tight, hellish whistle.

Worst was the combo, a blizzard of razor stone shards, each boosted by the gale to terminal speed, countless as the rain, fast as meteors, each carrying steel-piercing force. A sky of killing hail came down to erase everything inside.

Wind. Stone. Rain. Earth. Poison. Death.

Within the ten-story walls, a prison of total annihilation bloomed. A storm of destruction and a smothering radiance swallowed all, fixed on a single aim, grind the red-haired figure, along with that troublesome cave mouth, into dust.

The walls swallowed every glimmer of light. Only lightning-like flickers strobed like demons on a mural, while the rain's hiss turned into a tight, suffocating roar inside the sealed void.

An absolute kill zone.

In the storm, Ryo's silhouette seemed about to vanish in grit and glare, when a streak of blood red cut the dark.

The barrier shuddered. Akagan howled, "He can't—"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 88: Split the Battlefield

At the heart of the storm, Ryo slowly closed his eyes.

Rain drummed against his blood-streaked face and dripped onto the Kusanagi in his hands.

Vmm.
A soundless ripple spread from him.

Observation Haki, on.

Perception surged out like a tide. Inside the sealed killing cage, every wind blade's path, every stone flechette's fall line, each earth dragon's impact core, even the faces of Iwa shinobi crouched along the walls and the killing intent in their eyes, all etched into his mind as a single, crystalline map.

Time seemed to slow against that map.

Data cascaded through his head, lethal trajectories, power nodes, hairline seams, all of it laid bare.

An instant before the airtight barrage could swallow him whole, Ryo's eyes snapped open.

In the dark red depths, a soul-cutting gleam flashed, the edge only a top swordmaster holds.

His wrist turned once.

Kusanagi thrummed, low and eager. Dark red light ran along the black blade like a living thing. A formless, soul-freezing sharpness spiked into the air.

He moved.

Not back. Not aside.

Forward.

Straight into the sky-blotting hail of rock and wind. Straight into the roaring stone dragons and the poisoned hurricane of blades.

The ground burst under his feet, a crater meters wide.

His body became a dark red streak that seemed to rip space.

Sword Art: Cutting Current.

Kusanagi traced a supremely subtle arc. No gaudy light. No bloated shockwave. Only the knife-keen scream of steel shearing air.

Where the edge pointed, high-speed stone shot, hard enough to punch plate steel, met an invisible, slick wall. Ch-ch-ch-ch. An unbroken rattle of fractures. Not smashed by brute force, but deflected like nails striking a spinning grindstone. Some pinged into the cliffs, most shredded to dust in the blade's spiraling wake, bursting into white plumes before him.

His pace did not change.

Sword Art: Piercing Gale.

A slight shift, and the thickest wind blade burst like a pricked bubble, like red-hot steel needling brittle ice. It let out a tearing wail and collapsed. The storm unraveled.

A simple point-thrust, distilled from ten thousand drills, found the seam and turned a wall into air.

Ryo slipped like a butterfly through flowers, flashing onward through the net of strikes. Observation Haki put every impact a beat ahead. Sword instinct picked the cheapest path through. Every cut exact. No waste. Combat honed to the bone.

But the barrage was too dense. Saturation smothers skill.

BOOM.
A stone dragon, massive and close, finally met him in a line he could not dodge. Hard light flickered in Ryo's eyes.

Sword Art: Rockbreaker.

His line changed. No more cutting and guiding, only raw force. Muscle corded. Power climbed the spine and shoulder and poured into the edge.

Kusanagi came down like a siege maul.

A deafening crack. Impact condensed into an unseen hammer that smashed the dragon's reinforced snout. Harder than steel, the stone head sheared away in a slab, like half a hill blasted off. Shrapnel screamed backward. But the beast's momentum was immense.

The shock tore through Ryo's bones and into the ground, exploding more stone beneath his boots. He held, stole recoil, and twisted.

Shhk. Skrrt.

Two poisoned shuriken hissed past. One buried in the wall. The other nicked his left arm, carving a deep line.

Pain. Numbness crept in.

"Hn."

He grunted. No flinch. A scratch. His recovery already tugged muscle toward closure.

His target, the breakpoint, was clear.

He could not stop. In this grinder, stopping is dying.

He drove again, an unbowed red lotus, boring a path through the storm meant to crush all things.

Steel against stone. Steel against wind. Steel against venom. Sparks blew. Rock burst. Needles pinged off. The cloak shredded. Fresh blood striped his skin. His speed only built, momentum piling high.

On the rearmost, highest wall, Commander Akagan fixed on that dark red figure climbing upstream through annihilation, terror rising in his hawk eyes.

That power. That speed. That foresight. To charge through a storm like this, monster.

But he saw the rents in Ryo's cloak. The blood. The poisoned cut.

Hope rekindled.

"Not enough. More. He's hit, press. Wear him down!" Akagan howled, flinging his arm, hysteria glittering in his stare. Drown him with bodies. Pile it on. Even monsters tire. Even monsters bleed.

The Iwa line, cowed for a breath, shrieked back into motion under the whip, more formations, tighter combos, everything thrown to drown that red advance.

And then, as Akagan's roar still rang, as hands began to shape new signs, at the storm's core, the steam-wreathed spear of a man, cut and bloodied, yet upright as a pike, stopped.

He killed his forward rush.

Both hands closed on Kusanagi.

His stance sank.

A pressure like the breath before a volcano bursts spread over the field. Even the downpour seemed to falter.

Up on the wall, Akagan's heart lurched.

Ryo's head snapped up.

Those dark red eyes burned through stone dust and rain, across dozens of meters, past ranks of Iwa, like a scope zeroing in, on Akagan.

Killing intent, cold as a lance of ice, hammered through the commander's soul. A wave of doom froze his blood.

He tried to scream.

Too late.

Ryo moved.

Not a sprint.

A basic, unadorned bow-step cleave.

Every muscle fiber fired. Every cell's charge twisted into a single cable. Waist, spine, shoulder, wrist, perfect transfer.

Hip, leg, arm, blade. One line. Through. Detonate.

Flying Slash.

Dark red did not flow this time, it erupted. A sword light dozens of meters long, tight as if cast from frozen fire and pure edge, lanced off Kusanagi's tip.

No world-splitting boom. Only a shriek that stabbed the eardrum and seemed to split the soul. Not steel ripping air, space itself crying as it tore.

It punched through everything in front of it.

Ript-ript-ript.

A machine-gun snarl of cuts hit almost at once.

Heavy earth bulwarks, stone spines, met red-hot knife to butter, gone. A thick wall, brittle tofu under a chef's blade, bisected, the cut face smooth as a mirror.

Layered walls, paper. One, two, three, perforated in a blink. Ninja still mid-sign behind them never finished. Sword wind's fringe brushed across them, bodies parted like a butcher's demo, upper halves atomized into rain, lower halves left standing.

In the slash's wake, a vacuum tunnel more than three meters across carved the battlefield. Anything on that line, panicked casters, slow summons, turned to powder. Sight down the channel showed a straight road of ruin, blood and crushed stone, leading to Akagan's perch. Only the thudding growl of air slamming shut in the cut's track remained.

Akagan watched the dark red line of death widen in his pupils, the distance gone as if space bent. Terror broke his paralysis at last. He dropped his last card.

"Earth Release: Rock Shelter!"
The ground writhed. A suffocating mass of bedrock rose and layered over him, compacting into a coffin of stone, the strongest defense his chakra could buy.

The fortress had barely sealed when the blade arrived.

One sound, smaller, keener, more terrible than any before.

No bombast. No quake. The red slash paused, barely, and slid into the heart of the shell. Like a hot brand through tallow, no resistance. Akagan's bastion meant nothing.

The light sheared the final layer, and cut Akagan in two, clean and center, hands frozen mid-sign.

Halved.

"Guh, ah… n-no, way—"
The two pieces snapped backward under brutal force, splatting against the wall with a bone-deep thud. Blood sheeted from the seam, painting rock and his twisted face.

Bulging eyes locked on the figure out in the rain, now swaying on his feet, with a terror that dragged him toward the pit. His mouth worked. No sound came.

One sword.

Split the field. Pierced the bulwark. Halved the commander. Ruthless. Absolute.

Silence fell for a heartbeat.

Every Iwa who saw it stood dumbstruck, eyes bulging. A moment ago Lord Akagan had whipped them back from collapse. The next, he was meat stapled to a cliff. Ice water poured through their chests.

"A-Akagan-sama… is he… dead?" A Genin's kunai fell into the mud with a plup.

"Monster… devil!" a Chūnin stammered, stumbling back.

"Kill him, kill that monster, avenge Akagan-sama!" the adjutant screamed, veins jumping, grief curdling into hysteria. "Don't let him reach the core! Hold him! Kill him!"

"For Akagan-sama!" Shame and horror fused into a warped savagery, one last flare before morale died. Surviving Jōnin, Chūnin, and Genin wheeled as one, threw formation and guard away, and hurled themselves like ants into a brazier, every tool and technique used to stop the stagger in that red-lit stride.

Fwoosh. Fire jetted, scorching the rain. Shhk-shhk-shhk. Wind blades buzzed like locusts. Thud-thud-thud. Stone boulders screamed overhead. Shuriken swarmed in a lattice that covered every escape line. One goal, bar Ryo from the spatial core.

Ryo's step hit heavy. Kusanagi's tip punched into the ground to brace him. The edges of his vision blackened. Each breath rasped like tearing cloth, organs complaining after overdraw.

Numbness from poison crawled down his left arm, a million cold needles stirring bone. Yet through the rain, Observation Haki burned a clear vector. There, a hidden hollow behind the southeastern earth wall.

A subtle, hateful pulse radiated from it, cuffing the cliff's space like invisible manacles. Each wave carried a sticky drag, like thickened air. Target locked.

"The core…" His cracked lips glistened with rain. Two words ground out like steel on steel. Destroy it, or Tsunade, the others, and he were dead.

Dark red fire still burned in his eyes. He wrenched the blade free and—

Duck. A wind shuriken as thick as a barrel screamed past his back. The vortex chewed a yard of wall to rubble. The blast peppered his spine with debris and buckled him to a knee.

From shadow on his rear flank, an eagle-faced Iwa elite Jōnin burst out, palms cupping two high-speed, gray-white chakra spheres whining like hornets.

He slammed his hands together. The spheres fused and ballooned into a two-meter vortex, tearing stone to grit as it dropped toward Ryo. Air twisted under the pull.

A point-blank kill.

Ryo could smell the earth-stink on the man. No room to dodge.

At that same beat, left and front, two more chakra flares. To the left, a pair of seasoned Chūnin leaders stabbed Stone Spear from the ground, razor lances angling for Ryo's legs. In front, another elite Jōnin howled, "Wind Release: Great Wind Cutter!"

Up. Down. Left. Right.

Death box.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 89: Want to Kill Me?

Can't dodge it? Then break through it.

Ryo's objective was absolutely clear: destroy the sealing core.

Only by destroying the prison that bound the space could the Flying Thunder God coordinates he left behind be relocated.

Counting on reinforcements from Konoha to arrive at some unknown time? That was never an option.

Your life can only be held in your own hands.

Muscle fibers pushed to their limits screamed in pain as overwhelming strength surged through them.

He planted both feet with explosive force, like two red-hot iron nails driven deep into the cracked, shattered earth, sinking a full foot down. The muscles in his right arm gripping the sword coiled like a steel python. The Kusanagi Sword seemed to sense its master's raging murderous intent and unbreakable resolve, emitting a low, sanguine hum.

Sword Technique: Mountain-Sunderer!

His wrist vibrated at a speed invisible to the naked eye. The Kusanagi Sword turned into a crimson arc tearing through the rain. Compressed force gathered along the blade, rending the air with a piercing shriek.

Bang. Boom.

A thunderous explosion shook the battlefield. That rampaging Earth Release vortex, devouring flesh and crushing rock, collided with Yamiketsu's half-suppressed king-chakra tornado. The shockwave burst outward, flinging debris everywhere.

Puh puh puh! Ah!

Screams of agony tore through the rain. Iwa shinobi who had charged forward laughingly were shredded before they could react, their bodies turned into sieves of blood.

The price...

Pain exploded in his left shoulder. An invisible wind blade, Great Wind Cut, struck at the moment his old strength faded and his new power had yet to rise, brutally tearing through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed like a high-pressure jet. The blade also slashed through his trouser leg.

The toxin's paralysis intensified, like ten thousand ants gnawing at his heart, assaulting his nerves.

His altered physiology forced his torn muscles to contract shut. Taking advantage of the shockwave from his slash, Ryo's body spun like a steel gyroscope, twisting in defiance of physical law.

Shraa!

His trouser leg ripped open. Deep gashes revealing bone appeared on the outside of his thigh. Blood gushed in torrents, dyeing the mud red beneath his feet.

A kunai grazed his ankle by mere millimeters.

Poison surged through his body. With every violent movement and loss of blood, the venom that had been suppressed by the Kusanagi sword spread like bone-deep frost.

An Iwa shinobi in front of him froze in terror, his guts twisting.

"Wind Cut and Earth Sting… and he's still moving?!"

"Impossible… is he a monster?!"

Blood vessels throbbed across Ryo's chest.

"Stop that monster! At all costs!"

At the cave entrance, Tsunade bit her lip hard, her knuckles white. As a medical ninja, she knew better than anyone how fatal those wounds were: a shoulder torn to the bone, thigh flesh ripped apart, spreading poison, gushing blood. Under normal circumstances, no one could survive that.

Yet she watched that blood-soaked figure charge through the storm, and memories of their last sparring match surfaced. She had known this day would come, the day he surpassed her, but witnessing it filled her with helpless awe.

Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted coldly. His serpent-like tongue licked his lips as the Iwa shinobi retreated. His gaze locked greedily onto Ryo, whose blood-drenched figure cut through the rain.

His muscles strained under each crushing blow. Even as poison and blood loss dragged him toward collapse, his eyes grew sharper, wilder. Like a lone wolf cornered, he pushed forward. The core was just ahead.

The Kusanagi Sword in his grip had become a streak of red lightning. He shed all excess movement, leaving only pure, lethal intent.

Sword Technique: Piercing Wind!

A foundational sword art pushed to perfection. Every block was flawless. Every stab struck at a vital point. Kunai, shuriken, small-scale water and fire jutsu—everything in his path was deflected or slashed apart.

Guided by his sensory perception, he weaved through storms of jutsu and blades. Mud and blood exploded beneath his feet. Afterimages trailed behind him like phantoms.

Puh! Puh! Three Iwa shinobi fell with their throats pierced, clutching their necks as they collapsed.

"Stop him! Use your lives to block him!" the adjutant screamed, his voice cracking. Ryo's target was clear, the core. They couldn't let him reach it.

A few elite jōnin exchanged glances, their resolve hardening. If ranged attacks failed, they would crush him in close combat. Use corpses as a wall to bury him alive.

"Earth Release: Rock Fist Technique!" "Earth Release: Weighted Rock Technique!" They launched pincer attacks from both sides. Rock fists as heavy as mountains slammed down, the ground caving beneath their weight. The air grew thick with pressure, locking Ryo in place.

"Get out!" Ryo roared like a beast. The creeping weakness in his body was crushed beneath sheer willpower.

Sword Technique: Shattering Rock!

He spun, waist twisting, force traveling up his spine as every drop of strength poured into his sword. The Kusanagi flared dark red, tracing a deadly arc.

Boom!

Like a knife slicing through tofu, the massive rock fist exploded beneath his strike.

The sword's aftershock lashed out, cutting into a jōnin's chest. His vest tore apart, revealing a deep wound that sprayed blood as he was thrown backward like a broken doll.

The earth cracked open, the shock tearing a pit into the ground. Ryo staggered but kept moving, his target in sight.

At that instant...

Shii shii!

Seven or eight bluish kunai coated in poison shot toward his back and legs from blind angles.

Life and death hung by a thread. Ryo bent his body unnaturally, evading with supreme control and his danger sense.

Most of the kunai grazed past.

Puh! One pierced his thigh. Another embedded into his torn shoulder.

"Ugh!" Agony flared. The venom burned through his veins, darkness creeping into his vision. He dropped to one knee as blood poured freely.

"He's done for! Kill him!" a nearby jōnin howled.

Poison, blood loss, exhaustion, his body was on the verge of collapse.

Yet he did not fall. His sharp gaze swept across the battlefield and locked onto an Iwa shinobi sneaking toward the altar's control panel behind Orochimaru.

He lunged.

Ignoring the tearing pain in his shoulder, Ryo shoved his left hand into the wound, grasped the embedded kunai, and ripped it out, flesh and all.

The wound widened, blood gushing again.

Without hesitation, he flung the blood-soaked kunai with all his remaining strength.

Puh shik!

The kunai struck the Iwa shinobi's throat with surgical precision, throwing the corpse backward.

At the cave's mouth, Tsunade's heart nearly shattered. Even after witnessing Ryo's monstrous endurance countless times, this sight still shocked her to her core.

Inside the cave, Jiraiya's swollen eyes caught sight of Ryo pulling the kunai and killing the enemy. His cracked lips moved weakly. "Monster..."

"Heh..." he rasped, "so it's not just a figure of speech. He really is... a monster."

"We can't stop the sealing core!" The last shred of obsession in Ryo's mind burned. His blood boiled. With a roar, he surged forward. Each step splashed crimson in the mud.

The Iwa shinobi formed a living wall with their bodies, blocking his path.

"Earth Release: Earth Prison Hall!" a jōnin roared, slamming his palms into the ground.

Boom! The earth trembled. Two heavy stone gates slammed shut, forming a hemispherical prison lined with spikes.

"He's trapped! Pour chakra! Focus fire!" voices shouted in triumph.

The adjutant drew his blade frantically. "Kill him now!"

The next instant...

Rumble!

A roar, more terrifying than hell itself, erupted from within. A torrent of red sword energy ripped through the chakra-reinforced prison, obliterating it and the jōnin who cast it. Stone dust and blood exploded outward.

Ryo's blood-soaked figure emerged from the carnage.

He was gasping, blood and sweat streaming down his mud-covered body. His sword hand trembled. His vision blurred.

Every flying slash drained the last of his life force.

The final distance. Ahead stood five elite jōnin forming an iron barrier. They abandoned attack, focusing solely on defense.

"Combine your jutsu!" their leader roared.

Five sets of seals formed in unison. Chakra surged violently.

Boom! A towering composite earth wall rose, layers stacking like steel. Beyond it glowed the altar etched with sealing runes. Several sealing ninjas pressed their palms against the core, injecting chakra frantically. A cold, heavy spatial force spread, locking down Ryo's Flying Thunder God coordinates.

"Protect the sealing core! Iwa's will shall not fall!" the adjutant roared, eyes bloodshot.

Ryo glanced once toward the cave. Tsunade's chakra was nearly spent protecting Jiraiya. Orochimaru stood watching, his expression unreadable.

No time left. Not even a heartbeat.

One final breath. One final flicker of life. Ryo lifted his head as if to swallow the bloodied air. His life force ignited like a dying star. Steam rose from his skin as his chakra burned.

Strength ignited. Life ignited. Soul ignited.

Both hands gripped the Kusanagi.

He raised it high.

Ignoring the shinobi lunging from the walls. Ignoring blades aimed at his vital points. Ignoring everything.

There was only the altar ahead.

Slice!

Time froze.

Dark red brilliance condensed to a single point.

It exploded outward, a beam so thin it looked like a thread, yet brighter than the sun. It broke the sound barrier, tearing through space itself.

Where the light passed...

Puh. Puh. Puh. Puh.

The five elite jōnin and the chakra-reinforced wall were sliced cleanly in half, silently and effortlessly. The cut was mirror-smooth, reflecting their frozen, terrified faces.

The sword energy didn't stop.

It pierced through the sealing core altar, tearing apart the runes and the sealing shinobi maintaining it.

A ripping sound cracked through the air.

The oppressive, suffocating force vanished instantly. Space felt free again. Ryo dropped to one knee, his face pale, lips cracked, spitting blood.

He was at his limit. The toxin spread uncontrollably through his body.

"The seal... it's broken?!" "Yamada and the others!!" panicked screams echoed.

"He's not going to last! Kill him!" the adjutant shouted, voice shrill. Iwa shinobi surged toward Ryo's kneeling form.

"Ryo!!" Tsunade screamed, about to run forward, but Orochimaru grabbed her arm.

Ryo's vision blurred.

"Is it over?"

Just as a kunai was about to pierce his back...

A familiar coordinate of the Flying Thunder God Technique flared to life in his senses. It was the kunai he had secretly placed deep inside the cave earlier.

Ryo's head snapped up. The corner of his bloodied lips curled into a cold, arrogant smile.

You want to kill me? Dream on.

"Flying Thunder God!" he roared, his hoarse voice echoing across the battlefield.

Ryo vanished.

The next moment, he appeared beside the unconscious Jiraiya. His arms shot out, grabbing Jiraiya's collar and reaching for Tsunade.

"You?!" Orochimaru's pupils shrank, startled.

"And you," Ryo said coldly, his other hand lunging toward him.

Before anyone could react...

Inside the cave, four figures—Ryo, the dying Jiraiya, the stunned Tsunade, and the shocked Orochimaru—vanished completely.

All that remained on the wall was a kunai engraved with the Flying Thunder God seal, trembling faintly.

Silence. Outside, hundreds of Iwa shinobi struck at empty air.

The adjutant's face twisted between horror and disbelief.

The entire Iwa force stared at the blood-soaked ground and the vanished cave.

The sealing was destroyed.

The man was gone.

That red-haired monster had escaped using space-time ninjutsu, right under their noses, taking everything they fought to protect.

Rumble. The endless rain poured down, washing over corpses, shattered earth, and the despair etched into every Iwa shinobi's face.

They had lost half their elite force in exchange for a ruined battlefield and an unbearable humiliation.

What now? Which way to pursue?

Could they even catch him?

The rain drowned out their rage.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 90: Tsunade’s Generous Hug

Boom!

The roar of torn space still buzzed in his skull. The knife-cold wind and thick stench of blood were instantly replaced by the heat and urgency of the Konoha camp, and the sting of disinfectant.

Ryo was drenched in blood. The mud beneath his feet swirled dark red. Drowned by pain and venom alike, his consciousness finally went dark. The image of collapsing earth walls and the terror of Iwa shinobi flashed once before his body went limp, pitching forward.

"Ryo!!"

Tsunade's scream cracked out on pure instinct. She threw her arms wide and, a split second before he hit the mud, caught him hard against her chest. The young body in her arms was ice-cold, his breath so faint it made her heart seize.

To hell with composure. The bloodied, mud-smeared face of Ryo sank deep into Tsunade's generous chest, the only warmth in a frozen world of death.

Tsunade put her entire strength into holding the man in her arms, clutching him like a treasure about to shatter. His frozen brow pressed into the hollow of her neck. She couldn't tell if what soaked her skin was rain, blood, or her own tears.

At the same time, her other hand shot out, hooking with surgical precision into the collar of the man collapsed beside them, Jiraiya. His chest was crushed in, his face pale, already unconscious. Her knuckles turned white.

"Orochimaru!!" Tsunade's roar came out raw, her voice twisted by terror and strain. Her golden eyes burned with reckless determination. "Help me, now!"

From the shadows, Orochimaru glided forward without a sound, like a stream of quicksilver. His serpentine gaze flicked toward the ancient sword at Ryo's waist, soaked in blood yet still radiating ferocity. His eyes narrowed before returning to their usual icy calm.

When he saw Tsunade clutch Ryo to her chest as if she wanted to merge him into her bones, the corner of his pale mouth twitched upward, a faint, almost mocking curve. Something flickered in his golden pupils. Something about this master-disciple dynamic seemed a little unusual.

That idiot Jiraiya probably thought the same. The thought passed through his mind, unspoken. Orochimaru wasted no words. His pale hand moved with precision, pressing down on Jiraiya's shoulder. His movements were calm, efficient, and deliberate.

"Ha!"

Two figures burst into motion at once.

Tsunade held the unconscious Ryo. Orochimaru dragged the dying Jiraiya. They became streaks of crimson, tore through the heavy tent flaps, and, wreathed in the breath of death, charged into the chaos of the main medical camp.

"Out of the way! Highest priority!"

Tsunade's thunderous shout swept through the tent like a physical wave, crushing every sound beneath it. Even the air felt as if it had frozen.

"Clear space! Disinfect! Cardiac stimulants! Chakra restoratives! Move!"

She didn't need to explain the steps. The moment her sharp eyes, eyes that saw through life and death, landed on Jiraiya's wounds, the battlefield turned into an operating room.

She set Ryo down roughly on the stretcher next to her and immediately turned to Jiraiya.

Rip!

Her blood-splattered hands became weapons against death itself. Ten times stronger than before, emerald medical chakra burst from her palms. With unrestrained fury, she pressed it to the fatal wound in Jiraiya's chest. Flesh sizzled. The power of life flared to life.

Her sharp eyes flicked toward Ryo. She barked at a trembling genin, "Check his vitals! Antitoxin, now! Keep him stable! Any change, report immediately!" The ferocity in her tone barely concealed the fear beneath it.

The tent became a battlefield in an instant. Under Tsunade's absolute command, every medic worked with desperate precision.

Outside, in the muddy clearing, the last tremor of warped space had not yet faded.

Danzō stood unmoving in the rain, a stone pillar wrapped in a dark cloak. His hawk-like eyes fixed on the emerald glow spilling from the tent, the light of Tsunade's full power.

Moments later, he moved.

One step forward, and the mud sank beneath his weight. He pushed through the flaps, a shadow entering a place thick with blood and rebirth.

Without glancing at the medics rushing about, he walked straight toward a silver-gray figure leaning against a post, arms folded and eyes cold, Orochimaru.

"Status."

Orochimaru turned slowly, golden eyes meeting Danzō's gaze. The air between them seemed to freeze.

"Tsunade and the so-called dead-last," his chin tilted toward the operating table, "are dying. Kamiyama Ryo…" His gaze shifted to the stretcher, where the boy's breathing was shallow and faint. "Grievously wounded, comatose."

A pause. His voice cut sharp and clean. "Left shoulder, through-and-through. Thigh torn open. Overdose of field meds. A numbing neurotoxin from Iwa is spreading. Without immediate treatment, the damage will set deep."

Danzō's gaze fell on Ryo like a vulture sizing up dying prey. Once he confirmed the state of both bodies, something flickered behind his eye, part analysis, part calculation, and something colder still.

"How did they get back?" he asked at last, his tone dark and heavy.

The corner of Orochimaru's mouth curved faintly, a near-mockery.

"Space-time ninjutsu," he said. His golden eyes cut toward the unconscious boy, as if weighing him on a scale. "He broke through Iwa's spatial interference." His pupils narrowed. "No doubt. The Flying Thunder God Technique."

"Space…?" Danzō's breath caught. His single eye trembled with shock, disbelief, and fury before he forced it all down.

The Flying Thunder God.

An S-rank forbidden art from the Scroll of Seals. A legend, untouched for decades.

Hiruzen actually allowed that monster to learn it. And the boy had succeeded, in the middle of death itself, at his age.

A colder rage than the Iwa ambush seized Danzō's chest like iron claws.

At Konoha's command post, reinforcement units were mustering. The slaughter on Ridge B-7 had everyone on edge. Headquarters was already boiling over. Yet,

"Stand down."

Danzō's voice cut through the chaos.

"Recall the reinforcements. Hold position." The order fell heavy and final.

Several staffers froze, stunned.

Danzō's gaze stayed fixed on Orochimaru. "Transmit immediately. Cancel reinforcements. Hold position," he repeated, his tone sharp and fraying. "They're already back."

"But, Danzō-sama! Jiraiya-sama and Tsunade-sama," a staffer began, panicked.

"I said recall! Execute now!" Danzō's voice was like an ice pick driven through the man's spine. The ninja shuddered and ran to obey.

Silence fell again, broken only by the hum of chakra and Tsunade's ragged breathing.

Danzō's chest rose and fell as he fought to suppress his anger. His dark gaze shifted back to Orochimaru. "A complete report. To me. To Hiruzen." His tone made it clear it was an order, not a request.

"…As you wish." Orochimaru straightened, a cold glint flickering in his eyes before fading. He knew this report would shake Konoha's very foundations. His gaze lingered on the unconscious Ryo and then returned to Danzō, his unease deepening.

Without another word, he slipped out through the tent flaps and into the pounding rain.

Danzō stood alone, the scent of blood and antiseptic thick around him.

His eyes returned to the stretcher, to the boy lying there pale and unmoving.

Severe wounds, coma, dying. Such a fragile state. One small accident, one slight delay in treatment would be enough.

A cold light flickered in his eyes. He drew a slow breath, heavy and deliberate, then turned away.

"Keep this place under watch," he said to a Root ninja hidden in the shadows. "Any anomaly, report immediately." With that, he vanished into the deeper dark of the command tent.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 17: Chapter 91-95

Chapter 91: Ryo Is Rewarded

Land of Earth, Iwagakure, Tsuchikage's office.

The air was as solid as a boulder.

"Trash! All of you are trash!!!" Ōnoki's roar, rage and heartache compressed to the limit, boomed like buried thunder, making the windowpanes buzz.

His small body floated in midair. The old face, furrowed like craggy rock, flushed a dark purple from pain and humiliation. The chin strap of the Tsuchikage hat dug into his jaw, leaving him short of breath, half from fury, half from poverty.

In his fist, he crushed a rain-soaked urgent scroll just delivered from Ame, his knuckles blanching gray-white from the pressure.

It was not that he did not want to smash something to vent. He looked at the bare floor, with only a few old planks still half clean, then at the few intact clay teacups on the shelf.

The Land of Earth was broke enough to ring hollow. Ōnoki had served as Tsuchikage for decades. Pinching every coin was the only way to keep the village's veneer of dignity. How could he bear to break anything valuable? Break it and you have to buy a new one. With what? The money saved could buy how many explosive tags?

"Thirteen hundred elites!" Ōnoki's voice shook with pure heartache. "Two battalions! Three top-tier sealing teams! Sent to crush three half-dead Konoha remnants trapped in Ame!"

The more he spoke, the angrier he got, spittle flying. "And the result? Beaten by a single red-haired brat barely into his teens, alone!" He slashed the scroll through the air like a spear. "He tore open my line? He butchered that idiot Akagan? He even wrecked the core sealing barrier? And in the end, he took them and ran?"

He did not throw a cup, but his free hand clawed at empty air, as if he could seize the invisible loss and shove it back where it came from.

"He ran!" he howled again, voice going hoarse, like a poor householder staring down a bill from hell. "You pack of useless pastries! Do you have any idea how many years it took to train thirteen hundred elites? How much grain they ate?" He choked, despairing. "Now they are dead, and my Land of Earth's treasury mice are starving!"

The jōnin couriers wanted to sink through the floorboards. Running a poor village was hard. They shared their Tsuchikage's pain, and feared being burned to ash by his wrath.

Ōnoki panted, his small frame trembling. He glared at the characters on the scroll. Each word stabbed his emaciated wallet. The cold descriptions exploded in his mind:

Battle-hardened elite jōnin decapitated before they could even scream. Every thread led back to the bolded name, Ryo, Kamiyama Ryo, the red-haired monster who appeared from nowhere and single-handedly shredded his encirclement plan.

"Monster." Ōnoki squeezed the word through his teeth, the weight of loss and the prospect of medical and pension expenses grinding his heart to paste.

"Konoha… really are blessed… Thirteen-year-old monster, one man against a thousand, and he could still ferry people out with the Flying Thunder God." He let out a few dry wheezes, like a broken bellows, a grim, self-mocking sound. "Flying Thunder God… damned expensive… space-time ninjutsu you can only run on money."

He sagged back into the old wooden chair that symbolized the Will of Stone. Anger ebbed, replaced by the tidal weight of economic loss and debts to come.

Konoha was a factory for prodigies. And Iwa? The next generation, any reliable sprouts? The jinchūriki? Still in cultivation, with terrifyingly low success rates. No money meant everything was hard. A cold, heavy anxiety cinched his chest.

"Listen up." Ōnoki's tone recovered a Tsuchikage's chill, more frugal steel than fury. "Notify all frontline units. From now on…" He paused, as if the order to come scalded his tongue. "Upon encountering that red-haired devil, Kamiyama Ryo, within mission parameters…" He ground his molars, each word clinking like coins on stone. "Authorize strategic retreat. Avoid meaningless casualties. Preserve combat power. Do not record mission failure." Finished, he slumped like a bellows gone flat.

"Strat… egic retreat?" one jōnin blurted before he could stop himself. How was that different from allowing them to run? When had proud Iwagakure stooped so low?

"Yes, run!" Ōnoki slapped the desk. Dust sifted down. "But this is not over!" His eye flared with venom. "If I cannot outspend him on shinobi, I will outspend him on bounties. Let every gutter rat in the underworld grind him down."

He raised one desiccated finger. His voice hammered the number that would set the shadow world boiling. "Issue a top-level wanted order to all exchange houses. Target, Konoha genin, Kamiyama Ryo, alias Red-Haired Devil. Bounty—"

The office seemed to be sucked dry of air.

"One hundred million ryō, dead or alive!" Ōnoki shouted the figure, his heart bleeding. "One hundred million. Make sure every hungry wolf in the shinobi world knows his name, and his price!"

A poor man gone ruthless, weaponizing the underworld's greed to drown the red-haired beast that had cost Iwa a fortune. Save every coin you can, claw back every coin you can.

"O… one hundred million?" The jōnin finally lost composure. Their minds blanked. That sum would drive the entire underworld mad.

Ōnoki waved a pained hand, shooing them like flies. "Yes, a hundred million. Move. Do not waste time. The faster it spreads, the better." Inwardly, he was already calculating. Move fast, maybe he could shave the intermediaries' fees.

 

---

Land of Fire border, Konoha forward camp, Command Pavilion.

Smoke hung thick. The air was heavy as water.

Hiruzen held a report whose ink was barely dry. He had forgotten to draw on his pipe. The ember pulsed and dimmed. Beneath his usually gentle, farmer-like face ran lines of bleakness and unwilling awe.

The report came from Orochimaru, concise to the bone, each word like a blood-stained blade.

[Ryo broke a thousand with one rider.
Frontally crushed an Iwa elite regiment, approximately 1,000, including 13 elite jōnin.
Killed the commander Akaiwa.
Shattered composite defensive ninjutsu and the core barrier, suspected S-rank area slash.
While mortally wounded, left shoulder through-and-through, thigh laceration to near bone, massive blood loss, compounded with Iwa neurotoxin, forcibly triggered an incompletely mastered Flying Thunder God Technique and precisely extracted three critically wounded comrades, Tsunade, Orochimaru, Jiraiya.]

Every word strained the ceiling of Hiruzen's definition of genius.

"Thir… teen…" He finally took a deep pull. The bite in his lungs could not quell the cold creeping over his heart. This was not genius. This was demonic. A monster howling amid battlefield ruins.

This report alone could rip the thin veneer of balance among the Five Great Nations and pin Konoha at the center.

He closed his eyes. A memory from months ago rose, clear as glass, the red-haired boy calmly transcribing the Flying Thunder God scroll before him. His mood then? Satisfied with the exchange price. Pleased that Tsunade had taken a promising pupil. A lofty, cautionary regret at a boy overreaching for a forbidden art, warning him the Flying Thunder God was deadly to practice, that he should consider…

Now, that warning, in the face of this blood-inked dispatch, seemed ridiculous, pathetically feeble. The kid hid too deep. Deep enough to chill the bone.

"This boy…"

Such power, at thirteen. If he grows. If he goes out of control. If he harbors resentment… would he become the next Uchiha Madara? The next catastrophe threatening Konoha and the shinobi world's balance?

His eyes snapped open, hawk-sharp. He crushed the dark thought under iron will.

No. He must not think that way. He is Tsunade's disciple. And who is Tsunade? His own direct disciple, Konoha's princess.

Which means, he is my disciple's disciple. Ties of lineage. Chains of tutelage.

He risked his life to save Konoha's three main pillars, Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade.

This power, in the end, is Konoha's power. He must stabilize it, soothe it, bind it close.

His gaze slid to the last line, mortally wounded, still comatose. A subtle, tangled note flickered in his heart. Was it pain, or a guilty breath of relief? He could not tell. Perhaps both. These wounds, this coma, briefly tamped down the primal fear his political instincts felt toward such monstrous power, and bought him time.

"No more hesitation." Hiruzen's eyes hardened. The Hokage's decisive chill snapped into place. With power like this, how could he remain a mere genin? A glorious victory would be tainted by the insult of a hero with too low a rank.

He slapped the desk. Ash leapt. His words cut fast as drawn steel. "My order. Urgent dispatch. Immediately to the Ame front."

An ANBU appeared, dropping to one knee.

"Konoha genin, Kamiyama Ryo." Hiruzen's voice was iron, beyond dispute. "While executing a top-secret mission on the Ame front, he encountered a large-scale, premeditated Iwa ambush. Our core strength was encircled. At that critical instant, Ryo took charge, slew the enemy commander, shattered their line, and broke a thousand with one blade. With peerless valor and resolve, he rescued Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, the village's top assets. His merit is unparalleled and shines upon Konoha, worthy of a star that expands our borders."

He drew a breath, already seeing shocked elders, but his tone did not waver. "On the basis of his unmatched strength and the indelible, tide-turning service rendered to the village, all procedures are waived. All precedent is set aside. The chūnin exams are dispensed with. Effective immediately, Ryo is promoted to Konoha chūnin. The order takes effect at once. Publish to all of Konoha and announce to our allies."

Chūnin was only the first step, the bare minimum to preserve the faces of Konoha and the Hokage. A thirteen-year-old monster genin was a joke. Next, and quickly, he would need undeniable battlefield justifications to push this boy to jōnin, rightfully and publicly. That was the key.

The inked command became a black streak in the sky, borne by a hawk toward the smoke-wreathed front.

Silence returned. Only the tiny crackle of burning tobacco remained.

Hiruzen lifted the report again, still warm with blood. His muddied eyes fell once more on the name that punched through paper, Ryo.

Power is a double-edged sword. When its shine grows too blinding, can the hand that grips it still be at peace? Hiruzen's fingers tightened, just a hair, on the pipe.

 

---

Konoha forward camp, battlefield medical zone, private ward.

The thick scent of medicine braided with blood. The white tent walled off the outside clamor, leaving only the hush after survival.

On the simple cot lay a figure wrapped in layer upon layer of bandages. A thin spear of sunlight slipped through the canvas seams to fall on his striking red hair, lending him a hint of life. His face was as pale as fresh snow. His lips were cracked. Only the faintest rise and fall proved life still clung to him.

Kamiyama Ryo. The Red-Haired Devil. Konoha's newly minted chūnin.

He had been unconscious for three full days.

At his bedside, a figure in a purple shinobi uniform, stained with a little blood and dust, kept silent watch.

Uchiha Mikoto.

Right now, all her focus was on that young face, too quickly covered in scars.

Three days.

Mikoto's black eyes were veined with red. Her cheeks had grown a touch hollow, marked by worry and sleepless fatigue. In her slender, steady hands, a warm cloth, nearly cooled to dryness, moved with care, avoiding the terrifying punctures and jagged rents, gently wiping the clammy sweat from Ryo's brow.

Every accidental brush of her fingertip brought a tiny tremor. She dampened the cloth again and moistened his cracked lips. Her motions were feather-soft, as if she feared to disturb his sleep, or to worsen wounds that even Tsunade-sama had needed her full strength to stabilize.

Across the camp, the legend of the Red-Haired Devil already boiled over, and his chūnin promotion stirred waves among the high ranks. But for Mikoto, keeping vigil here, those identities and honors meant nothing.

The cloth paused at his neck. There, a shallow line, grazed by a rock blade, faintly showed beneath the bandage. Mikoto's fingertips flinched, then did not touch it. She only smoothed the last bit of moisture with the hem of her sleeve.

Her gaze rested on his sleeping face, worry, guilt, an unspoken ache, and the tiniest, secret thread of joy. For this moment, Ryo belonged to her, however briefly, and not to her best friend Kushina alone.

The wire in her heart eased a fraction in the quiet, medicinal air.

In the ward, only two breaths whispered.

Motes of dust drifted through the bar of light.

Suddenly, Ryo's lashes quivered. His pale lips stirred.

Mikoto held her breath and leaned in.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 92: Best Friend Takes the Lead

Ryo's lashes jolted, and his cracked eyelids dragged open. Harsh light sliced his muddied vision into wavering motes.

Every breath tugged at pain like torn flesh. His bones felt filled with cold, sour lead. The thick smell of medicine and blood clung in the back of his nose, a stubborn reminder of the battle that had nearly ground him to dust.

His sight struggled to focus. The first thing he saw was a calm swath of deep violet cloth, faintly damp. Above it, a slightly pale profile, exhaustion barely hidden beneath carefully kept softness. Her black hair was a little damp with sweat, clinging to her clean cheek.

Uchiha Mikoto.

Back to him, she was half-kneeling by a small brazier, carefully wiping the rim of a clay medicine jar with a damp cloth, gentle, almost devout. Warm, yellow firelight cast a small, tremulous shadow beneath her lowered lashes, softening the hard edge of the tang of drugs in the air.

Sensing the gaze behind her, Mikoto's hand paused.

She turned slowly. In the obsidian of her eyes, worry had not yet faded. Surprise flashed, and was swiftly pressed down beneath the composure of a clan's daughter.
"Ryo-kun? You are awake." Her voice was deliberately softened, pleasantly husky, as if she had kept vigil a long time. "How do you feel? Do the wounds still hurt badly?"

"…" Ryo tried to speak. Fire raked his throat. Only a hoarse breath escaped. He twitched his neck. Pain shot through the numb, heavy hole in his left shoulder. His brows knit on instinct.

"Do not move." Mikoto set the jar down at once and stepped to the bedside. As she leaned in, a clean wintergreen scent mixed with salve came close. A cool fingertip gently pressed down his wrist when he tried to lift it. "Tsunade-sama said your injuries are severe, you must rest. Especially your left shoulder, it almost…" She did not finish. Her long lashes trembled, just the right hint of aftershock.

"W… water…" Ryo rasped at last.

"Okay." Mikoto rose smoothly, with no wasted motion. She picked up a rough clay cup from the low stand, tested the temperature, then topped it from a sealed waterskin, stirred, and brought it to his lips. Her other hand slid under his nape with gentle, unarguable strength, lifting him a little. "Slowly. Do not choke."

Warm water slid down his throat like rain into cracked earth. After a few swallows, the near-dry exhaustion inside him eased a fraction.

"How long was I out?" Still hoarse, but at least coherent.

"Over three days." Mikoto set the cup down and carefully brushed away a tiny bead of water at the corner of his mouth, quick as a blink, her fingertip's touch so brief it felt imagined. "Everyone is worried. Especially Kushina. There were several messages from her side. I did not tell her exactly how serious it was. I was afraid she would rush here."

"What is the situation outside?" Ryo's gaze drifted past her shoulder, as if to pierce the white canvas to the battlefield he had just carved his way through.

Mikoto paused, then took a warmed cloth from the brazier's edge. She wiped his brow and the line of his neck, lifting the clammy sweat with a practiced, feather-light touch.

"The front is the same, entangled fights, attrition. Not much change. We are still holding the main points." Her voice was even, like stating a mundane fact, sanding down the brutality of war. "The reinforcement to Ridge B-7 was canceled. Iwa took heavy losses that day, I think. Their attacks have eased a bit these past two days."

"Jiraiya?" Ryo remembered the extra cargo he had dragged back, the man with the caved-in chest.

Mikoto's hands did not stop, working around the unbandaged skin of his arm, avoiding the intersecting abrasions and the borders of the dressings.

"Jiraiya-sama pulled through. Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru-sama watched him all night. Several broken bones, organs badly hurt, but he will live. He is recovering now." She paused, a true note of relief woven into her tone. "Ryo-kun, thanks to you."

Ryo listened in silence, eyes unreadable. Jiraiya surviving, good. His only target had been Tsunade. Saving Jiraiya and Orochimaru had been a natural side effect. With the objective secured, and no large-scale battle imminent, the wire inside him loosened the faintest bit.

"In addition…" Mikoto set down the cloth, lifted a bowl of thick, dark brown medicine she had been warming, and stirred it gently to let the steam thin, speaking as if offhand. "Hokage-sama signed an emergency promotion."

Ryo looked up. A question flickered in the black of his eyes.

"Congratulations, Ryo-kun," Mikoto said with a poised, gentle smile, eyes subtly watchful. "You are a Konoha chūnin now." She dipped a spoon, blew on it softly, and raised it to his lips. "Decided while you were unconscious."

"Mm." Ryo's noncommittal sound carried no ripple. Titles did not move him. Power was the only measure. That gray forehead protector, he had long since outgrown it. His gaze fell back to the dense liquid in the bowl.

"No need to feed me." He tried to lift his right hand for the bowl. The simple motion triggered a wave of intolerable sour-numb pain in his left shoulder, like steel needles driven into bone seams. The muscles of his right arm slumped with an uncontrollable heaviness. His wrist managed a few inches off the cot, trembled hard, and dropped. Fine cold sweat sprang on his brow.

His body had never felt so strange, so heavy. Those battlefield outbursts that wrung out every reserve, the life-burning flying slashes and Flying Thunder God, the wounds forced shut, now the backlash came like a landslide and a tidal wave.

Mikoto missed none of it, every flicker of expression, each bodily response. In her heart, a hidden hope grew another ring.

Watching the man she admired, a thread of fierce possessiveness rose, silent and wild. She crushed the untimely thrill. The worse the injuries, the longer this beast would be chained to the bed.

The longer he stayed, the more likely her invisible threads could set a mark deep in the soul beneath that iron shell, Uchiha Mikoto's mark.

As for her best friend Kushina, safe in Konoha, far away. Guilt had already thinned beneath day-after-day closeness and the quiet swell of possessive desire.

"See?" Her voice gentled further, an almost indulgent scold, soothing a stubborn child. "I said do not move. If your wound splits, I cannot answer to Tsunade-sama." She held the bowl steady, gaze kind but firm. "Let me. Kushina asked me to take care of you. She is most worried about your health."

"Kushina," raised so naturally, like a well-timed flag, wrapped all her nearness in perfect justification. It made every act, every touch, feel like it carried the warmth of their faraway red-haired friend.

A spoon of hot, bitter medicine crossed his lips. Strong earthiness and domineering bitterness detonated on his tongue. His throat bobbed hard. He swallowed.

Watching his tight brows and rigid endurance, something like a micro-smile flickered at the bottom of Mikoto's eyes, like a hunter savoring a trapped beast's struggle.

She stirred patiently, voice soft and distracting. "Nawaki-senpai came by twice. Clumsy as ever, knocked over the basin and nearly soaked you again. I sent him to quartermaster duty to sort supplies. At a time like this, someone careful is better company, do you not think so, Ryo-kun?" Her tone was easy, with a girlish, teasing judgment, quietly casting herself as the most suitable caretaker.

Ryo did not answer, he just shut his eyes against the indescribable bitterness.

Mikoto's lip curve deepened by a hair. She set the bowl down, crossed to a small deep-violet wicker chest she had brought, and opened it.

Bending at the waist, back to him, knees together, the curve from slim knee to small ankle traced a gentle line beneath her skirt. When she turned back, there was a tiny plate in her hand, oiled paper wrapped around a few dark preserved fruits, a rare luxury with supply lines tight.

"Open up." No spoon. Two slender, pale fingers lifted a piece and brought it directly to his lips, subtly intimate, quietly irresistible. Her fingertips brushed the cracked edge of his lower lip, hardly there at all.

A strange sensation sparked. Ryo's body tightened, barely. This closeness, this way, was past the usual line.

Only the occasional crackle from the brazier, and the sudden awkwardness of two breathing rhythms, filled the tent.

He hesitated, gaze dark on the fingers and the sweet. The bitter aftertaste in his mouth clung like a parasite. In the end, survival, and flight from the taste-hell, won. He parted his lips and took the morsel.

As her fingers withdrew, they grazed his lip again, lightly.

"Sweet?" Mikoto asked, the exact right note of gentle expectation. Her eyes flicked to his moving lips, deepened a shade, then shifted away, natural as breath, as if that moment never happened.

Ryo hummed vaguely and swallowed.

Time ran thick in the little square of canvas and wood. Ryo's face stayed expressionless, words few.

Mostly, he closed his eyes and tried to coax his near-dry chakra to crawl, mending shredded muscle and nerve, fighting the lingering numbness of poison.

Mikoto's presence grew.

Like a silent shadow, she always occupied the exact spot within his sightline. When he felt dry, water of just the right warmth met his lips. Before sweat could mat his hair, a warm cloth wiped it away. When pain broke his focus mid-heal, a folded strip of clean cloth appeared for him to bite.

Each approach, each brief brush of skin or cloth, each exchange that let fingers touch for a heartbeat, became a drill Mikoto practiced and refined.

She fused a noble girl's reserve with an almost selfless "I was entrusted" stance, making everything she did seem proper, unassailable.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 93: Big Mistake?

The tent reeked of herbs and blood, a mix sharp enough to make one's skull ache.

Ryo reclined against the pillow, eyes shut, his breathing deep and steady. The last dregs of chakra inside him surged again like a maddened bull, humming through his bones.

The gore-rimmed hole in his left shoulder, almost his undoing, had begun to sprout new flesh under Tsunade's unforgiving Mystical Palm Technique and his own monstrous recovery. The skin looked pink and tender. The bone had set. The numb ache rose, like countless ants gnawing at his bones.

But that itch was good, life.

Strength, strand by strand, seeped back into the body that had nearly come apart. He tested the fingertips of his left hand.

Good. The shackle of injury was loosening. Outside, the battlefield's iron tang mingled with shouts of slaughter and burrowed into the tent, teasing his dormant killing intent until it stirred, itching to break free from the coffin of death.

Shra.

The flap snapped up. A gust of cold wind rode the camp's metallic reek inside. Tsunade strode in, hem of her field medic robe spattered with mud. Her domineering presence rushed in and blasted the sticky stench of medicine out of the tent.

"Kid, tough life you have, huh?" Her voice was loud, that impatient kind of concern. She flatly ignored Mikoto, who hastily stepped aside, and flashed to the bedside. Quick as lightning, she yanked open the ragged bandage on Ryo's left shoulder. Emerald medical chakra flared in her palm like a tiny sun and, with no ceremony, pressed into that torn wound, hot enough to make the air tremble.

"Hmph." Ryo did not bother lifting his lids, answering through his nose. When his eyes did open, a cold light had already pooled within, sharp as a freshly honed boning knife. Fresh from the battlefield, his feral edge never slept, not even with a single breath left.

Tsunade's rough fingertips skimmed with surgical precision along the edge of that fresh, pink, hideous scar. The feel beneath her fingers made her heart jolt, skin stretched over coiled, dangerous power.

Her brows knit tight.

What made her heart leap was not only his freakish self-healing.

It was also that, beneath flesh and blood, something stirred that made her instinctively, deeply uneasy, and strangely moved.

Just now, in those zero-point-something seconds when her fingers brushed the searing edge of his wound, the feeling struck again. Like a jolt arcing through her heart, making some corner she had buried on purpose seize tight.

"Damn, that again…" Tsunade's mind flashed uncontrollably to days earlier, hauling a scar-latticed Ryo into her arms, his weight pressed against—

Back then she had focused only on his injuries and had not thought further.

But when last night's cold crept into the lull between fire and blood, her tired body had suddenly remembered the pressure against her chest, the heat, the feel of his rapid breath against her skin.

She snapped her head to the side, golden hair slashing a violent arc, as if to whip the intrusive fluster and panic out of her skull, then forced all attention back onto treatment.

"Bone's set, chewed up like a dog had it." Her voice was rough and husky. Smack. She slapped a slab of sticky, stinging dark green salve onto the wound, hard, almost too hard.

"Tendons and meridians, though, solid. A hundred times sturdier than that useless Jiraiya. Lie still for a few days. If you dare hack your bones to pieces with that move again, I will drag you out and bury you." She cursed as she worked, but her bandaging hands moved so fast they stirred wind. In no time it was tidy.

Done, she turned to leave and stopped at the flap.

Her eyes cut like knives, first over Mikoto, standing there like a wooden post, then back to Ryo, eyes closed and regulating his breath, but already fierce again.

That look was too complicated to read, assessing, irritable, and laced with something she could not even name herself.
"Hmph. Mikoto, not bad." She tossed the words out abruptly, like dropping a tool as she walked by.

Before the words had settled, the heavy flap went whack as she yanked it open and strode out into the cold wind, steps that recognized no kin, almost like she was fleeing something.

The half-meaning remark, and that iron-scented wind, tore open Pandora's box.

Mikoto lowered her head. In the shadows, her eyes flared with a sudden, startling light.

Tsunade's tacit approval, that was what it was to her, worked better than ten thousand words. The last bar on the beast's cage, at its weakest, had just swung open.

Silence settled again. Only Ryo's steady, powerful breathing remained.

Mikoto's heart pounded louder than a charge horn. She lifted a rough clay cup steaming warm. The air pulled taut, the silence she had engineered stuffing it to bursting.

Cup in hand, steps still light, as if she walked out of a painting, she glided to the bed, a face of impeccably tuned concern.

"Ryo-kun, have a little water, moisten your throat." Soft, gentle, the tail of her words floated, extra clear in the cramped hush.

Her left toe just happened to snag an unseen fold in the ground cloth. Her body lost balance in an instant. Mikoto let out a short, convincing cry. "Ah!"

The world spun. She pitched hard toward Ryo's side, out of control. The cup in her hand, half full of near-boiling water, flipped at a perfect angle, flying with her momentum straight toward the deadliest zone below Ryo's waist.

A hair's breadth.

Ryo's eyes flashed open.

At the same time, his left hand, the arm that had only just regained a faint sense of movement, lashed outward on instinct.

Not a cup shattering, but a heavy thump of impact. Mikoto's upper body, along with her panic-tilted face, slammed squarely, solidly into Ryo's chest, which had thrust up to meet her.

The scalding water he had anticipated did not hit him. His lightning elbow parry barely knocked it aside. Most of it splashed onto the cold dirt and tattered sheet with a hiss. But the more dangerous contact arrived.

Time stalled.

A bundle of soft warmth, honeysuckle-cool and sweet with a girl's scent, pressed flush to Ryo's iron chest.

Worse, zero distance between their faces.

Cold, an unfamiliar, faintly medicinal bitterness and a hint of candied sweetness, soft and cool, crashed onto his cracked lips, hard enough to bump his teeth.

Breath tangled. Everything jammed.

Ryo's pupils pinholed. His nose filled with the girl's scent. The soft, cold press on his lips was as numbing as the most potent toxin, freezing every action and thought. For the first time, utterly stumped.

A battlefield demon who butchered gods without blinking now tasted something called being at a loss. Every muscle locked to stone. His left arm still hung there in that dumb blocking pose.

Mikoto froze as well.

She could feel the heat of his chest through thin cloth, and the heartbeat that seized for an instant. Her lips were tight against the heat-dry shape of his.

In the plan it was a light touch. It became a crash.

The effect overshot the mark. Her mind went white with a buzz. Shame, panic, and the shiver of a plan succeeding melted into a stew. Her heart nearly leapt out of her throat.

But the Uchiha clan's time-tempered bridal drills kicked in. In less than a second of blankness, the actress's instinct rolled over every raw feeling.

Performance, full on. The black eyes inches away, parted in shock, instantly pooled with shine, fluttering long lashes like a scared fawn.

Shyness, grievance, and natural fluster, woven without a seam.

Like she had suffered a terrible fright and slight, she jerked her face up and sprang from his arms.

She staggered back two steps. Her cheeks flamed, red from the pale ear tips down the fine curve of her neck. She scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand on reflex, then snatched it back as if shocked.

Those lovely eyes darted in panic, landing on Ryo's lips, still a little damp, then skittering away as if burned, head bowed deep. Her shoulders trembled just a hair. A tiny mosquito-weak voice, edged with tears, quavered out:

"I, I am sorry, Ryo-kun. I, I did not mean to. I tripped… I am so, so sorry. I… I offended you…"

Air so still it could suffocate. Only the drip, drip from the wet sheet, and two uneven breaths.

Ryo still held that left-arm block, torso rigid.

His throat bobbed painfully. He wanted to curse, but found his voice too dry to make a sound.

At last, he slowly, stiffly, drew that dead-heavy left arm back.

Mikoto still kept her head down. The hand that had covered her lips dropped. Her fingertips trembled. She did not dare look up. She bent to gather the shattered clay, then grabbed a rag to dab the mess, movements clumsy with panic. The red at her ears refused to fade. Her small, helpless back looked pitiable.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 94: Evil Uchiha Vixen!?

A few days slipped by in suffocating silence.

Ryo's recovery was astonishing. Strength returned to his left arm like the spring tide, and he no longer confined himself to the bed. He began moving around, slow and cautious at first, then quickly steady and powerful.

Within the cramped tent he paced and stretched. Each motion drew smooth lines of muscle and carried an irrepressible aura of killing intent.

The numbness from the poison was completely gone. Power surged in him, and he longed for the raw satisfaction of blood and battle.

Mikoto still shadowed him, bringing water, medicine, and those bland rations. But something had changed.

She had grown quiet, no longer forcing conversation. When Ryo exercised, she would stand in the shadowed corner, a rolled medical scroll in hand. Yet whenever his movements tugged at a wound, her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the scroll's edge, then relaxed when he steadied.

When those bright black eyes occasionally met Ryo's, she would dodge like a frightened deer. A faint, suspicious blush flashed across her pale cheeks, slow to fade. There was clear annoyance at herself in her gaze, and a kind of timid avoidance, as if still mortified by that accident, not daring to look him in the eye.

Ryo's face stayed iron-cold. He ignored her.

At last, just then, the air changed.

Tsunade stepped in as Ryo, back to the flap, practiced one-handed forms. Every punch ripped the air with dull, sharp pops. Sweat soaked his vest, clinging to the taut back muscles already more than halfway recovered.

In the corner, Mikoto sat with her legs to the side, head lowered, fingertips unconsciously tracing the open scroll.

Tsunade's hawk-sharp gaze swept them both. Ryo's sweat-slicked power. Mikoto's deliberate, humble, persistent quail pose. She recalled the faint, ambiguous ripple she had walked in on days ago, and the strange sensation beneath her fingertips when she had checked Ryo's shoulder blade. Instantly, a nameless wicked fire, mixed with irritation, flared up her spine.

She was a shinobi, a medical sage, a veteran of battlefield hell. Mikoto's little tricks were child's play to her. The carefully averted eyes, the blush, the cautious stance, every bit of it was embellished bait.

Anger surged in Tsunade's chest.

She wanted to rip the flimsy act to shreds on the spot and throw this heart-disturbing girl out.

By instinct she wanted to protect the brat who had dragged her back from the edge of hell. She would not let him fall into a little fox's snare.

But then her eyes fell on Ryo's back, those deep, bone-showing scars. Scars earned to bring her, Jiraiya, and even that idiot Orochimaru back alive.

The scolding at her lips thinned into a hard, impatient snort from the nose. "Hmph."

Two steps carried her to Ryo. She yanked up his arm to inspect the injury, rougher than last time, almost venting.

"Enough. You are out of here tomorrow." Her hands flew, and her fingertips skated over skin, the familiar resilient texture only irked her more. The motion hitched a fraction. Her eyes grew stormier. "Standing here like a door god? Brat, back to your own quarters. The disinfectant stink in here gives me a headache."

Decree delivered, she spun and strode for the door.

As she passed the Uchiha girl by the flap, head perpetually bowed, still as a statue, Tsunade's eyes cut sideways, razor-sharp.

Not a question, a verdict and a warning. Threaded within, to her own shock, was a flicker of tacit leave, even a strange, reluctant anticipation. A tangle so complex it annoyed her more.

Tsunade had seen through it, raged at it, then chose the simplest solution, out of sight, out of mind. She dumped the mess.

Let the little fox play her game.

That choice itself carried a guilt and evasion Tsunade did not recognize in herself.

Mikoto kept her head down until Tsunade's footsteps faded to nothing.

Her spine still prickled with the memory of that icy, thorned gaze.

Her heart hammered, half from the terror of being seen through, half from the thrill of passing the test.

Tsunade had seen, and had not exposed it. That eerie permission shook and excited her more than any praise.

Ryo rolled the shoulder Tsunade had squeezed painfully. Bone clicked. He worked his left arm, feeling muscle gather and stretch beneath skin.

Tomorrow he would rejoin the unit. On the field, he would be faster. Harsher.

Next time, he would never be as ragged as on Ridge B-7.

He shook off the useless thoughts and set for one last set.

"Ryo-kun," Mikoto said softly, dust settling in her tone, calm and a newfound resolve he had never heard before. "Starting tomorrow, I will not come anymore."

"Tsunade-sensei asked me to look after you for a while. That task is finished." A tiny pull at the corner of her mouth, like she tried to smile and failed. Her voice was level, unreadable. No performance of guilt, no exaggerated shyness, only a resigned statement, as if that kiss had never happened. "From here on, during squad missions, I will be relying on Ryo-kun to look after us."

Ryo said nothing. He only watched her. The haze that had clung to her for days, the fluster and guilt that annoyed him, had vanished. She stood there, inexplicably clear.

Mikoto bowed slightly with clan-perfect etiquette, smooth but lifeless. Without another word, she quietly gathered the small violet wicker chest in the corner, the one that had held precious sweets and her careful preparations.

The lid clicked softly. She lifted the chest and walked toward the flap, steps still light but carrying a weary distance, as if a weight had been put down. Her black braid swayed with her steps, revealing the elegant, fragile line of her neck.

Ryo stood where he was, gaze unconsciously following the back that was about to slip away.

---

The next day.

Ryo Squad assembled.

Only, the air felt off. Nawaki sensed something wrong in every direction. Between Ryo and Mikoto there seemed to be a strange, complicated bond. And he, was he the odd wheel out?

What exactly had happened while Ryo was recovering?

"Ryo-sama. Danzō-sama requests your presence."

Before Nawaki could sort it out, a shinobi arrived, respectful, to summon Ryo.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 95: Grave

Torrential rain hammered Konoha's forward camp, hissing in the mud and flinging brown spray. The air was close and heavy, the reek of iron and powder choking every breath.

Whsssh. The sheet of rain split. Three figures cut straight toward the command core, like three steel blades stabbing through the battlefield's clotted air.

Nawaki followed last with a pack on his back, eyes darting at the resting shinobi. But whenever Ryo passed, it was as if an invisible hand seized their throats. Men went rigid in an instant.

Some ducked their heads and growled, "Ryo-sama." More simply froze, scalps prickling, spines locking straight, not respect, but a marrow-deep fear that crept across the soaked ground like a cold serpent.

Nawaki swallowed hard.

Days ago, the figure who single-handedly slaughtered through a thousand Iwa, clashed head-on with Akagan, and, drenched in blood, dragged Tsunade and the others from a heap of corpses, had become the battlefield's deepest imprint.

Fear, of pure, crushing power. Even if that power wore the face of a refined-looking red-haired boy.

Catching every awed, fearful glance, Nawaki's Adam's apple bobbed. Once he had fantasized about renown, praised by thousands, heart stoked by the Will of Fire.

Cold reality had doused that fantasy long ago.

Know yourself. Live. …All thanks to Ryo. The thought tasted bitter. His nails bit crescent moons into his palms.

Inside the command pavilion, currents went dark.

Whsh. The heavy flap rose and dropped, sealing out the storm.

Lamps guttered. Cheap incense bit the nose. Maps papered the walls. A colder, thicker stale hung in the air, ambition and calculation, like fog that would not lift.

On the dais, Shimura Danzō's hawk eyes fixed on Ryo the moment he entered. When his gaze slid to Nawaki and, especially, to the silent Uchiha girl at Ryo's side, a sharp twitch stabbed the edge of his eye.

That damned Uchiha whelp.

The dark fire in his chest whooshed up. When Ryo lay comatose with mortal wounds, what an opportunity. Poison. A medical mishap. Battlefield complications. The perfect stage. A hero who tragically succumbed to his injuries, who would trace it back to Danzō?

Ruined. She kept vigil day and night. Those eyes, undisguised vigilance and silent threat, kept his men from even approaching the bed. Every probe, lightly, flawlessly deflected.

All for nothing. And he could only watch as this unruly monster recovered, stronger. Danzō ground his teeth to chalk, strangled the urge to roar, and forced a waxen, concerned smile. His voice came thin and muffled, ice wrapped in velvet.

"Ryo-kun, how is the recovery?"

Ryo stepped to the center and did not bother raising an eyelid to that counterfeit face. His reply fell like ice on stone.

"Not dead."

The air froze. The temperature dropped.

Danzō's fake smile calcified.

"Hmph." He swallowed the snarl, coughed, and waved his lone Root appointee out.

He lifted a special scroll sealed in wax and intoned with mock gravity.
"The front is tight. We need the sharpest blade to break the game." His voice dropped to a coaxing rasp that pretended to command life and death. "Look at this. Do it, and it is worth more than killing a hundred elites head-on." He slid the scroll toward Ryo, eyes locked on his to catch the slightest ripple.

Ryo's face was a slab of ice. He reached, long fingers teasing. The wax seal crumbled like wet paper. He scanned the inked lines:

[Location: Ame border, Nohara settlement, population about 600]
[Status: Civilian vassals under Hanzō]
[Objective: Stage a massacre using Suna and Iwa style tools and ninjutsu traces. No survivors.]
[Executor: Kamiyama Ryo and squad]
[Strategic Aim: Frame Suna and Iwa, enrage Hanzō into a fight to the death. Konoha profits.]
[Time limit: 72 hours]

Silence imploded. Even the wick's tiny crackle boomed. Smoke hung frozen. The air was thick enough to choke.

Danzō's heart crept up his throat. Submission, or trouble worse than before.

Ryo never paused. Snap. He folded the scroll in one clean motion.

Clack.

The death sentence for six hundred innocents landed back on Danzō's desk like trash, open contempt, rolled twice, and pinned a blurred border on the map.

Ryo raised his head. Silver eyes bored straight through Danzō's shadowed schemer's gaze. His voice was so flat it chilled Danzō's spine.

"Find someone else."

"Kamiyama Ryo." Danzō exploded, palm slamming the table. Bang. Maps jumped. Gear rattled. "This is a wartime order." His voice went high and thin, authority challenged and aflame. "You are a registered Konoha chūnin. Obeying orders is your duty. I will not tolerate this insolence."

The roar crashed in the enclosed space.

Nawaki went paper-white. Cold sweat soaked his back. His right hand jerked to his tool pouch, knuckles bloodless. Mikoto slid half a step forward without a sound, nearly brushing Ryo's arm in a silent guard. Frost flashed in her lowered eyes. A cool kunai fell into her palm. Her killing intent prickled, spearing Danzō.

Ryo stood under the roar and the avalanche of killing intent, eyes lowered.

Then those eyes cut up, twin blades forged at absolute zero, stabbing into Danzō's pupils.

"My blade," he said, not loud, but each word detonated, iron law embodied, "kills only those who should die."

As the words fell, Ryo shifted, barely, but with a natural inevitability, putting the full height of his frame between Mikoto and Danzō, casting her in his shadow. An iron wall rose, unscalable, between malice and its target.

A pressure like an ancient beast awakening erupted, silent, and heavier than a thousand-fathom cliff. Cold as a polar trench. The tent's air seemed ripped from its lungs.

"Ghh." Danzō faltered. He felt like a leaf in a maelstrom. His back took a phantom hammer-blow. Breath punched out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He lurched backward, unable even to cry out, and slammed into his chair. One hand crushed the armrest, veins bulging. The other clutched his chest. His face flushed purple from the neck, then blanched blank. Sweat beaded and ran like peas across his brow.

His vision vignetted. Pupils pinholed with terror. Pain screamed. Thought fragmented.

Suffocation. Pain. Boundless fear. Death pressed cold and certain to his throat. No probe, no test, a naked warning, the next heartbeat could cleave him in two.

From the corner of her lowered gaze, Mikoto watched his twisted grimace. Her chin lifted the tiniest fraction. A glacial curve flickered at her lip and died.

Ryo's subtle move to shelter her hit like a tidal wave in her chest. The safest place, beneath the strongest wing, paired with the enemy's humiliation, made for perfect, savage joy. Look, only I stand behind him. Possessiveness surged, fully fed. She dropped her lashes, masking every trace.

That flash of triumph did not escape Danzō, whose senses had sharpened to sickness by pain and shame.

This Uchiha, born wicked, little vixen.

The poison of hate scalded what remained of his reason. The ruined poison plot, the accident that never happened, images stuttered past. Her fault. The snake coiled around Ryo, her, had driven him to riskier games.

His eyes vomited venom, fixing on Mikoto, maddened vivisection in the gaze.

Ryo snorted, cold as hellwind. His pressure did not ease. It surged.

Crack.

An invisible edge kissed Danzō's neck. The chill bit marrow-deep.

An ice tub dropped. Every cell shrieked danger. Sweat drenched his underclothes. The spiked warning nailed into his brain. The leaking malice sluiced back behind his eyes and stilled, dead water.

Damn it. The monster would kill him.

"Hh… ah…" Danzō dragged air, chest flopping like a stranded fish. Colorless now, all threat and fury doused, only a strangled humiliation remained. He shooed weakly, as if waving off a fly.

"…Enough." His voice rasped. "With war so near… since Ryo-kun has… other ideas…" He did not speak the word scroll again.

His glance flicked to a plain roll lying at the desk's edge. In a blink a better, cleaner, deadlier idea sketched itself. If you will not die by my hand, go to hell by theirs.

A thin gleam skated through his eye.

He snatched the plain scroll and snapped into command. "Urgent from the front. Iwa is moving. Root intelligence, northern Grass Country buffer, abnormal Iwa infiltration."

He hurled the scroll hard at Ryo. "Critical. Possible second front to threaten our flank. Ryo Squad, by order, move immediately to recon. Determine enemy scale and intent. If you find a hidden strongpoint, you are authorized either to annihilate at discretion or signal the camp at once."

Risk, take it. Die with it.

The scroll hit Ryo's palm, light and rough.

He did not bother to look at Danzō's face. He ripped the tie and skimmed:

[Location: Northern Grass buffer, around Asu Gorge, high risk]
[Objective: Recon Iwa infiltration, size and purpose. If enemy strongpoint confirmed, destroy at discretion or urgently report, risk borne by unit.]
[Executor: Kamiyama Ryo and Squad, war emergency]
[Time limit: 168 hours, seven days]

Ryo's face was still water. A good place. Iwa, time to balance accounts. He stuffed the scroll into his vest without even a nod. For a dog sending him to the slaughter, why waste breath.

He did not spare Danzō's face, twisted with the thrill of a plan regained and respect in ruins. Ryo spun.

Red hair carved a decisive arc.

Whump. The heavy flap snapped up in his wake. The wet roar of the camp poured in.

Ryo stepped out.

Nawaki and Mikoto shadowed him without hesitation.

The flap dropped like a coffin lid, sealing every venomous scheme and snarled shame inside the dark.

Within, only Danzō's bellows and the wick's weak crackle remained. A tiny flame throbbed at the dead center of the black, limning a demon's face in shadow.

Humiliation, beyond any he had known.

Then that venom pivoted, onto another figure.

"And that damned, innately evil Uchiha vixen. She ruined everything. They should both die."

Rage throbbed his temples. His skull threatened to split. Ryo to Grass Country, to Ashu Gorge.

A cold delight sluiced his shame and anger.

What was that place? A meat grinder. Iwa, who had just lost Akaiwa and a thousand elites to him, were sharpening knives. Ōnoki, sleepless and vengeful, would not miss a revenge platter brought to his table.

And—

His mouth stretched in a soundless, twisted grin. One hundred million ryō. Red hair. Silver eyes. Iwa's nemesis. The bounty news must have flown like plague on wings, raking the shinobi world.

Suna's puppeteers. Kiri's assassins. Kumo's bruisers. And the hounds of the underworld, bounty men and ninja syndicates.

One hundred million. Enough to make anyone feral.

Danzō shivered with a strangled pleasure, his rasp like a snake's tongue tasting poison in the dark. Cruel expectation filled the dead tent. "Let Iwa's massed forces, and the scavenging wolves of the shinobi world, give you a proper welcome, little monster. You will learn soon what it means to refuse me, Shimura Danzō."

"Let Grass Country be your grave."

Outside, the downpour did not tire.

Ryo crossed the command cordon in a single step, without slowing.

Cold rain battered his shoulders, but could not quench the icy, pure fire burning in his silver eyes.

Iwa.

Time to settle the bill.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 18: Chapter 96-100

Chapter 96: The Kusagakure Ninja’s Collapse Continues

Border of the Land of Grass.

The dirt road was not exactly rough, but it stretched three long shadows across the ground. The air held the lingering damp of Ame, laced with grass and earth. Compared with that forever-sodden country of relentless rainfall, these green low hills and surprisingly open fields felt almost like paradise.

Nawaki stretched hard, sunlight splashing his face and chasing off the mildew clinging from the rainy front. "Finally, no more sleeping in tents you can wring water out of." He blew out a breath, glancing around. "Land of Grass is not half bad, huh?"

Mikoto did not pick it up. She tucked a windblown strand of black hair behind her ear, scanning the surroundings with calm eyes. At last she looked to the red-haired boy walking point. "Mission first, Nawaki-senpai. Remember our goal, track Iwa's movements." Her voice was clean and crisp. "Ryo-kun, Kusagakure, the key intel point is here, right?"

The corner of Ryo's mouth lifted in that habitual, faintly mocking line. "Of course," he said quietly. "A small nation jammed in the cracks is always a wall that leaks wind from both sides. Come on, let's take a look at Kusagakure."

The instant they stepped through the village gate, all three faltered, as if something had caught their feet.

Two words hit harder than any report could, filthy and sick.

Crooked wooden huts crowded together over mud, looking like the next stiff breeze would fold them. The rot of old timbers mixed with a faint reek of human waste, stabbing the nose. Narrow lanes were a mess of muck. The sparse passersby were sallow and thin, eyes hollow and dull. When a glance did land on the three, there was no curiosity, only thick, uncut suspicion and undisguised dislike.

"This dump is a ninja village?" Nawaki's eyes bulged, his voice sliding off key. "Konoha's sewer outlets are brighter than this. Where did their mission rewards go, down a dog's throat?"

"Maybe into the daimyo's vault. Or…" Ryo snorted, ripping the facade without mercy, "…maybe certain people's purses got so heavy they collapsed the whole village. The Land of Grass should be rich. Get a pig for a daimyo and a leader who only worships money, and the signboard falls right off."

Mikoto's gaze drifted over those numb, or openly hostile, faces. Her brows knit, catching the deeper wrongness. "Ryo-kun," she said very low, "the way they are looking at us… it is like they are warding off trouble."

They had not gone fifty paces deeper before three men in grass-green, ragged uniforms blocked the way. The leader's face was heaped with slabby muscle. A scar ran from brow to chin. A dry stalk hung at an angle in his mouth. His eyes raked them with smug superiority. When he saw how young they were, the contempt nearly spilled.

"Stop. Konoha?" Scarface spat the stem, voice cold and hard.

"Yes." Ryo's expression did not change. He treated the rudeness like air. "Konoha chūnin, Kamiyama Ryo, leading a squad on official duty. Standard intel exchange regarding—"

"Exchange my ass." Scarface cut him off, volume jumping. "Kusa does not take visitors, especially from Konoha." The two chūnin behind him stepped forward, hands casually, yet precisely, settling on their kunai.

Nawaki could not swallow that. He lunged a step. "Hey. What kind of attitude is that? We are allies, ironclad. Is this how Kusagakure talks to an ally?"

Scarface sneered, contempt dripping. "Allies? Spare me. You kids playing soldier need to roll out before I make you." His gaze flicked over Ryo's striking red hair without a spark of recognition, never linking it with the red-haired devil currently ripping through the ninja world. To him, they were pampered brats out to play. "Kamiyama Ryo? Familiar name? Who cares."

Mikoto's frown deepened. This was not mere bad manners, they were deliberately provoking.

But inside Scarface's bark, Ryo caught the key, "especially from Konoha." His eyes tightened. Fragments snapped together.

Use their age to bully them off? Fine, kids are easy to cow. But an alliance is still an alliance. Even if you hate it, you keep up appearances. To tear the mask off entirely, wrong. A special rejection just of Konoha? Why? Who is in the village that makes them this scared? When Nawaki challenged their attitude, that flicker in the man's eyes, like a man afraid of touching a live wire.

"Oh?" Ryo's quiet voice rasped like ice on glass and stabbed straight through Scarface. "So, no hosting allies… because you are busy hosting a different guest?"

Scarface's face twitched. His eyes suddenly went skittish. The bulldozed bravado drained out. "Shut your damn mouth. Do not spout nonsense." Louder now, but thin and anxious. "Get lost. Now."

That reaction was the best answer, nailing Ryo's guess in place.

"Tch." Ryo had his decision. Forcing a tear through now was not the time, and not needed. "Looks like we came at a bad time."

He lifted a hand, steady, onto Nawaki's shoulder just as the boy sparked again. His face relaxed into an almost lazy smile. "Fine. When the host is not welcoming, guests should not overstay. That warmth of yours? We simply cannot afford it. Nawaki, Mikoto, let's go. They are busy entertaining."

He turned on his heel and left, crisp and clean, steps even picking up a hint of leisurely stroll.

Mikoto fell right in, catching Nawaki, still throwing daggers with his eyes, and tugging him after Ryo.

"Seriously? We are tucking tail?" Nawaki hissed, unwilling. "They, why—"

"Leave them to farm mushrooms?" Ryo did not even look back, his voice drifting clearly down the unnaturally quiet lane. "We are not in a hurry. Take two days off. Land of Grass, nice hills, nice water. I hear there is a creek to the east. Roasting game beats getting glared at in this dump."

He said it loud enough for the eavesdropping Kusa sentries on the roadside to hear every syllable. He wanted them to file the trio under spoiled junior officers on a sightseeing trip, gone on their way, nothing to worry about.

Scarface watched them disappear and hawked up a wad of phlegm. "Tch. Know your place. Brats." His tight shoulders sagged. As long as these Konoha kids did not stumble into Iwa's honored guests, there should not be trouble.

---

Dusk stained the grass in dark gold. By a creekside copse, a campfire cracked and leapt, painting the trio's faces.

"Ryo." Nawaki finally burst. "What are you playing at? We are really running? What about the mission? Iwa intel? And those Kusa punks, right now I want to go back and knock their teeth in."

Across the flames, Mikoto was stripping a luckless deer with a kunai, precise and steady. She glanced at Ryo, firelight caught in her pupils, and waited.

Ryo prodded the fire. Sparks hopped. The curve at his mouth flattened. When he spoke, the warmth seemed to drain from the night. "Tail between our legs? Or did you just miss the devil in their eyes?"

"Devil, my ass. Their brains got slammed in a door." Nawaki flopped down, sulking.

"First, even a paper alliance does not expel envoys. That is spitting in your ally's face. Kusa's leadership may be stupid, but not so stupid they ignore the rules entirely. Unless…" Ryo's voice dropped. His gaze cut across his two teammates. "Unless there is a reason big enough to make them drive us out at any cost. As in, their own lives."

"Ryo-kun means…" Mikoto's kunai paused. A glint lit her eyes. "Iwa are already here?"

"Right." Ryo's reply was a nail. "They beat us by a step. Either paid a fortune or got Kusa by the throat. Enough that they tossed even pretense. When I turned the question back, Scarface's face collapsed in real time."

Nawaki slapped his thigh. "Damn. So that is why Konoha set them off, they are afraid we will spot Iwa in the village? Those grass mutts went full weathervane and started plotting with Iwa behind our backs?" He clenched his fist till it ticked.

"How deep the tie goes." Ryo stared through the flames, as if he could see Kusagakure's silhouette swallowed by dusk. "But the important intel is inside, and tied to Iwa's core deployments."

"Then what are we waiting for, go in and get it." Nawaki bounced, eager.

Ryo gave him a slanted look that said, Did a door really crush your skull? "Want to make a scene big enough to pull every Iwa out to play?"

"Uh…" Nawaki deflated like a punctured wineskin. "Then… what?"

The corner of Ryo's mouth curled again, the cold confidence of a man with the board in his hands. "They think we are useless and that shooing us fixes everything? Fine. We will play along." In the dark, his voice came down like nails. "Half false, half true, buy time."

The plan unrolled at once.

In the open, Ryo's squad became the Konoha tour group.

By day, they lazed in a conspicuous, open spot by the creek. Nawaki whooped over a homemade fishing rod. Mikoto sat quietly in tree shade. Ryo tinkered with a little gadget he had brought, coaxing out a simple music player that wafted popular tunes over the water. The smell of roasting meat drifted for too long, drawing Kusa sentries to glance from a distance, mutter "useless brats," and yawn back to their posts.

At the camp, Nawaki griping over skewered fish, Mikoto quietly sorting gear, the tinny music looping, nothing seemed off. But in the unnoticed angles, Mikoto's gaze cut through the flicker of coals to Ryo's back in the shadows. Nawaki was still cussing about the rod.

The humiliation from Scarface's barking still seemed lodged in Nawaki's throat. "Cowards. Useless." He bit into an overdone fish and scowled at the bitter char. "I swear I—" He waved the blackened tail, with no target to vent on.

"Wait." Ryo gave him one word.

Firelight rose and fell. Mikoto, a little farther off under a tree, lowered her eyes and repacked a water-spotted pouch. In the moonlight her lashes cast soft gray shadows on her lids. She watched Ryo's straight red silhouette blur, then melt into the tree-edge darkness. The small, deliberate nearnesses over the last days, the brief crossings of eyes, the wordless passings of tools, each action like an invisible strand of silk, winding, slow and unnoticed. As that bit of red finally fused with the night, the line of her lips quivered, almost imperceptibly.

She lowered her gaze to the edge of her wooden geta on the damp grass, where a slim ankle peeked. Moon and firelight glazed it gently. The memory of that afternoon dressing his wounds slid through. A minuscule ripple crossed her heart and vanished.

Kusa's arrogance and sloppiness became the perfect cover for Ryo's moves.

Two days straight, the music and meat by the river played on schedule. Kusa's watch slackened. The men on surveillance stopped even pretending, just wrote them off as Konoha fools wasting rations.

Scarface's report upward was smug. "Konoha's rice buckets. Sent a few kids to do what? One bark and they ran off for a picnic."

Kusa's leader sprawled in a broken chair and snorted. "Konoha? That is the level. Trash."

The three rested as usual.

Ryo, citing strategy, sat a bit apart, eyes closed, actually stretching his powerful observational sense toward the village, fishing for suspicious chakra pulses, Iwa signatures or a meeting site.

Nawaki gnawed meat, bored. "Eat roast every day and I will turn into roast. Ryo, are we still sitting here? Did your brain—"

Mikoto gave Nawaki a helpless look. "Patience. Ryo-kun is looking for an opening."

And then Ryo's senses brushed a thread of chakra, so faint and so uneasy, curled deep in tall grass near the camp. It held fear and hunger and a distinctive spark of life. Familiar, Kushina's lineage. And it was a child.

Ryo's eyes snapped open. He turned his head that way and said, low and absolute, "Who is there? Come out."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 97: Betrayed by Their Closest Ally

The tall grass shook violently, rustling with a sharp sound. Whoever was hiding inside froze, startled. Their breathing stopped, and even their faint chakra signature vanished completely.

Nawaki and Mikoto tensed at once, weapons silently drawn.

"Someone's there?"

They waited for a long moment. Then, the grass rustled again, softer this time. A small, thin figure slowly emerged, like a frightened rabbit creeping into the moonlight.

She stopped at the border where the moonlight met the campfire's glow, head bowed, trembling uncontrollably. She looked no older than seven or eight, her tattered clothes filthy with mud and crushed leaves. But what caught their eyes most was her hair. Even through the grime, the deep crimson hue could not be hidden.

"An Uzumaki?"

Ryo's heart sank. Memories of how Kusagakure treated stranded Uzumaki flooded his mind, the horrors of living medical packs, of Karin's mother torn to death. And this little girl…

Nawaki suddenly blurted out, shocked, "Another redhead?!"

"Not every redhead is your relative," Mikoto shot back, rolling her eyes. But her expression soon softened, pity and doubt flickering across her face. How had an Uzumaki child ended up here?

Ryo swallowed the cold fury burning in his chest. He picked up a freshly roasted skewer of venison, its fat sizzling, and spoke gently.

"You must be hungry. Come here, this is for you."

A lock of his own red hair fell forward, glinting in the firelight.

The little girl, Uzumaki Kaori, looked up, fearfully watching him. Her eyes caught that flicker of red, the same as her own. For a fleeting moment, she felt a spark of connection, but fear drowned it instantly.

Her gaze locked on the meat. Its smell made her throat tighten. Hunger overwhelmed her, but terror held her still.

She had seen what happened when her clan reached for food, the screams, the biting, the treatments. She trembled harder and took a step back.

Ryo didn't move closer. He just waited, holding out the food with quiet patience, eyes soft and calm.

The fire crackled. Nawaki and Mikoto watched in silence.

Time crawled. Finally, perhaps it was Ryo's gentle posture or the irresistible scent of meat, but Kaori gathered her courage. Step by trembling step, she moved closer to the fire. Cautiously, as if handling something fragile, she accepted the skewer with both hands.

"Th... thank you..." she whispered, voice barely audible.

A second later, hunger consumed her reason. She tore into the meat desperately, too fast to chew. A chunk caught in her throat, she choked, face turning red, coughing violently.

Ryo immediately handed her a water flask. Kaori gulped greedily until the blockage went down. She gasped for breath, then looked up timidly, wanting to thank him.

In that instant, Ryo, Nawaki, and Mikoto saw her face clearly, small, pale, streaked with tears, dirt, and oil. Her skin clung to bone, her eyes far too large for her face, filled with terror carved into her soul. When her sleeve slipped down, several scars showed, bite marks, some new, some old.

Nawaki inhaled sharply. Mikoto covered her mouth, horrified.

"Those bastards!" Nawaki roared, standing abruptly. "Who did this?! The Grass scum?!"

Kaori flinched, nearly dropping her food. Terror seized her; she shrank backward, trembling.

"Shut up, Nawaki!" Ryo barked sharply. He swallowed his rage and forced a calm smile. "Don't be afraid. You're safe now. Eat slowly, there's more."

He cut another piece of venison with his kunai and put it over the fire.

Kaori hesitated, but hunger won. She ate again, slower this time, sneaking glances at the three around her.

When she finished, the energy from food and exhaustion from starvation collided. Her body swayed, and she sat down heavily, too tired to move.

"Don't move too much," Ryo said softly. "Your body needs to adjust. You've been hungry for too long."

Kaori nodded obediently, still keeping her head down.

Ryo studied her crimson hair, then asked quietly, "Child, you're from the Uzumaki clan, aren't you?"

Kaori froze. Her eyes widened in panic.

He knew? Because of her hair? Was this going to bring her pain again?

She trembled violently, worse than before. Her eyes dulled with despair, and her lips quivered. Finally, she lifted her thin arm, sleeve falling back to reveal scarred skin.

"Y-you... sir... do you want my power too?" Her voice broke. "Please... please be gentle... I-I'm scared of pain..."

Her eyes squeezed shut. Tears spilled freely, waiting for the familiar agony to come.

Nawaki and Mikoto went rigid, as if struck by lightning. Looking at that thin arm covered in teeth marks, they felt their blood turn to ice.

Now they understood. Those scars were not random wounds, they were the marks of a life devoured again and again.

Nawaki's face turned white in the firelight. He snapped completely.

"Why?! Ryo! Tell me why?! The Uzumaki were our allies! Why didn't they escape to Konoha?! Why didn't Konoha save them?!"

Ryo seized him by the collar, eyes sharp as blades.

"Why?! Because Konoha's leaders never needed those stray Uzumaki! They only wanted the Uzumaki's sealing techniques and one suitable vessel for the Nine-Tails! That's all!"

He shoved Nawaki's chest with his finger. "See now, Nawaki? This is your precious village! Your noble leaders' handiwork!"

"Allies? In the face of profit, what is an ally's life worth? They let Uzushiogakure fall. They delayed rescue on purpose. Why? Because they wanted the other villages to suffer from unstable Jinchūriki. Konoha only needed the Nine-Tails, and nothing else!"

His voice turned icy, thick with hate. "That's why, after the Uzumaki massacre, they only took Kushina. That's why the survivors didn't flee to the Fire Country, they knew. Because the ally's knife cuts deeper than the enemy's."

"And while Konoha looked away, Kusagakure swooped in, turning these survivors into living medical packs, drained until they died."

"This is your shinobi world, Nawaki. Beneath the sunlight lies rot and blood. Wake up."

Each word struck like a hammer. Nawaki's ideals, Konoha, its leaders, the Will of Fire, all shattered.

He fell to his knees, pale and trembling. His fists slammed into the dirt again and again until his strength was gone.

"You're already breaking?" Ryo scoffed. He glanced at him, then turned toward the girl by the fire, his tone soft again.

"Don't mind him, little one. I'm Kamiyama Ryo from Konoha. Don't worry, I don't bite. I won't use you as a medical pack."

He nodded toward her arm and smiled gently. "What's your name?"

"...Uzumaki... Kaori," she murmured. Her voice was fragile, but steadied under his gaze. The warmth of the fire, the smell of meat, and that familiar red hair made her believe.

"Your family?" Ryo asked softly, though he already knew.

Kaori's pupils shrank. Her voice cracked. "They're... all dead. Everyone... they bit them..."

"Enough." Ryo placed his hand on her head firmly. "It's over. Come with me to Konoha. No one will bite you again. You'll live like a person."

Take her. The thought was clear. Tsunade could handle her papers. Kushina, her last living clanswoman, would be happy. The council's outrage? A problem for another day.

"R-really...? I can?" she whispered.

"Yes," Ryo said firmly. "You can."

"I swear it!" Nawaki said suddenly, raising a trembling hand. His eyes were bloodshot, but filled with conviction.

"Me too," Mikoto added, voice small but steady. Something bright inside her shattered quietly.

"Th-thank you..." Kaori sobbed. Tears streamed down her face. For the first time in years, she trusted someone.

Night deepened. After washing away the grime and changing into Mikoto's spare clothes, Kaori fell asleep on the grass nearby.

By the fire, Ryo, Nawaki, and Mikoto sat in heavy silence. The flames crackled softly, but could not burn away the weight of truth.

Nawaki's eyes stayed fixed on the fire. Finally, he rasped, "Ryo... tell me. Why? The Uzumaki were our allies. Why did Konoha do nothing? Why did they abandon them?"

Ryo smiled faintly, without warmth. "You want the official answer, or the real one?"

Nawaki clenched his fists. "There's a difference?"

"Say it," Mikoto whispered. "The truth."

Ryo chuckled coldly. "The official excuse? We couldn't risk another Great Ninja War. We had to consider Konoha's lives first. The balance of power must be preserved."

He sneered. "Sounds noble, doesn't it? Just like the lies your sister heard from the elders. All for the greater good of Konoha."

"The greater good?! To hell with that!" Nawaki roared. He punched the nearest tree, bark exploding. "They feared saving the Uzumaki would start a war, but they had no problem turning Ame into a bloodbath?!"

The air went still. Mikoto clutched her cloak tightly, face pale.

"Well said," Ryo said, clapping once, his smile sharp as frost. "Because beneath that noble mask lies reality."

"The Uzumaki were Senju allies, not the council's. The Senju have long been discarded. Konoha now belongs to Sarutobi, Shimura, Mitokado, Utatane. Your iron alliance? Worthless."

"Why risk lives to save them when you can let them die and seize their sealing scrolls and jutsu treasures instead?" He laughed bitterly. "Much easier."

"As for Kushina, she was just a new container for the Nine-Tails. If containers ever became common, do you really think the elders would stay merciful?"

Every word struck deep. Nawaki slumped, drained of strength. Hiruzen's face twisted in the firelight, melting into shadow.

"The war in Ame..." Mikoto's voice trembled. "That's real too, isn't it?"

"Of course." Ryo lay back, staring at the stars. "Ame got too strong, too independent. So they crushed it, made an example of it. That's the greater good."

"War? Suna, Iwa, Kumo, they all want blood. It's just another feast of slaughter." He sighed long and deep. "The blood from the First Great Ninja War has dried too long. A new storm is already gathering overhead."

The fire crackled. Nawaki's face twisted in the dim light, faith warring with fury. Mikoto bit her lip, trembling.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 98: Reckoning Begins

Night pressed down like wet ink on the crowns of the towering trees, stingy even with starlight.

Mikoto kept her clear eyes slanted toward the small figure beside her. Her clean outer robe was wrapped tight around Uzumaki Kaori's tiny body.

The little girl curled on the cold ground, sunk in uneasy sleep. Even in her nightmares, her delicate brows were knotted hard, bracing against remembered terror.

Beside her, Nawaki crouched, his muscles bunched, fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched. Shame and fury still burned from earlier. Now, looking at Kaori's fragile helplessness, a purer blaze surged up, close to consuming reason altogether. The Grass-nin lurking in the dark, this blood debt would be paid with their lives.

Suddenly, a cold aura slid through the night without a sound, the kind that seemed to freeze the soul. A figure coalesced at the edge of the firelight as if condensed from shadow itself.

Ryo stood there.

Mikoto's heart jumped. Nawaki snapped his head around, the flames in his eyes flaring with hard-to-hide anticipation.

"Plan change."

Ryo's voice was low, stripped of waste.

"Target: Kusagakure."

Nawaki's head shot up, battle heat blasting out of him. "Good. Then—"

Ryo's cold glance cut him off. The pressure alone pushed the rest of the words back down his throat.

Mikoto's brows tightened. She heard the undertone beneath Ryo's words, and her heart sank.

"Ryo-kun, what do you need from us?"

Her gaze flicked, unbidden, toward the sleeping Kaori.

"We have to infiltrate. No noise."

Ryo's eyes settled on Kaori. The meaning was obvious. Bringing a defenseless child, one who could cry out at any moment, into an enemy nest? That wasn't a mission. That was walking into a trap.

"I go alone."

"Are you insane?!" Nawaki's worry and pent-up rage burst through. He shot to his feet, voice a scraped whisper. "Alone? That's the Grass-nin's den! And Iwa's dogs are inside! And—"

He remembered the rumors, urgency rasping his throat. "Iwa! Ōnoki, that old monster! Your bounty on the black market is up to a hundred million! If you go in now, the entire village is your gallows! They'll swarm you like hounds on blood!"

"Exactly."

Ryo's voice cracked like ice, sharp enough to cut through Nawaki's doubts.

"We move before they wake from their smug little dream."

His gaze slid over Mikoto and Nawaki, a quenched blade of winter. "One strike to the throat. Root and branch, gone. You two—"

His eyes returned to Kaori.

"Take her far. Farther. Wait for my signal."

Nawaki opened his mouth, and Mikoto's cool palm pressed his shoulder down. Her hand was cold and faintly trembling.

She lifted her eyes and met Ryo's silver gaze head-on. No anger, no recklessness. Only a dead-calm chill.

An absolute will and power that would grind any obstacle to dust.

Mikoto drew a long breath. Her worry settled, transmuted into wordless trust.

She nodded hard. "Ryo-kun, be careful."

Lock. Move.

No signals needed.

Ryo's outline blurred.

"Flying Thunder God."

Light flashed. Space twisted and swallowed all four—the fire's sparks, a few leaves kicked up by the air, and a smear of water on the ground.

Wind swept through. Wet grass shivered helplessly.

By the time the hum of space died in the dark woods, Mikoto and Nawaki stood tens of kilometers away in a cold grove of jagged stones. Nawaki's fists creaked in his grip. Mikoto startled awake from the instant shock, then accepted it.

"Wait for me."

Ryo's voice etched itself directly into their minds, bloodless cold, every word a blade of killing intent scything across the clearing.

"The Grass will pay this debt."

---

Kusagakure's den.

Dozens of kilometers away, in the muddled heart of the village.

Oil lamps glowed like beans, their jaundiced light barely licking the corners, painting two petty, stupid faces.

"Boss?" Scarface licked cracked lips and darted his shifty eyes around. Relief and aftershock smeared across his features. "Those Leaf plague… they really left?"

Under a rickety watchtower, in a shack with a chair bursting its filthy stuffing, the Grass leader slouched like a smug grub in rot. He snorted through his nose, contempt and glee in one.

"Hah! Bunch of nobodies! See? Little push and they ran with their tails tucked! Good riddance, spares me the eyesore." He waggled his greasy head, slitted eyes pinched to threads. "If they'd torn the paper window and seen our guests…"

He hunched his oily neck instinctively, a blotch of fear and greed flushing his cheeks.

"Lucky brats know their place. Heh, heh…"

The laugh wheezed like a punctured bellows.

Scarface tore at a slab of cold, hard pheasant. Grease dripped onto his never-cleaned forehead protector, leaving a dirtier streak.

"Boss, the arrangements for those people, all set?"

The Grass leader wriggled into his wrecked chair like a fat rat on a trash heap. He dug lazily at the grime in his nails, tone full of scorn for Konoha.

A sly, greedy light glittered in his slitted eyes. He could hear the abacus beads snapping. What Iwa promised would pave three broad stone roads, locking the Grass Country's trade in his fist. As long as no one stumbled on the unspeakable little job Iwa was running under the village.

Grass had bowed and scraped between great nations for generations. The art of being a weathervane was in their bones. Rule one, never be the first head on the chopping block.

Leaf brats go missing? Might spark a war? Hah. They knew the game.

Push the trouble far away, keep your hands clean, your face intact, and when the wind shifts, everything is still negotiable.

Right now, the village was drunk on its own illusion. The preening Grass boss. The self-satisfied Iwa "VIPs." All snug in their dream of safety.

They didn't know a blade, tempered to pure killing, had already slipped through the gap they lived by, and now hovered over their bare throats.

Absolute darkness made the perfect cloak.

The warped palisade outside the village meant nothing to a true master of shadow. Ryo didn't descend from above. He streaked along the ground like a crimson lightning tear through night.

He was too fast.

He flickered through collapsed huts, sagging woodpiles, cobwebbed corners, and alleys, so fast he left only a smear of red, killing intent given shape, there and gone. A lazy Grass patrol passed within five meters. Dust the crimson blur kicked up tickled their captain's nose, and still those fools felt nothing. Their slack faces were a wordless welcome mat for death.

Sensory domain, full spread. Hunter's mind, engaged.

Ryo's will swept out like the finest radar, silent and seamless, the moment he crossed the line. Invisible ripples, a vast taut web, covered every inch of the rotting village.

The strongest signatures flared at once, the gray stone house in the center, out of place among the shacks, the only thing that could be called grand.

Distinct chakra pooled inside, coarse, heavy, reeking of earth and rock. Iwa-nin. Not many, but each one stank of veteran blood and cruelty.

And yet, wrong.

No hint of a disciplined field unit. No fatigue of a long raid.

Instead, a chill like a morgue. The clinical cruelty of a lab. And that gambler's fever, the sick, jittery greed before a final card is turned.

Inside, the light was low. Shadows crawled and twisted on the walls like devils whispering.

Across a low table sat an Iwa jōnin with a severe face, Kitsuchi, son of Ōnoki.

His voice rasped like grit on stone, echoing through the stifling room. His knuckles tapped the tabletop, slow, heavy, each thud hammering the Grass boss's heart.

"Time's up. Where. Are. They."

Kitsuchi lifted his lids. No warmth. Only cold scrutiny and pressure that allowed no refusal.

"Don't waste my time. Are you telling me you can't handle this trivial chore? The Uzumaki rats hiding in their holes, not one you can drag out?"

The Grass boss, so loud with his underlings, stood in the lamp's fringe, a big body trembling. Sweat trickled in streams down his fat, puckered face.

He squeezed out the most servile grin of his life, voice breaking with fear.

"L-Lord Kitsuchi! Please, calm your anger! Those Uzumaki wretches… they're too sly, deeper than the deepest burrow... But! Give me a little more time! A day! No, half a day! Half! I swear on my head! I'll mobilize everyone who can move! We'll turn every inch of Grass Country over if we have to, we'll find them, every last one for you!"

Kitsuchi snorted through his nose, disgust and impatience. He stopped looking at the nauseating coward and dropped his gaze to the table.

In the dim light lay a parchment list.

Names, scrawled but clear. Worse, each had notes, last-seen locations "procured" at great cost by Grass spies, perhaps the lives of innocents.

One stood out, in smaller script.

Girl, around seven… orphaned… hideout: abandoned mine, west of village (to be confirmed)…

So young. Not a child in Iwa's eyes, a part. A "key component."

Prey had been tagged on the map by greedy eyes. All that remained was the grab, and the furnace.

Outside, under the eaves, the shadow was ink-thick.

A figure pressed flat to stone, breath, heartbeat, temperature, everything cooled to near-nothing, like the rock itself.

Ryo.

His sweeping senses bled through the wall as if it weren't there, taking in everything inside. Iwa's mechanical cruelty, the Grass boss's obsequious cowardice barely hiding bottomless greed, the hunting list drenched in the blood and tears of Uzumaki refugees.

Uzumaki orphans. Bloodline power. Jinchūriki vessels. Breeding stock.

Cold fragments clicked together in Ryo's mind, then ignited.

Ōnoki, the hungry old fox of Iwa, never wanted a second front. He had laid traps, risked elite squads, gambled the border, for the Uzumaki bloodline.

To make perfect vessels? To power lost sealing arts? To birth a newer, worse weapon?

Whatever the aim, the means were filth.

To them, every Uzumaki in flight, ancients, toddlers, even the unborn, were consumables. Fuel to be burned. Tools to be reused. Thrown away when empty.

For that ugly desire, this village, and countless Uzumaki in exile, were offerings on the altar.

In the frozen depths of Ryo's eyes, killing intent boiled over, not mere anger, but something deeper, blacker, colder.

While Ōnoki raved over maps in Iwagakure, "Find every Uzumaki! Bring them in! The living are vessels! The breeders breed! The dead, make more!"

He could never imagine that one of the key resource points he clawed for, a pure Uzumaki seed named Uzumaki Kaori, had already, by fate's mockery, been carried out of his reach like a guarded spark in a storm, by the very enemy with a hundred-million bounty on his head.

Reckoning descends, now.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 99: None Shall Be Spared

Ryo moved.

He folded into shadow and vanished beneath the eaves.

When he reappeared, he was a phantom at the heavy, grime-stained door of the grand stone house in the village center.

Inside, the Grass leader was still swearing in his greasy voice.
"Kitsuchi-sama! Half a day! Just half a day! I swear on my head we'll bring that brat—"

The words never finished.

Skrrrr, CRACK!

Metal shrieked like torn space.
The thick door, strong enough to shrug off standard jutsu, exploded inward, along with a swath of adjoining stone, as if an invisible ancient claw had seized and crushed it.

Wood shards and stone chips rained through the room like a storm of death.
The oil lamps blew out under the shockwave.
Darkness flowed in like a living thing, swallowing the room whole, leaving only wreckage, and the brief, staccato screams of the two Kusa jōnin who had been posted by the door.

Dust swelled. Light died.

But this sudden dark was Ryo's home ground.

His silver eyes glittered in the grit, colder than any lamp.
Observation Haki had already netted every living presence in the room, positions, motions, even the next heartbeat mapped cleanly into his mind.

"The first."

His voice was emotionless, as if nailing down the first verdict.

At the table where the lamp had just gone out, the Iwa jōnin closest to the door was still locked in shock.

He felt only a chill wind kiss his neck, and then the world spun.
He saw a headless body tipping backward, his own, as a geyser of blood painted his comrade's face.

"The second."

Ryo never paused, never glanced at the flying head.

Kusanagi hummed through the dark like a reaper's scythe.
The blood-spattered Iwa jōnin jerked up a kunai on reflex.

Agony lanced his wrist.

Schlkt.

Steel and forearm parted together under a flash of winter light.

Blood fountained.

He did not even manage a scream before the second cut finished him, clean and final.

"Enemy attack! It's him! The black-market monster!"

Kitsuchi, to his credit, was the first to recover.
His roar, distorted by terror and fury, shattered the silence and lit the chaos.

"Boom! Rumble! Hold him! Protect Kitsuchi-sama!"

The surviving Iwa fought like veterans.
Hands flew, chakra flared.

"Earth Style: Rock Lance!"
Spiked spears jutted from the floor.

"Earth Style: Earth Dragon Bullet!"
A mud dragon's head reared and lunged.

"Earth Style: Eruption Core!"
The floor heaved and bucked to pin and break.

Light slashed through dust and dark.
Death licked every angle.

Ryo's mouth tilted in a thin, icy line.

Vmmm!

A shriek like bladed thunder ripped the air.
Kusanagi carved a vast, silver arc, the light almost swallowing the darkness.
Not mere sword aura, but chakra condensed to the brink of substance, a crescent swelling to tens of meters in a blink.

The silver crescent swept.

Rrrrrrrr.

Hot knife through butter.

Rock lances sheared to dust.
The roaring earth dragon's head tore apart like a sand sculpture in surf.
The bucking floor flattened under invisible weight, and the lingering edge scythed on, vaporizing everything in its fan.

"Ghhhk, aaah!"

Dust and stone screamed again.
Two Iwa chūnin, caught mid-seal for follow-ups, were bisected at the waist, defenses paper-thin before that cut.

The side wall split in a yawning wound, letting in starlight and torch-glow, and lighting the terror contorting Kitsuchi's face.

One stroke, every jutsu undone, men felled.
This was not a battle on the same plane.

Kitsuchi's pupils blew wide.
His heart almost missed a beat.

The intel had not lied.

He had once sneered at his father Ōnoki's order, abort if you encounter Ryo.
He had thought it fussing.
But facing this monster, whose chakra felt like a tailed beast's hide in steel, the comparison felt merciful.

"Stop him!" Kitsuchi howled, staggering back, hands flashing through seals.
"On me! Combined Earth Style!"

The Iwa survivors were elite indeed.
Fear swallowed and formation tightened, chakra braiding for a group defense.

But Ryo's target was never only the Iwa.

Through dust and shadow, his gaze pinned the Grass leader cowering in the farthest corner, close to fainting.

"Your guests, from Iwa?"

His voice was quiet, but every survivor heard it as clearly as a blade at the ear.

The Grass leader shook like a sieve, crotch soaked, stench souring the air.
"S-spare me, my lord, n-not my fault, they forced me, I—"

Kusanagi answered for him with a single, smokeless point.

A cold star flicked through dust and punched his brow.

The heavy body wobbled, face frozen mid-plea, and toppled backward with a thud.

"The first account settled."

Ryo drew back the blade and turned toward the chaos outside.

"Now, the rest."

As if to crown his words, the village alarm finally split the night.

Woooo, woooo, woooo.

The sirens wailed.
Kusagakure yanked awake.
Kusa-nin poured from their ramshackle huts, some half-dressed, some bleary, all faces stamped by fear.

"Intruder!"
"At the chief's stone house!"
"Kill him! Defend the village!"

Panic spread like plague.
Jōnin bellowed orders, trying to shape a line.
Dozens of chūnin and genin converged like a startled swarm, kunai and shuriken flashing a sea of edges in torchlight, enough to trouble even a Kage.

Inside, Kitsuchi and the last jōnin finished their sequence in the breath Ryo had spent speaking.

Dense earth chakra knotted before them.

"Earth Style: Earth Flow Wall, Combined."
"Earth Style: Stone Golem Carapace!"

A wall far thicker than any normal earth rampart, spined and towering, erupted between Ryo and the Iwa.
At the same time, a heavy rock armor plated the defenders.
Their last hope, a tortoise shell to buy a heartbeat.

Ryo eyed the instant wall and the rising noise of the mob outside.

"Fool's wall. Fools behind it."

His heel hammered the broken floor.
Stone spider-webbed and sank.

Riding that savage kick, Ryo became red lightning, faster than a jōnin's shunshin, a body pushed to brutal limits.

Target, the combined earth wall.

"Come on, then," one Iwa jōnin sneered from behind the barricade.
No one could body-check this grade of joint defense.

At the instant of impact, Kusanagi shifted.

Not a chop, but a serpent, a blur of needle points in the same place.

"Kuzuryūsen (Nine-Head Dragon Flash)."

No sweeping aura, only speed to the edge of sight, a kill by puncture.

Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk!

Crack.

At the precise point of entry, the wall, fused by multiple jōnin's chakra, spidered with fractures exploding outward.

A heartbeat later—

BOOM, crashhh!

The meter-thick, spike-studded rampart blew open from the center, as if bombed from within.

Stone shrapnel tore backward like cannonshot.

"Guh...!"

"Urk...!"

No one behind it expected such brute contempt for their defense.

Shrapnel and shock chewed through them, the golem armor crazing and sloughing under speed and force.

A jōnin nearest the breach took Ryo's carried momentum full in the chest, sternum caved, eyes bulged, dead before he fell.

Ryo burst through dust and debris without pause, a blood-baptized god of slaughter, and shot out into the street, into the forming ring of Kusa-nin.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 100: My Father

"He's out!" "Attack!"

A storm of kunai, shuriken, senbon, even tags, came down like a torrential rain, all of it aimed at the crimson blur bursting into the open.

With blades and paper death scissoring from every direction, leaving almost no room to dodge, a glint like ice flashed in Ryo's eyes.
His body snapped through micro-steps at angles and frequencies naked eyes could not follow, tight pivots, razor slips, each movement threading the gap past the densest kill zones.

Observation Haki, full spread.

In his vision the lethal trajectories slowed to clarity.

Every lift of a wrist, each twitch of an eye, the tell of a shoulder, all of it telegraphed the next point of impact.

He shaved past three kunai guarding his throat, arched back under a tag that scraped his cheek, and slid sideways through a gale of shuriken.
His steps pattered a staccato across the ground, shadow blurring.

Extreme speed footwork flowed into close quarters taijutsu.

The crowd surged.
He threaded it like a ghost, untouched.

Kusanagi, in that instant, became a reaper's invitation.

Cold light flared.

"Splch!"

The elite jōnin leading the rush lifted his blade only halfway before the point punched through his heart.

"Crack!"

Another jōnin's kunai, and his waist, parted in one merciless cut. Gore fanned.

A chūnin flung a chain from the flank to bind him. Ryo did not even look.
A flick of the wrist drew a perfect arc, the chain, and the arm holding it, spun away.

A whisper of air, an ambush from behind.
Ryo's body rotated in place against physics, the sword light wheeled.
The attacker, and two genin beside him, bloomed red at the throat and folded.

Every swing harvested one life, or several.

Each step, each cut, a gear in a precision killing machine.

The swordcraft learned from the Red Haired Emperor shone at full in the crush of melee.

Kusanagi drank and thrummed, humming an eerie red.

"Monster!" "He's too fast! We can't hit him!"
"Don't panic! Bury him in bodies! He'll run out of chakra, out of strength!" a Grass officer screamed from the rear, trying to steady the line.

"Run out?" Ryo's voice cut through screams and iron, edged with frost. "Heh."

He stopped moving.

He lifted Kusanagi high.

Tailed beast scale chakra flooded the blade without restraint.

Silver white fire roared along the edge.
Compress. Condense.
A destroying pressure spiked upward.

The charging Kusa-nin faltered as a tangible killing will pressed their skin to ice.
Despair rose like a cold tide and smothered their legs.

"Stop him!" Kitsuchi's voice shattered into a distant, broken shriek.

Too late.

Kusanagi sang, a clear, long note out of the ninth hell, as if the blade itself strained under the force channeled through it.

A titanic arc of sword energy fell like divine wrath, Ryo's full power cleaving forward in a one hundred eighty degree sweep.

VWAAAM.

This time the slash was not a taut beam of tens of meters, but a howling tsunami, nearly twenty meters wide, more than five meters high, silver white light saturated with the growl of storm and thunder.

Where it passed, space seemed to twist and buckle.

Air imploded, vacuum ripping a dead zone in its wake.

Crushing. Truly crushing.

Kunai, shuriken, senbon, all vaporized on contact like ice flecks in a blast furnace.

The dozens of chūnin and genin in the lead line, bodies, weapons, protectors, cloth, touched the edge of that light and, like cheap foam against a red hot brand, did not even scream, they simply became halves.

The slash did not slow.

The shattered wall of the stone house planed flat in silence.

Shacks and thatch huts met a typhoon's heart, sucked into the storm, torn and rendered to splinters.

Flagstones split into a trench several feet deep and nearly twenty meters across.
Torchlight guttered, crushed by the shock front.

One stroke.

In the fan before Ryo, out to nearly two hundred meters, everything, things living and not, vanished.
The view yawned wide, as if an eraser had gouged a brutal bite out of the village.

Silence.

Absolute silence sealed what remained of Kusagakure.

The survivors, those just outside the arc, those spared only by a low stance and missing an arm or a leg, froze.

Their faces were masks of extremity, fear and blankness.
Comrades who had stood beside them a breath ago, gone.

Around the edge of the scar, limbs littered the ground, the pressurized wake of the slash's wind.
Blood gathered in runnels and spilled into the trench.
The air went thick sweet with dust and iron.

"D demon..." "Judgment, it is judgment..." "Run! He isn't human!"

Collapse broke loose.

Elite jōnin, genin, all will to resist fled.
They screamed, sobbed, trampled each other to flee, to get away from the crimson figure at the brink of annihilation, sword blazing with light.

Ryo watched the inferno without expression, breath a little rough.

Then he moved again, a red bolt, to settle accounts.

This time, the wide slash was not even necessary.

Kusanagi became silver lines threading the crowd.

Every flicker took lives, heads severed, hearts skewered, waists parted.

Too fast. Too strong.
Any who tried to resist, even those one heartbeat slow from fear, fell in an instant.

When rare burly Kusa jōnin tried to block, Ryo pulsed his wrist, raw force shattered arms and ribs, the edge finished the rest.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Kusagakure had become a crucible of blood and fire.

The once noisy village was now an Avīci wasteland.

Flames licked the collapsing roofs, boiling a nauseating sweet tang out of the blood.

Bodies everywhere, the gaps between broken walls ran dark red like creeks.
Each of Ryo's flashes scored a deeper wound across this man made hell.

At last, his red gaze fixed on a dirt streaked figure tumbling and crawling at the edge of the chaos.

Kitsuchi.
Iwa jōnin.
Ōnoki's own son.

The pride and elite poise were gone.
Mud and blood filmed his protector and face. In his eyes only the pulverized remains of courage.

Their combined wall, a joke in Ryo's first pass.

His subordinates, already mulch in the path of destruction.

A cold premonition strangled his spine.
He threw his weight, flailing, desperate to slither away, but every step felt Death close another finger.

Kusanagi's chill was already breathing on his nape.

He glanced back, straight into Ryo's silver eyes, free of any emotion.

No mockery. No anger.
Only the remote gaze one gives the soon to die.

"No!"

Kitsuchi's pupils split, reason drowned.
A severed arm caught his ankle, he pitched face first into a slick of hot, clotted muck.

He rolled, scrambled, throat tearing a not quite human scream.

Death's crimson was upon him.
Kusanagi's tip trailed tacky threads of blood, wrapped in a cyclone of chakra, falling like a mountain, ripping air, stopping at the fatal point between his brows.

Under the blade, all his luck, all his pride, every hour of shinobi drill ground to grit.
His mind went white, only one reflex remained, branded in bone.

"STOP!"

He gathered the last of his strength and life's instinct into a hysterical, cracking howl that knifed the brief hush of slaughter.

"My father, Ōnoki!"

Time seemed to freeze.

The stink of blood, the crackle of fires, the far off wailing, all blurred to backdrop.
Only the sword hanging over Kitsuchi's skull, beading enemy blood, and the face beneath it, twisted by terror into snot and tears, stood carved in broken moonlight and flame.

That desperate, crazed declaration plopped into the lake of carnage like a stone, rippling a brief, eerie ring, then sank toward stillness.

Kusanagi thrummed, suspended, its tip's blood glob trembling.

(To be continued.)

Notes:

Read ahead, +100 Chapters :

/Blownleaves

Chapter 19: Chapter 101-105

Chapter 101: To Dust

Kusanagi paused.

The tip hovered half an inch before Kitsuchi's brow.

A single viscous bead of blood, heavy with its master's killing intent and crushing chakra, trembled there, reflecting a face twisted to ruin by terror, filthy with tears and snot.

That hysterical scream, "My father, Ōnoki," split Kusagakure's deathly quiet for a heartbeat, then was eaten by wind, ash, and blood.

Ryo's gaze dropped to the heap of mud called Kitsuchi at his feet.

Kusagakure?

His eyes skimmed the ruin, fire writhing in broken frames, bodies jumbled, blood running like oars through a red canal.

The fall of Kusagakure, no different from the drowned Whirlpools, no different from the Land of Rain flattened into battlefield slag.
Weakness is original sin. No matter how many die, they are footnotes under great nations' games.

And the culprit? Hiruzen will scold for show, perhaps, but with the war gridlocked, Konoha wants his blade.
Grass fell? Then Grass fell.

But this man, Ōnoki's son, what does he mean to Konoha right now?

A cold thought knifed through Ryo's mind.
Kill him?

Kusanagi's hum deepened.

The cost wrote itself. Ōnoki, old and stubborn, had this late born son as the axis of his heart.

Cut Kitsuchi, and you blind the Tsuchikage, you spear his chest.
A raging Ōnoki would hurl Iwa's full might, cost be damned, to repay Konoha.

If the line buckles?
If the rivers run with blood?

Can Hiruzen hold?

Ryo's mouth twitched into a small, cruel curve.

And if he cannot, so what?
Konoha's lofty advisers, the shortsighted townsfolk, they would only pin a scapegoat, Kamiyama Ryo's fault.

"If he hadn't killed Ōnoki's precious boy, the Tsuchikage wouldn't have gone mad.
Ryo dragged disaster to our door, he took our sons, our fathers."

He could see their faces already.
Nuisance.

He did not care for himself, but Kushina? Tsunade, that glorious maniac? And Mikoto?
Caught in the crossfire, they would only suffer.

Even if Hiruzen was still mostly wise, Ryo's rescue of Tsunade and the power he had shown had already planted a thorn in the Hokage's back.

The elders. Danzō.
Even if Hiruzen did not nod, he would look away.

So why should Ryo kill Kitsuchi for Konoha?
Why carry the blame for them?
Why hand them the knife?

Why stand alone before the tidal wrath of Iwa?

His killing urge thinned, and the ice of mockery grew sharper.

Take Iwa's little envoy with him.
Back to the blood swept Land of Rain.
Let Danzō's black heart weigh Kitsuchi's worth.

Let Root gnaw on Iwa's problem.
Ryo brings him in, mission delivered.
Waste recycled. Value extracted.

But, going back empty handed besides the hostage?
Would he see a share of Kitsuchi's value?

Kusanagi trembled. The bead finally fell, pattering across Kitsuchi's terrified face.

"Trash." Ryo's voice was not loud, but it stabbed the frozen eardrum like an icicle.

Kitsuchi's heart seized.
Death had not moved on.

"Your life has a price," Ryo said, stepping forward, the sole of his foot slick with red chakra. "But not enough to buy those brittle bones."

He stamped the shin.

Crack.

Bone snapped with a sound that tore the air.
Kitsuchi's scream went inhuman.

"Want to live? Pay for it."

Ryo raised his foot again, poised over the other leg.

Agony shattered Kitsuchi's last illusions.
He understood, it was not his father's name buying mercy, it was that he himself had become stock on a market stall.

"Ah, ah, stop! What do you want? Money? Intel?"
He howled, tears and snot mixing with the blood, but the colder fear was the word value in Ryo's mouth.

"Ninjutsu."

Kitsuchi's pupils tightened.
Pride as Ōnoki's son flared one last time.
"Dream on. Iwa's secret arts aren't—"

Crack.

The second leg shattered.

"AAAA—!"

His scream broke pitch. He nearly passed out. Survival clenched his jaw.
He looked into those dead silver eyes, not human.

This man did not care.
Their secret arts were interest, not the core of the bargain.

If life could be spared, Ryo wanted Iwa's secrets, over his corpse. He remembered his father's mantra, the Will of Stone, and locked his teeth.

No matter the torment, Kitsuchi would not talk.

The grit irked Ryo. If force could not pry the seal, there were other doors.

He hauled Kitsuchi up, flashed with Flying Thunder God, and rejoined the others.

"Ryo, who's this?"

Seeing him reappear, slick with blood, Mikoto and the rest finally exhaled.
Nawaki eyed the ruin dangling from Ryo's grip, baffled.

"Mikoto. Your Sharingan, can you cast genjutsu?"

Ryo ignored Nawaki and looked to her.

The quiet Uchiha lifted her gaze, already blood red.
Sometime, somewhere in the Land of Rain's carnage, the twin tomoe had ripened, a little uncanny.

No words. The illusion fell.

Vmm.

An unseen lance of will punched into Kitsuchi's ruined mind.

Reality tore.
Through the pain, the world went red.
Ghosts clanked chains out of blood mud, raking his soul.
Halved comrades staggered toward him, screaming.
Worse, in his mind, sealed seals and chakra routes unspooled without his leave, as if iron hooks ripped memory free.

"Ghh, aah."

He convulsed, the body's agony compounded by the brain's violation.

Ryo stood over him, voice a cold burin.

"Added Weight Rock Technique.
Light–Weight Rock Technique.
Seals. Chakra paths. Effects. Core tricks.
From the start. Now."

Kitsuchi's mind pried open like a clam under a knife.

Secrets, rock village core lore, layered with brand seals, peeled like pearls under Ryo's demand and Mikoto's demonic tomoe.

He rasped them out like a broken machine, snatches of hand signs, meridian routes, choking, coughing blood into every syllable.

Ryo listened, memorized.

Added Weight Rock, a mobile gravity field.
Perfect furnace for tempering a monstrous body.

Light–Heavy Rock, a flight art rare in the shinobi world, priceless.

The greatest windfall of this mission lay in the heap of mud at his feet.

When he was sure he had wrung what he wanted, that glimmer sank.
He nudged Kitsuchi with his toe, the jōnin slumped, more sack than man.

"Tie him. Bring him."

Nawaki's stomach flipped at the sight of what had once been a strutting terror, now meat in a bag, but he grit his teeth and nodded.

Kaori, pale, trotted over with rope.
There was no pity in her eyes, only a tautness born of survival.

The four, with their Iwa VIP, left the furnace that had been Kusagakure.
Their road bent back toward the storm bitten front in the Land of Rain.

Mission complete.

Ryo felt no urge to sprint for that meat grinder.

The job was done. Their shoulders eased a fraction.

No need to hurry back to the downpour and iron.

Who knew what death warrant Danzō would throw next?

Better to slow the pace, let their eyes graze a land battered but stubborn, where green still found a way.

They eased their steps.
For once, no rush.
Ryo led, Kusanagi sheathed, the last blood drying black.

Nawaki dragged the fainted Kitsuchi.
Mikoto shadowed him, gaze clear again. The twin tomoe had faded, their strange gleam unlamented.

Kaori clung to Mikoto's sleeve, trying not to look at the red bundle bumping behind.

A rare quiet set in.
The sky was a smear of gray, but rain held.
They took a narrow path through trees rinsed clean, a touch of life returning.

Far from the stink of Grass, the air held a softer scent of soil.

Nawaki's nerves uncoiled a notch.
"If sis learns we not only finished the job, but netted a big fish—"

He broke off, catching Ryo's eye.

Ryo did not turn, but his steps carried an ease that said he held the reins.
This calm was bought by his blade.

"Rest a bit?" Kaori asked softly, tired.
She was frail to begin with. The long march had been hard.

"Mhm," Ryo said, gaze touching a roadside boulder, a decent perch.

And then, a scream sliced the stillness.

Kaori.

Her face blanched whiter than in Grass, whiter than death had made it.
She shook violently, as if a thunderbolt had struck.
Thin fingers clenched her collar. Breath hitched, like a cold hand pressed her throat.

Her eyes flooded with terror, staring past them down the road.

"What is it, Kaori?"
Nawaki snapped alert, dropped Kitsuchi, and stepped in front of her.
Mikoto's hand was already on her kunai, body bent into guard.

Ryo's body strung tight in the same blink.
He spun, silver eyes lancing toward Kaori's line of sight.
A faint, clinging foreboding, a predator's scent of blood, screamed warning in his chest.

Kaori's teeth chattered.
She pointed toward the bend ahead, voice scraping blood from her throat.

"S something, there. A, a chakra, s so, so terrifying."

She shook like a reed.

This was the Uzumaki's birthright, Kagura's Mind Eye, sounding its hopeless alarm.

That gift had let her slip the Grass repeatedly, vanishing into cracks where hunters could not follow, until Ryo's team had found her.

That same day, she had felt the kin echo in Nawaki's blood, a quarter line from Uzumaki Mito, and gambled everything to step into the open.

Silence.

The air congealed.

The insects and birds cut off as if strangled.

Only the wind moved, pushing the meadow smell past the bend and bringing with it a thread of death.

And in that hush, it burst, a sudden, unheralded, bone deep killing intent that froze marrow.

It detonated.
It fixed on them.

Ryo's pupils pinpricked to needles.
Kusanagi sang in its sheath, a sharp, urgent keening it had never voiced before.

Who was coming?

(To be continued.)

Chapter 102: The Heart Hunter

The air ahead warped strangely.

Deep in the path, within the thick, crowded shadow of the forest, a swath of darkness swelled, wriggling, pooling.

Like a tide surging up from an abyss.
Like venomous serpents knotting in a viscous bog.
A tangible malice, cold enough to freeze marrow, burst from that growing dark.

Vshlaa.

A dozen blades blacker than night, edges so sharp they seemed to slice sight itself, ripped the air without warning.
Not physical weapons, threads of chakra, compressed to murderous density.
They shredded light, ignored distance, and moved with thunder's speed.

Target, Ryo.

Earth Grudge Fear, tendril blitz.

Ryo's mouth flattened to a cold line.

His left foot hammered back. Force boomed in a ring, spattering hard packed mud.
His body twisted at an impossible angle, spine snapping like a serpent.
Shhk, shhk, shhk.
Air cracked as the threads screamed by. Red strands of hair drifted down.

Three threads that could pierce stone skimmed his brow, flank, and thigh, drilling smoking pits into the wet earth behind him.
Others he shed with a whip of waist and shoulder, leaving only afterimages.
The deadliest strike, aimed at his throat, met a sudden red arc that split it cleanly aside.

Tching.

Metal shrieked through the dead forest.
Kusanagi's dusky red edge clashed with a black thread, flinging a shower of sparks.

The impact rocked Ryo's arm and dragged a half step gouge underfoot.
In raw power, the match was even.

The writhing threads hesitated only a breath before curling back like sharks scenting blood, spiraling, stabbing again from fresh angles, weaving a death net.
Air shredded to a keening whine. Each strand carried energy enough to bore steel.

"Take them, Nawaki up front, Mikoto rear."

Ryo's voice was quenched ice, flat and absolute.

He spoke, and his sword was already cutting, no more parries, only severance.

Skraaa.

Compressed red light tore the air, Cut Flow.
A high frequency veil of edge shimmered before him.

It smashed headlong into the volley of black threads.

The slicing became a continuous roar, hot knife through hard wax.
Splinters of chakra thread spat away like iron filings in a gale.
Kusanagi's pure sharpness and the trembling blade art meshed perfectly.
Roots of black were sawn apart.

The severed cordage snapped back into shadow with a serpent's hiss.
But more threads crawled from every quarter, lethal feelers from a living abyss.

"Go."

Mikoto's whisper cut quick and low. Her eyes bled red, twin tomoe whirling as she pinned every writhing path.
She shoved a frozen Nawaki and a wilting Kaori.

Nawaki jolted awake, jaw clenched.
He heaved the limp Kitsuchi over one shoulder and yanked Kaori with the other, barreling toward thinner trees.
Kaori's legs buckled. She half ran, half dragged.

A sly thread needled up from the mud for Nawaki's ankle.

Mikoto flashed left. Her kunai met it at an impossible angle, sparks spat.
She danced between the hunters and her charges, Sharingan tracing every filament, her parries rattling like a monsoon on plantain leaves.

From the deeper shadow came a cool exhale of breath, a voice tinged with faint disappointment.

Most of the pressure lifted at once. Nawaki and Mikoto plunged into the side grove, shielding Kaori and hauling Kitsuchi away.

The net that bound Ryo ebbed, flowing back into the pulsing dark.

Silence returned to the grove's heart, heavier than before.
Killing intent condensed, compressing every inch of air until even damp seemed to stall.

That darkness at the path's end began to flow, to thin, to sink.

A tall, broad form condensed out of it and walked forward.

His torn, ash black robe was stained with soil and dew, blending with the green gloom like a statue clawed up from a tomb.
Deep green eyes were set in a face carved by age's ruts, cold and dead.
When they found Ryo, they seemed to drink in even the faintest light, leaving only greed and arithmetic.

A butcher eyeing a gold veined carcass.

Across the chest and shoulders, his shape bulged, something wrong writhing under cloth.
A scent drifted, wet earth, rot, iron.

So Ōnoki's plotting and Danzō's guess were right.

Kakuzu, the bounty hunter.

Ryo straightened, silver eyes lighting from within, the offended chill of a strong man, and a near greedy hunger to test himself, flaring like lava in a waking volcano.
Kusanagi thrummed low and eager. A dim crimson ran his blade, the tip aimed at the foe, edge hissing the damp air to tatters.

"Kage class." Ryo's voice rumbled, a thread of heat in it. "Perfect."

He wanted a worthy whetstone. Kakuzu had walked to his door.

And he had Flying Thunder God. He could leave whenever he wished.

"One hundred million," Kakuzu rasped, sand on steel, each word cold and hard. "Is mine."

No speeches.
The verdict fell even as his hands blurred into seals.

Earth Style, Body Hardening.
Earth Spear.

His skin blackened to a metallic sheen, mass and gravity mounting in him like a mountain.
Almost simultaneously, the ground convulsed. Stone spears erupted in a forest of spikes at vicious angles, each thrust aimed to murder evasion.

Ryo did not back up.

He tore forward, a blood red blur ripping space.

Observation Haki, open.

Time stretched in the mind.
Every spike's birth, angle, and vector sketched itself on a precise map inside him.
Each footfall landed in the slit second gaps, on faces not yet set.

Kusanagi flashed to light.

Pierce the Gale, a plain, perfect thrust.
The tip stabbed at leverage points on the worst of the spikes, power focused to a needle.

Rock burst dull and heavy. Half man spikes collapsed from their tips.

Cut Flow again, blade singing like a dragon.
A vibrating edge became a storm wall. Flanking spears hit the invisible gale and skidded, smashing each other to rubble.

Ryo leapt and slid through the killing grove, precise, efficient, no waste.
Pure instinct, honed to a razor.

He was fast, but Kakuzu's next move was faster.

As Ryo cut past the last spikes, Kakuzu's hardened left fist clamped, crushing the air, over Ryo's line.

A shrill, nerve saw squeal ripped the grove.

Lightning Release: False Darkness.

Blue white lances detonated, a condensed thunder spear, not a straight shot but a sweeping fan, far faster than the threads, the pressure of it warping the air.
It lit Kakuzu's dead face and, for an instant, weight in Ryo's silver eyes.

Not a mere follow up.
It blotted the only foothold Ryo could use to jink away.

Timing. Angle. Perfect.

Ryo's pupils pinholed.
Momentum drove him into the spear's path.
Block?
Steel meant nothing to a natural force sweep that broad.

In the crack between thoughts, he abandoned the twist.
He spun with the last sliver of forward motion, the body a high speed gyroscope.

Both feet stamped the one flat rock face that had not shattered.
It exploded under the recoil.
He yanked a reverse burst out of physics.

Kusanagi wheeled in one arm, no art now, only force, a falling cleave.

Rock Sunder.

Compressed red light lashed up, head-on into the fan of thunder.

KRA THOOM.

The forest howled with ten thousand storms.

White incandescence swallowed the clearing.

Arcs chased like maddened serpents, snapping air. Trees flashed to charcoal and flame.

A pressure ring hurled pebbles and splinters in all directions.

At the detonation's center, the red cut drove into the lightning and held.

A heartbeat of deadlock, then the thunder spear split at the middle, snapped apart by brute red.

The storm shredded sideways in a bellow.

Ryo burst from the tattered light, flipping away.

Char streaked him, worst along the outer left arm, sleeve gone, skin blackened and stinking of sear, bone glimpsed white at the edge.

Needle stabs of numbness burrowed to the marrow.

Blood touched his lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and slid two meters in furrows before he locked stance.
Kusanagi drooped to the ground, tiny arcs still dancing along it, ringing on.

For the first time, Kakuzu's rock hard face cracked a fraction.
Shock flickered in dead green eyes.

One sword, split my false darkness?

"Warm up's over," Kakuzu rasped, worse than a whetstone's scrape.
Astonishment sank, greed rising darker and higher.
A hundred million prize, worthy indeed.

He slammed his hands together, no complex seals, only brutal motion.

Shhh, shhhh.

Air tore. Behind and beside him, space buckled. Thick halos of chakra twisted like opened sacks.

"Raaah."

Four inhuman shrieks, pain and fury, ripped up from nowhere.

Masks, four of them, wrenched out of Kakuzu's body by an unseen hand.
No flesh, semi phantoms of dense chakra.

Right shoulder, an ocher face, raw and rocky, hollow eyed, mouth split in a low bellow.
Left shoulder, a cyan face where wind seemed to coil visibly, shape blurred, edges screaming.

Right hip, a red face, lava flowing under skin like burning coal, heat chuffing from its slit.
Left hip, a blue white face clenched in lightning, beaked shriek and arcs crackling.

Kakuzu's aura vaulted free of fetters, four differing storms, earth's weight, wind's shred, fire's burn, lightning's lash, colliding and mixing around him.

Pressure turned air to glue. Birds ripped from branches in panic.

The masks hung about him, empty eyes locking Ryo across the distance.

All five natures, this was how he hunted Kage.

"Combine," Kakuzu said, two stones for teeth.

At once the cyan wind mask inhaled, its belly swelling visible to the eye.
The red mask puffed with it.

Wind Pressure.
Fire Blast.

No orders needed, organs of one beast.

The wind core fired first, not a simple ball, but a high speed rotor, a compressed core meant to shred steel.

It swelled the instant it left the mouth, yanking leaves and gravel to mince them to dust.

An instant later, a sheet of molten red flame raved out, like poured magma.

Wind fed the fire. Fire rode the wind.

They braided, and daylight died.

The wind core blew apart, not as a shockwave, but into a cloud of saw blade cyclones, each a high compression cutter.

They plunged into the fire.

Fwooo, KRAK KRAK KRAK.

The mass swelled severalfold.
Flame reddened to whitish terror.
Moisture ripped from the earth. Ground cracked.

Dozens of fire serpents, driven by storm and sliced by blades of air, roared outward, sweeping a fan wider than ninety degrees before Ryo.

Heat warped the world. Everything shivered in the mirage.

Air boiled. The scorching blast rode a pressure keen enough to flense.

The fire wall hit Ryo's front, no room to dodge.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 103: The Throw

Kakuzu's mouth twitched into a cold, rigid curve, as if he could already hear the clink of coins hitting his purse.

In the instant the tidal wave of flame crashed toward Ryo, he was cornered.

Ahead, a devouring sea of wind and fire.
Left and right, walls of invisible, knife edged wind.

Behind, dead ground still sparking with Lightning Release.

"Huff, ha!"

At the razor's edge, Ryo sucked air in with a detonation.
His silver eyes pinholed, and under the crushing vise he chose madness.
He did not retreat. He inhaled the burning air, bellows chest swelling.
Every packed muscle groaned under the load, then locked by greater will.

All power, chakra, every last shred of life scraped from the brink, compressed and fused, target, both legs.

Stones not yet fully cracked powdered under a thunderclap of force.
The recoil launched him like a fired shell, straight into the Flame Gale maelstrom.
He chose the rudest, most brutal road, forward.

At the storm's edge his body bent backward from the spine into a drawn bow.
Back and core, bone and muscle, every cell howled.

Kusanagi rose.

"HRAAA!"

Sword followed heart.

The dark red light did not arc, it ignited like a hell furnace.

A compressed pillar of molten crimson, sharp at its point as if to pierce the void, a furnace at its tail, erupted from Kusanagi.

"RRRR, BOOOOM!"

Two planes colliding, an eschaton rolling through the trees.

White blaze swallowed everything.
The Flame Gale's pallid glare and the crimson column smashed and locked, space itself laced with hairline black cracks.

A heartbeat of stalemate, and then, under Kakuzu's disbelieving stare,
schlrrk, the red column knifed into the storm's core like a hot blade into iron.

At the contact point, annihilation thundered.
Pallid fire tore. Wind compressed to blades hit a spinning mill and ground to dust.
Shredded flame and wind spat like stray bullets, lighting distant trees.

Ryo, wreathed in lava red glow, shot from the rupture, an arrow forged in a hell furnace, burning itself out yet carrying killing weight.
Man and blade as one.

Pft. Pft. Pft.

He was on fire.
Half his hair was seared away.
Skin was charred and crazed, left side worst, armor ash, muscle smelling of cooked meat, bone winking pale.
Fresh wounds layered over lightning burns.

But the blaze in his eyes outstripped the blaze on his skin.
His right arm trembled from the force he had wrung from it. The tiger's mouth split, blood slipping down the grip.

He did not stop.

He hit, slid, and lunged, Kusanagi trailing sparks, a blood red blur again.

Target, the lightning mask hovering at Kakuzu's right hip.

Kakuzu's pupils finally flashed with real shock and fury.

The Flame Gale, broken head on?
Not in his math.

"Hmph."

The lightning mask's beak yawned. Blue white glare tightened to a point, Pseudo Darkness, a world ender's spear, locking the charging crimson for a pin to the void.

The wind mask whirled, scalpels of pressure crossing into a death net ahead.
The earth mask flashed ocher into Kakuzu, Earth Spear thickening his hide to stone.

Lightning to the throat, wind to the ribs, a double kill.
Ryo's silver eyes flared.

Observation, open.

Time smeared thin.
The spear's blinding path, the wind net's blind spots, the instant the ocher glow sank in and his skin took a second lamina, all of it laid out like a slowed blueprint.

"Three left, drop!"

His body moved before thought.
At full sprint, he folded like paper and dove left.

KRA THOOM.

The lightning spear scraped his nape and ploughed a trench meters deep.

Shhh.

Wind scalpels kissed scalp and spine, carving trenches to the bone. Blood seared into scabs at once.

No pause.

At the dive's bottom he pivoted on his left foot, a top's whirl, and with that spin he hauled Kusanagi from low to high in a scything crescent.

Target, the lightning mask in reach.

"Skreek."

Lightning flared as it tried to harden defense.
Too late.

His dive and spin lived in the masks' overlap blind spot, timed like a god's fingertip.

The dark red edge split the lightning mask down the center.

For a breath, the world froze.

The mask halved. Blue white arced madly, a net losing control, snapping and fizzing before going to dust.

One heart, down.

"Ghh, AAAH!"

Kakuzu screamed, inhuman, like a heart ripped live.

His chakra rhythm lurched.

Chance.

No breath to savor.

In the same slice, Ryo's pupils caught the coal red fire mask at Kakuzu's right hip, its mouth flaring to birth.

No second chance.

Cost, meaningless.

A tenth of a blink before the blast, Ryo ignored skin sizzling, blood loss, bone deep hurt.
He packed what remained, right arm only.
Kusanagi shrieked under the load, blade juddering as if to snap.

"Off."

He crushed the charred earth and sprang, shoving the arm with the last of his life.
No art, only a savage thrust.

Pierce Flow, all of Pierce the Gale crushed to a point, body's push stacked on top, a dark red needle faster than lightning, straight for the mask's core.

Sensing death, the fire core collapsed inward to a white hot shield.

PFF, SKSH.

The tip stabbed the collapsing red, a hot knife into cold tallow, resistance heavy, but the edge, born to kill, bit through.

A thunder inside a drum, not explosion, annihilation.

The fire mask imploded like a pricked blister. Light dimmed, warped, then shredded into sparks drifting on a sulfur wail.

Second heart, down.

"Kff, pt."

Ryo spat blood, breath burning.
Every wound tore wider in that thrust.
Kusanagi nearly leapt from his grip. He clamped harder.

He swayed, but his gaze locked the next mark, the wind mask over Kakuzu's left shoulder.

Kakuzu's stone face finally broke, twisted rage and a miser's grief for lost assets.

Not sorrow, loss.

Earth light thickened his hide again. His killing intent peaked.

Finish it, lock with stone spears below, a wind drill to the heart, crush under falling pressure.

Blood hissed out of Ryo's charred skin, steaming hopelessness.
The left arm was gone to numbness, lightning and fire's shared feast leaving bone peeking white.
Every fiber screamed. Strength ebbed like a falling tide.

Kakuzu's greedy focus pinning him.

And then, from the deepest place, the swordsman's soul he had forged under the Red Haired Emperor's shadow roared.

"One, more!"

The cry was cracked and sanded, but it carried a terminal courage.
It jarred even Kakuzu's control, a flicker of disbelief in those wrinkled green eyes.

He still has a last move?

Ryo's silver blaze exploded, bright enough to outshine the fire on him.
Not chakra. Not muscle.
Will, burning the soul.

Observation, beyond the limit.

Every wild arc around him, each micro path of the wind drill's inner streams, every spike's microsecond of birth from the earth below, even the grain shift of Kakuzu's twice hardened skin, all of it etched with icy clarity into his mind.
Time dragged long in thought, warped at the edges.

His body moved before intent.

He abandoned defense wholly.
He poured his last filament of chakra, the dregs wrested from burning life, and the will to pierce the sky and sever fate, into his right hand, into the partner that had sung through a hundred battles, Kusanagi.

No slash.
No stab.
Those demanded paths and space he no longer owned.

Throw.

The instant the earth spears burst from below, stone, iron hard with Earth Release, drilled through his left calf and outer thigh.

Pain flared like torn lightning.

"Ghh."

Blood flooded his mouth. He crushed it between his teeth and swallowed.

No hesitation.
He used the micro hitch of the impalement to finish a perfect, instinct born cast.

"Off."

Kusanagi left his hand like a red meteor.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 104: Damn you, Senju Tobirama

Vrmmm.

Kusanagi left his hand.

Not a tossed kunai.

Blood mist wound around the dark red blade until it became a streak wrapped in crimson flame.

Fast, past the limit of Kakuzu's tracking.
Faster than the screaming wind drill itself.

The sword light carved a lethal arc through smoke and scrambled energies, drawing a gorgeous, ghastly line in the air.
Straight for the wind mask hovering over Kakuzu's left shoulder.
For the heart inside.

The angle was wicked, the timing perfect.
It slipped past Kakuzu's bullish neck where fury had tilted him, around the densest Earth hardened glow plating his chest, and went for the control node of the wind.

"Skree?"

The wind mask's cry was thin and not human.

It felt the blood lit edge and the will sharp enough to cut souls, and knew annihilation.

It dumped power from the wind drill at once, yanking everything inward to a core, a densest Wind Release barrier, a screaming cyclone compressed to a bead, keen enough to slice steel.

One throw. One kill.

Only one.

Thunk.

Time froze to a ten thousandth.

The blood wreathed red bolt hit the wind core, no flourish, like a suicide spear.

No sky rending boom.
Just the thick tear of blade through hide and energy ripped apart at the seams.

Crack, whump.

Fractures raced across the mask.
With a twisted, failing shriek, the cyan face burst like a bladder stuffed with hurricanes, shattered to ragged quarters.

Wind chakra, freed of core and command, detonated like a rogue eye of storm.
Compressed razors, shards of gale, shot outward, scoring the earth into deep trenches around Kakuzu and kicking a storm of ash and grit.
Even the air seemed cut to ribbons.

A third mask, wind's heart, down.

The storm born of the wind's failure had not even finished hissing when—

"GRAAAAAAA."

Kakuzu howled, worse than before, pain and disbelief twisted into a beast's gut scream.
His massive, iron body buckled like a spine hit by an invisible hammer.

The ragged cloak of black threads swelled and heaved. Under the skin, a hundred invisible serpents writhed and lost control.
His rock dark hide dulled by the eye. Wrinkles deepened. In an instant he aged ten years.

Triple hit. Three core hearts gone in a chain.
Not just a plunge in chakra and force, a wound to life's root.

The soul level rip made him lose control of body and the two remaining hearts.
The mad wind razors cut indiscriminately, raking Earth hard skin that suddenly lagged to respond.

The stone spears and wind drill's death crush evaporated with that loss of control.
What had been a roaring auger for Ryo's back guttered like a snapped kite, light dimming, spin dying, and at the last instant, fell short.

Even so, the vestige of the drill ripped new trenches across his already chewed back, bone showing white as blood fountained.
The spears through his legs burned with layered pain. Blood loss stacked and screamed.

"Kff, pfff."

Ryo could not hold it down.
A gout of hot blood, flecked with charred gut, burst from his mouth.
Darkness lapped at his vision. His mind flickered like a candle in wind.

Do not fall. Not here.

A voice hammered from the soul.

Chance, bought with a paralyzed lower half and a dead left arm, a slit to survive.

Pain beyond limits woke an animal will.
His silver eyes dimmed, but the last sparks leapt and snarled.

He slapped the stone spear skewering his left leg, snapping its tip with raw force, crack.
Both legs wrenched. Agony nearly blacked him out, but his monster's will tore the right leg free of its spike.
The left was gone, no motion there.

He dropped to one knee in blood and char, breath like a bellows, every inhale tasting of hot rust.

The body was at collapse. Even lifting a hand was ordeal.

Far off, Kakuzu hunched and retched up dark green, rotten smelling syrup, the Earth Grudge Fear weeping from wounded cores.
He raised a face wrinkled and wrenched by pain and rage. Dead green eyes burned with hate and an animal's killing.

The last earth mask hovered at his breast, guttering yellow to keep the host upright.
The lightning and fire masks were ash. Stray sparks snapped out in the dark.

"Y, you little, filth."

Kakuzu's voice scraped like a grinder on rusted iron. "I will, crush your bones, make every inch of you, pay."

His huge, hardened right hand lifted, shaky, slower than before, but the killing will was naked and close.

No more masks.
He wanted to pulp the brat who had cost him three gold mines.
A hundred million? He only needed the head.

Ryo lifted his face into that venomous stare.
Soot and blood painted him. Red hair hung scorched and ragged. A bright line of blood tugged his lip.
And in that ruin, his silver eyes twisted into a hideous, icy smile full of contempt.

"Kh, heh, heh."
Weak, but clear. "Old man, your hearts, pricey."

He glanced at the last, ocher mask at Kakuzu's chest. "Three, just to make a dent?"

Veins bulged on Kakuzu's brow.
He roared. The hardened fist fell with a wind that smothered breath.

Death rushed again.

And when the fist was less than a yard away, air ripping the burnt hairs at Ryo's brow—

Ryo's only working hand flicked up.

No weapon, only a kunai.
A plain one, sticky with his blood.

A tiny, jarring motion.

"Flying, Thunder God."

His whisper was a gnat, and a spell.

Space shivered, weak but distinct, rippling from that bloody kunai as its center.
His final out, apart from the last throw, his door from the gallows.

Kakuzu's pupils stabbed to pinpoints.

Flying Thunder God? Senju Tobirama?
No, impossible.

Terror drowned the rage in a blink.
The boy's identity, this lost space art, how—

But the fist was thrown, too close. Old strength gone, new not born. No way to change it in time.

Ryo's cold smile cut deeper at Kakuzu's face, twisted by shock, fear, disbelief.

"One hundred million."

He spent the last of his voice on four clear words, the final verdict.

"Just went up."

The moment the words fell, Ryo, and the bloody kunai, vanished a hairsbreadth before impact.

As if he had never been there.
Left behind, a crater from that iron fist. Scorched earth. A snapped spear through Ryo's left leg. Sprays of hot blood. Smoke and iron thick air.

The missed blow's rebound staggered Kakuzu sideways, injuries howling.

"Uhh, hu, huh?"

He stared at nothing, at the pit his cracked fist had made.

"Disappeared?"

Silence fell.

Only the night wind prowled the wrecked ground, playing the crisped leaves and dust.

Kakuzu stood, hulking and locked, like a ruined statue scoured by a thousand winters.

His anger and killing will, suddenly targetless, drained and flooded back as something larger, colder, and choking.

Three.

Three priceless hearts.

The core's tearing ache kept screaming, the loss was not a dream.

That hundred million mark, not only shredded three hearts and rode out all his assaults, he slipped the surest kill under Kakuzu's very eyes.

"Flying, Thunder God."
The rusted, rotten sour throat forced the words out, chill to the bone.

Senju Tobirama.

A nightmare name leapt across his mind.
A godless, traceless space leap, who else?

A thirteen year old, drove him to near full output, cost him three hearts, and then walked away.

Kakuzu felt bile and blood surge. The world dimmed at the rim.
Not just money.
Decades of savings, hearts, looted in one night, and his hunter's pride, trampled.

"Pfft."

Dark green, viscous fluid frothed with blood from his mouth.

He lifted his face to the black sky.
The night's cold slid through his tattered robe, and into a heart like a broken, empty field.

"Konoha, Ryo."

He ground the names out between teeth, hatred and a deeper fear burning the sound.

"And Flying Thunder God, Senju Tobirama.

Pft.

Pain at the cores and a tempest of rage finally toppled what little he held together.
More green syrup spat from him. The big body sagged, kneeling to catch breath.
Every inhale was a bellows ripping itself to pieces.

—

Meanwhile, on Grass Country's border, in a hidden fold of hills.

Firelight nudged back the dark and the mountain chill, not the cold in three young hearts.

Nawaki leaned on stone, sweat and dust streaking his face, panting.
One hand clamped his ribs, the black threads had carved deep, not mortal, but down to bone.

Beside him, Kitsuchi lay pale and out cold.
Kaori hugged her knees by the fire, small body trembling out of her control, eyes wide and unfocused, only the horror of surviving.

Mikoto stood straight on a high rock at the ravine's mouth, twin tomoe scarlet maxed out, staring toward where Ryo and Kakuzu fought.

Her face was snow pale. She had all but bitten through her lip.

At this range, miles and mountains between, she could see nothing.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 105: Physical Healing

The Kusanagi Sword was thrust diagonally into the scorched earth, its blade coated in sticky blood plasma and etched with burn marks from lightning arcs.

Ryo's figure suddenly coalesced within the rippling distortion of space inside the mountain cave, like a shattered clay statue forcibly pieced back together. His left arm was charred black, burned to charcoal. Skin and muscle were completely carbonized, with bone faintly visible beneath.

Across his back, a massive laceration gaped wide, flesh curled outward, blood dripping from the tattered hem of his dark-red coat. Each drop struck the cold rock floor with a heavy, sticky sound.

"Ryo!" Nawaki's throat tightened, his pupils constricting. The pain in his ribs forgotten, he rushed forward in panic.

"Don't move!" Mikoto's sharp cry rang out, tinged with fear. In a flash, she appeared at Ryo's side. Her crimson Sharingan spun rapidly, piercing through the shredded remains of his clothing to reveal the horror beneath: bones riddled with cracks, internal organs displaced from shock, and faint traces of poisonous chakra gnawing at his heart.

The air in the cave froze. Only Ryo's ragged breathing and the crackle of the campfire remained.

"Go... go!" Ryo rasped, voice hoarse to the point of tearing. Each word dragged more blood from his throat. "Kakuzu... isn't dead... he could be... coming!"

His remaining right arm rose weakly, gathering what little chakra he had left, a flicker so faint it resembled a firefly in winter. Sweat mixed with blood trickled down his face, stinging his eyes.

Just as Ryo was about to perform another jutsu, Kaori suddenly stepped forward. Without hesitation, she stretched out her slender arm and said with unwavering determination,

"Bite me, Brother Ryo!"

She possessed the unique healing bloodline of the Uzumaki clan, capable of restoring even the gravest wounds.

Ryo had rescued Kaori from the torment of Kusagakure because he refused to let her become a tool, a living medical instrument for others to exploit. If he now healed himself by feeding on her blood, how would he be any different from those beasts who once enslaved her?

But Kaori's clear eyes showed no fear or hesitation. She looked directly at him and spoke each word with crystal resolve.

"Brother Ryo, you're not like them! You're the one who saved me from that hell, who gave me hope again! I'm doing this willingly! If you won't heal by biting me, then I won't go with you anymore!"

Facing Kaori's pure, determined gaze, Ryo knew this wasn't the time to hesitate. He gripped her small, scarred hand, his throat moving painfully. Filled with guilt, he finally lowered his head and bit gently into her arm, carefully drawing her chakra.

A miracle occurred almost instantly. Ryo's terrible wounds began to heal before their eyes. The Uzumaki clan's regenerative ability was nothing short of terrifying.

The blackened wound on his arm, once burnt to the bone, shed its dead flesh as a surge of life force tore through it. Around the scorched bone, tender new tissue blossomed and spread at an impossible rate, weaving together like vines. The torn flesh on his back rapidly fused, sealing the gaping wound. Broken tendons snapped back into place, displaced organs gently guided by invisible hands. Fresh blood surged through his veins, dissolving internal injuries one by one. The unbearable pain began to fade.

The scorched skin and dried blood peeled away from Ryo's body, revealing pale new skin beneath. The once-gaping wounds healed into faint scabs.

But at that moment, he felt the small hand in his grasp trembling violently. Kaori's once rosy face turned deathly pale.

Her body went limp, as though her bones had vanished, and she collapsed softly. The determination in her eyes dimmed to gray, her breath faint, fingers twitching weakly.

She was too young, her chakra and life force still undeveloped. Her body couldn't endure such massive depletion.

Seeing her on the verge of collapse, Ryo immediately stopped the absorption.

"Enough! Kaori!" Ryo roared hoarsely, pain in his voice. The little girl was as fragile as a candle flickering in the wind.

Mikoto rushed forward and caught her before she fell.

Watching Kaori's selfless act, Mikoto's heart tangled with sorrow, tenderness, and a subtle, guilty unease.

"Move!" Ryo's voice exploded like thunder, rough and commanding, leaving no room for argument. His right arm shot out, gripping both Nawaki, who carried the unconscious Kitsuchi, and Mikoto, who held Kaori, by the shoulder.

The Flying Thunder God mark flashed in his mind, set at a chaotic stone forest near the border of the Land of Rain.

Space twisted violently. Vision stretched, tore, and reformed. It felt as though their bodies were being crushed by invisible force. Nawaki barely suppressed his nausea, clutching the limp Kitsuchi in his arms.

Light shifted. The biting cold air reeked of scorched soil and gunpowder, the borderlands of Ame.

Lead-gray clouds hung low, pressing heavily overhead. Bolts of white lightning flickered silently across the depths of the sky. Beneath them lay a wasteland of mud and stone, jagged rocks rising like the fangs of dead beasts, scattered with twisted metal and dark stains near cratered pits, marks of acid rain and endless conflict.

For Nawaki, returning to this hellish place oddly felt like safety.

"Take Kaori." Ryo scanned the terrain quickly, pointing toward a narrow fissure between two boulders. His voice was cold and absolute. "Hide inside with Kitsuchi. Stay put. Anyone who approaches, kill them."

Under his ragged red hair, his silver eyes were sharp as blades, cutting straight through Nawaki.

Nawaki stiffened, then nodded hard. Wordlessly, he took the unconscious Kaori from Mikoto's arms, wrapping the small girl in his cloak.

Dragging the exhausted Kitsuchi and carrying Kaori, he crawled into the crevice, vanishing into the shadows of the rocks, silent, alert, and watchful.

Mikoto stood quietly beside Ryo. Her Sharingan had faded, but her eyes still rippled with emotion.

Ryo's last word, "Kill," still echoed like a hammer blow. She sensed his true intent, not just to pursue Kakuzu, but to protect them from another danger, Shimura Danzō. Especially now that Kaori's miraculous healing ability had been exposed.

Ryo felt Mikoto's gaze. When he turned, he saw only her downcast lashes, her hair shadowing her face.

"I'll find Tsunade," he said, voice low and urgent, meant only for her. "Kaori must be under her protection before she enters Konoha. That old vulture will never let a bloodline like hers go free."

Tsunade's protection, the only shield strong enough to oppose Danzō's ambition and safeguard the last Uzumaki heir.

Without another word, Ryo focused inward, locking onto the Flying Thunder God mark he had secretly placed behind Tsunade's shoulder during her last battle, a mark she never noticed.

Target: Tsunade-hime.
Teleport.

A sharp hum of space distortion. Ryo vanished from the cold rain of Ame, leaving behind only a swirl of dust and falling leaves.

"Damn it! Damn it!!"

Kakuzu's roar, deep and grinding like metal on stone, exploded through the scorched forest.

A green blur smashed through tree trunks and landed heavily before the cave's mouth, the ground cracking beneath his hardened feet.

His patched-together body was wrapped in torn gray robes, the remaining Earth Grudge Mask on his chest flickering with dim yellow light. His dead green eyes blazed with fury hot enough to melt iron.

He scanned the remnants, the bloodstains, the ashes, the scuffed ropes, the crushed leaves. Every trace stoked the fire in his chest.

His heart, or what remained of his hearts, seethed with pain. Three of his precious hearts destroyed. Decades of accumulation, gone. His bounty reward, gone. Humiliated by the Flying Thunder God Technique, unforgivable.

"I'll skin you alive," he growled, voice thick with venom. He lunged forward, following faint traces of chakra and dragged footprints. His massive arm swept through the air like a blade, smashing into the stone wall hiding their escape.

The cave wall exploded into shards, stones pelting outward like shrapnel.

But when the dust cleared, he found only emptiness, no bodies, no sound, only the lingering ripple of distorted space.

"The Flying Thunder God... Senju Tobirama!"

Kakuzu's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. He glared at the gaping hole before him as if trying to pierce through the void and see that cursed man beyond it.

Three hearts lost. The bounty gone. His pride shattered by a ghost that could vanish into thin air. Fury and humiliation burned through the remnants of his sanity.

A thick, dark-green clot of fluid burst from his mouth, chunks of viscera mixed in, splattering across the scorched ground with the stench of decay. His body trembled violently, the glow of his remaining mask dimming to near extinction.

He clutched his chest as the mask emitted a low, uneasy hum.

"Kamiyama... Ryo..."

The name hissed from between his teeth like poison. His face twisted into something monstrous, rage, greed, humiliation, and unwilling fear mixing into one ugly expression.

"Next time," he muttered hoarsely, staggering into the shadows of the forest, "I'll crush you into coins..."

A sharper hum than before split the air.

Ryo's form shimmered and vanished from the cold, wet borderlands. The wind howled through the empty clearing, scattering broken stones and withered leaves.

Then came heat. The heavy dampness of Ame was replaced by a dry warmth, tinged with the scent of herbs.

Ryo stumbled slightly as he tore free from the violent pull of space. The air was thick with disinfectant, blood, and alcohol. His vision swam, but his senses quickly focused on the massive, dark-green medical tent before him, its canvas stained with dried blood.

Tsunade's field camp.

The flap of the tent hung heavy, but lamplight glowed from within. Raised voices, angry and tense, filtered through the air.

Ryo steadied himself, forcing down the ache in his chest. He lifted a dirt-stained hand and peered through the haze of medicine and smoke, straight toward the source of the argument.

Inside, he saw a familiar mane of golden hair flick sharply as the woman turned, her back to him, locked in a heated confrontation with a shadowy figure radiating a chilling aura.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 20: Chapter 106-110

Chapter 106: Acting Too Radically

The instant the heavy curtain was yanked aside, the stinging reek of disinfectant rushed out, thick with the iron tang of blood.

Inside the largest medical tent on the Ame front, the air was strung taut, like a bow drawn to its limit.

Ragged breathing, stifled groans from the wounded, the crisp clatter of medical tools, all of it was drowned out by the sudden crescendo of an argument at the center of the tent.

"Tsunade! What a fine student you've raised!"

Danzō, shrouded in his eternally somber robes, stood rooted in the middle of the tent, eyes so dark they seemed to weep dampness. He glared at the figure beside a mound of blood-soaked bandages and empty medicine bottles.

"An entire village. An entire Kusagakure. Wiped out because that Kamiyama Ryo lost his temper. Do you have any idea what that means? They were allies. Allies named in our treaty." His voice was low but forked like a viper's tongue, every word an accusation. "Tsunade, is this what you call discipline? Is this the ethics your clan instills, slaughtering an ally on a whim?"

Her reply was a sharper crack.

Tsunade's head snapped up from a stack of casualty reports. Under her golden bangs, amber eyes flared with tangible fury, an enraged lioness.

"Shimura Danzō!"

Her fist slammed onto the desk. The thick hardwood groaned in protest. "My people, I know them. Ryo isn't a lunatic, and he's no butcher. Watch your mouth."

She leaned forward, pressure meeting pressure, her presence cutting even fiercer than his. "And you. You parade around preaching hardline and iron-blooded, dressing yourself up as Konoha's shield. What now? Faced with decisive force, you suddenly think my man is too radical?

Danzō's brow creased, the furrows digging deeper. Sparring with this woman's sharp tongue was a fool's errand. He changed angles at once. "Fine. Let's set the Grass Village aside, for now."

He pressed harder, voice turning colder. "Has Ryo's squad completed its mission? Where is he? Where is the mission scroll, the intel? Has he forgotten the basic protocol of reporting back to the village? Does Konoha mean nothing to him? I'd say he slaughtered so freely in the Land of Grass he's forgotten his roots. Perhaps he's already nurturing thoughts of desertion." No one was better than Danzō at pinning labels. He dropped the heavy cap of suspected defection without blinking.

"Heh." Tsunade let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You've been sitting in Root's shadows so long, looking down at the world, you've forgotten what it means for ordinary shinobi to stake their lives on the battlefield."

She rose, both hands flattening the desk as she loomed over him. "Missions run into complications and get delayed. That's normal. If you've got the free time to stand here lecturing me, dripping sarcasm and acting coy, why don't you take a walk among the wounded? Look at those kids who lost legs and arms. Look at the ones who bled and sweated for your glory."

Her anger mounted, voice erupting like a volcano. "I don't have time for your droning, old man. Get back to your command post and do your job. Stop making a mess of mine. No wonder my grand-uncle, chose Hiruzen-sensei for Hokage back then and not you, because you weren't up to it."

Those last words were a shout, each syllable laced with scorn and rage, barbed like poisoned senbon, striking Danzō's most sensitive nerve.

His face went from iron blue to pitch black. The fire in his single eye all but burst out, then stuck, caught in his throat.

His Adam's apple bobbed. He trembled with barely controlled fury, a breath trapped painfully in his chest.

"Get out." Tsunade jabbed a finger at the curtain, her command as merciless as a general berating a routed army.

Danzō's chest heaved. It took all his strength not to lash out. He stared at Tsunade, eyes thick with venom, and squeezed out a threat between his teeth. "Tsunade. Mark my words. This debt—"

"Oh?" A cold killing edge cut the air, interrupting him without warning. "Mark what, exactly?" The voice was not loud, yet it struck through the heavy atmosphere with perfect clarity.

In the tent's shadowed corner, space rippled like water. A tall, straight figure tore the air and stepped out of nothing. Short black hair, slightly disheveled. Ryo.

He simply stood there, not even bothering to look at Danzō directly. Yet an intangible, domineering pressure flooded the room. It was pure slaughter, so pure that even Danzō, who reveled in intrigue and darkness, felt a chill .

Danzō's breath hitched. He whirled and met Ryo's gaze, serene to the point of horror, fathomless. There was no provocation, no anger, only a detached appraisal, the way one might look at an inanimate object.

"Hmph." Danzō forced a snort. He didn't dare hold Ryo's eyes for long, wary of being crushed again by that dreadful aura.

"Kamiyama Ryo. I expect a full, detailed mission report. You had better have truly completed your task." He left the line like a threat, but didn't risk another glance at Ryo or Tsunade. He turned and left in hurried steps, back stiff, an exit that looked, no matter how one squinted at it, like a clumsy attempt to hide his retreat.

The heavy curtain fell back, cutting off that hateful presence.

The air in the tent instantly loosened, the earlier gunpowder haze carried away by a faint breeze.

The chill in Ryo's aura receded like a tide.

Seeing Tsunade still fuming, chest rising and falling, he let his mouth curl into a relaxed arc and teased lightly, "Heh. As expected of you, crazy woman. A few lines and you almost made that fossil pass out."

"Ha." Tsunade flung a roll of medical reports at him. He caught it without effort.

"Impudent brat." She shot him a glare, then her eyes flicked over him, sharpening as her brows knotted. "Get over here. Look at yourself. Your clothes are in tatters. You're covered in wounds, the blood hasn't even dried. At this rate, the day you die somewhere with no corpse left to find, I won't be surprised." Her words were harsh, but the worry beneath them was plain.

She strode over and seized his arm, hard enough to make Ryo grit his teeth.

Her examination was quick and professional. Fingers pressed his shoulders, arms, chest, abdomen. Amber eyes were unyielding, with a thread of worry buried deep. "You ran into a real monster, didn't you? Which blind bastard did this to you?"

"Mm. An old monster, all right." Ryo let her fuss over him. Around Tsunade, the tension he lived in eased without him noticing.

Here, he didn't have to force the facade of cold strength. Maybe because she had seen him at his worst, raw and ragged beneath the white glare of the infirmary lamps, any mask felt pointless.

"Kakuzu. A bounty-hunting freak, rumor has it he once tried to assassinate the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama."

"What, assassinate my grandpa?!" Tsunade's hands froze. She looked up, disbelief curdling into a cold, mocking smile.

"Him? Kakuzu?" She snorted. "Please. He probably lobbed a kunai from miles away and called it a successful attack on the God of Shinobi."

In her mind, the world's strong divided neatly into two categories, Senju Hashirama and everyone else.

The gap was an abyss.

"Alright, alright." Ryo rolled the shoulder she had been manipulating, signaling her to stop. "These are flesh wounds. I'm not dying today. No need to trouble you, Tsunade-sensei. A few rounds of grilled meat and I'll be fine." He trusted his own recovery. Unless it was venom that ate to the core, like that time when rescuing Tsunade's team, or an injury draining his life itself, this kind of damage was routine.

"As you wish." Tsunade snatched her hands back with a huff and reached for cotton and disinfectant. Still, she kept needling him. "And how many times have I told you, don't call me Tsunade-sensei. I don't have a headache like you for a student."

She glared again, a flicker of awkwardness darting under the surface. "Funny how you remember the word sensei when you're in trouble. When you're fine, it's crazy woman this and crazy woman that. I see right through you, only respectful when you need something."

Ryo chuckled, understanding. "Whatever makes you happy." He knew her well. This contrariness was just her crooked way of caring.

He dropped the matter of address and got straight to the point. "During the mission in Kusa, I met someone."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 107: Dearest Nabekage

Tsunade arched a brow, motioning for him to go on.

"A little girl of the Uzumaki clan. The only survivor," Ryo's voice sank, his eyes hardening. "Her name is Kaori. She's from Kushina's people, same bloodline. I have to bring her to Konoha. If Kushina finds out, she'll be over the moon. It's just…" He paused and looked at Tsunade.

"You know how the village's hidebound rules are. A newcomer, especially an Uzumaki child, won't escape interrogations and gossip. I need you, as Konoha's Princess, to stand with her publicly and vouch for her. That will shut a few high-ranking mouths." He laid out his core request plainly, without hiding the reason he had gone on a killing spree.

As for Kitsuchi, that big gift bag, Ryo already had a plan. Dumping the mess on a certain insidious old man was perfect. Danzō was, after all, a professional scapegoat.

Seeing the unshakable resolve in Ryo's eyes, especially at the mention of Kushina's kin, Tsunade's gaze flickered.

She lifted her teacup, took a sip, and muttered in a tone that seemed unchanged yet slightly off, "Hmph, no wonder the Grass ended up like that… turns out…"

She left the sentence hanging. Even she didn't notice the faint, almost imperceptible sour note at the end. Was it because he had risked himself so much for another woman's kin?

"Of course." Tsunade instantly swept away that wisp of awkwardness and slapped the table hard enough to rattle the papers.

When it came to the Uzumaki, the Senju's ally for generations, duty surged to the fore. She spoke without hesitation. "Uzumaki business is Tsunade's business. Leave the little girl to me. We'll see who dares breathe a word." Her declaration brimmed with protective ferocity, the responsibility carved into her bones.

"That's enough. Thanks." Relief finally tugged a smile at Ryo's lips. With Tsunade backing her, the biggest barrier to Kaori finding footing in Konoha was as good as cleared.

The next instant, his afterimage thinned and vanished. The air only trembled with the faintest ripple of space.

"Hey. Wait. You brat." Tsunade froze, eyes widening at the spot where Ryo had disappeared, realization dawning a beat late. "Hold on, how did he get in here?!" A key question, one she had overlooked, surged to the front of her mind.

She had been fuming at Danzō, then distracted by Ryo's injuries, never stopping to consider how he had appeared in the medical office without a sound.

"The Flying Thunder God." The answer was obvious.

"Don't tell me…" Tsunade's face shifted through several shades. As a top-tier medical ninja, her sensitivity to the body and chakra was second to none.

She stopped what she was doing and ran her chakra through herself from crown to toes, an internal sweep for any foreign imprint of a space-time technique.

The feeling was awful. Having a spatial coordinate left on you without your knowledge, for someone of her level, was like having your front door flung wide open.

Her expression turned complicated. Shock, a flash of irritation, and something deeper she couldn't name. Where was the mark? When had he set it? That audacious little—

Before she could put the pieces together, space at the center of the room rippled again, like a stone dropped into a lake.

"Ah." Ryo appeared once more. This time, he wasn't alone. He had brought four attachments.

"Big sis!" A young, energetic voice rang out first. Nawaki spotted Tsunade behind the desk and shouted like thunder.

But Tsunade, still reeling from the discovery of the FTG mark and still probing for its exact location, wasn't wearing a pleasant face. Startled by her gloomy look, Nawaki hunched his neck. His voice shrank to nothing as he clamped his mouth shut.

At Ryo's side stood a frail little girl dressed in Mikoto's clothes. Her light red hair was dull, like withered grass. Her small face was smudged with dirt, but her large, clear eyes brimmed with unease. Uzumaki Kaori.

Instinctively, she edged behind Ryo, clutching the bloody hem of his clothes like a castaway clinging to the only piece of driftwood.

The instant Tsunade's gaze left Nawaki and fell on Kaori, all the anger, gloom, and complicated feelings melted like frost beneath the sun.

Her eyes grew infinitely gentle, full of kinship and the empathy of one clan's ally for another's orphan.

She circled the desk, crouched down to meet Kaori at eye level, and let a bright, warm smile blossom across her face.

"You must be Kaori?" Her voice softened until it was barely a ripple, as if a louder word might startle a trembling bird. "I'm Tsunade. From now on, I'm your big sister. Here, no one will bully you again." She extended her hand, but didn't touch, keeping a distance that felt safe. "Come on, call me big sis."

Kaori lifted her head, glanced nervously at this powerful, warm woman, then looked to Ryo, eyes clear and trusting, asking silently.

Ryo gave her a steady, encouraging look and nodded. "Go on, Kaori. It's alright. This is your Sister Tsunade. She'll protect you."

With his reassurance, the taut lines of Kaori's face loosened a little. Staring at the beautiful, strong, golden-haired sister before her, she mustered all her courage, opened her mouth, and called out in a thin, hopeful voice, "…Big sis."

"Mm." Tsunade answered at once, her smile dazzling as sunshine. Her natural social grace surged forth. She took Kaori's small, almost skin-and-bones hand without a trace of distaste.

"What cold hands. Hungry, aren't you? I'll take you for grilled meat in a bit, eat till you're full. And this hair…" As she spoke, she pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped the dirt from Kaori's face, movements as delicate as if handling a priceless treasure.

"We'll take good care of you. Soon your hair will be prettier than mine." In a few soft lines, the skittish little girl, though still shy, had eased noticeably. Her tiny hand quietly closed around Tsunade's warm fingers in return.

Nawaki and Mikoto watched the tender scene with quiet curiosity.

Only then, having soothed the little one, did Tsunade seem to remember something. Her eyes cut sharply to the last item Ryo had brought back, the one he had casually dumped on the floor, trussed tight and unconscious.

The man was tall, but now bruised blue and purple. His earth-yellow outfit was a mess, at least a dozen wounds still seeping with the coppery scent of blood and dust.

"What's this one's story?" Tsunade straightened, nudging the lump with the tip of her sandal, brows knitting again. The features looked familiar, but beaten so badly she couldn't place him at a glance.

Nawaki, whose earlier interruption had been shut down, finally seized the chance to perform.

"Sis, sis, I know." He puffed out his chest, face alight with excitement and irrepressible pride, pointing at the man on the ground. "This guy's a big fish. You'll freak when you hear, he's—"

"Shut it, idiot." Tsunade shot her brother a glare. His rashness left her speechless. She knew exactly where Nawaki's ceiling was. No big fish of this caliber would be bagged by a Genin like him.

Her gaze snapped to Ryo like lightning. "You little menace, who is he? Where'd you get him? Don't you dare play dumb, another prisoner you picked up while stirring trouble outside?"

Ryo shrugged, unmoved by Nawaki's bluster. "Mm. A bargaining chip with some value. Inconvenient to kill, so I brought him in. Time to let Danzō carry a pot."

He didn't hide his intention. "He's an Iwa jōnin, Kitsuchi. To be precise, he's the son of the Tsuchikage, Ōnoki." He dropped the bomb flatly, then added, "He needs to stay alive, and in presentable condition. Patch him up with your medical ninjutsu so he doesn't die. A living Ōnoki's son is worth something."

Tsunade's impatient expression froze.

Iwa-nin.

Ōnoki's son.

This fish weighed far more than she had expected, practically dynamite fishing. She had to reassess just how big a splash this not-my-student of hers had made outside.

"The Tsuchikage's son?" Even with all she had weathered, her pupils pinched tight. She understood instantly why Ryo didn't want to kill him, and why he would use him as leverage.

Kill him, and it's a blood feud with a whole village.

But alive, the value skyrockets, not just intel, but a strategic bargaining chip. Her look toward Ryo turned complicated. This kid had guts the size of the sky, and he never missed a chance to profit, even tossing the blame neatly onto Danzō on the way.

She drew a deep breath. Their relationship had always been more like peers. Now, seeing his calculation and daring, trust rose easily to the surface. Tsunade met Ryo's eyes and said crisply, "Got it. Handle it your way." She believed in his judgment and ability, and knew how to coordinate the aftermath. That was Ryo, always pulling off the unexpected that still made perfect sense.

She didn't press further. Turning to the unconscious Kitsuchi, she squatted with practiced ease. Gentle green chakra blossomed over her hands and flowed into his most serious wounds. For the legendary medic of the Sannin, stabilizing this level of trauma was trivial. Soon, she withdrew her chakra. Kitsuchi remained battered and out cold, but his life was no longer in danger. He wouldn't die from his injuries anytime soon.

"Done. He'll live," Tsunade said, flicking her hands.

"Thanks." Ryo nodded, hoisted the still-unconscious Kitsuchi like a sack, and slung him over his shoulder.

"I'll go report the mission to a certain champion of hardline foreign policy," he said with a crooked smile, clearly meaning Danzō.

Before the words had fully settled, Ryo and his gift bag vanished with a ripple.

Silence fell over the office.

Nawaki opened his mouth as if to speak, then scratched his head at the empty space where Ryo had been. Mikoto stood quietly to the side, her gaze soft on Kaori. Tsunade, meanwhile, had already laced her fingers through Kaori's, a broad, protective grin back on her face.

"Come on, Kaori. First a bath and clean clothes, then Sister's taking you out for a big meal of grilled meat."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 108: Toughest Posture, Most Cowardly Words

Konoha Command Post, Ame Front

Heavy black clouds sagged low. Rain drummed endlessly on the window frames, a suffocating, ceaseless hiss. Inside the command post, oil lamps barely gnawed back pockets of shadow. The air reeked of chill damp, blood, and scheming. On the wall, a vast shinobi world map showed Konoha's marker, isolated over the Land of Rain.

Danzō sat at the main seat, his face darker than the sky outside. Before him lay a mission report scroll, stained with blood and grit, like a red-hot brand searing his nerves.

"Hmph." A throttled grunt broke the dead air. In the shadow behind him, two Root operatives tensed, then froze back into stone.

"So… Those spineless reeds of Kusagakure were acting for those stone-headed Iwa fools, sweeping the Land of Grass to collect Uzumaki remnants as vessels?"

His palm slammed the hardwood desk.

Bang.

The crack boomed through the cramped room. A teacup jumped, brown tea sloshed out, spreading a dark blot across a dry scroll. A palm print sank into the wood, fibers crushed shallowly by the blow. In the shadows, the two Root shinobi barely dared breathe.

Kusagakure, a fair-weather ally, a creeper squirming in the ninja world's cracks. And they dared. They dared not only to secretly help their sworn rivals in Iwagakure piece together a perfect jinchūriki, Uzumaki with powerful sealing physiques, but to meddle a hundred different ways besides.

Even Iwa's brutes had caught the scent, and yet Danzō, and the Root intel web he had painstakingly woven, had been deaf and blind.

"Useless. All of you are useless." His fury nearly blew the top off his skull. He wasn't angry over a few Uzumaki lives. He already knew about the girl Ryo's squad brought back, Kaori, and felt not a ripple. To Konoha, stray Uzumaki out in the world were fallen leaves, one more, one less, no matter.

What set his blood boiling was Kusagakure's vile conduct, betrayal to the bone, and the insult of being toyed with in the palm of their hand.

Some ally this is.

Worse than a naked enemy. More infuriating. More humiliating.

"Iwa… and what right do they have." Danzō's withered fingers dug grooves into the wood, nails packed with sawdust. Freedom from tailed-beast rampages and jinchūriki meltdowns had long been Konoha's strategic edge, thanks to Uzumaki Mito. While other villages wrestled their monsters, Konoha enjoyed a rare stability.

And now, those damned Grass and Rock shinobi dared covet that stability guarded by Uzumaki blood. They dared raise a new Uzumaki jinchūriki to break the balance. A direct challenge to Konoha's core interests, and a slap at Danzō's grip.

A cold, absolute plan formed, hard as steel, in his mind.

Those Uzumaki remnants scattered in Grass, either they obediently get protected back to Konoha by Root, Konoha's current helm rests with Danzō and the other elders, sheltering a few more Uzumaki won't rock the boat, the clan's sealing arts and heritage already sit in Konoha's pocket.

Or—

If they can't be taken?

Then erase them. Cleanly. Completely.

What Konoha cannot have must not fall to wolves with hungry eyes, least of all into the hands of the great villages.

For a flash he even thought, if not for the First's jinchūriki, old Uzumaki Mito, that ancient terror before whom even the Third bowed, being gone now…

Stray Uzumaki…

"Ryo…" Danzō's eye slid back to the bloodstained report, his mouth twisting into an ugly arc that mixed approval with greed. Setting aside the boy's untamable, uncontrollable defiance, judging only this extermination of Grass.

"Beautifully done." He all but ground the words out. "Betrayers like Grass, worse than pigs and dogs, tumors. They should be culled to the last. Purged is justice."

This brat fit Root's palate perfectly, ruthless, leaving no tails, decisive in killing, unafraid to bear the weight. Born for Root.

The itch to poach flared again. Kamiyama Ryo, why so stubborn? He'd hand the boy Root's number-two seat if asked, authority, resources, the lot.

The more he read the clean, crisp report, the more a stone sat on his chest, satisfied yet stifled. The little bastard simply wouldn't bend, wouldn't join Root, leaving Danzō little to pick at. The suffocation gnawed him raw.

Ryo seemed to read his thoughts, a faint smile at his lips. He stood straight before Danzō, without the least trace of a subordinate's humility, composed, even faintly oppressive.

"Danzō-sama," Ryo jerked his chin toward a corner of the command room, where a trussed, man-shaped bundle oozed the copper of blood and the stink of earth, a faint Iwa-ninja breath. "By protocol, this gift should be brought back to Hiruzen. But if you'd like to interrogate him now, I've no objection." His tone was casual, as if discussing a trinket.

Danzō's lone eye lit like a starving wolf sighting lamb.

Interrogate? Of course, now.

Root could pry three pounds of intel from a corpse. Handing a high-value captive, even half-dead, to the decaying ANBU under Hiruzen would be a waste.

"Mm. You have my thanks for capturing him." Danzō forced his excitement down, trying to keep the elder's gravitas. He flicked his hand, voice low. "Take him."

Two Root shinobi slid from the dark like ghosts, precise and cold, dragging the captive away and leaving a dark red smear on the rug.

"Efficient," Ryo said lightly, while laughing inwardly. Danzō, my dear scapegoat, so eager to take delivery? When Hiruzen asks why I erased Grass, I'll sell you out, your orders, of course. You're the Nabekage himself, what's one more lid on the stack?

Watching his men vanish with the prize, Danzō's irritation over Ryo's refusal to join was rinsed by this happy surprise. He turned back, a calculating glint in his eye. A spear like this belonged, ought to belong, to Root.

"Kamiyama Ryo," Danzō's tone picked up an imperious edge as he tapped a new spot on the map, "well done. There's a more urgent mission here. Your squad will depart at once—"

"That's enough, Danzō-sama." Ryo cut him off.

The room froze. The two Root shinobi who had melted back into the shadows rippled with the faintest, incredulous stir. Someone dared talk to Danzō like that?

Even a lowly clerk in the corner, tasked with passing documents, fumbled and almost dropped his files, face bleaching white.

Ryo ignored them. "My mission was to confirm Iwagakure's movements. It's done. I'm returning to Konoha for rest. For the time being, spare me further assignments." Not a request, notice.

"Insolence." Danzō erupted, the volcano unstoppered. The earlier stifling report and now this public challenge to his authority combined into a roaring blaze. His face went so dark it dripped. His eyes flashed icy spikes at Ryo.

"Kamiyama Ryo. Remember your place. You're a Chūnin on Konoha's rolls, a shinobi at war." His voice cracked with frozen rage and iron command. "When did it become your turn to decide for me, or for the village? Issuing orders is my duty. Obedience is yours."

He slammed the desk again, even harder. The oil flame jittered wildly. "Look sharp. This is the Ame theater. I am the commander. When I assign a mission, you execute, immediately."

He meant to squeeze Ryo, yes, but more than that, he would not tolerate any dent in his absolute authority. Ryo's stance was his face being ground across the floor.

No face? Why couldn't this be said in private? Why humiliate me before everyone?

"My place?" Ryo's eyes narrowed. His features showed not a flicker of fear. Instead, a dangerous curve tugged his mouth as a terrible pressure rose off him like a tide.

In an instant—

The command post seemed to warp. Lamp light stuttered. Scrolls rattled. Killing intent howled through like a gale, draining the room of air.

A Root agent in the dark grunted, veins standing at his temple, knuckles bone-white on his kunai. The clerk sagged into a corner, knees gone.

Danzō, foremost in the blast, felt an invisible hand clamp his throat. The cold pierced his Root will. His heart nearly seized. Frost stabbed up his spine to the skull. In that pure, crushing murderous will, the reflex to strike back died.

Ryo stepped forward. The pressure doubled. Looking down at Danzō's shifting face, he spoke, each word crisp as ice falling and shattering.

"Danzō-sama, listen carefully, what I said was a notification, not a request."

His eyes held no warmth.

"Understand?"

One second.

Two.

Three.

Just when everyone thought the infamous, iron-fisted head of Root would explode into mutual destruction.

"Hrnh… hrnh… hrnh…" A strangled, bestial chuckle scraped out of Danzō's throat, dry as a grinding wheel.

With extreme difficulty, reluctant to the point of farce, he forced words through his teeth, each one tasting of blood.

"…You… do well, Kamiyama Ryo."

Then, mustering all his strength, he straightened his back to show what he imagined was his most unyielding, indisputable posture.

But what came out of his mouth made every confidant present drop their jaw.

"Be careful… on your way back."

He strained to make it sound stern, like a warning or command.

"I will… immediately sign your transfer for rest and return to the village."

"Now get out."

Hardest stance. Most cowardly words. The contrast hit like a slap, equal parts absurd and painful to watch.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 109: Don't Hit Him

The killing intent around Ryo, receded in an instant as if it had never existed, leaving only a wrecked room and the hammering heartbeats of everyone present.

His playful smile returned, tinged with a mocking curl at the corner of his mouth, as though he had just finished an amusing game.

"Much obliged, Danzō-sama." He tipped a hand in a lazy salute, so casual it bordered on insolent, then turned toward the command post door. His footsteps rang unnaturally clear in the hollow, dead-still room.

Just as his hand touched the warped, squeaking wood, the one already stamped with Danzō's palm print and veined with cracks, Ryo seemed to remember something entertaining and paused.

His voice, carrying an unmistakable mischievous bite, cut cleanly through the silence and rolled across the room.

"Oh, right. Almost forgot one thing."

Ryo tilted his head slightly, expression all harmless innocence, and all kinds of infuriating, his gaze pinning the still-stiff Danzō.

"A friendly reminder… that little gift your men dragged away… his name's a touch on the long side."

Danzō's heart seized. A cold premonition coiled around him like a venomous snake.

Ryo enunciated, slow and clear, each syllable a trigger wire.

"…His name is, Kitsuchi—"

He deliberately paused, savoring the way Danzō's pupil shrank to a pinprick, the blood draining from that weathered face until shock and fear twisted it into something corpse-pale.

"—oh?" Ryo drew out the sound, feigning sudden realization. "You might not remember it that way. He has a louder title."

"Iwagakure's Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki of Both Scales' only living son."

Boom.

The name detonated in Danzō's mind like a real paper bomb. His vision went black for a beat.

Kitsuchi. Ōnoki's sole heir.

Ryo saw everything he had hoped to see. Danzō's sullen, iron-blue face turned chalk white, then ashen. Wrinkles jerked like a thawing mask.

Tsk tsk. What a performance, Ryo crowed inwardly.

"Alright, now I'm done." Satisfied, Ryo lifted a hand in farewell. He ignored the petrified head of Root behind him, and the two elite operatives likewise stunned, breathing ragged at the thunderclap revelation.

As if nothing had happened, he slipped out through the battered door.

"See you, Danzō-sama."

His easy farewell still echoed in the door's crack when his silhouette vanished into the rain.

For a breath, silence, tomb-deep.

Then a ragged shriek, warped by boundless fury, humiliation, and naked panic, erupted from Danzō's throat, so sharp and wild the rafters seemed to vibrate and the plaster flaked from the walls.

"Ka… mi… ya… ma… Ryo!!!"

The table's oil flame whipped and nearly died.

Danzō went berserk. He kicked the hardwood desk. It flipped with a crash. Scrolls, cups, ink, maps avalanched to the floor, shattering. Tea and ink, mingled with the corridor's wet-dog reek of rain, spread across the boards.

"Damn you. Damn you. May you die screaming." He swung his fists, breath tearing in his chest.

But the rage lasted only three seconds before icewater terror doused him to the bone.

"Wait… wait. Where is he? Where's that Iwa-nin just now? Kitsuchi. Where is Kitsuchi?!"

Lightning-struck, Danzō whirled, bloodshot eye drilling the two Root jōnin still stunned into statues, his face a mask of panic he had never shown in his life.

"Where is he?! Speak. Where did they drag Kitsuchi?!" His voice shook.

The two snapped back to themselves. One swallowed hard. "R-reporting, Danzō-sama … per standard procedure… he should have been sent straight to the temporary underground interrogation—"

"Interrogation?!" The word burned his nerves like a brand. He nearly leapt. "You fools, who told them to start?!"

Root's efficiency was legendary.

Its interrogation tempo, bone-deep reflex.

From the moment they had hauled the man away to now, more than enough time for Root, with their habitual severity, to run a full first pass on a critically wounded but high-value, high-profile captive.

"Stand down. Call them off, now." Danzō howled, bolting toward the direction he had just sent the gift, blind panic flooding his eyes. He dashed like a scorched, half-plucked old duck.

"Danzō-sama, wait—" "Kitsuchi, he—"

"I know who he is. Stop them. Don't cut him. Don't hit him. Don't force drugs into him. Damn idiots, move faster or we're all dead." Danzō's frantic, broken bellow ricocheted down the corridor, leaving behind a wrecked room, and Root shinobi wide-eyed, slack-jawed, utterly at a loss.

The command post dissolved into utter chaos.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 110: Don’t Poke Me!

Raindrops drummed tirelessly on the canvas roof of the medical tent, a dull thup-thup-thup that never stopped. The air was thick with disinfectant, a hint of blood, and the earthy tang of scorched soil softened by humidity. A single lantern cast a warm, dim glow over the tent's interior.

"Hiss! Ouch! Easy, easy! You're killing the great Sage here!"

The scream that followed was so sharp and dramatic it nearly lifted the entire tent. It was the kind of howl that made you wonder whether you had walked into an infirmary or an execution ground.

Ryo, who had just reached the entrance, paused mid-step. His lips twitched. That voice was unmistakable. Only one loudmouthed idiot in all of Konoha could sound like that. Jiraiya.

"Heh. Sounds lively," Ryo muttered under his breath, pulling back the heavy, blood-and-alcohol-scented curtain with a flick of his wrist.

The light inside was dim but enough to reveal everything, and even for someone like Ryo, who had seen battlefields drenched in gore, the scene made his brow twitch.

In the center bed lay Jiraiya, bare-chested, his usually powerful muscles drawn tight as cables from pain. Veins bulged on his forehead, sweat streaked down his face, his expression twisted like a man being flayed alive.

The cause was clear, a wickedly shaped kunai embedded deep under his right ribs near his lung. The exposed skin around it was a ghastly black-purple, oozing pus and blood that stank of iron and rot.

That was no simple stab wound. The kunai was coated with a venom that ate flesh before the eye. Without the medical team around him, Jiraiya would have been long dead on the road back.

Two young medical-nin hovered over him, drenched in sweat. One held a gleaming scalpel and a compact chakra scalpel, its blade humming faintly, meant for cutting away necrotic tissue while cauterizing the wound. His trembling hands worked inch by inch, carefully trimming the blackened flesh. Each slice drew a fresh scream that could rattle bones.

"AAAGHHHH! I'M GONNA DIE! Kid, don't shake your hand! Aim first! OWWW! MY PRECIOUS RIBS! I think you just poked my kidney!"

Overseeing the operation was Tsunade, arms folded, lazily leaning against the medical cabinet. Her long golden hair was loosely tied back. Her beautiful face carried not the slightest trace of concern. Instead, she was smiling, that serene, dangerous kind of smile that said you asked for this. Her emerald eyes gleamed with amusement and the satisfaction of vengeance well served.

"Steadier, Morino, Chiaki," Tsunade instructed, voice clear and commanding. "This is a routine debridement. Make sure every bit of dead tissue is gone. Leave nothing. Any residue will spread the poison faster. As for the patient's howling," she flicked an unimpressed glance at the convulsing Jiraiya, "treat it as background music."

"Y-Yes, Tsunade-sama!" the two young medics chorused, voices trembling. Their hands were slick with sweat. This was Jiraiya they were cutting, one of Konoha's Legendary Sannin. Normally, Tsunade herself would handle such a case in minutes. But now she was just standing there, watching. Which could mean only one thing, she was furious.

And this was punishment. No anesthetic. No mercy. Pure, clinical revenge.

Ryo's eyes flicked around the tent, then he understood everything in an instant.

Oh, this idiot definitely did something stupid again. And it must have been spectacularly stupid.

Otherwise, Tsunade would have fixed him up in five minutes flat. Now she was letting two rookies slice him open under her supervision, just to let him scream his soul out. A perfect example of using medicine to deliver justice.

Tch. A textbook case of self-inflicted suffering. Even Ryo had to admit, it was a tragic sight, the great Jiraiya of the Sannin, reduced to a squealing hog under the trembling hands of two terrified medics.

"What's this performance called?" Ryo finally asked, stepping inside, his tone calm, cutting through the cacophony of screams.

Tsunade turned her head slightly, emerald eyes bright with mischief, tone almost innocent. "Oh, Ryo, you're back. Nothing serious here. Just this idiot," she nodded toward Jiraiya, "who said he thought he was dying and wanted one last wish before passing on. Something about a goodbye kiss to soothe his fragile little heart."

"Pfft!" One of the medics snorted before hurriedly bowing his head over the wound again.

Between groans, Jiraiya gasped, "I-I said a kiss full of emotion! A kiss of love to drive away death! Tsunade, I—AAAAAAHHHHH!" His voice cracked into a scream as the chakra scalpel brushed a nerve.

Tsunade ignored him. She looked at Ryo and explained in the clinical tone of a professor giving a lecture, "As you can see, this is a classic case of neurotoxic damage, poison invading the bloodstream, impairing the brain's ability to process dignity and self-awareness. Normal treatment can't fix that. So…"

Her smile brightened. "I've devised a special, anesthesia-free deep stimulation therapy. Intense physical stimulus reactivates the nervous system, speeds circulation, and promotes detoxification. And see? It's working beautifully. His sensitivity to pain is excellent. His nerves are quite active."

Ryo: "...."

There were no words. None. Just twitching veins.

Tsunade, this isn't treatment. It's torture dressed up in medical jargon, he thought. Out loud, he managed, deadpan, "Truly… an impressive effort on your part."

"Stop, Tsunade! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" Jiraiya suddenly wailed, desperation surging through him. "It's all my fault! I shouldn't have asked you to check my abs while bandaging me! I shouldn't have said the scar looked like the mark of love! Ancestors! Great ancestors! Make them stop! You do it! You cut me instead! Just kill me quick!"

He was sobbing. Whether from regret or pain, no one could tell.

"Hmph." Tsunade gave an elegant snort, not even sparing him a glance. She turned to the petrified medics and raised her chin slightly. "What are you staring at? Continue. If this rattles you, how will you handle real battlefield trauma? Practice is the best teacher, and he's the perfect live specimen. Don't worry, I'll take responsibility if he dies."

Her confidence radiated regal authority.

The two medics visibly relaxed, newfound determination burning in their eyes. If Lady Tsunade was here, nothing could go wrong. Morino inhaled deeply, steadied his hands, and brought the chakra scalpel back down toward the blackened flesh.

A faint shhhk, the sound of burning, and the stench of seared skin filled the air.

"AAAAAHHHHH! TSUNADE, YOU DEVIL WOMAN! PERSONAL VENGEANCE! I'LL HAUNT YOU—AAAHHHHH!" Jiraiya's howl rose another octave, thrashing so violently it took both assistants to pin him down.

Ryo stood there, entirely unsympathetic.

He sighed, finally cutting in, his calm voice slicing through the chaos.

"I'll be heading back to the village for a while."

(To be continued.)