Jubei's fingers slipped from the hilt of his sword.
The once-deadly blade—an extension of his very being—clattered to the blood-soaked stones with a hollow clang, unnervingly loud in the suffocating silence of the courtyard.
He staggered back several steps, widening the distance between himself and Roshi.
His gaze swept across the scene, a butcher's gallery of carnage. Gaiku's body lay rigid in a widening pool of crimson, while not far away, the Uchiha boy knelt on one knee, trembling, breath ragged as though each inhale tore at his lungs.
"Gaiku… is dead," Jubei rasped, his voice raw. "And killed by a child, no less."
From the backyard came the muffled thunder of continuing explosions.
"Hebizu…" Jubei muttered, the words bitter as ash. "So even he can't be trusted."
The suffocating killing intent that had filled the air peeled away. His shoulders sagged for an instant, then stiffened once more.
He fixed Roshi with a hollow stare. Deep in the shadows of his brow, his eyes burned like two bloodied pools on the verge of drying.
"Genshoku said you were at Haifi Pavilion," he said, voice low. "Yet here you stand… Does that mean Genshoku is dead too?" Though it carried the shape of a question, his tone left no room for doubt.
He didn't wait for Roshi's reply. "And Shoshi?"
"The one who could stretch his arms and neck at will?" Roshi's voice was flat, like a blade scraping stone. "Dead. I killed him."
Dead.
The word echoed inside Jubei, hollow and mocking. An empty numbness spread through his chest, mingled with absurdity and a bone-deep chill. A muscle in his cheek twitched, twisting his face into something caught between a grimace and a smile.
How? How could this boy have done it?
The question flared and died almost instantly, smothered beneath a heavier weight of despair.
It didn't matter anymore.
This ragtag squad from Konoha—a thrown-together team that even dragged along an eight-year-old child—had obliterated the Black Snake Group.
Genshoku and Gaiku, once lethal against any opponent unfamiliar with their tricks.
Shoshi, the strongest fighter aside from Jubei himself.
Gone. All of them.
And even if he burned everything left in him to kill Roshi here and now, to crush the last two Konoha shinobi in the courtyard—what then? What would it change?
The grand vision of a new village, crafted and refined over sleepless nights, gambled upon with everything he had… now seemed laughable. A fragile dream, melting like frost beneath the noonday sun.
Where had it unraveled?
Was it in doubting the Daimyo's messenger and sending Shoshi too carelessly to intercept him?
Or in his own hesitation, failing to strike swiftly at the Konoha ninja?
Or perhaps in leaving that old fox Jirocho alive long enough to gather evidence—and deliver a fatal blow?
The questions churned and collided, then sank into a final, suffocating silence.
Jubei's foot hooked beneath a fallen blade. With a sharp motion, he flicked it upward; the sword arced through the air and landed squarely in his palm.
The steel was cold against his skin. Heavy. Final.
His last anchor in a world slipping away.
"Konoha shinobi," Jubei's voice deepened, oddly calm. "State your name."
"Roshi."
"Roshi…" Jubei let the name roll in his mouth like something bitter. Then he offered his titles, each syllable heavy in the air: "Jubei, leader of the Chayama Gang… and Meishoku, leader of the Black Snake Group."
The words had barely fallen when the skin along Jubei's forearms erupted in a web of sickly blue veins, as if something alive writhed and burned just beneath. The air around him warped and heated; a blistering, oppressive aura radiated outward.
Deep within his bones came the sound of snapping—an audible reshaping—his bulk seeming to swell as muscle tightened and his skin took on a bruised, dark-red cast.
Secret technique: Ghost Fire—Burn Out. He had opened hidden acupoints near his heart, forcing latent reserves to the surface.
This was no opponent his ordinary body could match.
"Shizune," Roshi's voice—calm, unshaken—cut through the pressure. "Can you still move?"
Shizune's face was pale, but she forced a nod. "Yes. I—sorry. I was careless."
"Look after Itachi," Roshi's gaze flicked to the kneeling Uchiha, whose breath barely stirred. "He's in bad shape."
"Understood." Shizune pressed the small slug on her shoulder and staggered toward Itachi, steps unsteady but determined.
"Anko," Roshi shifted his focus to the purple-haired kunoichi, "Jirōchō needs support in the backyard."
"Got it!" Relief tightened Anko's jaw at the captain's return. "I'll send others the moment we're clear. I'll leave this one to you, Captain!" She pivoted, springing into motion toward the backyard's explosions.
"Wait!" Jubei's hoarse command—like iron grinding—cut through her movement.
Anko froze, spinning back. Her eyes flared with confusion and rage as she stared at the hulking, burning thing before her.
"That little girl," Jubei's crimson gaze fixed on her through the wavering heat, "what is your relation to Orochimaru?"
Orochimaru.
The name hit her like ice. Her pupils pinched; blood rushed to her head. Her hands clenched until her knuckles cracked, nails biting into palms.
"What are you talking about?" she managed, voice tight with barely controlled fury.
"Snake ninjutsu," Jubei said, almost dreamlike. "That cold, slimy stench—I wouldn't mistake it." Regret tinted his tone. "Orochimaru toyed with our group once… left us gifts. I should have crushed you earlier. You're his disciple, aren't you?"
"You—!" Rage boiled so hot it nearly drowned her. She bit her lip until it bled. Betrayal and doubt cut deep.
But Roshi's calm return, Shizune's injured arm, Itachi's shallow breathing—one by one they washed over her fury like a cold tide and forced it down.
"I…" Anko inhaled, chest heaving, and forced her voice level. "I'll kill him with my own hands someday."
She spared Jubei no more than a glance, then spun away. Her dark purple coat snapped behind her as she shot toward the backyard, swallowed by flames and explosions.
In the courtyard's center, only two figures remained.
One was a living inferno—Jubei, swollen with uncanny power and haloed in that eerie blue heat.
The other was a Konoha Special Jonin—Roshi—tall as a peak, his presence deep and still as an abyss.
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