Chapter 20: The Devil in the Mirror
With his purpose clarified—that impossible, driving dream of return—Naruto felt a new, incandescent energy ignite within him. The fatigue of the previous days burned away, replaced by a focused, relentless drive. He summoned his clones, and ten Narutos plunged back into training.
The one-handed Rasengan, the Wind Cutter—these were his hidden cards, his keys to survival and, ultimately, to power. If he couldn't master them, the dream was a fantasy. The path home was paved with strength.
Strangely, with this newfound conviction, the barriers seemed thinner. The chakra flowed with a cleaner intent, his will a sharper scalpel against the Kyuubi's interference. Progress, once incremental, began to feel tangible.
The sun was a dying ember on the horizon when an anxious voice cut through his concentration.
"Naruto! Naruto, where are you?!"
He turned to see Sakura emerging from the treeline, her face pale with worry. He'd been gone a full day and night. A flicker of guilt touched him—he'd been so absorbed he'd forgotten to send a clone back with word.
Seeing him, Sakura's relief warred with anger. "You idiot! You can't just vanish! We've been worried sick! Kakashi-sensei is furious!"
Naruto offered a genuine, apologetic smile. "Sorry, Sakura. Got carried away." The warmth of their concern was a stark, welcome contrast to his solitary striving.
"Ugh! Just hurry up!" she huffed, turning on her heel. "Kakashi-sensei and Sasuke already left with Tazuna for the bridge! We're late because of you!"
The bridge. Today's the day. The final confrontation. Naruto's mind, now crystal clear, clicked through the sequence of events. And then he remembered—the side plot.
"Go on ahead," he told Sakura quickly. "I'll catch up. Just… need a minute."
Sakura rolled her eyes, muttering about troublesome boys, and dashed off toward the distant bridge.
Naruto didn't head for the woods. He reversed course, his body a blur as he shot back toward Tazuna's small house. In the original timeline, Gato's thugs would come for Tsunami and Inari today. He couldn't let that distraction happen. It was a small deviation, but one that could cost them focus later.
He arrived at the quiet house in moments. Inari was playing in the dirt yard.
"Naruto-niichan! You're back! Sakura-neechan just left to find you! Grandpa and the others are already at the bridge!"
Naruto smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "I know. Just checking on something." He moved past him into the house, appearing casual as he sat and began methodically checking his weapons pouch—tightening kunai wrappings, counting shuriken, ensuring his few explosive tags were secure.
Inari watched, wide-eyed.
Then, the noise from outside. Shouting. A woman's sharp cry—Tsunami. The sound of a struggle.
Inari gasped and bolted outside. Naruto finished his deliberate check, stood, and followed at a walk.
By the door, the scene was set. Tsunami was on the ground, Inari trying to shield her. Three of Gato's bruisers stood over them, crude cleavers in hand, faces twisted with cruel amusement.
"Listen to uncle, and you won't get hurt," the leader sneered.
"Naruto-niichan! Help!" Inari cried, spotting him in the doorway.
The thugs turned. Their eyes landed on the Konoha forehead protector, then on Naruto's youthful face. Their fear melted into derisive laughter.
"Hah! Konoha sends its babies out to play? Run back to your mama, kid, before you get blood on that fancy headband."
Naruto didn't answer. His gaze was distant, assessing them not as threats, but as obstacles to be cleared with minimal effort. He walked forward, each step measured, a kunai slipping into his hand from his sleeve with a soft shick.
The leader's laughter died, replaced by anger at the blatant disregard. "You little—!"
He lunged, a wild, heavy overhead chop meant to split Naruto in two. It was the attack of a bully, not a fighter. Naruto didn't even break stride. He tilted his head a fraction, the blade whistling past his ear. As the man's momentum carried him forward, off-balance, Naruto's arm extended. A single, precise motion. The kunai's edge flashed in the dull light.
Shlick.
The man stumbled past him, a look of blank surprise on his face, before collapsing, a red line blossoming across his throat.
One down.
The other two froze mid-charge, their bravado evaporating. The swift, clinical kill was something out of a nightmare. They exchanged a terrified glance, their weapons suddenly feeling like dead weight.
Naruto didn't pause. His wrist flicked. The kunai left his hand, a grey streak. Thunk. It buried itself to the hilt in the second man's eye socket. He dropped without a sound.
The last man stood trembling, his cleaver clattering to the cobblestones. A dark stain spread on his pants. Naruto looked at him, then past him, to Inari and a stunned Tsunami.
"Inari. Get your mother inside. Bar the door."
He didn't wait for a response. Another flick of his wrist—a shuriken this time—and the last thug gurgled, clutching his slit throat as he fell.
Naruto retrieved his kunai, wiped it clean on a dead man's shirt, and sheathed it. He gave Inari, who was staring at him with a mixture of horror and awe, a small, reassuring nod. "Stay safe. I have to go."
He turned and vanished, a golden blur heading for the distant, half-finished bridge.
On the bridge, chaos reigned.
Kakashi and Zabuza were a whirlwind of clashing blades and explosive water jutsu, a duel of veterans. But Kakashi was still below his peak, and Zabuza fought with the desperation of a cornered beast.
Sakura stood helplessly to the side, guarding a trembling Tazuna, her knuckles white on a kunai she knew was useless.
The true horror was in the center of the bridge. A dome of glittering, multifaceted ice mirrors had formed, trapping Uchiha Sasuke inside. Haku moved within them, not as a person, but as a refraction—appearing in one mirror, attacking from another, a ghost of lethal precision.
"Secret Technique: Demonic Mirroring Ice Crystals."
"You cannot escape this prison," Haku's voice echoed, gentle yet absolute, from every surface. "Surrender."
Sasuke stood in the center, bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her Sharingan was active, a single tomoe spinning madly, but it was a new, untamed power. She could see the senbon needles—the "Ice Senbon"—being launched, could trace Haku's chakra signature as it flashed between mirrors, but her body couldn't keep up. The attacks came from all angles, a relentless, beautiful storm of frozen death.
She dodged, parried with her kunai, twisted desperately. A needle grazed her cheek. Another buried itself in her thigh. She gritted her teeth, a feral snarl escaping her lips. I will not fall here. Not like this. Not before I…
"You're only prolonging your pain," Haku murmured, almost sadly.
From his fight, Zabuza roared, his voice cutting through the clash of steel. "HAKU! STOP HOLDING BACK! KILL HER, OR WE DIE!"
The gentleness in Haku's mirrored eyes hardened into resolve. The next volley of senbon wasn't aimed to wound. It was aimed to kill, a concentrated burst targeting Sasuke's heart and throat from three impossible angles at once.
Sasuke's Sharingan saw the trajectories, a web of certain death. Her body, battered and slowing, knew it couldn't evade them all.
Time seemed to slow. This was it. The end of the Uchiha heir, not in glorious battle against her brother, but picked apart by needles in a cage of ice.
Then, a blur of orange and blond shot between the mirrors, a living shield.
Thwip-thwip-thwip!
The sound of needles striking not flesh, but a spinning, furious sphere of blue chakra held defiantly in one outstretched palm. The senbon shattered against it, turned to harmless dust.
Naruto stood before Sasuke, his back to her, the newly-stable, one-handed Rasengan humming in his hand like a captured hurricane. His other hand was raised, fingers splayed, a thin, keening layer of wind-chakra vibrating around it—the unfinished, but now functional, Wind Cutter, held as a desperate barrier.
He didn't look at Haku in the mirrors. He looked over his shoulder at a stunned, bleeding Sasuke, a fierce, determined grin on his face.
"Took you long enough to get in trouble," he said, his voice cutting through the din of battle. "Don't die on me yet, teammate. We've got a dream to chase."
The impossible dreamer had arrived. The real fight for the bridge—and for their futures—had just begun.