The town had settled again. The incident with the thug was already slipping into rumor—just another small moment in the ever-moving flow of life.
But for some, it was not so easily forgotten.
For the shinobi watching from the shadows, what had just occurred was not a simple street scuffle. It was a message.
A man with that much power did not belong in the background. He did not simply exist in obscurity. Men like that changed things.
And that made him a threat.
Jiro knew they had a choice to make.
Either they let him walk away… or they found out who he really was.
Night fell.
The air was still, thick with silence. The town, so alive during the day, now rested beneath the stars, its people unaware of the watchful eyes that moved unseen between rooftops and alleyways.
Renzō sat by a small fire on the outskirts of town, Taji curled up beside him, already asleep.
He had felt the tension in the air all day. The moment he had tilted his head at that thug, the moment the man had nearly drowned in the weight of nothingness, the shinobi had changed.
They were not afraid of what he would do.
They were afraid of what he could do.
And now, they were coming to test him.
Renzō exhaled softly, poking at the fire with a small stick.
"Foolish."
He heard the movement before he saw it. The faintest shift in the wind, the near-silent step of a shinobi approaching with practiced precision.
Then—
The first attack came without hesitation.
A kunai whistled through the air, aimed straight for the back of his head.
Renzō didn't move.
The blade stopped inches from his skull, caught effortlessly between two fingers. The metal trembled slightly, as if uncertain whether it had truly been stopped.
Golden eyes flickered toward the trees.
A shadow moved.
More were coming.
Jiro watched from a higher vantage point.
The attack had been a test—nothing more. A kunai thrown to gauge reaction time, to see if the wanderer would evade, counter, or let it strike.
He had done none of those things.
He had just… stopped it.
Effortlessly.
Jiro took a slow breath. "All units," he murmured into his radio. "Proceed as planned. Be ready to adapt."
His squad moved in sync, slipping through the darkness like ghosts.
They did not come to kill.
They came to understand.
And if necessary… to contain.
Renzō slowly placed the kunai on the ground.
He could feel them circling now. Five in total. Their chakra was controlled, their breathing measured. Highly trained. No wasted movements.
Good.
If they had been common assassins, he wouldn't have bothered acknowledging them.
These were shinobi of a Hidden Village.
They would not leave without answers.
A voice called from the darkness. "We don't want to harm you."
Renzō smirked slightly. "Then don't."
Silence.
Then—
They attacked.
Two came from the front, one from the side, another from above, their movements a seamless dance of strategy and speed.
Renzō sighed.
And then he was gone.
The shinobi struck—only to hit nothing.
The fire flickered, casting shadows across the empty space where he had just been.
And before any of them could react—
He was behind them.
Jiro felt it first.
The shift in the air. The overwhelming absence of presence, followed by the sudden, inescapable reality of it returning.
A whisper of movement. A simple step.
And suddenly, Renzō was standing in the middle of them.
One shinobi instinctively lashed out with a kunai—
Renzō tilted his head.
The blade missed by an inch.
That inch was everything.
Before the attacker could recover, Renzō placed a single finger on the man's wrist. Just a touch.
And suddenly, the shinobi collapsed to his knees, gasping.
His body shook violently, his breath ragged, his skin pale. He dropped his weapon as if it had become too heavy to hold.
Jiro's eyes widened. "What did you—"
Renzō placed the same finger on his own wrist.
Nothing happened.
Golden eyes flickered toward them, glowing softly in the moonlight.
"You rely too much on movement," he said simply.
Another shinobi lunged. A blur of speed, a flash of steel—
Renzō sidestepped.
Not like a fighter. Not like a warrior dodging a strike.
He simply wasn't there anymore.
The shinobi landed, eyes wide, turning just in time to see Renzō watching him with something almost like pity.
"Leave."
The word was not a threat.
It was a statement.
Jiro clenched his fists. His squad was elite. They had fought rogue nin, warlords, even missing-nin from the old clans. And yet—
He couldn't touch this man.
It wasn't just speed.
It wasn't just skill.
It was something else.
Something that made the world itself seem to bend around him.
Jiro gritted his teeth. "Who the hell are you?"
Renzō turned to leave.
A final warning.
Then—
Shion acted.
Desperation flickered in her eyes. A sealing tag burned to life in her hands. The kanji for "Contain" glowed bright, chakra surging—
She lunged.
Renzō sighed.
A gust of wind erupted from his presence alone. Not an attack. Not a technique.
Just… existence.
The seal crumbled before it even touched him.
Shion stumbled, gasping.
Renzō shook his head.
"Foolish."
Jiro called the retreat instantly. "Fall back!"
The squad vanished.
Renzō stood alone once more.
He looked down at Taji, who was still fast asleep.
For a moment, he wondered if the boy had even felt the storm that had just passed around him.
Then, with a quiet breath, he returned to his seat by the fire.
And the world moved on.