"How many are still after us?" Yugami Genma asked.
The decoy tactic he used earlier hadn't been entirely in vain—it had managed to divert a portion of the enemy. Now, he could only hope that the number still in pursuit wasn't overwhelming.
"There are about fifteen left chasing us—roughly equal in number to our own," replied the same clan ninja from before.
Being pursued by an enemy of equal size wasn't necessarily unreasonable. On one hand, the enemy's average strength was higher; they were operating at near-peak stamina and could summon reinforcements more quickly.
On the other hand... Yugami Genma shook his head silently. His gaze swept over the group, noting the visible exhaustion and weakness etched into every face. In truth, they no longer had the capacity to keep fighting. Calling them lambs waiting for slaughter wasn't far from the truth.
Fighting was out of the question—they could barely even continue running.
"Still, it's something. At least I managed to shake off a portion of them. If we look on the bright side, we're unlikely to be attacked from both sides. A few hours from now, the only ones we'll have to face are these fifteen."
After weighing the situation, Genma realized that their options were painfully limited. He exhaled softly and spoke: "To give everyone the best chance at survival, we'll continue the diversion tactic. A few of us will act as bait to draw the enemy away."
Though young, Genma had long since earned the clan's trust. First, it was his strategies that had kept them alive until now. Second, as clan head, he had personally risked his life by volunteering for the deadliest missions—taking on the role of decoy himself. No one questioned his sense of duty.
He was capable. He led by example. Even if he was now leading them down a hopeless path, no one would complain. What right did the weak have to protest, when it was their own powerlessness that had brought them here?
"Clan Head, I'm still in decent shape. Let me be the decoy this time," offered the same ninja who'd spoken earlier.
"I'll go too, Clan Head." Another ninja stepped forward almost at the same moment.
The two young men, both in their twenties, were named Hagami Gensenchika and Hagami Genryūnosuke.
"Alright. The three of us will carry out the diversion." Genma accepted without hesitation. He had no luxury to waste time—these two were among the more capable fighters remaining.
"Clan Head…"
"No more discussion. It's decided."
Calling it a "diversion" might sound noble, but it was, in all but name, a suicide mission. Genma had already taken on such a role once; logically, there was no reason for him to risk himself again. Yet he cut off all objections before they could form.
Now wasn't the time for sentiment.
"Everyone, listen closely. For the next two hours, focus on recovering your chakra. After that, we move. Don't worry too much—I have a decent grasp of how this operation will unfold."
No one believed that last part. They took it as a meaningless reassurance, spoken out of duty rather than hope.
Regardless, the group obeyed. Each ninja found a spot to sit and began the arduous process of refining chakra.
Meanwhile, Genma climbed high into a massive tree. He stood on a thick horizontal branch, scanning the area with sharp eyes, keeping watch for threats.
Fighting five enemies alone was a gamble—but not an impossible one. Fifteen, however, was beyond his reach. He knew better than to overestimate himself. Until recently, he'd been an ordinary ninja. Aside from the standard Transformation and Substitution Jutsu, he knew only a couple of low-grade fire techniques. Facing a group solo with that kind of power? A fool's errand.
But now, things were different.
He studied his right arm, then activated its transformation—turning it into White Zetsu tissue. With a gentle motion, he swung his arm through the thick trunk beside him. Astonishingly, his limb passed through the tree as though it weren't there at all.
This wasn't space-time ninjutsu. It was White Zetsu's Ephemeral Technique.
Most White Zetsu active in the ninja world weren't combatants. They were tailored for scouting and intelligence. Individually weak, yes—but that didn't mean they were harmless.
In fact, White Zetsu excelled at assassination. Perfect camouflage, flawless transformation, silent movement—abilities every ninja dreamed of having.
Genma had no doubt that the name "White Zetsu Shinobi" wasn't mere hyperbole.
Two hours passed swiftly. Genma returned to the others.
"Everyone, come shake my hand, one by one. Gensenchika and Ryūnosuke, you two go last. I'll explain after."
Though confused, the others followed his instructions without question.
As Genma took each person's hand, he spoke:
"Compared to earlier, the enemy seems to have grown more lax. Their pursuit has taken on a cruel, almost playful tone—like cats toying with dying mice.
That gives us a chance. If we split up, they'll likely divide their forces to chase us down one by one, aiming for a total wipeout.
They have trackers. We don't. But we can use that to our advantage..."
He paused, but the others weren't focused on his words. One by one, those who shook his hand began to display strange expressions.
Finally, it was Gensenchika and Ryūnosuke's turn.
Genma grasped their hands with both of his, and as their palms met, they each felt a surge of chakra flood into their bodies.
"This... what is this?"
It was White Zetsu's Spore Technique—a jutsu that allowed him to absorb chakra from others and either store it or redistribute it. What he was doing now was simple: draw chakra from the others, then reallocate it evenly to the two chosen decoys.
But there was no time for detailed explanations.
"Listen closely," Genma said. "Here's the plan. The three of us—me, Gensenchika, and Ryūnosuke—will take different routes and make no effort to hide. We'll draw them away in separate directions. With their current mindset, it's very likely they'll split up and give chase. That's our window."
"Gensenchika, take the three o'clock route. Ryūnosuke, head for six o'clock. I'll go nine. Release your chakra—make yourselves obvious. Taunt them if you must, but do not engage. Just run. Run as hard as you can. Understand?"
"Yes, Clan Head," the two replied without hesitation.
"Once I eliminate the enemies on my end, I'll move to assist you. Don't do anything rash."
He had transferred nearly the entire group's chakra into these two—enough to keep them going for a while. If Genma was fast enough, and luck was on their side, they just might make it out alive.
"The rest of you, go deeper into the forest and stay hidden. Do not reveal yourselves until the fighting ends."
When he said that, several people looked as though they wanted to speak—but in the end, no one said a word.
What could they say? Ask him how he planned to defeat five fully capable enemies alone?
No one dared ask.
They were already clinging to the edge of death. All they could do was try their best and leave the rest to fate... That's what most of them were thinking.
But only Genma knew: this diversion wasn't a suicide mission.
Nor could they afford to treat it that way. After all, he had siphoned nearly all of their chakra. If they were discovered now, they wouldn't even have the strength to lift a kunai. It would be a massacre—swift and absolute.
"All right. Any questions?" he asked one last time.
Everyone shook their heads. Whatever the outcome, they were mentally prepared.
"Good. Then…"
"Let the operation begin."