Kakashi, sensing the shift in the fight, sighed. "Zabuza, if you leave now, I won't stop you."
Zabuza turned to him, scowling. "That simple, huh?"
Kakashi nodded. "That simple."
Zabuza exhaled slowly, his grip on his sword loosening. He glanced at Haku, who was waiting silently, and then at Naruto, whose glowing eyes hadn't wavered once.
"Ah, hell," Zabuza muttered.
And then, the sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed across the bridge.
The bridge was silent.
Not the kind of silence that felt peaceful, not the quiet of a warm evening or the hush of an early morning. This was a silence thick with tension, with exhaustion, with the weight of what had just happened.
Zabuza stood there, shoulders heaving, blade loose in his grip. Kakashi was barely keeping himself upright, his Sharingan eye dull with fatigue. Haku was still, watching with unreadable eyes. Sakura was pale, gripping a kunai like it was the only thing keeping her together. Sasuke was slumped against the ground, unconscious but breathing.
Naruto stood in the center of it all, unmoving.
He hated this.
He hated violence, hated the way the air stank of blood and sweat and death. But if he didn't fight, they would hurt him. They would hurt his team. And Naruto… Naruto didn't like getting hurt.
Gatō stepped forward, a smug grin on his face, flanked by dozens of hired thugs. "Well, well, looks like you're all out of juice," he sneered, kicking Zabuza's sword where it lay against the ground. "Pathetic."
Zabuza barely reacted, his fingers twitching at his sides, but Naruto could see the tension in his body. Haku was still standing, but their hands were trembling. Kakashi's breath was shallow.
Naruto looked at Gatō's men. There were a lot of them. Some armed with swords, some with clubs, others with nothing but cruel smiles and bad intentions.
He didn't think.
He moved.
One second, he was standing in the bloodstained mist. The next, he was tearing through them like a blade through paper.
A velociraptor was very fast.
Shinobi were faster because they could use chakra.
A chakra-enhanced velociraptor?
The first man barely had time to react before Naruto's foot caved in his chest, sending him flying back into three others. The next swung a blade, but Naruto twisted, dodging effortlessly, before his hand crushed the man's throat like it was made of glass. Blood sprayed.
Screaming.
Someone tried to stab him from behind, but Naruto didn't even turn—he just reached back, grabbing the man's wrist, and twisted. There was a sharp crack as the bone snapped clean through, jagged edges tearing through skin. The man shrieked, but Naruto had already moved on.
Another swing, another dodge, another kill.
They didn't even stand a chance.
Limbs twisted in ways they weren't meant to. Bones shattered. Throats were crushed. Naruto didn't use a weapon—he didn't need to. His hands were more than enough. His legs carried him through the battlefield like a ghost, too fast, too unpredictable, too precise. Every movement was efficient, ruthless, terrifyingly smooth.
Blood painted the bridge, slick and dark.
He didn't even notice the applause at first.
He stood there, in the middle of it all, his chest rising and falling in quiet, steady breaths. His clothes were drenched, his hair sticky, his face unreadable beneath the layer of gore. The smell was thick, coppery and warm.
And then he heard it.
Clapping.
Naruto turned his head.
Across the bridge, villagers stood in clusters, their faces a mix of horror and awe. Some had their hands over their mouths. Some looked ready to be sick. But others… others were clapping.
They were cheering.
For him.
Something cold settled in his stomach.
He reached up, swiping at his face, but all it did was smear the blood further. He tasted it on his lips, metallic and wrong. His fingers twitched at his sides.
He felt… nothing.
No satisfaction. No joy. No relief.
Just… nothing.
A single tear slipped down his cheek, cutting a clean path through the blood on his face.
But nobody saw it.
He had become the thing he hated.
A true shinobi.