Thick canopy chopped the sunlight into confetti—only a few stubborn beams snuck through, speckling the leaf-litter like weak-ass fairy lights.
Air was wet, cold, and smelled like rotting leaves and dirt. Storm-coming vibes hung heavy.
What started as a chill "fishing" op flipped into a clusterfuck the second two squads materialized outta nowhere.
No warning. Like the shadows puked them out.
Team Makoto: Red Lotus, White, and the man himself.
Mist ANBU: Two masked weirdos.
They locked eyes in the clearing—boom, fight's on.
Mist masks gleamed creepy in the gloom.
Zero chit-chat. Zero chakra flare. Just murder the second gazes collided.
Killing intent hit like frozen needles.
"LEFT!" Red Lotus barked, sharp and sweet.
"Roger!" White shot back, ice-cool.
Two kids moved like they'd drilled this in the womb—flanking the weaker Mist goon the instant Makoto planted his feet.
Makoto stayed rooted, black eyes locked past the scrap, dead on the last Mist standing—the captain. Aura deep as a black lake. Unreadable.
Ten meters apart. Air turned to glue. Nobody twitched.
Captain radiated I eat punks for breakfast energy.
Under the mask? Emerald cat-eye gems. First, she side-eyed the brawl like a theater critic in the VIP box—sipping chaos, loving the show.
Light danced off White's ice and Red Lotus's crystal. She clocked it all with a half-smirk, grading their moves.
Then—slow pan back to Makoto. Scanned his baby-face and model-tier jawline. Connected dots: this kid's the boss of the billion-ryo "girl" on the wanted poster?
Amusement drained. Replaced by hunter spotting rare prey heat.
Makoto sized her up too.
Standard ANBU drip, but customized. Mask mod exposed a smooth jaw and lips like fresh cherry blossoms—pouty, glossy, illegal.
Uniform? Strained to the seams over curves that could cause traffic accidents. Neck skin? Porcelain. Fingers laced in front, casual but ready—nails painted deep-sea blue.
Brain.exe: FUTURE FIFTH MIZUKAGE—TERUMI MEI.
Triple chakra nature (water, fire, earth). Dual kekkei genkai: Lava and Boil. Shinobi world unicorn.
Personality? Mature, warm, smile that rallies troops. But low-key unhinged—throws tantrums over dumb shit. Not simple.
Right now? Her squadmate's getting tag-teamed into the ground. Mei? Lips curled higher. Loving it.
Makoto yawned, broke the stare-down. "Gonna save your boy? He's one L away from a body bag."
Mei: "Oh my~?" Voice like velvet and venom. "He's not my people."
Dragged it out, mask-muffled laugh chilling. "Didn't plan on him leaving alive anyway."
Dropped the truth bomb with a smile that could melt steel.
Makoto grinned. Classic Mei. Young, extra spicy—sadistic confidence on 100.
Both so stacked they turned a deathmatch into a coffee chat.
"Honesty's hot, kiddo."
Mei's eyes sharpened behind the mask. "Scared? After I use you to clean house, I'm coming for you three cuties. Easy peasy. Pin it on 'fugitives,' cash the bounty. Perfect."
Killing intent rolled off her like fog.
Makoto shrugged. "Try me. Kill me? Name's yours. I won't even Yelp about the service."
Mei's lips twitched. "Big talk for a baby face. Hope your hands match your mouth."
Makoto's eyes dipped—shamelessly. "Uniform's working overtime. Mist budget tight or you just that stacked?"
He knew her buttons: vanity + chaos = jackpot.
Mei's voice pitched up, flirty-dangerous. "Like what you see?"
"Mature taste, everyone's got it."
"Just liking is boring~" She leaned in, mask hiding the smirk. "Come touch. Sis is generous."
Makoto's grin went feral.
WHOOSH.
Body flicker—no wind-up. Afterimage only. Hand rocketing, chakra humming faint—Flying Thunder God seal ready.
Eight hundred traps? Opportunity knocked—he kicked the door.
Mei's beast-mode instincts screamed DANGER.
Touch = dead. Every cell howled.
She blurred—elegant backflip, hair whipping, dodging by a millisecond.
Makoto's fingers grazed air. "Damn. Almost copped a feel and sealed your fate."
One tag on her? Fight's his chessboard.
Mei smoothed flyaway curls, emerald eyes wide—then narrowed. "Little monster. Half a beat slower and I'd be yours."
Meanwhile—other fight: FINISH HIM.
"Now, White!" Red Lotus yelled.
White's eyes locked. Enemy slipped—tiny panic gap.
"Ice Style: Ice Spikes!"
Not lethal—pierced thigh. Mobility gone.
Enemy screamed, staggered.
Red Lotus—prepped. "Crystal Style: Jade Blade!"
Compressed chakra into a jagged, razor-short crystal dagger. Lunged.
STAB.
Crystal punched clean through Mist ANBU's heart.