The Mist ANBU's body jerks like he got tased. Eyes go dim—candle snuffed in a hurricane.
Gurgle, thud. Leaves and dust kick up. Dead quiet except the echo.
Honglian's breathing hard, sweat beading. Crystal blade crumbles into glitter. She locks eyes with Shiro—we good—both slide back, heads snapping to the main event.
Wind rustles hair, blood in the air. Birds chirp like nothing happened. Mood.
Makoto clocks the kill, double-taps with a glance—yep, lights out—then turns to Terumi Mei.
Sunlight dapples through leaves, painting sharp shadows on his young-but-chiseled face. Eyes deep as a grave.
"Cool, we'll eat this L for you," he says, toeing the corpse like it's roadkill. "Your little coup's covered. Bounce."
First time he's volunteering to take the fall. But politics, man. Play the hand.
He's reading her like a manga—every breath, every twitch. Peak-era Mei? Top-tier baddie. Mist Village muscle behind her? Hard pass on the deathmatch.
"Nah-uh, cutie~" Mei purrs, smile blooming like a venomous rose. Eyes? Arctic. Playtime's over. "You smoked our precious ANBU. Can't just walk. Big sis has paperwork. And…"
Her stare lasers Shiro and Honglian—lingers on Shiro. "Ice bloodline… weird crystal chick… and mysterious lil' bro? You've got my full attention."
"Gotta invite you back for a chat~"
Knife's done cutting—now it gets melted down. Or chained. Leaks? Career-ending.
Makoto reads the room. Game over, diplomacy failed.
To the girls, flat: "Fall back. Far. If I eat shit, you run. Don't wait."
Honglian's lips part—no—worry screaming. She's never seen him this serious. Crystals flicker, ready to clap back.
Shiro shuts it down, ice-calm: "Trust him. We'd just be baggage."
Yanks her sleeve. They ghost—light feet, tree-to-tree, 50 meters, 100. Perch on an oak.
Shiro's glued to Makoto's back, knuckles white. Honglian's crystals pulse—ready to dive. Both breathing fast. He dies, we die first.
"Oh? One-on-one with big sis? Cocky lil' man!" Mei laughs, hands already weaving seals. Relaxed stance—total lie. She's coiled.
Underestimate her? Graveyard's full of those dudes.
"Wanna play rough? Let's dance." Makoto grins, no seals—BOOM.
Blue lightning erupts. Chidori choir—hair on end, air frying. Armor of pure thunder crackles, denser than ever. Ground scorches, leaves vaporize.
Thunder God cosplay: activated.
Mei's pupils pinprick. "That's… Raikage's Lightning Chakra Mode?! You're Kumogakure?!"
"When'd they grow a kid this stacked?!"
"Eh, Kumo-adjacent," Makoto cracks his neck, voice buzzing with static. "But future-wise? Might slide into Mist. Gotta be the man who becomes Mizukage."
Double entendre, delivered with teenage swagger. Chef's kiss.
Honglian blushes hard from the treeline. He's not joking…
"Silver tongue!" Mei spits, but her gut twists. He means it.
"Let's see your moves, babe. Try not to squirt when I shock ya."
BOOM.
Earth explodes under his foot. Makoto vanishes—blue streak, air ripping. Straight for Mei.
"Fast!" Mei's no slouch—ambition forged her into a weapon. But this speed? Nightmare.
Every block, every counter—death flag screams. She's forced into acrobatic dodges, skirt flaring like a dark lotus.
Makoto's a storm—lightning claws grazing, sizzling air. If Yoruichi from Kumo saw this? "THAT'S MY SHIT!"
Mei's dodging graceful but ragged—those curves? Liability now. Dude's aiming low, high, center mass. Zero chill.
Flying Thunder God + max Lightning Mode = touch = win. Dirty as hell.
Mei's got S-tier jutsu, bloodlimits on deck—but can't use 'em. Hands tied, eyes can't track, seals impossible. Choking on her own toolkit.
She's a nuke with the pin stuck.
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belamy20