Chapter 1 — So You're Hidan, Huh?
Deep within the mountains surrounding the Land of Rivers, inside a hidden base, numerous mysterious figures clad in black robes moved busily about. Hanging from their necks were silver pendants—circular on the outside, triangular within.
"Akagi Shinji. Hidan. Once the blood extraction is finished, begin today's taijutsu combat training."
"Yes, Lord Takihata."
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Bang! Bang!
Inside a spacious underground chamber lit by flickering firelight, two figures were locked in a fierce hand-to-hand battle. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh never ceased from the moment it began.
One figure would be knocked to the ground—only to immediately spring back up and counterattack.
And then the opposite would happen.
As the fight dragged on, their stamina rapidly drained away. Their movements grew increasingly sloppy, until in the end it became less about technique and more about sheer willpower.
Your punch. My kick.
Let's see who collapses first.
To be honest, the scene wasn't particularly exciting or spectacular.
The two boys—no more than fourteen or fifteen years old—were far from masters of taijutsu. Their techniques were crude, lacking finesse.
Yet if one looked only at their raw strength, endurance, and resistance to damage, it was clear that their physical capabilities far exceeded the standard of ordinary youths their age.
And so, despite the lack of brilliance in the fight, the black-robed observers around them never stopped recording data.
After all, this wasn't a taijutsu class.
It was merely one part of a daily research subject.
"All right. That's enough for today," said a middle-aged man who appeared to be in his forties or fifties. Unlike the others, he wore a dark crimson robe. A gentle smile never left his face, making him look like a kind, friendly uncle from the countryside.
But in reality, this seemingly benevolent man was the founder of the Jashin Cult.
A man who preached 'endless slaughter' as doctrine—secretly expanding his influence while openly plundering and massacring those around him.
Unknowingly, the very existence of the Jashin Cult had already become a taboo across the Land of Rivers and neighboring regions.
"Rest for one hour. Then proceed with curse technique studies."
The two boys—each with a raised fist just centimeters from the other's face—finally stopped.
"Tch. You got lucky this time," sneered the gray-haired boy with purplish-red eyes. His hair was slicked back, and a slashed Yugakure forehead protector hung around his neck. "Otherwise, that punch would've blown your head clean off."
Ignoring his heavy breathing, bruised face, and dirt-covered body, his words might have sounded intimidating.
Opposite him stood a boy of similar height, with short, sharp brown hair and pale skin. His cold, refined appearance made him look almost frail.
Yet during the fight, he had displayed a completely suicidal ferocity.
So reckless it was genuinely unsettling.
And anyone who knew him a little better would understand that this "gentle-looking" boy was anything but mild-mannered.
In fact, he was a first-rate bastard.
Hearing the other boy talking tough again, he spoke in a calm, eerie tone.
"Those honey-coated, soft bread fists of yours? If you were trying to sweeten me to death, then congratulations, Hidan. You succeeded."
"Aka—gi—Shin—ji!" Hidan roared. "You bastard, I'll kill you!"
Failing to win a war of words, murderous intent flooded Hidan's eyes.
"How dare you describe my iron fists like that?! By Jashin-sama, you're dead today!"
"Oh, my apologies," Shinji replied mildly. "Compared to those sissies who just pull hair and scratch faces, at least you don't cry for your mommy while getting beaten."
He even leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Hidan's chest—each sentence punctuated with a hard shove.
Hidan stumbled back again and again, his eyes turning bloodshot.
When Shinji finally lifted his head, wearing an expression that screamed "I gave you a chance and you still screwed it up," Hidan snapped.
"Die!"
With a roar, Hidan pulled a pitch-black short spear from his robes and, under the resigned gazes of the onlookers, thrust it straight through Shinji's heart.
SPLAT!
Pain.
Unbelievable pain.
Even though he had already experienced death more than once, the agony of his heart being pierced was still unbearably vivid.
Yet at the exact moment Hidan's spear impaled him, Shinji's kunai struck just as cleanly—plunging straight into Hidan's throat, hilt-deep.
From the very beginning, Shinji had anticipated Hidan's move.
He hadn't even considered dodging.
Instead, he chose to kill.
A man ruthless to others—and even more ruthless to himself.
Thud.
Both Akagi Shinji and Hidan collapsed onto their backs.
One with his heart pierced.
The other with his throat sealed.
For ordinary people, either injury would guarantee death—even with immediate treatment.
Yet the surrounding observers didn't move.
No one tried to help.
Their expressions remained cold and indifferent, unchanged even as the two boys lay dead.
Then—
Hidan suddenly raised a hand.
He grabbed the kunai lodged in his neck and yanked it out.
Splat—clang!
"Cough—cough—ugh…!"
(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—damn it!)
Spitting blood, Hidan staggered back to his feet. The discarded kunai was soaked crimson.
Yet he lived.
His wound was already healing.
Three seconds after death, Shinji's consciousness returned as well.
Before the eyes of everyone present, the "corpse" of Akagi Shinji opened his eyes, stood up smoothly, and pulled the black spear from his chest, tossing it aside.
If fate had thrown him into this terrifying ninja world, then he had no choice but to adapt—whether that meant killing or being killed.
Spit.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and sneered.
"That's it? Seriously? My grandma hit harder when she was still alive."
Hidan clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered—but he could do nothing.
Because both of them were survivors of that ritual.
Both had obtained a form of immortality—the blessing of Jashin-sama.
In truth, this wasn't the first time Hidan had killed Shinji in a rage.
But Shinji always seemed like his natural nemesis.
Every clash ended either in mutual destruction or Hidan being counter-killed.
Even when Hidan succeeded in an ambush, Shinji's retaliation afterward was absolute madness.
Hidan still remembered the horror of having his head chopped off and buried underground.
The entire cult spent three days and nights playing a "treasure hunt" before Lord Takihata finally lost patience.
Only then did Shinji casually point at a tree.
From that day on, their feud was sealed.
And the cult learned anew just how terrifying Akagi Shinji truly was.
That was why Hidan had mostly relied on trash talk earlier—only snapping when pushed too far.
Anyone else would've been dismembered long ago.
"This childish game is over," Lord Takihata said calmly. "You two seem far too energetic. Cancel the rest period. Proceed immediately to Chamber Two. The materials are ready."
He had enjoyed the spectacle without intervening.
Thanks to their mutual hatred, the cult had gathered an incredible amount of valuable experimental data in just one month.
Hidan snorted, knowing further fighting was pointless, and turned to leave.