Homeward Journey 1
After tidying up, Shirō glanced at the magic scroll for a while before drifting into sleep. With his magic circuits damaged, he couldn't practice magecraft. As for meditation, Shirō had a personal quirk — he believed that if he wasn't sitting cross-legged, meditation had no soul.
The truth, however, was that his heart was still restless. He couldn't calm down enough to meditate in the short term.
---
The next day, Shirō and his teammates met Sakumo Hatake at the city gates. When Shirō laid eyes on him, he caught the faint metallic scent of blood.
Clearly, Sakumo hadn't been resting the previous night as he had claimed. But Shirō and the others didn't pry. Shinobi missions were confidential by nature, and asking about another ninja's assignment was taboo.
They exchanged only a few words of greeting before Sakumo stepped forward and summoned his Lightning Hawk. Since Shirō couldn't use Summoning Jutsu at the moment, and Miyue's bluebird familiar was far too small for travel, Sakumo had to take on the responsibility of transportation.
This particular Lightning Hawk was one of Shirō's creations. Unlike ordinary summoned hawks, it had been crafted with chakra-metal and enhanced with sealing techniques, allowing it to fire bursts of lightning equivalent to a C-rank attack. Though crude compared to true legendary weapons, it was Shirō's current limit.
It had cost him dearly. He had even tricked Kushina into gathering some of the rare materials for him. Since Minato had been tied up with his own training, Kushina had often been restless, dropping by Shirō's side to revive their mischievous "rampage duo." But Shirō didn't have the time anymore, and unlike Minato, he couldn't humor her endlessly. Kushina wasn't someone he could pursue romantically, so in his mind, it was better to redirect her boundless energy elsewhere.
Thus, his puppet projects were still delayed, waiting on further shipments of chakra-metal and sealing ink.
Incidentally, Sakumo had named the bird "Lightning Hawk." The name wasn't flashy, but it was leagues better than anything Shirō would have come up with himself.
---
As the group took flight on Lightning Hawk's back, down below, the remaining Hidden Mist shinobi looked grimly at the corpses before them.
"Captain, are we just going to let this go? This is clearly the work of Konoha's White Fang!" growled a scar-faced man.
The dead were Mist ANBU — elite operatives whose strength rivaled jōnin. Perhaps slightly weaker in a straight fight, but they were the best of the best. Yet every one of them had been cut down without raising an alarm. The only reason the squad knew what happened was because the killer had deliberately left traces behind.
Their commander, a veteran swordsman of the Hōzuki clan, clenched his jaw. The anger in his chest was undeniable, but so was the truth: if even ANBU couldn't resist Sakumo, then pursuing him was suicide.
Konoha's White Fang was infamous — feared enough that rival villages had issued standing orders to avoid fighting him one-on-one.
"If we had other villages still here, maybe we could've stirred something up," the captain muttered to himself. "But now, with everyone gone… we've lost the chance."
The real frustration wasn't just the deaths. It was political. The Mist had largely stayed on the sidelines of the Second Shinobi War, and hawks in the village were desperate for justification to join the conflict. Now, with ANBU slaughtered, they should've had the perfect excuse. Yet Sakumo's sheer power stripped that away. They couldn't fight back without humiliating themselves further.
"Listen up," the captain said coldly. "From today, we saw nothing. We know nothing. If you want to keep breathing, forget this happened. We're returning."
The others stayed silent. Even the scarred man, his earlier outburst born of frustration, said no more. No one dared cross Konoha's White Fang.
---
Meanwhile, far above, Shirō sat astride Lightning Hawk, his gaze locked on the scar etched into the earth below — the lingering mark left by the blast of the King's Sword.
Seeing him distracted, Sakumo shifted closer and chuckled. "Nakamura told me those marks were your doing? Not bad. Looks like your preparations paid off."
"Yes. Though it's only usable once every six months at best. It can't be anything but a trump card. Still… one day, I want to unleash that power entirely on my own."
Sakumo's expression softened. "A good ambition. Keep striving for it. I don't know what you discussed with Miko that day that left you in such a state, but you've always carried yourself with independence. If you're keeping it to yourself, you must have your reasons. I won't pry."
Then his voice turned firm. "But remember this, Shirō. You're my disciple. You can share your burdens with me. You're not Kakashi — your paths are different. I can't guide you fully as a shinobi, but if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask. Don't carry everything alone."
"…Yes, Master. I understand."
The two of them sat silently, gazing at the scar until Lightning Hawk carried them out of sight.
Sakumo looked away because he could no longer see it. Shirō looked away because he had sensed something else.
When he had released the King's Sword that day, perhaps because of the vast chakra he had poured into it, he felt himself brushing against the edge of Magic Power Emission — a principle of magecraft he had only glimpsed before.
He had spent the past two days of feigned illness turning the insight over in his mind. But with his magic circuits damaged, he could do nothing but theorize.
Still, there was one person he could ask.
"Master," Shirō said suddenly, "how much do you know about using chakra to amplify physical strength?"
"Amplifying strength?" Sakumo tilted his head. "I'm no specialist, but I can explain the basics."
He folded his arms. "The most common way is what they teach in the Academy — channeling chakra directly into the body. You already know that, so I won't waste time. Beyond that, it becomes taijutsu. The best practitioners don't just control chakra with their minds — they let their bodies do the work. It takes immense conditioning, but the payoff is huge. That's why styles like the Strong Fist can break boulders with bare hands."
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