The Kiri ninja froze. Shivers ran rampant across his body as his eyes lingered on the mutilated corpses of his teammates.
Then his gaze shifted to the fiery man they had been dominating only moments ago. That figure no longer looked easy or laughable. His eyes widened as the man turned toward him.
"Please, I ha—" he tried to beg, but his words were cut short by a flash of red steel.
The blood of his comrades mingled with his own as the katana pierced through his chest in a single, merciless stroke.
How… was all he could think in his final moments.
.
.
.
Kyojiro stared at the fallen body—the last of the chunin. His own eyes widened in disbelief. Did I just lay four chunin to rest in mere seconds?
Yet his joy was fleeting. A sharp pain shot through his body, bursting blood vessels under the strain. He winced, his gaze snapping toward the final enemy still standing.
Full concentration breathing—it's too much for my current body. My vessels are breaking apart…
It didn't make sense. By all logic, a shinobi's body should have been sturdier than a Hashira's, yet why did this technique punish him so violently?
Kyojiro tightened his grip on the sword, his jaw set. With the time I have left… I must defeat that ninja.
The man who had been smiling the whole time now wore a solemn face. His forehead protector gleamed, light masking his eyes, yet Kyojiro could feel the murderous intent pouring from his gaze.
The Kiri shinobi moved without warning. One moment he was still, the next his hands blurred into seals.
Kyojiro's eyes widened. Jutsu… how will I counter this? Panic clawed at him, yet his hands instinctively formed signs of his own.
Fire Style—Fireball Jutsu.
Heat pulsed in his gut, chakra surging upward. His mouth opened, expelling raw fire.
His eyes widened further. He could feel it—his chakra covering the flames, protecting him even as the inferno roared forward.
Did it always use to be this big?
A colossal fireball surged from his lips, dwarfing anything he had ever summoned in seventeen years. The sheer heat distorted the air, racing toward his opponent.
The Kiri ninja's eyes went wide, sweat trailing down his temple. He unleashed his own jutsu—an enormous B-rank Water Wave, spewing high-pressure torrents from his mouth.
SWISH
The water smashed against the fireball. The collision birthed a monstrous hiss, steam exploding outward until the entire battlefield was swallowed in mist.
The Kiri jōnin retreated cautiously. He was no master of the Hidden Mist Jutsu, and his opponent was far too unpredictable.
He ground his teeth, recalling how his subordinates had been slaughtered like insects. Those losers truly had it coming… but how dare he do it under my command.
Spitting on the ground, he raised his kunai. His eyes darted through the mist until they locked on a silhouette.
The man smirked,So inexperienced. You're not on my level, brat.
He let Kyojiro draw closer, fingers weaving seals for the Water Severing Wave— A C-rank jutsu, something that was extremely lethal up close.
The instant Kyojiro emerged from the mist, he released it. The slicing torrent of water ripped forward, aimed to bisect It's target.
BOOM
For a heartbeat, he felt triumphant—until a shiver crawled down his spine. His eyes narrowed, No blood?.
No… it's a clone.
The realization struck like a hammer. He whipped around, kunai swinging instinctively—
TING.
Steel clashed against steel.
His eyes went wide as he saw them—the revolving crimson of a single tomoe Sharingan.
.
.
.
Kyojiro moved with urgency, his true body having slipped into striking range while the clone distracted the opposing Jonin, I am a ninja first and foremost. And the first rule of ninja combat—
His blade rained down from shifting angles, relentless.
He could see the strain on his opponent—the trembling arms, the sweat streaking down his face.
Always think one step ahead of the enemy.
Kyojiro inhaled sharply, muscles coiling. A memory flickered—an ancient stance, etched into his bones as though he'd performed it countless times.
Fire Breathing—Fifth Form: Flame Tiger.
SWISH
TING
TING
His sword blurred, striking at speeds that forced sparks from every block.
The jōnin faltered, cuts beginning to open across his body.
Kyojiro's eyes burned with conviction. Memories surged of the day he learned the bitter truth of the world. His blade only moved faster.
Pain tore through his body as his vessels burst under the pressure. Every nerve screamed in agony, yet he pushed forward.
Fire Breathing,I'm not ready for the higher forms yet… I must end this now.
Shifting his weight, he suddenly shot his fist forward.
The jōnin's eyes widened, caught off guard. The punch slammed into him with crushing force, sending his body flying.
THUD.
THUD.
.
.
.
The jōnin was experienced.
Years of battle had honed his instincts, and in that instant, he knew—this fight was no longer his.
The Kiri didn't fear death. But he treasured his own life.
I can't die here… I still have more to achieve.
As he flew back, he twisted mid-air, plunging a kunai into the ground to halt his momentum.
Before Kyojiro could close the gap, he flung a storm of shuriken.
Sweat drenched his brow. Panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to think, racing through every jutsu in his arsenal before landing on one. His strongest.
An A-rank: Water Wave.
Teeth gritted, resolve hardened, he screamed in his head: I have enough chakra—I will not die here!
His hands blurred faster than sight, molding a river of chakra that churned around him, its nature twisting into water.
Staring at Kyojiro through the mist, he smirked.
"You don't have time for a jutsu clash anymore. I win."