The battles of genin were, in truth, brutally simple. Low chakra reserves. A jutsu or two, at best. Each fight devolved into repetition—throw, strike, repeat—until someone dropped.
As it stood now, Tsukasa Kaede had very few offensive options.
His trump card was still the self-detonating zombies.
"Good thing," he muttered, breathing through scorched lungs, "that I ran into a chūnin with subpar combat instincts… Kirigakure may be one of the Five Great Villages, and under the Third Mizukage's iron rule they're pumping out monsters—but at least I didn't meet one of those."
He thought ahead. In two years, the Blood Mist era would begin—when every academy graduate in Kirigakure would be forced to kill a close friend to graduate.
Was it population control? A test of brutality? If Konoha adopted such a system, the Uchiha clan's angsty teens would be sprouting Sharingan like weeds.
This point in the timeline was fascinating.
The Kaguya clan—a suspected branch of the Ōtsutsuki bloodline—was still alive and active, serving as part of Kiri's main fighting force.
And on Konoha's side? The Senju clan hadn't vanished yet.
Yes, even in the Second Shinobi War, Senju names still echoed through the battlefield.
Senju Nawaki, for instance—rushed into battle with too much emotion, too little restraint. The moment he noticed any suspicious movement, he'd charge in yelling, only to fall victim to a trap of explosive tags before Orochimaru could intervene. His powerful Senju body didn't save him from being blown to pieces.
A boy with a lion's heart and no caution—a guaranteed early grave in this world.
But by the Third War, the Senju had mysteriously disappeared.
A clan so powerful, so numerous—gone from public life?
That wasn't retirement. That was something else.
"The Senju didn't just fade away," Kaede thought. "Something happened—something that required their symbolic disappearance from the village."
He had spent years listening—names like Nawaki, Senju Tōka. Each thread hinted at a common point. A buried reason for the Senju's vanishing.
Whatever it was, it had to be significant. And it might intersect with his own plans—plans to replace his dying body.
Kaede didn't care about Senju ideology. The "Clan of Love" wouldn't end up like the Uchihas, devoured by their own grief. Their fate meant little to him.
But if the clan's downfall could be used as a wedge, a catalyst to obtain a new body?
Then it became his business.
"…First, I have to make it back to Konoha alive."
This last operation had revealed too much.
Corpse Release was no longer a secret.
But it had to happen eventually. To change bodies, he would have to reveal some ability. He needed to prove his value—make people need his talents.
And Corpse Release was too unique, too grotesque. The risk of rejection, of suspicion, was immense.
A paradox.
His current body—with fewer than 40 trillion cells—was at its limit. Chakra control, stamina, and development had all plateaued. Without a body change, he was done.
But revealing his technique made him a walking red flag.
What he needed was a cover story, a plausible excuse for the technique's existence. Something to buy time.
"This might be my 'non-opportunity opportunity,'" he muttered, watching the direction the Mist-nin had fled.
Elsewhere.
Ao was hunting Kazeya Fūsai.
It had only been ten minutes since he'd dispatched Jifu. A brief but decisive engagement.
"You're a chūnin," Ao said, closing the distance. "But killing a medical-nin like you is worth as much as eliminating a jōnin."
Kazeya was soaked in blood, barely clinging to consciousness. Ao hurled kunai with practiced ease, forcing him to bleed out with every dodge.
"Your comrades are dead," Ao added. "This infiltration mission is a complete success."
Kirigakure and Kumogakure hadn't committed to the Second War in force. Instead, they had used small squads—needling into Konoha's defenses, bleeding it slowly.
But Konoha had endured.
No land had been lost. Hi no Kuni held firm.
For Hiruzen Sarutobi, that meant victory. Not losing was winning.
Of course, other villages wouldn't admit it. They hadn't "lost." They had simply inflicted damage—reduced Konoha's shinobi numbers, weakened its military for the inevitable Third War.
Kazeya leaned against a boulder, breath ragged. His chakra reserves were almost gone. Healing his wounds was pushing him past his limit.
There was no defeating Ao.
"You think this ends with me?" he rasped. "My death bought time. They'll find you. You won't leave this country alive."
Ao shook his head.
"We don't think like you. In Kirigakure, comrades are expendable. Even our own lives are expendable. The mission comes first."
He meant it.
Kiri didn't understand Konoha's tangled ideals. If the mission was to kill—then kill. What were "bonds"? What was the point of adding unnecessary weight to your choices?
Kazeya's eyes dimmed. His lips moved with bitter breath.
"I wanted to live long enough… to see peace…"
Rustle.
Ao turned his head slightly. "Let's finish this. Once I kill you, I'll leave Fire Country. Next time I return… hopefully I'll get to dissect a Hyūga or two."
He narrowed his eyes. "Huh? Jifu? Back already? Wait—"
He paused.
A figure stumbled from the trees.
Skin scorched. Body burned. Unrecognizable.
The face was little more than melted flesh—no mouth, no nose, only a pair of eyes remained intact.
And those eyes—
Ao's breath caught.
They were… white. Not in the normal sense. But utterly, absolutely white. No irises. No sclera. No pupils. Just uniform, milky pale.
A blank abyss of power.
"…The Byakugan?"
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300 Stones in this story = 1 Bonus chapter in every fanfic currently translated