"Stop the struggle! You're just a bunch of Genin!"
Atop the cliff, the scarred Iwa Jōnin peered through the firing slit of their earth dome, watching the three Konoha brats whispering below—seemingly having given up resistance. Yet an uneasy feeling gnawed at him.
"Quick! Activate Rock Lodging Destruction! Bury them!"
As he roared, the four Iwa-nin's hands moved faster. The canyon walls groaned, cracking like jaws preparing to close shut.
Then—just as the cliff began to collapse—
"Minato. Now!" Tetsu's voice rang out, low and sharp.
Without a flicker of doubt, Namikaze Minato moved.
A golden blur streaked toward the earth dome, rushing straight into falling debris without hesitation.
"Fool!"
The scarred Jōnin sneered, commanding earthen spikes on the dome's surface to intercept.
But Minato wasn't charging in for melee.
Five meters away, he flicked his wrist. Three plump paper pouches shot from his hand, arcing precisely through the narrow firing slit.
A beat later, a kunai followed, slashing through the pouches mid-air.
Poof!
Gray-white powder burst into the dome, clouding every corner in thick mist.
Cough! Cough!
"What's this?! Poison gas?"
"No… smells like flour? And rust?"
Confused, choking voices came from inside the dome.
They'd expected explosive tags or poison bombs—not choking powder.
Even before they could react, Minato was already gone—his body flickering back to safety with a swirl of water.
"Now, senpai," Tetsu said, voice calm and merciless.
Fugaku didn't need further prompting. His Sharingan flared.
A chakra-infused shuriken—tag attached—left his hand in a deadly arc, guided by Uchiha-style precision.
It curved around debris and shot straight through the same slit, vanishing into the cloud of suspended powder.
Time froze.
Inside the dome, the scarred Jōnin watched the flickering tag enter. In that instant, his battle-honed instincts screamed.
He didn't know science—but he smelled death.
"DEF—"
He only got one word out.
BOOM!!!
A spark ignited within the sealed space.
Each microscopic particle of dust combusted in a chain reaction. The rapid oxidation sent temperatures soaring, the air expanding by hundreds of times. The dome became a pressure cooker—
And then it burst.
KRA-KOOM!!!
The explosion dwarfed anything prior, far louder than even the earlier Rock Lodging Destruction. The Earth Style: Mud Wall didn't collapse from outside—it exploded from within, like a balloon ripped apart.
Orange fire mixed with shockwaves tore through the cliffside.
The four Iwa-nin were hurled from the dome like rag dolls, bodies scorched, tumbling through air as the heatwave ripped the rain into vapor.
A massive steam cloud rose—pure white, mushroom-shaped.
Even from dozens of meters away, the three Konoha ninja felt the blast's searing heat on their faces.
"...What the hell," Fugaku muttered, shielding his eyes.
His usual prideful composure had cracked into stunned disbelief.
That wasn't a jutsu.
That was stronger than a B-rank Fire Release.
Maybe even A-rank.
And it came from... a few powder bags and a tag?
As the dust cleared, Tetsu emerged from behind a rock, brushing off debris. A kunai already in hand.
"This is a dust explosion."
He walked toward the scorched remains, voice clinical—as if delivering a research summary.
"In an enclosed space, when combustible dust mixes with air, it becomes volatile. One spark triggers rapid oxidation. I added aluminum powder and iron oxide—initiating a thermite reaction during detonation. Temperature exceeds 2,000°C."
He stood over the scarred Jōnin.
The man was still twitching, barely clinging to life. His hardened skin had split open in blackened patches, eyes filled with shock and terror.
"Bastard... dirty..."
"This is war, not a duel."
Tetsu raised his kunai and drove it cleanly through the man's heart.
Splurt.
Blood mingled with the rain.
He exhaled once, steadying himself, then calmly looted the corpse—scrolls, tools, intelligence—moving like a seasoned bounty hunter.
Minato joined him, eyes wide with awe and confusion.
"That… that whole setup—how did you know it would work?"
"Observation," Tetsu answered, handing him a bloodstained scroll. "If we didn't use their terrain and defensive psychology against them, we'd be buried back there."
Fugaku approached silently.
He stared down at the scorched corpses. Then at Tetsu, wiping his kunai clean.
His scorn and mockery were gone—burned away.
Tetsu's chakra was still low. His taijutsu still mediocre.
But his battle planning—and the terrifying knowledge he wielded—made him more dangerous than many Chūnin who only knew how to charge forward.
Strategists have the dirtiest minds…
"...Hey."
Fugaku finally spoke.
His tone was awkward. The arrogance had faded, if not disappeared.
"Is that... ninjutsu?"
Tetsu looked up, meeting those black eyes now devoid of Sharingan glow.
And smiled.
"No, senpai. That's science."
Fugaku twitched—about to argue.
But the charred battlefield shut his mouth.
"...Don't get cocky. You just happened to pull it off."
He paused, muttered something under his breath.
"...Nice command, earlier."
From Fugaku, that was high praise.
Tetsu said nothing, letting him save face.
"We're done here. Let's move. That blast's gonna draw attention."
"Right," Minato nodded, looking at Tetsu now with real trust.
They had barely spoken before this mission. Both fresh graduates, strangers.
But somewhere in this fight—under the weight of death—they'd forged a bond.
The rain still fell.
But their steps grew lighter.
Fugaku occasionally glanced at Tetsu's pack, expression twitching.
What the hell else is he hiding in there?