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— — —
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"It's a pleasure to see you again, Naruto!"
The warmth in the man's voice gave me a moment's pause, different to the adoration from the villagers that I tried to avoid. Theirs was so much of an overcorrection that it swung back to being overwhelming.
His voice was familiar enough to make me turn. "Mr Maruboshi?"
I hadn't seen him in years. Not since the Academy, when he oversaw one of my exams.
"I knew it was you, dear boy." The old genin was the fourth member of our team for the mission, it seemed. "Only you wear a flak jacket of that specific make."
I smiled and pressed a hand to my nape. The ponytail that gathered the back end of my hair tickled the back of my hand. "I've been looking forward to running a mission with you."
The wok affixed to Maruboshi's back nearly managed to distract me from the short sword placed horizontally against the base of his spine—but only nearly. "It's a wonder that we haven't yet," he said. "You're notorious for the number of missions you've racked up on your record over the past year. How many B-ranks would this mission be for you?"
"Nine, sir."
Choji snorted. "Getting him to slow down has been the biggest failure of my life. The best I can do is go with him. At least then I get to escape Hinata's irritation because you're unintentionally ghosting her."
I couldn't help but feel bad when he brought Hinata up. Tsunade ran a tight ship in the hospital, especially given the need for competent medics in the proxy war between the Frost and Steam. And the only reason I was even aware of that was because of Tsunade.
Thus, breaks were a rare thing for Hinata, even with the lower number of shinobi patients, thanks to the very real possibility that the hospital's medics would be shipped off. If she wasn't working, then she was training with her clan or training with Tsunade.
I, meanwhile, had been running the mission gauntlet the past year for the sake of acquiring more jutsu. So, I could count the number of times I'd seen anyone outside of Haku, Karin, and Choji on a single hand—and even he was an uncommon sighting these days because he'd started leading missions a few months back.
Jonin Shirakumo cleared his throat. Until Maruboshi arrived, Choji and I had been standing in uncompanionable silence with him for the past ten minutes. He wasn't the conversation sort, and we felt too awkward to start a conversation when we knew he wouldn't join.
"As Kosuke says, this is a simple enough mission. We will be headed to the north-eastern side of the border for our patrol. However, we cannot take anything for granted at the moment. Unlike the usual patrol, which would be a C-rank, this wasn't requested by a client, but appointed to us by Lord Danzo at B-rank."
Choji raised his hand. "Are we doing this because of the ongoing conflict in the Land of Hot Water?"
"Yes and no," Shirakumo said. "It's only been a year since the Sand and Sound's invasion of our village. There's a real chance that our enemies will be eager to see how far they can push things—and that is only more true because of the conflict in our neighbouring country."
Maruboshi hummed to himself. "Thus, our mission is simple: we must show our enemies that the Hidden Leaf remains as vigilant as ever."
"We leave now—unless any of you have objections?"
His instructions said to arrive packed and ready to leave, so Shirakumo's question was a formality rather than a serious offer. But when going on a mission with Choji, it was best to double-check.
"Have you got your snacks?" I asked.
He patted his flak jacket with a pleasant smile. Choji had put on a considerable amount of muscle this past year, and shot up like a tree, too. Right now, he was just about taller than me, which shouldn't annoy me as much as it did.
"You know I don't want you turning all grumpy on me because you had one less crisp pack than you thought."
Choji frowned. "That happened one time."
"Yeah, one time too many."
Shirakumo cleared his throat and put our bickering to an end before it could begin.
"Not to worry, young Choji," Maruboshi said between his chuckles. "I have snacks of my own to share should yours run out."
"Thank you, sir!"
And with that, we set off, gliding across rooftops until we cleared the village's walls and raced towards the distant horizon.
We made good time in the morning, the sun slowly bleeding hot into the sky as we kept pace over winding paths and root-bound tracks. Forests blurred past. The wind whipped at our clothes and stung our eyes. Only when the scent of smoke and grilled meat crept in on the breeze did Maruboshi finally suggest a stop.
The town was a small border settlement nestled between two hillocks, more of a supply post than a proper village. No more than twenty buildings, most of them battered from weather and age. Choji perked up the moment we hit the edge of the main street, nose already twitching.
"We've got fifteen minutes," Shirakumo said, pausing only long enough to glance over his shoulder. "Make them count."
Choji vanished before he'd even finished the sentence. I caught sight of his back just as he ducked inside a shop with a sun-bleached curtain and a string of red peppers hanging over the entrance.
Maruboshi chuckled beside me. "That boy has the instincts of a hunter. Never seen anyone move that quickly for anything outside of combat."
"I've seen him move quicker," I said. "One time I mentioned that a vendor in the market got a new batch of dumplings in, and he was already halfway there before I finished the sentence."
"Resourceful. That's what makes a good shinobi." Maruboshi adjusted the strap of his wok with ease. "And you, Naruto? Not tempted to run off with him and pillage the local cuisine?"
I shook my head. "Tempted, sure."
A ghost of a smile passed across Maruboshi's face. "A sound judgment."
We walked a little further along the dirt track that passed for the main road, quiet for a while, until he spoke again. "You've grown."
"Sir?"
"Not in height—though that too, I suppose. You're taller than me now, dear boy. No, I mean in bearing. You used to burn so hot in the Academy, like you were always half a breath from shouting. No longer. I wonder why that is."
I didn't know how to respond to that. I suppose back then, I was impatient. I desired training that no one would give. Or rather, training I was too prideful to seek out from Lord Third. And since last year, there've been no more barriers to what and when I could learn. None besides my efforts—and those I had enough of to spare.
Soon, Choji returned with a bulging paper bag under one arm and half a skewer in his mouth.
"They had sesame-crusted dumplings!" he said around a mouthful. "I bought three—oh, and here are your ingredients, Mr Maruboshi."
Maruboshi reached up to clap him on the shoulder. "You're a visionary, my boy."
Shirakumo appeared without a word, silent as ever, and gave a single nod. The scar stretching down the right side of his lips gave a twitch, and the unspoken order was clear. We filed back into formation and moved.
The rest of the journey to the border took a couple of days, slowed down by Shirakumo's orders to set up trap formations, and the terrain grew rougher the farther north-east we travelled. Grass gave way to stone and dirt. Rivers thinned into streams. Villages became sparse, and tension settled in like a second skin over our shoulders.
Each night, we set up a temporary camp under thickets or overhangs, with Shirakumo assigning watches and rotating through the roster. Each day, we laid traps as we moved along the border, beginning east and moving west.
They weren't the kind of traps a child might expect—yes, there were a few hanging nets or tripwire-triggered log swings. But there was also ninja wire, invisible to the eye yet sharp enough to cut through skin. These were shinobi traps. Threaded kunai along narrow ledges where they'd blend into the stone.
Shirakumo, to his credit, was meticulous. Every patrol route had a pattern, and all the while, we kept an eye out for any hostile presence.
"You sure we're not overdoing it?" Choji muttered one evening as we weaved steel wire between the branches of a thicket. "Feels like we're fortifying half the country."
"It's not overdoing it if they work," I said, glancing at a pressure-rigged explosive tag buried under the loose soil.
Maruboshi stepped beside us, squatting low to adjust the angle of the wire Choji had set. "No move is wasted if it deters a war, boys."
Choji glanced at him, then at me. "It still feels a bit like overkill. One of these will kill a man. Two dozen of these won't even leave a corpse behind."
The night came down heavily that evening. Wind wailed through the trees, but our traps were set, our perimeter tight, and our fires lay low. And yet, I couldn't relax despite not finding hide nor hair of the enemy.
For all the quiet that surrounded us, I knew it wouldn't last.
.
— — —
.
The first trap went off with a snap of wire and a thump of concussive chakra, followed by a distant curse. That, too, was quickly overcome by an explosion. Then another. And another. A chain of explosions flared behind us in quick succession, lighting up the misted grove like blinking lightning bugs.
"They're springing them!" Choji shouted. "All of them! That means there are a lot more than we thought."
Good. I dropped to one knee, hand pressed flat to the earth. I'd left four shadow clones to scatter the moment we broke into a sprint back towards the Land of Fire. I smiled at the distant blue glow of the five-seal barrier.
The fifth tag was one I'd placed down myself as we retreated. Too far for them to reach, and so the barrier would stand. Distant shouts confirmed it—angry, surprised, and numerous. Dozens. More than two squads. I squinted through the trees and felt my stomach drop at the ten shinobi I could see crawling out of the dirt.
I couldn't be sure of their number or their strength. We had one jonin in Shirakumo, a tokubetsu jonin in me, a chunin in Choji, and a genin in Maruboshi.
"There are at least thirty in total," I muttered. "Could be more. I just had a clone kill itself inside the barrier using Great Vacuum Sphere, but I don't know how much damage that did. No sight of their leader either. If I enter Sage Mode, I'll be able to give an exact number."
"Unnecessary for now." Shirakumo didn't even blink. "We hold here," he said, weaving seals.
Maruboshi took point with a kunai in each hand, reinforcing the front while Choji met the first volley of fire with a wall of earth. It came hard and fast—kunai, shuriken, earthen spikes, and weighted wires from the trees.
They were using our own traps against us.
A tremor ran through the dirt. Maruboshi called out a warning before he leapt away, just as an enemy shinobi burst out of the soil behind Choji's wall, swinging a spiked hammer. Another followed, then two more.
Choji was already on them. He rammed into the first with a shoulder charge that cracked bark and bone alike, then pivoted into a spin with his massive arm that blew the others back. Normally proportioned now, roaring flame surged around his limbs—Fire Release: Chakra Mode—lighting him in burning red and orange.
More slipped through, pulled along by their comrades.
"I'll never forget that face." One's eyes burned through the gap in his mask. "You're that butcher's son!"
I tore through the last four enemy shinobi like they were standing still. No wasted movement. One Rasengan carried him through the air and shredded through the iron mesh and the flesh beneath, spinning him mid-air before he triggered ninja wire and explosive tags. His death was all flame and gore, spraying his remains down in bloody rain.
Another, I slammed into a tree with a burst of force via a chakra-enhanced fist. My barrier was still strong, but there was no one behind it and deep grooves in the earth around its perimeter that pointed at how they'd escaped.
The few corpses that avoided destruction weren't safe either. Each one had been branded—marks etched across their flesh that ignited seconds after death, searing away their identities in a flood of ash and smoke. I fell back to Choji's position. Maruboshi deflected a kunai to protect Shirakumo, and the four of us scooted back to create a gap between us and the twenty or so enemies left.
If need be, we could retreat to the next trap array we'd set up, but we weren't that desperate yet.
"Choji!" I called. "Wind and fire—now!"
He was already moving. We split apart, clearing space. I hit the treeline and drew a sharp breath. Flames solidified, then surged forward from Choji's palms, caught and carried by my wind. The combined torrent tore through the grove, swallowing the men crawling through it.
Screams barely rose before they were cut off. The firestorm rolled on—trees cracked, kunai melted mid-air. I dropped back down as the pressure dipped. Heat distorted the air. Some of them had survived—charred, panicked, scattering—but their formation was broken.
"They're falling back!" Choji shouted.
"No," I said. "They're regrouping."
Behind me, Shirakumo called out, "Hold the line. Buy me sixty seconds—then we end this."
A fresh wave came from the trees—five, no, seven—falling in from above. I threw myself back even as the force of the bombardment tore through the ground like hammers. Ignorable pain flashed across my thumb when my teeth closed around flesh. I lined a bloody track across my palm and slammed my fist down.
Twin clouds of smoke erupted beside me. Two mid-sized toads emerged—one with a cleaver, the other with a scroll slung across his back.
"Tch. About time," muttered the cleaver-wielding toad.
"No lecture, Gamasen," I said, already forming a Rasengan. "We're holding this line."
The scroll-bearing toad began weaving signs. A high-pressure jet of water lanced out and took one of the regrouping shinobi clean through the chest. Another stumbled into my line—wrong time, wrong place.
I didn't stop moving. The Rasengan took him in the ribs and folded him around a tree. But there was no end to the number of enemies. Just as soon as the Rasengan faded from my hands, I spewed a massive wind sphere to slow down the advance of those who weren't blown away outright.
Maruboshi fell into a crouch to my right. "He's ready. Fall back."
We gave ground in sync. I fell back to Choji's position as the last enemy squad made their push. Some moved clumsily, injured. Others didn't stop. The ones left were the type to die angry.
"Now," Shirakumo said, voice low. "Duck."
We dropped.
The world lit up. Three streaks of jagged light arced through the trees, curling mid-air before slamming into the enemy line. Lightning's shrill cry drowned out everything else. Branches split. Ground buckled. A dozen bodies were thrown back like rags.
I rose to one knee and released a slow breath.
Maruboshi stepped over a body, kunai still drawn. "They'll send another squad in a few hours if these were scouts. Besides, there was a jonin leader among them… but they seem to have retreated."
I looked at Choji—singed, bleeding, and panting. Maruboshi was no better. His leg was stiff, and the cuts along his side hadn't stopped leaking. Shirakumo was perfectly fine, and so was I, but we couldn't afford another fight.
Our mission was border patrol and defence against a possible incursion. There was no point in giving chase. It just wasn't worth running into enemy territory.
"Given most of them had very strong Earth-Release affinities, it's a guarantee they were Hidden Stone," I said. "That one guy called me the son of a butcher right before I killed him. Is that what they call my father?"
"Among other things, yes. Besides, they wore no emblems," Maruboshi replied quietly. "That means the mission was a one-way ticket. They were never coming back and were counting on death from the beginning."
I looked at the corpses. No names or nations—not even the mark of a village on their forehead protectors. Simply corpses to be consumed by nature and turned into fertiliser.
"Let's keep moving," Shirakumo finally said. "We'll head back and report to the nearest outpost. The mission's rank likely won't be readjusted. We were always counting on something going wrong, hence its B-rank designation."
With nothing else to do, we left the field of corpses behind.
.
— — —
.
"Report."
Even after a year, seeing Danzo in Lord Third's seat, wearing Lord Third's hat, still didn't sit well with me. Granted, he hadn't done anything wrong—from what I could tell—but that was the thing with Danzo: you could never tell.
The village had been doing better since the invasion, even with the lessened shinobi presence over the past year. There was no official news—on paper, the Frost-Steam tensions were none of our business—but all the shinobi knew that the outposts near and in the Land of Steam were more or less training camps to help the Hidden Steam.
Fingers steepled behind his desk, to say Danzo looked unhappy was an understatement. He never did, but that day, there was a glacial kind of irritation in his dark eyes. It wasn't surprising, given that the Stone had decided to test how far they could push things.
After all, the Cloud were doing the same via the Hidden Frost.
Shirakumo stepped forward, leaving the rest of us behind. The air in the room felt heavier than it should, like something in the walls themselves was watching me.
Probably the ANBU in the rafters.
"We encountered enemy shinobi at the north-eastern border," he began. "Contact initiated via triggered trap formations that I set up using clones, but our defensive line was breached by tunnelling Earth-Release techniques."
Danzo said nothing at first. Only nodded once, slowly. His hands didn't move from where they were clasped, resting on the desk like they'd been nailed there.
"There were thirty total, ignoring the leader—it was a full strike team."
"And your assessment of their identities?" Danzo said, voice calm in a way that made it impossible to tell if it was interest or judgment I was hearing.
"I believe they were Stone shinobi, based on their overwhelming use of Earth-Release and earth chakra in their signatures," Shirakumo answered without hesitation.
"That alone is not confirmation," he said flatly.
"One also said to Tokubetsu Jonin Uzumaki, and I quote: you're that fucking butcher's son. That narrows the list of potential enemies down considerably."
"But no village insignia to mark their allegiance?" Danzo said.
"No forehead protectors. No insignias of any kind. They came expecting death."
Danzo's only movement was the slow drop of his scarred chin. "You were right not to pursue. We are not yet prepared for war with the Stone." I noticed the faint twitch in his jaw that betrayed his intention to continue speaking. "As of last night, the Land of Hot Water and the Land of Frost are officially at war. As far as I am aware, the Hidden Frost's forces have annexed two northern cities and the surrounding territories."
Shirakumo's shoulders didn't so much as twitch at the news. I wasn't much surprised either, but what did surprise me was what came next.
"Tokubetsu Jonin Uzumaki," said Danzo, looking past Shirakumo. "I will also deign to inform you that as of a few months ago, your jonin sensei, Asuma Sarutobi, has been assigned as the Jonin Commander of the Southern Command Centre."
Choji breathed in beside me, and if he didn't know, then this must have happened while we were away. I could count the number of times I'd seen Asuma since the invasion on two hands, just about. Not through any fault of our relationship, but like everyone else in my life, he hadn't had the chance to see me much, except for when I was back from missions.
At least, when I wasn't at Mount Myoboku. He had been busy with his training, too, after all.
Danzo continued. "We expect an influx of wounded, after which you, along with Tsunade Senju, her students, and a handful more shinobi to replace the injured returning, will go. Of course, the Hidden Leaf as an entity will not be participating in this war—just as the Hidden Cloud won't be."
I nearly snorted. His words said one thing, but his tone of voice pointed to the opposite. There was every chance that Hidden Cloud shinobi would run Hidden Frost colours, just as we'd probably be made to wear the Hidden Steam's.
All in the name of pretending this wasn't the Cloud also trying to poke the Leaf's defences like the Stone just had.
Danzo finally shifted, leaning back ever so slightly. "You've done well. Jonin Shirakumo?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I expect a detailed report on my desk after the weekend."
Shirakumo nodded.
"You are all dismissed. Give Kosuke my regards. I wish him a speedy recovery."
We bowed low, straight-backed, and turned to leave. Maruboshi hadn't been able to make it because I'd insisted he go to the hospital while we made the report.
The reward would be deposited in our accounts by tomorrow evening at the latest, but that was the least of our worries. Our success would be quietly logged before Choji and I flipped the coin on war summons or a mission. The moment we returned to the village, I threw an arm over his shoulder and steered Choji and myself to my place.
A little ceremony that he and I participated in after every mission we went on together.
The house I returned to wasn't the apartment I'd grown up in. No creaking second-hand kettle, no chipped tiles or cramped space. This one had a courtyard, shaded eaves, and front gate before you even reached the door. The house where my mother and father lived once stood empty for a long time—until I moved in.
Or rather, until we did.
Haku greeted me at the door with a faint smile. "Welcome home."
She stepped aside to hold the door without responding, robes white and immaculate as ever. Her long hair had been tied up into a high ponytail that swept low across her back.
She'd slotted into scarily well into my life scarily well despite the awkwardness of picking her up from a T&I cell.
"You're just in time," Karin called from the kitchen. Her red hair was a wild mess held back by a bandana, and the thick smell of broth and meat hung in the air. "I just finished prepping dinner."
"You cooked?"
"Nope," she said, lifting her chin. "Haku did. I was… there. Helping."
I looked back at Haku, who merely smiled without disputing the lie.
The bowls clinked as we sat. Choji blinked once at the interior—clean, quiet, lined with shelves holding works of fiction, but something told me he cared only for the food—and then grinned.
"This soup's as incredible as always, Haku."
"Thank you," Haku replied, bowing her head politely. "I'd like to say the recipe's mine, but it's Naruto's."
Choji wolfed down another mouthful before glancing at me with apologetic caution. "...Nothing beats the original, of course," he added quickly.
I snorted. "Don't lie to spare my pride. I've been in so many cooking competitions with her that I've resigned myself to eternal second place."
"No, seriously," Choji said, pointing his chopsticks accusingly at Haku. "It's better than Naruto's. I can say that now, right? It's not bad if it's true."
"Traitor," I muttered.
Karin chuckled under her breath, but said nothing, keeping her eyes on the steamed rice in front of her. Her glasses had slid down her nose till she pushed them back up. Over the last year, her frequenting of Ichiraku Ramen led to her replacing me there. Though she still couldn't cook to save her life, plating and acting as front-of-house staff was still within the realm of possibility.
Between nagging Jiraiya into teaching her Sealing Jutsu and working there, she'd had her hands full. She was a shinobi of the Leaf in all but name, mostly. I'd not seen her run a single mission. The old man was a perfectly fine teacher when he was there, but he was rarely reachable, and Karin only stuck with it because it felt like something she could do on her own terms.
Deep down, I knew it wouldn't last. Her healing ability alone guaranteed she'd be pulled into combat one day—even if as a medic.
Choji leaned back and sighed. "This is nice."
I didn't disagree. Because, as much as Hinata believed I was all work and no play, I did take breaks every once in a while… even if this one would only last for the rest of the day.
Once the next morning came, I was happy to see the hospital was humming the way it always did—polished floors, distant voices, and the clean, cloying scent of sterilised air. I took the stairs two at a time and ignored the glances I drew. Tsunade's office was near the top.
When I knocked, the door opened without a word.
Tsunade sat at her desk, sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a quick knot behind her head. Her pen still hovered above the scroll she'd been reviewing until I let myself in.
"How was the mission?"
I stepped in and closed the door. "Fine. Except the Hidden Stone decided to test the waters. We found about thirty of them just west of the border. Well-trained. None of them wore any village insignia, though."
Tsunade's mouth twitched. "Subtle."
"We figured out they were stone mostly because of the Earth-Release ninjutsu—but in the end, they just couldn't hide their hatred towards my father."
She leaned back and exhaled slowly. "Then the bastards are getting bolder. Not that it surprises me. The Cloud's been puppeteering the Frost's age-old ambitions to annexe the Steam's more profitable lands—oh yeah, they're at war now, by the way. And all of that to irritate us. Thinking the Stone wouldn't try to pull something was a pipe dream—"
Before she could follow that thought, the door flew open. Hinata stepped in first, wearing the standard pale blue of the medical division and a look of steely resolve. Shikamaru came in behind her, looking resigned already. I straightened without thinking.
"I heard you were back." She narrowed her eyes at me. "You've been overdoing it."
I smiled wryly at Shikamaru and then her. "Nice to see you, too."
"You haven't learned a thing since the Academy." She stepped forward with eyes sharp enough to cut. "You run yourself ragged on countless missions and call it discipline. But it's stubbornness. You're barely home, and when you are, you don't rest for long enough before you run off again."
Shikamaru raised a finger. "Actually, I'd like to say that my opinion on that has changed—"
Hinata turned on him so quickly that he physically recoiled.
I gave her a long look. "You done? Because, despite it all and after a pretty tiring mission, I've come to realise that I've missed Hinata Hyuuga. You know? My friend."
She folded her arms, but I could see the moment her anger folded in her eyes. "...I missed you, too."
I glanced back at a grinning Tsunade. "You want to throw your lot in? Admit that you've soft spot for me in that wrinkled heart of yours?"
"Sure. I wish you stayed away longer, brat."
"I didn't manage to use it, by the way." Tsunade perked up at that. For all her caution, I could tell she was more excited to see my idea come to fruition than she let on. "It's kind of a shame to be honest. I was thinking we could—"
Tsunade stood, cracked her knuckles, and said, "Don't clock back in, Shikamaru, Hinata. We're headed out for an early lunch!"
Contrary to my expectations, though, we weren't leaving alone. As we stepped into the corridor, she waved Sakura away from their paperwork like it was an afterthought, and they didn't complain.
Word had spread by the time we arrived. A crowd was already starting to follow us—probably on account of my presence. Last year, I thought I'd have grown used to it by now. I told myself I didn't care, but then found myself getting angry when they did. If only I could stay angry for that long.
No, that faded in a matter of weeks.
After that, it was just awkward. Awkward when I saw a smiling face and remembered when they made life difficult for me for no good reason. The worst part was when I ran into someone I'd saved during the invasion. I hadn't known people could show that amount of regret and gratefulness at the same time.
And every time I saw it, it made my skin crawl—felt like a cold, slow slime was coating every inch of my skin. Thankfully, they couldn't follow us into the training grounds, but it didn't stop the small crowd from going as far as they were able to.
The river bisecting the Leaf ran along our left, and the grass around us was tall, but not enough to hinder much.
Tsunade cracked her neck. I adjusted my trench knives only for her to blur forward with the sort of monstrous speed that made her seem like she'd teleported—but I raised my arms just in time.
Her punch swung down like a sledgehammer. Even though I braced, it still sent me skidding. She came again. I ducked, pivoted, and slashed with both trench knives. Sparks flew where steel kissed steel, along with wind chakra's sharp hum, as the serrated chakra blades buzzed to life.
Her palm swept beneath the blades and caught my wrist to send me flying. I landed with a roll before throwing a hand down. Water burst from the ground in a spiralling vortex. It coiled up and launched towards her like a geyser given fangs. Tsunade batted it aside with one blow, the water splitting like it'd been cleaved in half by a blade.
Not that it was meant to do damage, but it gave me enough time to leap back, create a shadow clone, and form another jutsu all before she focused on me. I formed the jutsu with a breath, and nine high-pressure bullets shot from my mouth and curved mid-air in erratic arcs.
She squinted against the oncoming spray but didn't dodge.
A few hand seals later, she stomped the ground, raised a wall with a single slap to the earth, and let it take the hit. I landed low, planted the trench knives in the ground to free my hands. My lungs expanded. I spat out a massive vacuum sphere. The orb of compressed air whirled toward her, spinning with the sort of noise that ripped sound out of the world.
She ducked—not because she couldn't take it, but because she was watching what else I'd do. I threw my hands together to form the seals for the Shadow Clone Jutsu. Four clones burst into existence, each leaping into position around Tsunade, slapping a tag around her before sealing her in along with themselves.
Then, in perfect synchrony, they prepared their jutsu.
Each clone surged with chakra. Their hands formed their techniques, each building a different combination. One was using Wind-Release: Rasenagn. Another decided to use his trench knives. One leapt high above to ready an axe kick, all while she watched with narrowed eyes.
A single punch shattered the barrier—even with the seals—fractured like glass, chakra spider-webbing and unravelling before the wind clone could even detonate. She sent the first clone hurtling away like a cannonball before he fell on his own Rasengan popped into smoke.
The rest followed. She tanked through the axe kick, grabbing the clone's heel, and threw him into the clone with the trench knives. The chakra blades ran him straight through, the smoke clouding the other clone's vision just long enough that he didn't see Tsunade's fist coming.
Tsunade stopped to breathe deeply.
"Not bad," she muttered, brushing dust from her sleeve. Besides some dust, there wasn't a mark on her.
She gave me a sideways look. "Where's the other one?"
I smiled. It was stupid of me to think she'd forgotten about the initial clone I'd summoned. I'd let him run off the moment the match began. He hadn't fought. All he'd done was meditate somewhere far out of reach. And now, with his purpose fulfilled, I felt the senjutsu chakra rush into me, chilling.
Then, I opened my eyes.
The world leapt into colour. I could see tension in Tsunade's calves, the buzz of grass shifting beneath her feet, the flex of pressure building under her next step before she even took it. Leaving the trench knives in the ground, Earth-Release: Earth Spear darkened my arms until they were obsidian.
A breath held across the field as the air pressed inward, drawn to me, kneeling at my feet.
Then I moved.
The ground screamed. Trees buckled. Chakra poured down my spine, too much, too fast, all of it sharpening into an edge. An airy cloak snapped to life around me—thin, almost invisible, but I could feel it: honed wind crawling over my skin, every hair raised like I'd dipped my body into a stormcloud.
Senjutsu chakra churned through my limbs and chest in invisible spirals that I could feel nonetheless. It cycled clockwise through my body from tip to crown. Once. Twice. I bent my knees and brought my hands up—not to form seals, but to brace when the ground cracked beneath me.
Tsunade's eyes narrowed. Her hand twitched at her side just barely in time. Her strength wasn't the only thing monstrous about her, so I wouldn't hold back. The cyclone formed before I punched.
It coiled around my fist, visible, layers of dizzying, spinning wind collapsing inward, compressing with each rotation until the pressure threatened to rip through the protection Earth Spear provided.
When the punch dropped, the field tore open.
Wind shrieked outward in a wide spiral, tearing bark from trees, flattening grass in every direction. My arm bucked from the recoil. Tsunade was totally trapped within it, but she didn't move—not for a long moment until she began to slide. Her sandals bored twin trenches in the dirt, and her clothes were clothes and skin were slowly being shredded thanks to her resistance.
I was expecting her to go flying at any moment—until the wind abruptly died and she landed on one knee. And I—I dropped too. My senjutsu chakra bottomed out so hard I nearly blacked out at the shock. The cyclone's echo faded from my ears, leaving only ringing behind.
Tsunade blinked. Looked down at the dirt. Then at me, and laughed.
"You complete idiot," she said, wheezing. "You really used all your senjutsu chakra in one punch?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it. My arms were numb. My lungs burned. I could feel for a fact that my body wasn't happy with me at all.
She stood up and brushed her mostly destroyed clothes. I looked to the sky once her sleeveless haori couldn't hold up any longer around her chest.
"Oh, grow up, you frigid little shit," she said with a roll of her eyes.
"...I really wanted to put you down," I muttered.
"You nearly did until it ran out." She planted a hand on her hip. "Listen, if you want to actually use it, you can't keep firing it off like a cannon. It's not about whether you shoot it off in bursts either. Fundamentally, the issue is in the duration you can hold Sage Mode. If you want to learn that jutsu's ins and outs, then you'll need to get better at using Sage Mode. What did you even all it again?"
"It's not got an official name, but I was thinking Infinite Gale. Why?"
She snorted and scooted over next to me. "Just wanted to see if you got the irony yet. Why are you in such a rush to get this completed anyway?"
The answer lodged itself in my throat, because there wasn't any one reason behind my spending a year to turn my chakra enhancement into a chakra mode. Never finding myself cornered by the Akatsuki was one. Getting strong enough to kill Obito before he killed me to actualise his delusions was another.
But there was also a decent chance I'd get sent off to the Land of Hot Water soon. Danzo had been using me as a figurehead of his leadership this past year. The villagers loved keeping track of all the missions I went on and congratulated me after each one, as much as I hated it.
I wasn't even against being sent out. I wanted to be. Because if I acquitted myself well—which this jutsu would help me do—Danzo might very well let me learn the Flying Thunder God Jutsu. That's what all this was for in the end. Nearly forty C-ranks, as of yesterday, eight B-ranks, and three A-ranks, all for the perfect counter for Obito's Kamui.
In the end, I decided on none of those answers.
"No reason at all. It's better to have a surefire technique than not."
"You know that I know you're lying, right? What are the odds that it's for the war that broke out a few days back? To be honest, creating a technique like that was a smart thing to do given the border tensions this past year."
I shrugged and she chuckled, only for it to be interrupted by Hinata hurling Tsunade's green overcoat at her as Shikamaru laughed his head off at Tsunade.
"You left the comfort of your office so that you could be stripped by his godforsaken wind jutsu, and now you've got more than a dozen cuts for no reason."
Tsunade shrugged. "They're already healing. This was just some light exercises."
Shikamaru looked around at the thoroughly destroyed field. "Light, huh?"
"You know," I said, lying flat on my back right as he put his head in the way of the sun, "the clouds don't look so bad from down here."
He dropped down beside me. "What I'd give to have heard you say that about five years ago."
I snorted, more out of the irony than anything else. "You know we're going off to war soon, right?"
Shikamaru groaned. "A draw, then? I was right, you were right, everyone wins?"
"...Sure, let's call this years-old argument a draw."
In the end, I just about managed to wrangle hold of my urge to say: I told you so.