A wooden tower loomed above the training grounds, its sturdy beams creaking ever so slightly in the damp, misty air. The room at the top of the tower was simple, yet it commanded an unobstructed view of the battle below.
Through the wide, open window, the figures of Renjiro, Jurou, Yuji, and Seiji were barely visible as they clashed amidst bursts of lightning, fire, and steel. The faint echoes of their battle cries and the sharp ring of metal against metal reached the tower, albeit muffled by the ever-present mist that shrouded Kirigakure.
Inside the observation chamber, three figures stood flanking the Mizukage, each focused intently on the clash unfolding before them. Juro, the Six-Tails Jinchūriki, had his arms crossed, his fingers drumming impatiently against his forearm. His sharp eyes flickered with disbelief as he muttered,
"How the hell did he overpower Jurou?"
His words hung in the air, thick with incredulity. He had known Jurou for years—trained with him and fought alongside him. Even if he did not necessarily like him, Jurou had witnessed firsthand the sheer physical dominance the man possessed. When it came to raw, unrelenting might, Jurou was unmatched among Kirigakure's Jonin.
Many believed that if he hadn't been so fixated on the Nuibari, the long, needle-like sword that required precision and finesse, he would have been the natural successor as the wielder of the Kabutowari before Yuichi Date wielded it—the blunt sword capable of crushing through any defence. Jurou had the strength for it, the raw, brutal power that could shatter bones and walls alike. And yet, here he was, being bested by a teenage Jonin from Konoha.
Beside Juro was Ayame, the Three-Tails Jinchūriki. Her grip on the railing tightened as she observed Renjiro, her mind struggling to reconcile what she was witnessing.
"His chakra has even increased," she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with disbelief. "How is that even possible?"
Renjiro had already been formidable even before they started, but as the battle progressed, his presence only grew more overwhelming especially recently. The chakra radiating from him was more than just vast—it was dense, and heavy, pressing against the senses like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. If this is how she a jinchuriki felt, Ayame could not imagine how a normal shinobi would feel.
'Was he hiding his chakra all along?' she wondered, her brows furrowing. 'But still, why would he do it?'
Concealing chakra to deceive an enemy made sense in espionage or assassinations, but in a public spar? There was no strategic reason for it—at least none that she could immediately understand.
Hiroshi, the Mizukage, remained silent. His expression darkened as he observed the young Konoha shinobi. Unlike his subordinates, his concern was not rooted in disbelief over Renjiro's strength. No, what troubled him was the sheer potential Renjiro displayed.
Even from this distance, without actively reaching out with his chakra field, Hiroshi could feel Renjiro's chakra. It was like a beacon cutting through the mist, undeniable, undeniable.
'This chakra… on a teenage boy…'
It was monstrous.
There was no doubt in his mind—Renjiro would grow into one of the most powerful shinobi of his generation. Perhaps even beyond that.
And that was a problem.
For now, Kirigakure and Konoha were allies, their forces standing together against a common enemy in the upcoming war. But what about the next war? And the one after that? Alliances in the shinobi world were fleeting, nothing more than temporary conveniences dictated by the shifting tides of power.
If Konoha ever turned its fangs toward Kirigakure, would Renjiro be the weapon Hiruzen or any of his succeeding Hokages wielded? Would he be the blade that cut through their defences, the storm that shattered their strongholds? Hiroshi's jaw tightened.
He did not like this.
Back on the training grounds, the battle had reached an uneasy stalemate.
Yuji, Jurou, and Seiji had never expected this outcome. When they first agreed to fight Renjiro, their goal had been simple—humiliate the young Jonin, remind him of his place, and restore the honour of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. But now? Now they were fighting just to keep up.
The most disturbing part was that each of them—Yuji, Jurou, and Seiji—believed that they were fighting the real Renjiro while the others were dealing with his shadow clones.
That was how overwhelming he was.
Yuji grit his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. 'We have the numbers advantage. Even the chakra nature advantage—his predominant element is fire while ours is water, and yet…'
Yet, they were still not winning.
With a sharp motion, he crossed the Kiba blades into an X-shape before thrusting them outward.
"Lightning Release: Thunderbolt Barrage!"
Bright yellow orbs of lightning crackled into existence, humming with dangerous energy before streaking toward Renjiro. The sheer speed of the attack would have caught most shinobi off guard.
Renjiro, however, was not the most shinobi.
He pivoted with grace, his body slipping between the deadly bolts with practised ease. Then, with a single one-handed sign, he retaliated in kind—sending identical lightning orbs hurtling back toward Yuji.
Yuji barely managed to dodge, his body twisting mid-air to avoid the counterattack—only to be met with a sudden, unexpected gust of wind.
"Wham!"
The gale blast struck him dead-on, slamming him to the ground with a force that sent dust and debris flying. He coughed, his vision swimming from the impact.
A short distance away, Renjiro faced off against Jurou.
Jurou planted the Nuibari into the ground, his voice ringing out confidently,
"Longsword Ninja Art — Earth Spider Sewing!"
Renjiro's Sharingan caught the faint movement beneath the earth even before the attack fully took shape. Without hesitation, he leapt into the air, evading the metallic wires that burst from the ground like a web of death. Midair, he pulled out a kunai, flipping it in his grip before stabbing it downward—halting the nearest wire in its path.
Unlike the earlier threads Jurou had used, these wires were meant to cut, not entangle. One wrong move and a limb could be severed.
Yet, Renjiro landed atop one of the wires effortlessly, balancing on the thin strand as if it were solid ground. He exhaled, shaking his head.
"Aren't you tired of this already?" he asked, his voice laced with mild irritation. "Just concede so we can move on."
Jurou's teeth clenched, but he said nothing.
Renjiro had his reasons for holding back. This was a spar, nothing more. He could have gone all out—but that would be overkill. Instead, he settled for using only the Three Gates and his Sharingan.
He was confident he could at least survive—or even win—with just that. After all, Might Duy had slaughtered this generation of Seven Ninja Swordsmen with nothing but Taijutsu in the future. That alone was proof that brute force was enough to overcome them.
But…
It was starting to get boring.
Just as he was about to press the attack, his senses flared.
A colourless substance began emerging from the metallic wires surrounding him.
'Huh?'
The substance was almost like Water but its viscosity betrayed it.
Jurou moved swiftly, igniting the wires and vanishing into the smokescreen of white fumes.
Renjiro ignored the flames. They weren't the threat. It was the fumes they produced. He could feel them trying to seep into his chakra system, trying to disrupt his flow. His eyes narrowed.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he raised his left hand to his side and clenched it aggressively.
From within the smoke, Jurou suddenly jerked, his body freezing in midair—his limbs locked in place.
Renjiro's voice was calm, almost mocking.
"I knew you were stupid, but this is a whole other level," he muttered. "Did you really think a genjutsu, more so a weak one like this, would work against my Sharingan?"
Jurou's struggles were useless. He was caught.
Renjiro didn't give him a chance to reply.
His grip tightened.
Jurou's consciousness faded, his body going limp.
Renjiro exhaled, stepping forward to retrieve the fallen Nuibari. As he picked up the weapon, he muttered,
"One down… I have to wrap this up soon."
=====
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