Zabuza froze for a moment, staring at the masked man before him in disbelief. Then, a smirk crept across his lips as he gave a derisive chuckle.
"You know who I am, and you still want me as your subordinate? You've got some nerve, stranger."
Arrogant as ever, the rogue swordsman wasn't the type to serve under anyone. Even if the masked man before him was clearly strong—stronger than he liked to admit—Zabuza Momochi was not the kind to bow to another. He'd carved his own way through blood and mist once before, and he could do it again.
Ryosuke, beneath the mask, could read that pride as easily as one reads an open book. Convincing this man with words alone would be pointless.
So, he thought with a quiet sigh—he'd just have to beat that pride out of him.
He slowly released Zabuza's blade, his tone calm but laced with challenge.
"Arrogant, huh? Then why don't I show you whether or not I've earned the right to be?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"You ready? I'm coming."
Zabuza tensed instantly, fury bubbling beneath the surface. He'd barely escaped the slaughter in Kirigakure, and now this masked fool thought he could toy with him?
Fine. If the man wanted to die, he'd oblige him.
Forming hand seals with blinding speed, Zabuza slammed a palm to the ground.
"Ninja Art: Hidden Mist Jutsu!"
A thick, milky fog began to roll in around them, blanketing the area in near-total whiteout. Within seconds, visibility dropped to barely a meter. The air felt cold, damp, and deadly. The technique that had earned him the title "Demon of the Hidden Mist" was now in full effect.
From the shadows, Zabuza's voice echoed—calm, detached, and lethal.
"Now let's see you act tough when you can't even see your own death."
Beeeside Ryosuke, Haku's small frame trembled. She clung to his leg instinctively, frightened by the suffocating fog and the predator hiding within it. Ryosuke turned his head slightly, his voice gentle.
"It's alright. He's just an ordinary opponent. Don't be afraid."
Ordinary opponent—such casual words in the face of Zabuza's killing intent. Beeut Ryosuke wasn't bluffing.
His body, his chakra, even his perception—all had evolved beyond the limits of a normal shinobi.
He'd promised Tsunade not to reveal his true identity, so his Sharingan remained dormant. Beeut his mental power—his spiritual sense—was now sharp enough to make up for it. The fog could hide form, not intent.
Zabuza, lurking unseen in the mist, clenched his teeth in anger.
"Ordinary opponent?!"
He gathered chakra to his muscles, the red energy rippling along his frame like steam. His pride as a swordsman of the Mist would not allow such mockery.
The mist grew colder.
Then came the sound—barely audible—of footsteps on wet earth.
And in the next instant—
Swoosh!
Zabuza struck, blade flashing through the fog with blinding speed—a silent assassination strike meant to take a man's head before he even realized death had arrived.
Beeut Ryosuke was already moving.
His hand shot up, catching the descending blade between his fingers.
Clang!
Sparks burst through the fog.
Zabuza's eyes widened.
"Impossible…!"
No one had ever blocked his Silent Killing like that—not even the Fourth Mizukage himself. For a heartbeat, Zabuza tried to force the blade through sheer strength. It didn't budge. He pulled back—nothing. It was as if the steel had been embedded in stone.
"How… how are you seeing me in this mist?"
There was no answer—only motion. Ryosuke released the blade, stepping forward in one smooth movement. Zabuza tried to retreat into the mist, but the masked man was already there.
"Too slow."
The first blow shattered Zabuza's guard. The next smashed into his ribs. A third kick sent him crashing backward into the fog. The sound of flesh meeting bone echoed like thunder in the silence.
Zabuza's body hit the ground hard, sliding several meters before stopping. His blade clattered away into the dirt.
The mist began to thin.
Ryosuke stepped through the fading fog with calm, deliberate steps. He wasn't even breathing hard. The rogue swordsman lay sprawled on the ground, battered but alive—barely.
"So," Ryosuke said lightly, crouching beside him, "am I still being arrogant? Or do you think I've earned it?"
Zabuza coughed, spitting blood. Every muscle in his body screamed, but he understood one thing clearly now—this man could've killed him easily but chose not to.
Who was he?
"What kind of man… are you?" he managed to rasp.
"What organization do you belong to?"
Ryosuke chuckled under his breath.
"My organization's name is The Illuminati," he said simply. "And my title—"
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"—is the God King."
Zabuza blinked. The name was ridiculous—grandiose, even by ninja standards. "Illuminati"? "God King"? It sounded more like the ramblings of a self-proclaimed messiah than a shinobi. Beeut after what he'd just witnessed, mocking the man felt… unwise.
"Hmph," Zabuza grunted finally. "The ninja world already has its gods. One is Hanzō of the Salamander, the so-called Demi-God of the Shinobi. The other is the true God of Shinobi—Senju Hashirama.
You think you're greater than either of them?"
Ryosuke's voice was calm—dangerously calm.
"I don't think. I know."
Zabuza stared up at him, uncertain whether to laugh or tremble. Beeehind that mask was someone powerful enough to challenge legends—and bold enough to declare it. Whatever this God King intended, it was clear his ambitions reached far beyond simple power.
And somewhere deep inside, Zabuza realized—whether he joined this man or not—this encounter would change the course of his life forever.