"As you wish."
Ryuuto's voice came out calm, almost lazy—right before he disappeared into the mist.
The Decapitating Blade gleamed in his hand, heavy and silent.
He moved like a shadow sliding across fog, closing in behind Flatman without a sound. One sharp swing cut through the air—aiming straight for the man's chest.
Breathless homicide.
"—What!?"
Flatman felt the killing intent too late. His whole body went cold as instinct screamed. His figure twisted, compressing like rubber paper, trying to fold itself away from the fatal strike.
He was fast—but not fast enough.
The blade kissed his chest, carving a thin, crimson smile across it. Blood bloomed out in midair.
Ryuuto smirked.
"Well, look at that—you actually bleed. For a second, I thought you were made of printer ink."
He kept swinging, each blow heavier, faster, forcing Flatman backward. The Decapitating Blade whistled with every strike, slicing through the fog and the air between heartbeats.
Flatman gritted his teeth. "Don't get cocky, kid!"
His body flattened and stretched, vanishing into a sheet of paper that slid across the ground. Glass shattered as he smashed through the carriage windows, trying to break the mist apart. Then his body melted into a liquid form, slipping into the cracks like water.
"Running already?" Ryuuto taunted, spinning the blade lazily on his shoulder. "You're not even a boss fight, man. How the hell did a discount Quicksilver like you even join this mission—through a back door?"
Flatman froze. "How do you know about Quicksilver?"
Ryuuto grinned.
"Oh, so it was him. Thanks for confirming, genius."
Flatman's face twisted in panic. "Damn it! You tricked me!"
Ryuuto shrugged. "I didn't trick you. You just talk too much."
His Sharingan spun to life—scarlet rings whirling in his eyes.
One step, and he was gone. A flash of motion. Then the sound of steel colliding with flesh.
Flatman screamed as another wound split open.
"Stop—!"
"Stop struggling and maybe I'll make it quick," Ryuuto muttered, his tone calm but eyes burning. "You picked the wrong guy to ambush."
Flatman shrank into a tight ball, rolling madly to avoid another hit. The absurd sight might've been funny—if it wasn't so pathetic.
Ryuuto sighed. "Man, this is embarrassing to watch. You roll like a hamster."
He bit his thumb, slammed his palm down, and shouted:
"Summoning Jutsu!"
A burst of smoke filled the train car—then came barking. Eight ninja dogs landed in formation, the floor creaking beneath their combined weight.
The leader, Parker, gave Ryuuto a deadpan stare. "You again? The last time you called us, you still owed us dog treats and rent."
"Yeah, yeah." Ryuuto smacked the top of Parker's head. "Quit whining. I've got a chew toy for you. That one." He pointed at Flatman, who froze mid-roll. "Soft bones, bad attitude. Perfect snack material. But one bite each, got it?"
"Only one?" one of the dogs growled. "I didn't even have breakfast."
"Don't fight me for this one!" another barked. "I need the protein!"
The eight dogs turned as one. Their eyes gleamed like hunting wolves under a full moon. The air dropped cold.
Flatman shivered. "Wh-what are you—"
They lunged.
Screams echoed through the train car, loud enough to shake the walls.
"Get off! My body's not edible!"
"Bark louder, boys! He said soft bones!"
Ryuuto folded his arms, watching with mild amusement. "Told you not to mess with me. I'm not running a charity for mid-tier villains."
Parker bit down hard, then looked back smugly.
"Whoever bites the most, gets the bones!" Ryuuto called.
"Roger that!" the dogs barked in unison.
The chaos went on until the train screeched to a halt. The automated voice crackled through the speakers:
"Dear passengers, we've arrived at the New York Museum. Please collect your belongings—"
Ryuuto's eyes sharpened. Finally.
He flicked the blood off his blade, sheathed it, and vanished from sight in a blur of speed.
A crimson streak tore through the streets of New York, kicking up a storm of wind that made bystanders clutch their hats and squint.
"New York Museum, here I come!"
He laughed, sprinting through the doors. He could already feel it—the next piece of the Uchiha Itachi memory fragment. His pulse quickened.
But the moment he stepped inside—
Laser fire lit up the museum lobby.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A volley of energy blasts ripped through the marble floor, turning the elegant entrance into rubble. People screamed and scattered.
Ryuuto raised his head through the smoke, eyes narrowing.
"Well… looks like class is back in session."