[NTU] [ARC-24] Chapter : 318

As soon as he began, Naruto felt like this jutsu had been tailor-made for him. This time, he was determined—he had to make Kakashi suffer.

"Oh? You've picked up that move?"

"It may be basic, but it’s incredibly effective!" Naruto grinned confidently.

Kakashi, now taking the situation more seriously, pulled his right hand from his pocket. He glanced at the figures rapidly surrounding him and narrowed his eye.

These two may bicker nonstop, but their teamwork isn’t bad, he thought as his gaze moved between Naruto and Sasuke.

Then his eyes shifted to the girl standing further back—nervous and uncertain. He sighed internally.

Sakura still has a long way to go compared to them.

"Your movements are too obvious," Kakashi muttered, easily dodging the attack from a shadow clone. Just as he prepared to take down the clone, a flurry of shuriken sliced through the air toward him.

At that moment, four or five Narutos closed in from behind, aiming to restrict his movement.

Boom!

A puff of white smoke burst out—just a substitution jutsu.

"Sasuke, Naruto… you're being too rough!" Kakashi's teasing voice echoed.

Sakura stood frozen, shocked by what she saw.

"You guys just killed our teacher! How are we supposed to graduate now?!"

"Relax, Sakura," one of Naruto’s clones smiled reassuringly. "Kakashi-sensei isn’t that easy to beat."

As the smoke cleared, Kakashi was gone. In his place stood only a wooden substitution dummy, riddled with shuriken.

"Don’t drop your guard!" Sasuke shouted, suddenly alert. He’d noticed something—too late.

"Earth Style: Headhunter Jutsu!"

Before Naruto could fully turn his head, an arm shot out from underground, clamping tightly around his ankle.

"Wha—!?"

With a startled cry, Naruto was yanked into the earth. Moments later, only his head remained above the surface, his clones vanishing on impact.

"You need to stay focused..." Kakashi began, only to stop mid-sentence as a barrage of fireballs soared toward him.

"Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!" Sasuke yelled, unleashing his counterattack.

Against most chunin or even a special jonin, the technique might have done real damage. But Kakashi wasn’t most shinobi.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

A series of kunai flew from Kakashi’s hands, slicing through the fireballs with precise aim. In a blink, he’d closed the distance to Sasuke.

"What? How did he—?"

Sasuke barely had time to register what happened before Kakashi appeared directly in front of him.

"Don’t underestimate me."

From the sidelines, Sakura—who had been holding back—finally lost it. Seeing Sasuke in danger lit a fire in her.

With a determined cry, she hurled a handful of shuriken toward Kakashi.

But he calmly raised one hand, deflecting them all with practiced ease.

Still, her effort gave Sasuke a brief opening. He seized the moment, regrouped, and launched another offensive. Meanwhile, Sakura rushed over to free Naruto from the earth trap.

Now, the three of them stood united, facing Kakashi again.

Even Sakura began coordinating with Naruto and Sasuke—occasionally tossing shuriken to support their attacks. There was some real teamwork developing.

But against an elite jonin like Kakashi, it wasn't nearly enough.

After a long and exhausting struggle, the training ground fell quiet.

One student was tied to the wooden stump at the center. The other two were doubled over, breathless, every ounce of energy drained from their bodies.

It was time for the classic scene—the bell test, just as it had been in the original story.

Only this time, the one tied to the post wasn’t Naruto.

It was Sakura.

Years of training with Kushina, and regular exposure to both Kakashi and Jiraiya, had given Naruto a sharper perspective—and better instincts than anyone had expected.

Although he was still impulsive and rough around the edges, Naruto’s strength had grown tremendously.

Naturally, he wasn’t the one tied to the tree stump by Kakashi.

Northwest of Konoha, near the border with the Land of Rain.

Jiraiya stood on a rocky highland, cloaked in his signature garb. He gazed up at the heavy clouds above, then turned his eyes downward—toward the bustling trade zone below.

A look of quiet satisfaction played across his face.

Rain rolled down his cloak in steady streams, blending with the faint crimson stains at the hem—remnants of recent conflict.

Despite the gloomy weather, the marketplace below was alive with activity. Merchants haggled in small groups, shinobi stood guard over their clients with keen eyes, and civilians shielded their goods with awnings and tarps, protecting them from wind and rain.

The downpour was nothing more than background noise—business marched on.

"Years of work... finally bearing fruit."

The Rain Country's location was no coincidence. Nestled between Wind, Earth, Grass, and Waterfall, it had become the very heart of the continent—a crossroads of the ninja world.

Konoha’s ambitions for international trade couldn’t avoid it; the Rain Country was essential.

"Lord Jiraiya, the situation’s been handled," a voice reported from behind him.

Jiraiya didn’t turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the lively scene below. Over the years, as trade zones bloomed across the land, the cold hostility between nations had begun to thaw.

The ever-present scent of war had gradually faded, replaced by the smell of fresh produce, spices, and ink-stamped trade contracts.

That shift was thanks, in no small part, to the merchants bustling below—and they had profited immensely in return.

When news of the trade zones first broke, the reaction had been electric.

Even the more cautious merchants loaded up their carts, hired local shinobi for protection, and made their way into the trade zones, hoping for a slice of fortune. The braver ones took it a step further—recruiting ninja from other nations, importing foreign goods, and striking it rich in cross-border commerce.

This zone was a perfect example. Goods from the Land of Water, luxury items from Wind, mountain produce from Lightning—they were everywhere.

Behind every crate and barrel was a civilian—someone who farmed their own land, foraged in the wilderness, or fished the seas to bring in their haul.

War had become a distant memory. Now, everyone was chasing profit.

"Have we identified where those people came from?"

With the flow of wealth came chaos. The region had drawn more than just honest traders. Swindlers, thieves, rogue ninja, and mercenaries all roamed freely.

"It’s 'them' again—ninjas hired from the Village Hidden in Silence, at a steep price."

"Tch. They just don’t stop, do they?" Jiraiya clicked his tongue in frustration.

'Those people'—the ones trying to sabotage the trade zone—were the elite with something to lose.

Not mere criminals, but influential nobles from various nations. For years, they had relied on smuggling and shadow deals to line their pockets. But with regulated trade zones cutting into their profits, they saw their empires begin to crumble.

Naturally, they wouldn't sit still.

From the shadows, they dispatched samurai, rogue shinobi, and mercenaries—disrupting trade routes, attacking caravans, and sowing instability.

"Any solid evidence?" Jiraiya finally turned to the reporting ninja.

"None, sir. They're cautious—didn’t leave a trace. We only deduced their involvement based on the style of the attack."

Jiraiya let out a long, exasperated sigh.

The nobles behind this mess were politically sensitive. He couldn’t just storm in and take them out. They had learned that lesson the hard way early on—after eliminating a few corrupt lords, the rest had become more discreet, covering their tracks meticulously.

"Good work, Kisame," Jiraiya said, his gaze now resting on the tall, imposing figure beside him.

"After this assault, they’ll think twice. Even those small-time villages won’t dare act so carelessly. Craving money is one thing—risking their necks is another."

His eyes briefly settled on the massive sword strapped to Kisame’s back—but there was no judgment in his expression. Only trust.

Kisame was meticulous, efficient, and surprisingly loyal. An exceptional shinobi—especially with a blade in hand.

"Just part of the mission," Kisame replied with a slight nod.

He was genuinely content with his role.

No longer did he need to spill the blood of comrades with the very sword he carried.

Now, he helped build something. Watching the trade zone flourish, seeing goods from the Water Country—his home—being sold to people from across the world, brought a sense of quiet pride.

Ordinary citizens back home were living better. The village was prospering.

And, for once, Kisame felt like he’d found his purpose.