NoviceAuthor

[NNSS] Chapter : 49

At the edge of his vision, Roshi caught sight of Shizune kneeling beside Itachi. The flickering green glow of her Mystical Palm Technique washed over the boy’s trembling body, his breaths shallow and ragged. Further away, Anko’s figure blurred into the chaos, sprinting toward the thunder of explosions erupting in the backyard.

If he’d arrived even a little later… would Shizune be dead? Would Itachi have fallen? What about Anko?

Would Tsunade have made it in time to save them?

When Roshi first awakened in this body and took on this name, he thought he had steeled himself.

Taking lives brought no hesitation.
Drawing up battle plans required no sentiment.

But now—seeing allies who should still have years ahead of them on the brink of death—he felt his composure fracture. For just a moment, a strange daze clouded his mind.

The original story… it was only ever a guide. The true future belonged to the people living it.

—

Before him, the brat—distracted, almost careless in his movements—dodged each swing with unhurried grace. That infuriating calm made Jubei, leader of the Black Snake Group, see red.

“Don’t you dare act like I’m not here, brat!” Jubei’s roar shook the courtyard, his blade cleaving down with murderous weight.

The dark blue flames cloaking him flared as though soaked in oil, surging higher with every step. The ground cracked underfoot, groaning at the sheer force pressing down on it.

The whistling of his blade grew shriller, sharper—like death itself tearing the air.

Roshi’s eyes narrowed. He forced down the storm inside him and slammed his palms to the ground.

Earth Release: Swamp of the Underworld!

Chakra surged like a flood. The hardened stone beneath them softened at once, collapsing into bubbling mire.

The swamp yawned open directly in Jubei’s charging path. His own momentum betrayed him; like a runaway chariot, he plunged straight into the sucking mud.

Viscous sludge rose to his thighs in an instant. It clung to him with the grip of the dead, dragging him deeper.

“Ugh—!”

Jubei snarled like a beast, dark flames flaring wildly as he thrashed against the pull. Mud splattered in violent waves, but it only bound him tighter, refusing to let go.

Roshi’s fingers blurred through seals—

Rat. Tiger. Dragon. Ram. Rooster. Dog.

Lightning Release: Firefly Electric Net!

From his fingertips, countless hair-thin arcs of blue-white lightning burst forth, a storm of fireflies dancing across the air. The current crackled eagerly along the wet mud, streaking toward the beast trapped at its center.

“AHHH!!!”

Jubei’s roar scraped raw from his throat, defying death itself. His body bulged with terrifying strength, and the blue flames ignited in a violent eruption—

BOOM!

A circular shockwave ripped outward, obliterating swamp and lightning alike. Mud exploded skyward, and the crackling arcs were shredded into nothing. Even the smoke itself scattered under the sheer force.

The swamp collapsed into a gaping crater, sludge raining back down like a storm.

But Jubei paid a price. His upper garments disintegrated entirely, revealing his scarred frame beneath.

Bronze skin stretched over corded muscle, every inch carved with grotesque scars that looked like coiling centipedes. His chest and abdomen bore twisted, bone-deep gashes, the marks of countless battles that should have ended his life long ago. One diagonal scar ran from shoulder to ribs, as though someone had once tried to cut him clean in two.

This man should have died a hundred deaths.
Yet here he stood—alive, relentless, and still terrifyingly strong.

“Ha… ha!” Jubei wheezed, steam puffing from his lips, crimson eyes boring into Roshi. “See that, Konoha brat? I’m used to this kind of ‘greeting’!”

Used to it? Not at all.

His bluster didn’t rattle Roshi; it focused him. The man’s bravado was a mask. The injuries mattered less than what they hid: how Jubei could shrug off pain and poison and keep fighting as if nothing were wrong.

“This technique… these wounds,” Roshi thought, narrowing his gaze. “Where is your life stored?”

Jubei’s pupils pinched to pinpricks. The smug smile froze like a cracked mask.

Roshi lunged. He snatched a kunai from his pouch with his right hand and drove it for Jubei’s right shoulder joint. Jubei twisted with uncanny speed and the blade missed by a hair.

Before Jubei could recover, Roshi’s leg snapped like a steel whip toward the scarred left thigh—the one Shizune had struck with a poisoned senbon. Bang!

The impact landed, but Jubei only wavered for a heartbeat before steadying, a mocking grin crawling across his face as if to say, “Is that all?”

That grin didn’t last long.

Roshi’s assault exploded into a storm—punches, elbows, knees, and kicks raining down. He no longer aimed only at vitals; he attacked joints, ligaments, and insertion points—every structural weakness that kept a body functional.

A gusting right fist smashed into the inside of Jubei’s right elbow. The muscles in Jubei’s shoulder tightened like rebar; he twisted his arm so the blow grazed the outer forearm and spat blood rather than allowing the elbow to take the brunt.

A sweeping kick aimed for the pivot at Jubei’s right ankle. In the nick of time Jubei planted his left foot, lifting the right foot a few inches to protect the joint—the kick thudded into thick calf instead of crippling the ankle.

Those tiny, protected motions—subtle, precise—revealed everything. Jubei didn’t fear poisoned organs or shredded muscle. He could endure those. He did not, however, tolerate structural destruction: severed limbs, shattered joints, the collapse of the body’s framework.

This scarred titan was less a man than a living war-armor—an instrument built to take punishment so long as its core structure stayed intact.

So how was that structure controlled? Chakra cords? No—Roshi dismissed the idea.

If the body wasn’t puppeted from outside, the cockpit had to be inside.

The image from his probing—what he had felt during their earlier exchanges—fell into place. He saw the only plausible location.

And in that realization, Roshi decided:

You are going to die.

[NNSS] Chapter : 48

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.

[NNSS] Chapter : 47

A little earlier—beyond the dusty chaos of Jubei’s battlefield—another deadly clash was reaching its peak.

Gaiku’s uninjured right hand gripped a pale, grayish bone blade, every swing broad and merciless. His left arm, wrapped tight in blood-soaked bandages, moved like a hidden scorpion. Without warning, the bindings would split apart, spitting out short, razor-sharp bone spikes—silent, sudden—cutting off Itachi’s escape routes precisely.

Itachi’s Sharingan spun furiously, his vision tracking every shift of motion. Katsuyu’s chakra pulsed through him, lending borrowed strength to his exhausted body, keeping him balanced on the knife’s edge between survival and collapse.

But his mind never stopped calculating.

'Water Erosion jutsu has vanished. Shizune and Anko are in danger. And whoever is sustaining this chakra network from the backyard… how long can they hold out? If the enemy that disappeared resurfaces now… this fragile balance will shatter.

Captain hasn’t arrived yet. I’m the only one who can turn this fight.

I can’t keep defending. I have to end it.'

Resolute, Itachi slipped past another volley of bone spikes, his Sharingan locking on the hollow, sunken eyes before him. In that instant, his decision crystallized.

Genjutsu: Sharingan.

Gaiku froze mid-swing.

Darkness swallowed him whole—

A cold iron table beneath his back—
Blinding white light above—
Whispers, like venom, coiling in his ear:

"The mutation exceeds expectations… activity remains acceptable… try this."

A snake’s hiss.

Crack! Pain beyond pain. His arm twisted grotesquely, bones pried loose one by one, peeled away like brittle twigs.

“AHHHHHH—!!!”

The scream ripped from his soul.

Reality bled through. Gaiku’s body arched, his howl a twisted, inhuman shriek that tore through the battlefield. The Sharingan had unearthed the nightmare buried deepest within him. His blade arm trembled violently, his offense collapsed, his form frozen in torment.

Now.

Itachi lunged, swift as lightning, kunai aimed for the enemy’s exposed throat.

But fear of death awakened something primal.

Gaiku’s bloodshot eyes bulged, veins throbbing, locking on Itachi at arm’s reach. The crushing fear of death eclipsed even the genjutsu’s torment. Like a cornered beast, he abandoned everything—defense, reason, survival—his right arm slashed upward in a mad bid to drag Itachi into mutual destruction.

Pfft

At the last instant, Itachi twisted his body, avoiding a killing blow. Even so, the bone blade’s eerie edge grazed his uniform at the waist, trailing a chill that gnawed at his core.

“Haaah… haaah… Let’s… go to hell together!!” Gaiku spat blood, clutching at his pierced throat. Scarlet foam bubbled from his lips as he collapsed, kunai buried deep, his final breath laced with both hatred and grim relief.

Itachi glanced at his waist.

The Aoki Ninja Tool Shop combat uniform bore a one-inch gash, the protective metal plating beneath scarred. His gift—damaged. His skin chilled, but the mark was shallow. Barely a scratch.

Nothing serious.

Then—a strangled cry cut through the dust from the main battlefield. A body fell with a heavy thud.

Itachi’s head snapped up. Through the haze, he saw Shizune—her right arm drenched in blood—stagger, stumble, and collapse. Instinct surged; his foot shifted to rush to her aid—

And that’s when it struck.

From the shallow graze at his waist, a bone-deep coldness exploded outward. Like barbed ice picks, it burrowed through his veins and chakra, spreading fast.

It wasn’t mere poison. It was alive.

The frost gnawed at his pathways, worming into his nervous system like a maggot burrowing into bone. His vision blurred, a blood-red veil draping over the world. His body grew unbearably heavy, every limb numbed, as though his very blood had turned to ice.

He tried to steady himself, but his legs felt heavy—like molten lead filling his bones, or like he was sinking into a bottomless swamp.

A violent wave of dizziness hit, and he collapsed to one knee. His kunai dug deep into the fractured stone beneath him, the only thing anchoring his reeling body.

Every breath felt like swallowing knives—air scraped down his throat and shredded into ice shards inside his lungs.

His Sharingan still glowed red, but the pupils wavered, their focus blurred by the storm raging within his body.

He clenched his teeth, forcing his head up through the dizziness. Through dust and drifting blood mist, his blurred vision fixed on the storm’s center—

—

Meanwhile, in the Wasabi House backyard, along the shadowed corridor leading to the inner residence—

The air hung heavy, stagnant, thick with blood. Not even the ocean breeze could wash away the iron tang.

Water Erosion stood like a phantom risen from a swamp, the wide gourd on his back tilted forward, its mouth yawning open toward the corridor’s heart where panicked figures huddled deeper inside.

From its depths, a foul tide poured forth—thick, ink-black water that reeked of rot and decay, gurgling and bubbling like something alive. It spread across the floorboards, swelling and churning, an ominous flood of filth.

Wherever the water touched, wood blackened and rotted instantly, pillars hissing as smoke curled upward. The sound—subtle, corrosive, insidious—was like death whispering.

The tide crept closer, steady and unstoppable.

Just as it was about to surge across the threshold—

Whoosh—!!!

A sharp whistle split the silence.

From atop a tall watchtower, an arrow streaked down like a falling star, an exploding tag flapping at its tail. It slammed into the floor half a step before Water Erosion’s feet—right at the black tide’s edge.

BOOM!!!

The world erupted in fire. A thunderous blast consumed the corridor entrance in flames, the impact scattering stone and splinters in every direction.

The foul tide screamed as the explosion ripped it apart. Black droplets hissed in the heat, burning, shrinking, evaporating into foul-smelling smoke.

The air filled with the stench of charred rot.

The shockwave made Water Erosion’s floating form sway, his cloak whipping violently.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

More arrows rained down without pause—three at once, exploding in a triangular pattern around him.

On the tower parapet stood Jirocho, posture unbending. Behind him, several guards had stayed behind. Their faces were pale, but their eyes carried the same steel as their patriarch.

One nocked arrows with practiced hands. Another tied exploding tags to shafts with steady fingers. Each movement was fast, disciplined.

“Steady! Aim at his feet! Interrupt his jutsu!” Jirocho’s voice cut through the thunder like iron.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions erupted in rapid succession, tearing through black water, scattering filth into mist, flames climbing skyward. Shockwaves rolled through the air, dust and debris shrouding the battlefield in a storm.

“Don’t stop! Suppress him!” Jirocho roared.

He seized the arrow himself, drawing back his hard bow. The string groaned under the pull, his breath calm, his eyes locked like a hawk’s on the shadow writhing below.

One arrow after another rained like meteors of judgment.

Each blast drowned out the world, flames rising and fading, forcing Water Erosion back, pinning his tide of corruption at the corridor’s mouth.

The black water writhed and boiled under the relentless bombardment, unable to advance, its cohesion unraveling under the chain of explosions and the furnace heat.

Even the swarms of black, dust-like insects flickered and faltered in the firelight, scattering in momentary disarray against the sheer weight of destruction.

The watchtower stood tall, while below, death itself was forced to halt.

[NNSS] Chapter : 46

Anko had no time to watch Water Erosion. Jubei’s onslaught pressed down like mountain and sea, forcing the two Konoha shinobi onto the defensive.

“Damn it.” She spat the curse under her breath, eyes scanning the ruined ground. Snatching up a long spear abandoned by a Wasabi guard, she braced herself.

The academy taught some weapons handling, but combat training focused on the Three Basic jutsu, taijutsu. Spears and halberds weren’t Anko’s specialty—but length could be a great equalizer. With a sharp cry she swung the shaft like a heavy club.

A flicker of disdain crossed Jubei’s face. He angled his blade and struck the center of the spear shaft—clang!—sending a brutal shock up Anko’s arms. The force nearly wrenched the weapon free; she staggered back, chest heaving.

Before she could recover, Shizune’s left hand blurred across the dart launcher strapped to her arm.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A storm of tiny, poisoned senbon—each a whispered sting—fanned out from impossible angles, honed to bite joints and weak points. They were not meant to maim so much as to disable.

Jubei reacted like a living blade. He spun, his katana carving a glittering curtain. Metal rang as most of the senbon skittered off, but a few found the gaps—embedding themselves into the flesh of his sword arm, left thigh, and the soft strip of ribs at his waist.

For an instant he paused. He looked down at the senbon embedded in his arm, and the dark purple poison rapidly spreading around the wound. With two fingers like iron tongs he plucked one free—pfft!—black blood spurted. The bruise of poison spread rapidly beneath his skin, veins darkening to an eerie bluish-black.

“That’s a paralyzing neurotoxin—custom-made,” Shizune called out, tension seizing her voice. “You won’t shrug that off.”

Her relief was short-lived. Anko’s shout cut through the air like thunder. “Shizune—watch out!!”

Shizune’s head snapped up. Jubei’s face betrayed no pain—only a cold, indifferent stillness. The spreading purple seemed not to worry him at all. The katana, slick with blood, descended toward her with patient inevitability.

The delay caused by her long absence from frontline duty crystallized into a brutal mistake. She only had time to raise a kunai. The blade shattered it—clang! crack!—bone screamed. The katana smashed into Shizune’s raised arm, splintering the dart launcher and driving in deep to the bone.

“Ugh—!”

Pain stole her vision; she dropped to one knee. The protection of the broken tools had prevented a fatal strike, but her right arm was wrecked—her combat effectiveness gutted.

Katsuyu on her shoulder overflowed with healing chakra, knitting flesh and steadying breath, but it couldn’t instantly restore every lost advantage.

Anko’s eyes flared with wrath. She hurled the long spear like a javelin at Jubei’s back, then launched another volley of Hidden Shadow Snake Hands—ten thick, venomous serpents that lunged for his neck and the arm wielding the sword.

Jubei seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He didn’t even glance at the whistling spear—just shifted his body a fraction, letting the tip scrape harmlessly across his haori. The snapping snakes lunging for his throat and arm? He ignored them entirely.

Pff! Pff!

Their fangs sank deep into his flesh.

A guttural, beast-like roar tore from Jubei’s throat. He didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as acknowledge the venom flooding into him. His gaze locked on the battered Shizune sprawled across the ground. The long sword lifted again—its edge thirsting for her neck.

The snakes, taut with Jubei’s furious movements, yanked Anko like a ragdoll across the dirt. Gritting her teeth, she held on with all her strength, her jutsu alone keeping Jubei’s killing stroke at bay.

The blade stopped just shy of Shizune’s throat—half a foot away from ending her.

Through the blur of blood loss and blinding pain, Shizune seized the moment. Her left hand glowed an emerald green as she pressed her palm over the ruin of her right arm.

“Mystical Palm!”

Katsuyu’s vast chakra poured into her like an endless tide, amplifying the jutsu beyond her limits. The severed vessels stitched together at lightning speed, muscle fibers writhed and reknit, and the gush of blood slowed to a crawl.

Her wound was closing, but her body quivered violently, her face pale as parchment.

And Jubei—he was worse than any nightmare.

The snakes’ fangs had torn open his flesh, poison spreading fast, veins crawling black across half his face. Yet he moved as though nothing touched him. No pain. No hesitation. Only the same cold, merciless eyes—unchanged, unrelenting.

With a brutal motion, he ripped the snakes free. Anko hit the ground hard.

The samurai raised his sword again, his intent unchanged. Shizune’s name was already carved on death’s ledger.

The scales of battle tipped violently toward despair.

Jubei’s killing blade howled down once more—

—only to meet something even sharper than steel.

A figure appeared in front of Shizune, as sudden as a flash of lightning. No grand entrance. No wasted motion. Just one foot, descending with absolute precision—

Clang—BOOM!!!

The courtyard erupted with a roar like heaven’s wrath. The foot, clad in a simple shinobi sandal, pinned Jubei’s blade flat against the earth as if it were nothing more than scrap.

Stone slabs shattered under the impact, pulverized into dust. Cracks splintered outward like a spiderweb, the ground itself rebelling from the force.

Time froze.

For the first time, Jubei’s rigid mask twisted with raw shock. The veins on his arm bulged like steel cords, muscles straining to pry his weapon free—but the pressure pinning it down was immovable. As if the other’s foot had fused the sword to the bones of the earth itself.

Dust swirled in the air. Shards of stone settled.

The newcomer stood tall, one foot crushing the blade beneath him. He turned slightly, revealing the calm profile of a young man, his gaze briefly softening as it fell on the trembling Shizune and the bloodied Anko.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, almost gently. “I’m late.”

That single voice shattered the suffocating despair.

Then his eyes met Jubei’s blood-red glare—rage, disbelief, and something else flickering in those inhuman pupils.

[NNSS] Chapter : 45

The smoke and dust from the explosion, mingled with lingering vapor, rolled across the yard, creating a chaotic barrier that bought Jirōchō a precious moment to breathe.

He had no intention of staying to fight. Using the confusion, the head of the Wasabi House swiftly withdrew into the safety of the inner corridors.

Once under cover, his decisiveness revealed itself. Forcing down the tremor in his chest and the grief of seeing his guards slaughtered, he barked out orders:

“Carry the severely wounded at once! Move them through the secret passage! Everyone still able to stand—prepare for evacuation!”

After issuing commands, Jirōchō steadied himself with a deep breath. He shed his bloodstained clothes for a fresh outer robe, his stride firm though weighed with a quiet heaviness, as he made his way toward the veranda veiled in bamboo shadows deeper within the estate.

There, the golden-haired Senju Princess sat cross-legged, half-shrouded in darkness. Her amber eyes remained closed, her expression tranquil, while Katsuyu on her shoulder streamed chakra steadily inward.

Jirōchō halted respectfully, waiting in silence until Lady Tsunade’s eyes finally opened, their gaze falling on him like judgment.

“Lady Tsunade.” He bowed deeply, holding the small, pristine Katsuyu in both hands, reverence and gratitude in every gesture. “My thanks for your aid. I return this to its rightful master.”

He quickly detailed the guards’ injuries, his voice taut with urgency:
“…The wounds fester with unnatural speed, and something alive seems to writhe inside them. Standard salves are useless. Is there any remedy—even a temporary one?”

Tsunade’s brow furrowed.
“That isn’t water,” she said grimly.
“It’s insects. Microscopic venomous insects. The battlefield isn’t the place for delicate treatment.”

She lifted her hand, pointing toward a modest wooden cabinet tucked into the veranda’s corner.
“You’ll find emergency trauma supplies there. For the black-water wounds…” Her gaze shifted to a sealed clay jar beside the cabinet. “In the left jar is a potent insect-suppressing ointment. Apply it only with a clean cloth or gauze—never touch it or the wound with bare hands.”

“Understood! Thank you, Lady Tsunade!” Jirōchō bowed again, his tone solemn. At once he summoned the waiting attendants, relaying her instructions word for word before sending them rushing off with the medicine.

Turning back to her, his voice lowered, tinged with unease.
“Lady Tsunade… given the current situation, must the Wasabi House prepare for the worst?”

Her answer was calm, blunt.
“It depends on whether Roshi returns in time. With only Shizune and those two children, holding this place will be difficult. Even if they stall the enemy, their survival isn’t guaranteed.”

Jirōchō’s jaw tightened. After a heavy silence, his resolve hardened.
“The Wasabi Family does not cling to a manor. I will arrange for everyone to evacuate to the stronghold outside the city at once.”

He bowed low, deeply respectful.
“Once again, my gratitude, Lady Tsunade. Please excuse me.”

With that, he strode away with urgent purpose.

Finding the elder directing the wounded, Jirōchō’s command was iron:
“Begin the evacuation immediately! All wounded, women, and children through the secret passage to the stronghold! Move swiftly!”

The elder’s face twisted with reluctance.
“Master, you—”

Jirōchō’s hand cut him off, his gaze as sharp as steel.
“I remain here. Select a few volunteers to stay and cover the retreat with me.”

The elder’s protest was immediate, almost desperate:
“You are the pillar of the Wasabi Family! Leave the sacrifice to me and the guards—you must—”

“Silence!” Jirōchō’s voice thundered like a blade striking stone, filled with unshakable authority. His command crashed through the elder’s words, brooking no further argument.

Jirōchō fixed the elder with a piercing gaze, his words measured and unyielding.

“This is the duty of the family head! Do you expect me to abandon my men, abandon our guests who came to aid us, and flee first? If I fall, another will rise in my place!”

The elder faltered, crushed by the unshakable determination in Jirōchō’s eyes. His lips moved as if to argue, but in the end, only a heavy sigh escaped him. He bowed low.

“…As you command.”

Without another word, Jirōchō strode to the weapon rack.

He pulled down a well-kept hard bow, testing the string’s tension with practiced hands. Then, from the inner chamber, he brought out a heavy sealed wooden chest. Inside, neatly arranged rows of explosive tags glimmered with sealing runes.

He distributed them personally.
“Follow me,” he ordered in a low voice.

With a handful of chosen guards, Jirōchō scaled a watchtower overlooking the battlefield. From here, they could glimpse the front yard below—a choke point that also blocked the path to the inner residence.

Front Yard

With Jirōchō and his guards withdrawn, the courtyard suddenly felt emptier, the pressure easing if only slightly.

Anko gasped for air, her kunai arm still sore despite the warm chakra flowing from Katsuyu. Her earlier clash with Jubei had drained her, but her fighting spirit remained unbroken. She grit her teeth, ready to hurl herself back into the fray.

“Anko, stand down! Let me take over!”

Shizune cut in front of her, her expression grim. She had seen the truth—Anko’s weapon and strength were no match for Jubei’s. To continue would only mean disaster.

As the senior kunoichi, the burden had to fall on her shoulders.

“Shizune-senpai, I—”

Anko’s protest died under Shizune’s steady gaze. She swallowed her frustration. This wasn’t the moment to be reckless.

“That one with the gourd—he’s yours.” Shizune’s eyes sharpened, flicking to the cloaked figure with the massive brown gourd. His chakra was hidden, his presence obscure. “His jutsu is strange. Be extremely careful.”

Jubei, unfazed by their exchange, didn’t move. Yet his killing intent pressed down like a mountain, locking simultaneously onto both Shizune at the front and Anko at the flank.

“Gaiku.” His voice was ice. His hawk-like gaze cut to the bandaged man at his side. “Don’t let the rats escape. Chase them down. Kill them all.”

Gaiku’s cloudy left eye twitched, lifeless as a dead fish. His gaze shifted toward the retreating guards disappearing into the inner residence. His intact hand slid toward the blood-soaked bandages, ready to call forth that monstrous pale bone blade again.

But just as his focus shifted—

A small figure lunged from the side!

A kunai hissed through the air, aimed precisely at the joint of Gaiku’s reaching arm.

The man halted, forced to retract his hand and block.

Itachi’s body felt light. The Sharingan no longer drained his chakra as before. He was certain—this opponent, he could handle.

Yet while Itachi’s attention was locked on Gaiku, and Shizune and Anko were pinned under Jubei’s suffocating aura—

The cloaked figure with the gourd stirred.

He stepped back, as silent as a shadow. The gourd tilted, and from beneath his cloak seeped a thread of black liquid, impossibly thin, blending with dust as it crept into the cracks of the bluestone floor.

At the same time, his true body faded, slipping into the chaos. His form wavered, blurred, and dissolved like smoke carried off by the wind—leaving behind no sound, no chakra, no trace he had ever stood there at all.

[NNSS] Chapter : 44

The sharp clang of steel rang through the blood-soaked courtyard—then suddenly fell silent.

Anko gritted her teeth, staggering half a step back. A numbing ache spread through her wrist and palm; the kunai in her grip felt almost ready to slip from her hand.

Protecting the Wasabi Family members forced her into several direct clashes, but her short kunai was no match against the enemy’s heavy samurai blades. Each block sent a brutal shockwave of force tearing down her arm, making her muscles quiver with strain.

A miscalculation… Anko’s heart sank.

There were fewer enemies than expected—yet each one fought like a monster.

The Wasabi guards, fighting desperately, weren’t just failing to help; their stumbling movements clogged her and Shizune’s escape routes, leaving them as easy prey for the enemy to cut down and use as distractions.

Jubei clearly had no intention of letting the shinobi adapt or counter. Now that Konoha’s ninja had revealed themselves, he didn’t hold his allies back any longer.

“Water Erosion”

The cloaked figure to Jubei’s right moved at last. From beneath his mildewed oilcloth cloak, the giant gourd on his back tilted with a dull creak. The stopper was pulled free—silently, deliberately.

No seals. No chants.

From the gourd’s mouth, a tide of viscous black liquid gushed forth, carrying a stench so foul it curdled the air.

It oozed downward like living tar—slow, but impossibly heavy—spreading wide as it descended toward Anko and the Wasabi guards clustered behind her.

“Move!” Shizune’s voice snapped sharp as a whip, her face pale with alarm.

Anko’s pupils shrank. She bit down on her half-formed jutsu and launched herself sideways, toes carving furrows into the dirt as she flashed to the flank.

But the black tide was vast—too vast. Though sluggish, it shifted midair as though it had eyes, sliding hungrily to follow her escape.

Worse still, droplets splattered outward, striking the slower Wasabi guards helping each other retreat.

Hissss—!

Every fragment of metal they touched dissolved instantly, iron melting like wax under a forge’s heat, belching streams of acrid white smoke.

One guard, too slow to dodge, screamed as a spray of droplets struck his calf. His leather boot corroded in an instant—

Then the tar reached flesh.

“AAAHHH!!!”

His howl tore through the courtyard.

Before their eyes, his skin blackened and sloughed away, the wound rotting at a terrifying pace.

And worse—beneath the festering wound, tiny shapes squirmed. Barely visible parasites writhed under his skin, gnawing into muscle and burrowing down into bone and veins, feasting as they spread.

The man thrashed, clawing at his own leg, his screams dwindling into a broken, guttural rasp.

Anko’s scalp prickled, a chill racing down her spine. If that tide hit her head-on—!

“Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!”

The courtyard erupted in blazing light.

A massive fireball, over two meters wide, roared forward, its heat searing the air itself. It smashed into the falling tide of black water—

BOOOOM!!!

Flames and corrosion collided, exploding in a violent spray of sparks and steam. A deafening hiss shrieked through the courtyard as the fire seared the liquid into smoke, filling the air with the stench of burning rot.

A thick, suffocating mist—scalding white, reeking of char and rot—erupted outward like an explosive shockwave.

It swallowed the courtyard in an instant, drowning Anko, the wounded guards, Shizune, and Jirocho in its choking veil.

With vision cut off, chaos reigned.

Another one… Jubei’s eyes narrowed as a small silhouette dropped lightly into the mist. That faint figure was enough. The Chayama Gang leader recognized him at once.

'That brat. Then what was left at Haifi Pavilion? And who faced Shoshi?'

Itachi landed silently, hands blurring through seals.

“Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Claw Crimson!”

Over a dozen flame-wrapped shuriken shot forth—crimson meteors piercing through the fog—hurtling toward Jubei, the cloaked Water Erosion, and the corpse-eyed Gaiku.

Not to wound, but to pressure. To pin them down.

“Fall back! Everyone into the inner house—move!” Jirocho’s hoarse roar cut cleanly through the smoke. His voice cracked with age, yet carried the iron weight of command.

Though no shinobi, his seasoned instincts seized the moment. The white mist was their only shield.

The surviving guards jerked awake as if from a nightmare. Wounded and terrified, they clung to one another, staggering through the fog toward safety, boots clattering in frantic, uneven rhythm.

But Jirocho wasn’t the only one to read the battlefield.

“Hmph. Think you can run?” Jubei scoffed, swatting aside the flaming shuriken with a casual sweep of his blade. His gaze cut through the fog like an eagle’s, already fixed on the retreating silhouettes.

“Gaiku. Stop them.”

To his left, the bandaged man stirred. His blood-soaked wrappings quivered as he lifted his left arm. Those dead, indifferent eyes flickered faintly in the mist.

With a motion as casual as swatting away a fly, Gaiku brushed aside a flaming shuriken. Then his claw twitched beneath the bandages.

Crack—!

The air curdled with the sound of splintering bone. From his forearm slid a pale length of sharpened bone—nearly a foot long, its edges glimmering faintly with a sickly, greenish frost. Cold vapor curled from its surface as though the weapon itself exhaled death.

Gaiku gripped it with his right hand, gave a flick of the wrist—

—and the bone blade vanished into a streak of pale light, faster than sight, darting toward the thickest cluster of retreating guards.

At the fog’s edge, Itachi’s kunai were already flying. Two blades, each bearing explosive tags, whistled through the mist—not aimed at the bone, but at the stone tiles lying directly in its path.

BOOM! BOOM!

Twin detonations shook the courtyard. Shards of stone blasted skyward, fire and grit colliding with the bone blade’s flight. The weapon’s trajectory faltered. More importantly, a smokescreen of dust and embers billowed between Gaiku and his prey.

Through that haze, Itachi moved.

His figure slipped through the fog like a phantom breeze. In a blur, he swept past Anko, Shizune, and Jirocho, brushing each with precise, fleeting contact.

Three small, moist, cool objects—each radiating a pulse of vital chakra—were pressed into their palms or tapped against their collars.

“Lady Katsuyu…” Shizune’s eyes widened. That familiar warmth spread instantly through her body, soothing her ragged chakra flow and uncoiling the tension in her nerves.

Anko felt a sudden weight on her shoulder—a gentle, steadying pressure. The slug’s chakra seeped into her, easing the numbness in her arm and quelling the ache in her battered organs. Her surprise lasted only a breath before it hardened into a fierce, rekindled fire in her gaze.

Jirocho, too, felt vigor flood his body, washing away his exhaustion.

“Jirocho-san, withdraw at once!” Itachi’s voice was cold, sharp—cutting through the haze like steel.

The Wasabi leader did not waste a heartbeat. He nodded firmly. His presence here would only hinder them further.

“I leave this to you!” he barked, then turned, disappearing into the fog, joining the limping guards as they rushed for the inner house.

Anko flexed her recovered arm, fire returning to her veins. With Katsuyu’s warmth steadying her, she drew a deep breath.

Her eyes blazed as she fixed once more on the towering figure ahead—the sword-wielding shadow looming in the mist.

Jubei

[NNSS] Chapter : 43

The stench of blood from the Wasabi House’s front yard had already drifted up to the looming watchtower in the rear.

Itachi stood motionless at the parapet, as still as a carved statue. His black eyes remained fixed on the three figures below—their very presence steeped the courtyard in death’s shadow. And then there was the katana, its merciless arc reaping lives with each swing.

Every flash of steel came with the shriek of shattering blades and the sickening crunch of human bodies being cut down.

The desperate screams and defiant roars of the Wasabi guards rang hollow—fragile and powerless before such absolute might.

Itachi’s fingertips pressed unconsciously into the cold stone.

Only three.
Only three had come.

That alone had shattered Jirocho’s worst estimates and made a mockery of their contingency plans.

If dozens had stormed the compound, they would have mostly been Chayama Gang fodder, perhaps bolstered by one or two shinobi. Against such numbers, Shizune, Anko, and the Wasabi guards could have held the line, maybe even repelled them.

But only three arrived.

That alone made them more dangerous than an army.

Had the Black Snake Group finally stepped from the shadows into the open? These three weren’t expendable pawns—they were likely the core of the organization itself. Perhaps even its entire fighting force. The killing aura rolling off the leading samurai with every lazy swing of his blade was proof enough. The pressure radiating from the two behind him only confirmed it.

Danger

The mission priorities had to change at once. Repelling the enemy was no longer possible. The objective now was singular: create chaos, and in that chaos, cover Wasabi Jirocho’s escape.

“Kid.”

The voice came from behind him, a woman’s.

Itachi reacted before the word finished echoing. His body snapped like a drawn bowstring, kunai flashing into his grip and slicing backward in a lethal blur. The air whistled as steel cut through it—

—but faster than sight, an arm materialized. Not to block the blade, but to touch. Fingers brushed his wrist with the precision of plucking a string of silk.

A wave of force, powerful yet impossibly gentle, surged through him. Itachi’s arm went numb, the strength in his grip dissolved, and the kunai clattered harmlessly to the stone at his feet.

“Good reflexes.” The woman’s tone carried the faintest trace of approval before flattening again. “I am Shizune’s master.”

Itachi’s body remained taut, yet the words made him instinctively ease the smallest fraction of his guard.

He turned sharply, and his gaze locked onto a woman with casually draped golden hair, her beauty striking in the play of shadow and light. She wore only a simple green robe, leaning carelessly against a wooden pillar inside the tower.

Her eyes flicked briefly over Itachi before settling on the massacre unfolding in the courtyard. Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

In that moment, Itachi knew: this woman was no ordinary shinobi. She was a powerhouse—one who had appeared at a critical juncture. Perhaps, with her, their original plan could still hold.

But her next words snuffed that thought instantly.

“No. I will not act.”

Itachi’s frown deepened. Shizune’s master… surely she was a Konoha shinobi. Why refuse to fight?

The question flashed across his mind, but he banished it just as quickly. A shinobi of her caliber would have her reasons. Demanding them here was meaningless.

Tsunade offered no explanation. She only steadied her own simmering unease, then lifted her right hand. Resting on her palm were four palm-sized slugs, pristine and glimmering faintly, radiating a soft, life-giving chakra.

“Take them,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Attach one to yourself. Through them, I’ll transmit chakra to you.”

Her gaze swept the battlefield below. “The other three—you know who to give them to. With these, so long as it’s not instant death…” She trailed off. The unfinished words hung heavy, but the meaning was clear enough.

Then her golden eyes shifted, sharp and deliberate.

“Where is your captain—Roshi?”

“The captain is on a separate mission.” Itachi’s reply was short and emotionless. He slipped one tiny slug beneath his collar. The instant it touched skin, a vast, warm current of chakra—like a living hot spring—poured from the slug into his limbs and bones.

The amount of chakra stunned him inwardly, though his face betrayed nothing. He stowed the remaining three slugs with careful hands and refocused on the courtyard below.

It was a tableau of hell.

More than half the Wasabi guards lay dead or broken. Limbs, shredded armor, and ruined weapons littered the bluestone; blood painted the slabs a deep, dark red. Jubei moved through it as if walking a garden path, each casual arc of his blade reaping one or several lives.

At his flank, the bandage-wrapped man with the bone claw watched with detached appetite; the hooded figure with the great gourd remained an immobile, uncanny presence, its intentions unreadable.

“Enough!”

A dark purple blur launched from the side hall like a springing leopard.

Anko’s eyes burned. The hem of her new trench coat snapped in the wind.

“Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!”

From her fingertips sprang a volley of brown, venomous snakes—sharp, hissing projectiles that darted for Jubei’s throat, his heart, and his lower body. The strike carried the venom of long-smothered fury.

At almost the same instant, a dark-blue shadow drifted across the courtyard like smoke.

Shizune moved with grim purpose. She did not engage Jubei; she darted to the side of several gravely wounded guards. Emerald medical chakra flared in her palms, a soft, life-bearing light seeking to steady rapidly draining vitality.

Jubei’s blade stuttered mid-arc.

Snakes?

His hawk-like eyes caught the Konoha symbol on Anko’s forehead protector and the woman’s furious young face. She’s the one from the city gate— she and Orochi… and the kid—where is he? Ambushed? At sea? If he was guarding the courier, why hasn’t Shoshi returned? Could a child truly have held him off?

Questions sharpened into alarm.

But the arrow had been loosed. Doubt hardened into ruthless resolve.

Whatever Konoha’s intentions, this had to end now—Wasabi Jirochō must die.

Jubei flicked his wrist. His blood-dark katana carved a cold arc and sliced through the hissing snakes as if they were thread. Momentum unbroken, the blade’s lethal edge whipped toward Shizune—who knelt to protect the wounded—and Anko, who had just landed and braced for combat.

[NNSS] Chapter : 42

Hunger…

The wind cut across his face like a dull blade, its chill gnawing into his skin. Snow bit at his ankles, dragging every step into a leaden struggle. His vision swam, his body heavy, his stomach a black hole burning him alive from the inside. Starvation and cold pulled him into a pit without light.

“You’re about to die, kid.”

The voice was low, gravelly, carrying a weight that cut through the blizzard. A shadow loomed, blocking the storm. Forcing his eyelids open, he saw only a towering silhouette, blurred by snow—tall, armed, with the shape of a sword at his waist.

Hunger…

Survival surged stronger than fear. A pitiful whimper, like a dying beast, escaped his throat.

“Oh? You want to live that badly?” the voice drawled with amusement. “Then follow me. If you can crawl your way to the next town alive, I’ll let you live.”

Hunger…

Jubei… Genshoku… brother… mentor…

“Ugh—ah!”

Reality stabbed into Genshoku’s mind like a shattered mirror. A searing pain tore at the core of his soul.

The backlash of the Wild Dog’s Dream—never had it been this brutal. The hunger and madness he inflicted on his prey now turned back on him, multiplied a hundredfold. Countless invisible hounds seemed to sink their teeth into his nerves.

His fluorescent green eyes flooded with red veins, clouded and wild. Drool spilled from the corners of his mouth, stringing down his filthy kasaya. His clenched white teeth ground together with a clack, clack, gums bleeding from the pressure. Every breath carried the hot tang of iron.

Kill him! End the link! Only then will it stop!

The roar came from the pit of his soul, twisted by his own jutsu, tearing apart his final threads of reason.

Dragging himself forward as if shackled by a thousand-pound weight, Genshoku advanced on Roshi’s frozen clone in the center of the street. Each step made the stone slabs groan beneath his feet. His body shook with agony and desire, yet still he marched—compelled by the savage, obsessive instinct of the Wild Dog’s Dream.

Above the sea

Roshi’s true body darted across the rolling waves, sea wind cutting at his face. But the other end of the mental link snapped open—the torrent of madness tearing through his Wood Clone flooded violently into his own consciousness.

“Ghh—!” He choked, vision flaring blood-red. The chakra platforms beneath his feet shattered. His body, like a bird with broken wings, pitched into the freezing sea.

Cold engulfed him. His nerves screamed. Instinct jolted him awake and he kicked, forcing his body upward until he burst through the surface, hair plastered to his cheeks, salt water dripping down his jaw.

Genjutsu?

A clone… under a Genjutsu?

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Genjutsu works by invading the target with chakra, warping the five senses, disrupting the chakra network. Breaking it requires:

First, the victim realizes they’re trapped and releases their chakra to disrupt the illusion. Against masters, this rarely succeeds.

Second, the common way—a comrade forces chakra into the victim, severing the link.

And third—possible only for ninja with vast stamina and chakra reserves—clones. Shadow Clones, Wood Clones, other variants: all extensions of the caster’s mind and chakra. They had bodies, but no true flesh.

For them, Genjutsu should be like trying to set fire to empty air.

And yet—his Wood Clone had fallen.

At that moment, on the other side—

Roshi wiped the seawater from his face. His surprise lasted only an instant before discipline took over. Instead of merely receiving the clone’s distorted senses, he forcefully reversed the link—drowning the Genjutsu-corrupted consciousness under the sheer weight of his own will.

Drawing in a deep breath of salty air, chakra once again surged beneath his soles. His figure skimmed over the waves, racing toward Deai Port, even as his mind sharpened into a blade, focused on the Wood Clone far away in the street.

On the street

Genshoku had already closed in. His bloodshot green eyes locked onto the paralyzed Roshi; his breath rasped like bellows, froth and drool spilling unchecked. His right hand trembled as he drew a kunai from his sleeve. The motion was stiff, bound by invisible shackles, but the killing intent it carried was undeniable.

“...Die…” The broken word scraped past his teeth.

The kunai’s tip, cold and merciless, pressed against the clone’s throat—then slowly, deliberately, sank in.

Click

The sound was faint, yet unnaturally sharp.

Wrong.

There was no give of flesh, no crunch of bone—only the brittle grind of stabbing into hardened roots.

And in the clone’s eyes—beneath the haze of madness conjured by the Wild Dog’s Dream—a sudden razor’s gleam cut through, cold and clear.

Within that sharpness, unmistakable, flickered the main body’s will—and even a trace of quiet admiration.

“So that’s it…” Roshi’s voice rang out, calm as still water, as if the blade lodged in his throat did not exist.

“A two-way sensory link. Forcing your own state into the target’s mind…” His eyelids lifted, gaze steady. “Even a wandering shinobi should never be taken lightly.”

As he spoke, the false marks of pierced flesh on the Wood Clone’s neck dissolved like mist, retreating to reveal the smooth, grain-marked texture of wood beneath.

“What…?!” Genshoku’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Impossible. His senses had clearly felt chakra flow—life force!

A substitution jutsu? No—the Wild Dog’s Dream would have exposed any such anomaly instantly.

A puppet? Ridiculous! No puppet could generate such vivid chakra responses… nor willpower.

Instinct screamed at him to sever the link and retreat—

Too late.

Pfft!

A wooden hand, swift as lightning, drove clean through his chest.

Cold, unyielding grain replaced the warmth of flesh.

“Ghh—!” Genshoku’s body jerked violently, vision dimming.

From the wooden arm, countless fibrous tendrils unfurled like living roots. They spread mercilessly through his veins, muscles, and chakra points—draining, invading, devouring. His strength bled away, leaving behind only the chilling sense of being hollowed out from within.

“Well done, Genshoku.” The Wood Clone’s voice was flat and final, like a judge pronouncing sentence. “Your companion on the sea… also fought hard.”

“Shoshi… is dead?!” Despair burst in Genshoku’s murky eyes, mixed with madness and pain. A beast’s death rattle tore from his throat.

'So it’s true. Black Snake Group.' Roshi’s eyes narrowed far out at sea. 'Shoshi, Genshoku—two down. If Jubei is also one of them… the rest will be no ordinary foes.'

But this Wood Clone had already reached its limit—forced to endure Genjutsu backlash, counterattack, and Wood Release all at once.

The clone watched as the light drained from Genshoku’s eyes. Through the wooden fibers, Roshi could feel the last pulse of fading life.

Slowly, the clone withdrew its arm. A spray of dark blood misted the air, threaded with fine wood splinters.

Genshoku collapsed forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Dust rose where he fell, and the “Shoku” bell on his wrist rolled aside, clattering once before falling silent forever.

The clone glanced at its palm. Thin cracks had begun spreading up its fingers like a spider’s web.

Wasabi Estate… I can’t rely on this clone much longer.

[NNSS] Chapter : 41

“My name is Genshoku,” said the wandering shinobi, his appearance austere, almost ascetic. “As a member of the Black Snake Group, I can guarantee your safe departure.”

“Black Snake Group—” The Wood Clone’s voice was flat, stripped of emotion, yet his words cut precisely into the cracks of Genshoku’s claim. “Then tell me, Genshoku… can you speak for the entire Black Snake Group? Will Jubei, the Chayama Gang’s leader, agree? And what of your other companions?”

Each question landed like a stone plunging into deep water, testing the hidden currents beneath the surface.

Genshoku’s jaw tightened. He had almost answered reflexively when a spark of alarm jolted through him.

No…!

The Konoha shinobi’s aim wasn’t to negotiate—it was to draw out information! If he hesitated, the balance would shift. He had already laid his trap. There was no room left to wait.

“Naturally…” he began, but his words trailed off into silence as his right arm, concealed beneath his wide kasaya, suddenly whipped upward!

The ancient bronze bell on his wrist—engraved with the character Shoku (“Food”)—quivered violently.

“Ding—!”

The bell’s sound rang out sharp and shrill, like a funeral knell.

At once, the floor, the walls, even the ceiling of the inn chamber flared with light!

Dark red markings surged outwards, writhing like living veins, weaving themselves into a sinister sealing array that spread in an instant.

The air seared as the array came alive. From its core, several chains of condensed crimson energy erupted like bloodthirsty serpents, lunging straight for Roshi’s form.

But instead of triumph, a sharper instinct screamed in Genshoku’s chest—warning, urgent and unrelenting.

“Chila—!”

The opposite window shattered with a deafening crack! Splinters of wood and shards of glass sprayed outward, scattering across the midday sun, glinting like blades.

A figure burst through the wreckage in a clean arc, landing squarely in the middle of the deserted street below, dust curling at his feet.

Roshi.

His stance was steady, his presence cutting through the silence like a blade, facing the very shadows where Genshoku hid.

“A clever trap,” Roshi said coolly. “But just a little too slow.”

A flicker of fury sparked in Genshoku’s chest at the slight—being underestimated—but he smothered it at once, burying the anger beneath cold calculation. To lash out was to stumble into another snare.

Without another word, his hands moved in a blur. Several luminous shuriken whirled out, tearing through the air toward Roshi’s upper, middle, and lower openings simultaneously!

At the same time, his left hand’s fingers blurred through seals, the movements too fast for the untrained eye to follow.

All around—the cracks in the stone pavement, the damp shadows clinging to the alley walls—dark red sealing arrays flared to life. Smaller than the first, but just as vicious, they pulsed hungrily, leeching chakra from the air and warping space around them.

The result was a twisting, invisible vortex, a distorted field meant to drag Roshi’s movements into sluggish hesitation.

Roshi’s gaze narrowed slightly.

As a Wood Clone, his chakra was finite, and unlike his true body, he could not refine more. Reckless techniques would only hasten his undoing.

His toes brushed the gravel, his body flickering aside with fluid precision. He evaded the glinting shuriken and skirted the drag of the invisible vortex beneath his feet.

The shuriken slammed into the ground and walls behind him with heavy thuds, quivering in place.

And in that same instant—his own hands had already completed a silent string of seals.

Wind Release: Chiba Slice.

Roshi’s palms clapped together, and before him a compressed cyclone burst to life—a disc-shaped whirlwind no larger than a shield, pale green in color, spinning so rapidly it seemed woven of countless razor-fine wind blades.

It wasn’t a raging storm but a compact, surgical edge of wind, condensed to deadly precision.

The incoming shuriken struck the rotating shield with a shriek of metal on metal, sparks flying as steel was shredded by invisible blades.

The shuriken, fragile as paper caught in a gale, were shredded mercilessly by the whirlwind of blades—twisted, torn apart, and scattered in a glittering rain of steel fragments that clattered against the walls and cobblestones.

“Wind Release: Turbulent Arrow!”

Roshi’s seals shifted in a blur. From the compressed air around his palms, several pale-white bolts of wind shot forth, sharp and visible to the naked eye, streaking straight for Genshoku in the shadows.

But halfway across the courtyard, the seals that Genshoku had prepared—tiny, blood-red patterns hidden beneath his feet and along the walls—suddenly ignited.

“Puff! Puff! Puff!”

The dark arrays flared, and with each pulse, the wind arrows slowed as if striking invisible tar. The red force fields twisted, dragged, and finally swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but a faint, shivering breeze in the aftermath.

The instant Roshi’s attack dissolved, Genshoku’s eerie green eyes flared with triumph.

Now… caught you.

A hiss slipped from his throat—half ecstasy, half pain. The copper coin clenched between his fangs clattered from his mouth, spinning through the air before dropping into a crack in the stone.

The restraint was gone.

“Wild Dog’s Dream…”

His fingers snapped into a grotesque seal, hands moving with savage speed. A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest, the sound of a starving hound worrying rotten bone.

The Shoku bell on his wrist shrieked as it vibrated, its tone twisting higher and sharper, until it became a soul-piercing howl—

“Awooooo—!!!”

The bell amplified the sound, unleashing a wave of raw chakra. Black and viscous, like a flood of tar breaking through a dam, it seized the chakra signature Roshi had left in the air and surged forward, smashing through smoke and distance alike.

It hit the Wood Clone with brutal force.

Roshi froze.

An emptiness tore through him—so profound it was as if his organs had been ripped out, leaving only a hollow cavity gnawed by plague. That void burned into frenzy, stripping reason away, flooding him with the raw, primal urge to destroy and consume.

A ravenous instinct, molten and suffocating, burst from the pit of his consciousness. His vision spun, awash in crimson haze; his heartbeat thundered like a war drum; his ears filled with the snarls and howls of countless starving dogs, fighting and tearing in some abyssal pit.

The dam of reason cracked, buckled—on the verge of collapse.

The Wild Dog’s Dream had descended. Drool seemed to drip from the edges of his mind, cold and feral, as if he had been chained in hell’s kennel and the leash had finally snapped.

[NNSS] Chapter : 40

Martial law fell over Deai Port like a tightening net.

The clamor of the docks was cut off in an instant. Heavy barricades were rolled into the streets as Chayama thugs—spears and short swords in hand—barked orders, dispersing crowds and forcing shops to shutter. Panic rippled through the city like a stone dropped in still water. The city’s usual din gave way to the crisp clip of hooves on cobblestones, crude commands, and the occasional choked sob. An electric, suffocating tension hung in the air.

At Haifi Pavilion the inn’s doors were bolted fast. The owner’s face was pale with sweat as he shepherded frightened guests back to their rooms and urged them to lock their doors. Then, breath steadying, he climbed to the third floor and knocked at the room with the best view.

“Ninja-sama…” his voice trembled only faintly. “The city is under martial law. It’s chaotic outside; they say they’re searching for bandits. If you have no urgent need, please remain inside. If you require anything, tell us—we’ll do everything we can.”

“Understood. Thanks for the warning. We’ll handle it,” Roshi answered calmly.

Through the sensory link with his Wood Release clone, everything his main body felt at sea—every shock, every change in the city—synchronized instantly. The bait had worked in part: a ninja with strange secret techniques had been caught. But interrogation was never Roshi’s strength, and this opponent had kept silent, closing off every lead.

The original plan had been modest: lure out one or two shinobi, capture them, and then use interrogation or Sharingan genjutsu via Itachi to extract intelligence. If that failed, bring the prisoner back to the Village’s intel division. Roshi had not expected such decisiveness from the enemy.

Martial law and the mass deployment of Chayama troops would cow the city’s other powers—forcing guilds and merchants to fall back and seal their defenses—but such a show of force could not be sustained. Whoever ordered it sought a quick, crushing blow. They aimed to seize the Wasabi estate inside a narrow window—and to do that they needed more than common thugs; they needed shinobi.

So far the Chayama Gang’s only confirmed ninja had been Jubei. Now the corpse on the deck and the shadow prowling near Haifi Pavilion had proven otherwise: two enemy shinobi were already on the field.

The Wasabi House’s remaining defenders might theoretically hold against Jubei. Theoretically. The Black Snake Group’s true strength and placements were still unknown. Considering the worst-case scenario, Roshi knew it was time to act.

“One last chance,” he said to the captive on the deck. “Name.”

Shoshi bared blood-stained fangs, then clamped his eyes shut. Whether Roshi intended to torture, threaten, or bargain, silence remained his choice—for his comrades, for his cause.

Roshi drew a steady breath. He had hoped this final exchange might crack the man, confirm his allegiance. It hadn’t. Leaving a living shinobi with secret techniques and unbroken will in the middle of a collapsing operation would be like burying a live bomb.

The decision hardened in him. The burden of intelligence fell to his blade.

He did not approach theatrically—just a precise motion. A kunai struck true, piercing the man’s heart.

When life ceased, Roshi unrolled a sealing scroll and wrapped the corpse. Last time he had left part of the body behind, preserving the secret of his Wood Release. This time there was no such reservation: the man carried no unspeakable jutsu that needed hiding. He would bring the whole body back to Konoha so the village could study the technique and learn what it could.

“Rogue shinobi… always troublesome.”

Half a day of planning, and still the Black Snake Group remained a shadowy enigma.

Roshi turned to the pale messenger beside him, a young man clutching the scroll tube as if it were his lifeline. The boy’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of fear.

“The plan has changed.” Roshi’s tone was steady, resolute. “Return at once to the waters off Deai Port. There’s no need to head for the Daimyō’s palace. Simply patrol the sea and wait for my signal.”

The messenger’s eyes widened. “Sir? But… this evidence—”

“The evidence matters,” Roshi cut him off, gaze sharp as a blade. “But rushing to the palace now is even more dangerous. Do you understand? Without me there, who can say if the Daimyō would spare your life? There’s no need to gamble it away.”

The boy met Roshi’s eyes, and something in their unshakable calm anchored his spiraling thoughts. He swallowed hard, then nodded again and again. “Yes, sir! I understand!”

Roshi said nothing more. His figure flickered, vanishing from the doorway. In the next instant, he was atop the tallest mast at the stern, cloths snapping in the sea wind. He cast a single glance toward Deai Port, then blurred into an afterimage, stepping across the waves—racing toward the city locked under martial law.

At Haifi Pavilion, a thin sliver of lamplight slipped through the curtains, falling across the face of Roshi’s Wood Clone. The main body’s choice and movements registered instantly.

It was time to act.

Still, that stubborn rogue ninja proved one thing: capturing him alive was possible, but forcing answers from him was nearly impossible. And yet, intelligence remained paramount. At the very least, Roshi needed confirmation—was this man truly of the Black Snake Group? What was their structure, their purpose?

He pushed open the wooden window frame with a faint creak, barely audible beneath the occasional shouts echoing from the street. Roshi didn’t lean out, but let his calm gaze settle into the thick shadows pooling at the corner below.

“Watched me for so long… aren’t you tired?”

In the darkness, Genshoku’s fluorescent green pupils shrank to slits. He hadn’t expected the Konoha shinobi to slice through the thin veil of silence first. His canines ground down on the copper coin between his teeth, the bitter metal sting keeping him sharp.

“Konoha ninja… always sharp,” Genshoku rasped, his voice like sandpaper dragged across steel, muffled by the coin. He stepped half a pace into the light; his oilskin cloak gleamed faintly, wet with mildew and shadow. The small bell at his wrist, etched with the character Shoku, stayed unnervingly still. “But this isn’t the time for idle words.”

The brim of his hat cast his face in shadow, revealing only a grayish jaw and bloodless, pressed lips. His tone was cold, almost mocking:

“The merchant you were guarding? His cargo is already at sea. Mission complete, isn’t it? So why sink deeper into the mud of Deai Port? What did Wasabi Jirochō promise you that’s worth gambling your life?”

The Wood Clone’s face betrayed nothing.

“Listen, Konoha shinobi,” Genshoku’s voice dropped lower, edged with a sinister pull. “The Wasabi estate is… lively tonight. Old man Jirochō may not live to see dawn. Staying here won’t change that. Why not—” He paused deliberately, the bell on his wrist giving the faintest tremor. “—leave Deai Port. I guarantee safe passage. Take your reward, and go back to Konoha alive.”

“Oh?”

Roshi’s calm reply cut through the night like steel. “You speak as though you know exactly what’s happening at Wasabi House. Then tell me…” His gaze pressed down on Genshoku, heavy as iron. “…who do you represent, to offer such guarantees?”

Inside and outside the window, their eyes clashed in the silent air. The dead port, locked under martial law, seemed to fill with the invisible smoke of a battle about to ignite.

[NSSSG] [ARC-06] Chapter : 240 - Kitazawa in action

Lightning Release: Lightning Blade—in the original story, it was a technique wielded by Killer Bee of the Hidden Cloud.

By channeling Lightning Release chakra into a blade, the user forced it into an ultra-high frequency vibration. The result—razor-edge sharpness and terrifying penetration, enough to slice through even the toughest defenses.

Though born from the Cloud, this jutsu wasn’t bound to it. Any shinobi skilled with a blade and Lightning Release could make it their weapon.

Kitazawa accepted the mission without hesitation. He was, after all, half a swordsman himself.

“Lady Tsunade, which stronghold are you planning to strike?” Kitazawa asked, already catching on to her intent.

She wanted a raid—one of the three Mist strongholds would have to fall.

“The Hidden Mist’s advance force numbers only five hundred,” Tsunade explained, extending a finger to the map. “This island here houses just one hundred shinobi.”

Kitazawa narrowed his eyes. “And their strength?”

“Seven jōnin,” Tsunade replied. “The rest are all chūnin.”

Kitazawa arched a brow. “So many chūnin? That’s unusual.”

Tsunade let out a short, cold snort. “Advance force, in name only. In truth, they’re a strike force—every shinobi handpicked. The weakest among them is still chūnin-level.”

She elaborated further. Konoha’s advance team may have left first, but the Mist outmaneuvered them, landing sooner, ambushing under the cover of the Hidden Mist Jutsu. Konoha paid heavily in blood. Only after seizing victory did the Mist retreat to their fortified sea bastions.

Kitazawa nodded, realization dawning.

“Our position,” Tsunade continued, “is one night’s march from the Fire Country border. I intend to send a jōnin squad under cover of darkness. A strike they will not expect.”

“Agreed,” Kitazawa said. “Their eyes should still be fixed on our vanguard.”

“I’ve left the selection to Shizune,” Tsunade added. “She’s choosing jōnin as we speak.”

“Count me in,” Kitazawa said instantly.

Tsunade blinked, then shook her head. “No. It’s far too dangerous.”

Kitazawa cleared his throat, half-smiling. “If I go, morale rises. Because in their eyes, I represent you.”

He wasn’t wrong. A raid like this should have been led by Tsunade herself—the Sannin’s name alone would ignite courage. But her hemophobia shackled her to command, unable to step onto a battlefield drenched in blood.

Kitazawa, regarded as her disciple—if not by blood, then by trust—was the next best thing. His presence carried weight.

Tsunade frowned. “As long as the raid succeeds, that’s what matters. You don’t need to go.”

“But I can raise the odds,” Kitazawa pressed, confidence in his voice. “I’ve mastered many of the Second Hokage’s Water Release jutsu. On the sea, I’ll be in my element.”

That gave Tsunade pause. Tobirama’s Water Release had been legendary, and few in Konoha had inherited even a fragment of that skill. Among the handful who had, Kitazawa was notable—not only for his victory over Kurosuki Raiga, but also for the sheer versatility of his water-style ninjutsu.

“Lady Tsunade, this hesitation doesn’t suit you,” Kitazawa said lightly, smiling.

“Don’t you understand what concern is?” Tsunade snapped, glaring.

“I do.” His smile faded, replaced by a steady resolve. “I know you worry for me. But I’m a shinobi. Once I stepped onto the battlefield, I accepted the risk.”

His words startled her. She, too, had once embraced that same resolve. But when it came to Kitazawa… her heart faltered. He had become too important—nearly as dear to her as Shizune.

Tsunade lay back on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. Nawaki’s face flashed in her mind, along with his stubborn refusal to heed her warnings. The battlefield had stolen him, just as it had Dan. Her hemophobia, her fear, all stemmed from that truth. And yet—here she was again, watching another reckless soul walk into danger.

Kitazawa placed a hand over his chest. “I can’t rely on your protection forever.”

He was touched by her concern, but his mission—and the system’s demand—left no room for retreat. Besides, the danger wasn’t as dire as it seemed.

A full squad of jōnin, attacking prepared against the unprepared—victory was more than possible. And if not? Retreat was always an option.

He had one ultimate safeguard: water release—hydrification.

By liquefying his entire body, he could nullify most physical attacks, vanishing into the sea itself. Unless someone found a way to evaporate the entire ocean, he would survive.

And so, for Kitazawa, the sea truly was home.

“You’re all talk.”

Tsunade waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. You’ll lead the squad.”

“Thank you, Lady Tsunade.”

Kitazawa exhaled quietly, relief hidden beneath his calm facade.

“Remember—your mission is to raid, not to occupy,” Tsunade warned sharply. “You’ll have only three minutes. Any longer, and reinforcements from the other two strongholds will arrive.”

Kitazawa nodded firmly.

Just then, Shizune entered the tent. She glanced briefly at Kitazawa before passing a scroll to Tsunade.

“This is the list of jōnin chosen for the raid. Eight in total.”

Tsunade unrolled the scroll, skimmed it, and then handed it to Kitazawa. “Be careful, Kitazawa.”

Shizune blinked. “Wait… Kitazawa is going too?” she asked in surprise.

Kitazawa gave a small smile. “Shizune-senpai, just wait for news of our victory.” With that, he rose and strode out of the tent.

At the camp entrance, eight jōnin stood waiting.

Kitazawa immediately recognized four: Uchiha Yashiro, Aburame Shibi, Hyūga Hizashi, and Akimichi Chōza.

Chōza was one of the famed Ino–Shika–Chō trio, though his two teammates were absent. At their level, even split apart, each could still unleash formidable strength.

“I am Kitazawa,” he introduced himself with composure. “I’ll be serving as captain of this surprise attack squad.”

Under their questioning stares, Yashiro Uchiha stepped forward with a rare smile. “With Captain Kitazawa leading us, success is assured.”

The words shocked a few of the others. Since when did an Uchiha—especially Yashiro, second only to Fugaku—offer flattery so openly?

“Time waits for no one,” Kitazawa said, voice deep with command. “We move now. We must strike the Mist stronghold before dawn.”

“Yes!”

Their answer rang in unison. Though Kitazawa was younger than all of them, his reputation—slayer of Kurosuki Raiga, backed by Tsunade herself—commanded respect.

The nine figures vanished into the night, their speed rivaling the wind.

By the time the moon reached its peak, they arrived at the shore.

Kitazawa halted and looked at his two scouts.

“No Mist-nin in the area,” Hizashi reported after a sweep with his Byakugan.

“The kikaichū have found a safe route through the sea.” Shibi added five minutes later.

“Shibi, take point,” Kitazawa ordered immediately.

Shibi nodded, chakra flowing to his feet as he sped across the water’s surface. The others followed closely behind.

Soon, an island emerged from the darkness.

“The thousand-meter perimeter is laced with traps,” Hizashi muttered grimly, Byakugan scanning the area.

“At our pace, a thousand meters is two seconds at most,” Yashiro scoffed confidently. “We should just charge through.”

Kitazawa shook his head. “Not wise. The traps won’t kill us, but they’ll waste precious time.”

“Agreed,” Chōza rumbled, folding his arms.

“Then what’s your plan, Captain?” Yashiro asked.

Kitazawa’s eyes sharpened. “Hizashi, mark the traps with your Byakugan. Shibi, have your kikaichū trigger them all at once. The moment the traps are sprung, we rush at full speed.”

“That’s a sound plan,” Shibi replied, already uncorking the large gourd on his back. A black cloud of kikaichū surged forth, guided by Hizashi’s precise instructions.

Within minutes, the traps were exposed and disarmed.

“Once we land, move without hesitation,” Kitazawa reminded. “We have two minutes. When the time is up, we retreat—no exceptions.”

“Yes!” the squad answered together.

They knew well the meaning of that two-minute window—it was their only guarantee of survival. Any longer, and the Mist reinforcements would cut them off.

“Wait.” Kitazawa suddenly formed hand signs.

Summoning Jutsu!

With a puff of smoke, a massive slug—half the height of a man—appeared.

“Lady Katsuyu,” Kitazawa said, “split into nine and accompany each of them. Through you, I can provide medical ninjutsu during the battle.”

Shock rippled through the squad.

Lady Katsuyu of Shikkotsu Forest—Tsunade’s personal summon. One of the three great holy contracts.

Yashiro’s eyes widened. “So the rumors were true… you really are Tsunade-sama’s disciple.”

Shibi adjusted his glasses, visibly impressed. Even he hadn’t expected this.

“With Captain Kitazawa, it’s like having a medic-nin on the battlefield itself,” Hizashi added, a rare note of relief in his tone. “I’ve never fought under such conditions before. It feels… reassuring.”

The others nodded in agreement.

No wonder Tsunade was revered as the greatest medical ninja alive. With Katsuyu by her side, she was in a league of her own.

And now, so was Kitazawa.

“Split”

The Katsuyu split into nine and slithered onto their shoulders. Kitazawa’s gaze shifted to Shibi.

“Three, two, one!” Shibi counted down.

At his signal, every trap was sprung at once.

Nine figures darted forward without hesitation.

Kitazawa slid on a pair of sunglasses with practiced ease. Of course, shades couldn’t truly conceal the Sharingan or Byakugan. Their activation always carried a distinct chakra ripple. In ordinary circumstances, even sunglasses would raise suspicion.

But here—amidst the chaos of so many chakra signatures colliding on the battlefield—no one would notice when his Sharingan flared to life.

“Enemy attack!”

The Hidden Mist shinobi responded instantly, but too late. The initiative was already lost.

Senju Chakra Mode.
Water Release: Great Waterfall Jutsu!

Kitazawa’s hands blurred through signs. The sea churned violently as chakra drew in the surrounding waters. Within seconds, a towering wave ten meters high roared into existence.

Amplified by Senju Chakra Mode and the sheer abundance of seawater, the waterfall swelled into something far greater—an overwhelming Exploding Water Colliding Wave.

Shock flickered across the faces of Yashiro, Shibi, and the rest. Most had never witnessed a Water Release so vast it could conjure a tsunami in an instant. Only a few elder jonin could recall something similar—echoes of the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju.

What terrifying chakra… what mastery of Water Release.

Their awe transformed into surging morale. Their surprise attack had struck with devastating effect.

The colossal wave crashed down, erasing half the Hidden Mist outpost in a single strike. Dozens of shinobi were swept away or knocked unconscious—an unthinkable blow for a village famed for its Water Release.

“Two minutes. Scatter and act,” Kitazawa ordered coolly.

“Understood!” The reply carried a new weight of respect. Kitazawa’s Water Release had already outstripped their own.

Giantification Technique!

Choza landed heavily on the island, his body expanding into a towering colossus. His first stomp shook the ground and drew screams from all directions. With a body that size, even the simplest movement became a weapon of mass destruction.

Naturally, the Mist jonin responded immediately. Two surrounded Choza in an instant.

“Choza, I’ll assist!” Hizashi Hyūga flickered into the fray.

Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!

Meanwhile, Yashiro Uchiha’s three-tomoe Sharingan spun as he targeted the densest cluster of enemies. A massive fireball erupted, detonating among them. Flames blossomed, and screams followed.

Kitazawa’s own Sharingan whirred to life. His gaze locked onto an Earth Release jonin. But instead of charging recklessly, he stayed his hand. Wasting Senju Chakra Mode in a one-on-one would be foolish. He was artillery—best used where the enemy was thickest.

Two Mist shinobi lunged at him with Body Flicker, while more closed in behind—including the Earth Release jonin he had marked.

Uchiha Style: Raging Wind Sword!

Kitazawa drew Zangetsu and Kiba, slashing wide. Twin blades of flame cleaved through the air. Both Mist shinobi were bisected mid-flicker, their bodies collapsing before they realized they’d been cut.

Such was the deadly precision of the Sharingan’s dynamic vision.

Wind Release: Vacuum Bullets!

A hail of compressed air tore through the shinobi rushing from behind, leaving their bodies riddled with bloody holes.

Wind Release: Gale Palm!

Kitazawa clapped his hands together, sending another pair of enemies flying with startled cries.

Then the Earth Release jonin struck—hand seals rapid. The ground heaved, shaping into a dragon’s head that spat mud bullets.

Earth Release: Earth Dragon Bullet!

Kitazawa’s lips curled in satisfaction. His Sharingan spun, copying the technique instantly. Another earthen dragon burst from beneath his feet, jaws opening in perfect mimicry.

The Mist jonin’s eyes widened. “You can use Earth Release too?”

Kitazawa had already unleashed Wind, Water, Fire—and now Earth. No ordinary jonin could wield four chakra natures.

Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet!

A massive water dragon roared forth. The jonin reacted quickly, raising an earth wall—only for it to shatter under impact, forcing him to evade at the last second.

Fire Release: Great Dragon Fire Jutsu!

Kitazawa swept his gaze across the battlefield, molding chakra. Three blazing fire dragons surged outward, engulfing several Mist shinobi at once. Six or seven more were caught in the flames, shrieking as they burned.

“Damn you!” the Earth Release jonin cursed, slipping underground in a blur. Earth Release: Underground Projection Fish.

Kitazawa smirked. His Sharingan had already copied the technique.

A mission notification flickered through his mind:

“Objective complete: Learn four Earth Release techniques before the end of the third term.”
“Reward: Proficient Earth Release Chakra Transformation.”

He barely had time to register the boon when the jonin burst from the ground behind him, kunai aimed for his spine.

Kitazawa turned smoothly, fist already cocked.

Monster Strength!

His punch drove into the jonin’s gut with bone-shattering force. The kunai clattered uselessly to the ground as the Mist shinobi’s eyes bulged in pain. He crumpled backward, gasping, before falling limp.

[NSSSG] [ARC-06] Chapter : 239 - Tsunade's ponderings

Meanwhile, within the Hidden Mist, Fuguki had already returned. Mei Terumī, however, had been summoned by Elder Gensui.

The moment she stepped into the chamber, she knew something was wrong. Besides Gensui, a host of elite jōnin were present, their faces grim.

“Mei,” Gensui said slowly, “tell us what happened during the negotiations with Konoha.”

Suppressing her doubts, Mei recounted the talks. In truth, there hadn’t been much beyond endless bickering.

“So it really was Mizukage-sama’s order…” Gensui murmured after hearing how Fuguki had suddenly ended the meeting.

“What happened?” Mei asked, unsettled.

“Mizukage-sama has declared war on Konoha,” Gensui replied with a weary sigh.

“What?!” Mei’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that? What reason could he possibly have to declare war?”

“We’d like to know as well,” said Ao, seated beside Gensui. His tone was grim. “With our current strength, we can’t possibly overpower Konoha.”

Ao—the veteran known as the Byakugan Killer—carried his own proof of that war. During the last great war, he had torn the eye from a Hyūga’s skull. To this day, his Byakugan remains the only known one to fall into foreign hands.

“Did no one try to dissuade him?” Mei pressed, frowning.

“He wouldn’t listen,” Gensui admitted, shaking his head. “He ignored every word and stubbornly chose war.”

The elders were the Mizukage’s equals in status, second only in power—yet even they could not sway him.

“I compromised,” Gensui said finally, voice heavy. “Ao will command this war. You all must hold Konoha back on the front lines… while we search for the true reason behind Mizukage-sama’s decision.”

—

Kitazawa arrived at the back of Kurenai’s house.
The training ground was scarred with deep craters—each one the mark of her monstrous strength.

“Why are you home so late today?” Kurenai paused her drills, wiped sweat from her brow, and asked.

“There was a last-minute Jonin meeting.”

He quickly explained the situation.

“What?” Kurenai stepped closer, eyes flashing. “Then I want to go too!”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Kitazawa warned, his expression hesitant.

“My strength has improved a lot. I won’t drag you down!” she said firmly, fists clenched.

Her determined look made him relent at last. Dangerous as it was, the battlefield was also the best training ground.

“When do we leave?” she asked, her tone calm but her gaze serious. She wasn’t careless—she knew exactly what the battlefield meant. She’d survived the Third Ninja War. In terms of experience, she even surpassed him.

“I’m not sure yet. We’ll wait for Lady Tsunade’s orders. Likely within two days.”

Kurenai’s eyes lit up. “Lady Tsunade’s leading the unit? Then Konoha’s victory is certain!”

Tsunade’s prestige in the village was unmatched. To most shinobi, she was the pillar of confidence—Kurenai included.

“Mhm.” Kitazawa smiled faintly, patting her head. “After lunch, let’s go buy ninja tools and explosive tags.”

On the battlefield, such supplies were consumed faster than chakra itself. Missions allowed rest. War didn’t. Having enough weapons and tags could mean survival.

Kitazawa had saved plenty of money but rarely spent it. This time, he finally would.

By sunset, Kitazawa and Kurenai returned with bags stuffed full: explosive tags, kunai, shuriken, and preserved food supplies.

“You cook,” Kitazawa said suddenly, then added, “I’ll go ask Lady Tsunade about the situation.”

“Alright.” Kurenai nodded and went to the kitchen.

Kitazawa crossed next door and knocked.

“Good evening, Kitazawa,” Shizune greeted, opening the door.

“Shizune-senpai,” he said respectfully as she let him in.

Inside, Tsunade was slumped over a table, asleep amid a mountain of documents. War wasn’t only about soldiers—it was intelligence, sensory units, medics, logistics… and all of it fell on her shoulders as commander.

“Give her a moment,” Shizune whispered. “She’s been working since she returned from the Hokage Building.”

Kitazawa nodded and sat carefully nearby. His eyes lingered for an instant on her slightly loosened clothes, revealing the faintest glimpse—enough to make him quickly look away and pick up a document instead.

It was intel on Mist Jonin: names, relationships, and preferred jutsu. Some were detailed, others barely noted. Clearly, the level of information depended on their notoriety.

At last, Tsunade stirred, her eyelashes fluttering open. She yawned, sat up, and blinked at him.

“Tsu—” Kitazawa began, but froze as a light kick tapped his leg.

He blinked. What was that supposed to mean?

“It’s because of you that I’m drowning in work,” Tsunade grumbled, glaring at him.

“…Is there anything I can do to help?” Kitazawa offered quickly. He knew he bore some responsibility for the current mess.

“I’m hungry. Make me something,” Tsunade said abruptly after staring at him for a few seconds.

Kitazawa was momentarily stunned. “Then… I’ll cook.”

He stood and headed toward the kitchen. Tsunade’s gaze followed him until he disappeared. Then, slowly, she turned back to her papers—but her thoughts drifted.

She hadn’t planned any of this. She had only returned to the village for money. Yet somehow, one step at a time, she was walking down the path of Hokage.

“Lady Tsunade,” Shizune said a little later, emerging from the kitchen. “Why did you make Kitazawa cook? He’s a guest.”

“Why not? He’s your junior,” Tsunade replied lazily.

“…Are you planning to take him as a student?” Shizune asked in surprise.

“Mm.” Tsunade was quiet for a couple of seconds before answering.

It was only natural at this point. Even Danzō had casually called Kitazawa her student at the Jonin meeting. For her not to acknowledge it would be unreasonable.

"It seems I'll finally have a proper junior... no, his strength has already surpassed mine."

Shizune’s smile faltered. The thought left her with little joy.

"His talent is greater than yours," Tsunade said lazily, stretching as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It’s only natural he’d surpass you."

"That may be true, but as his senpai, the pressure feels real." Shizune exhaled softly, the weight settling in her chest.

"You’ll get used to it," Tsunade replied with a small chuckle.

"When do you plan on telling him?" Shizune asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"After the war ends," Tsunade murmured, narrowing her eyes. "I have a feeling he’ll make a name for himself out there."

"Kitazawa already has the strength. He just needs the right opportunity," Shizune agreed.

Tsunade gave a slow nod. But in truth, there was another reason she hadn’t voiced. With her hemophobia, many tasks would inevitably fall to Kitazawa. In time, his presence would only grow stronger—perhaps even rivaling that of Minato Namikaze.

And that, to Tsunade, was a relief. Kitazawa could shoulder the burdens she didn’t want. Even if she became Hokage, she could slack off, knowing he was there to steady things. After two years, she could simply vanish without a trace.

The truth was clear—whether she admitted it or not, she was destined to be Hokage. Unless she abandoned her post as front-line commander and walked away from Konoha altogether. But that… she couldn’t do.

So she’d let fate take its course.

"Go call Kurenai for dinner," Tsunade said, pulling herself from her thoughts.

"Right." Shizune, cradling Tonton, nodded and slipped away.

Though Kurenai had already cooked, she couldn’t refuse Tsunade’s invitation. Her own meal would have to wait until tomorrow.

Half an hour later, six people sat gathered around a long table.

"Rina, you and Karin will stay in Konoha," Tsunade instructed firmly. "If Danzo tries to stir trouble, go to the Old Man for support."

"Understood," Rina Uzumaki replied quickly. She knew her limits—she’d be no help on the battlefield. It was better to remain behind and protect Karin.

"As for you two," Tsunade’s gaze shifted to Kitazawa and Kurenai, "you’ll be with the General Staff, under my command. I’ll assign missions as they come."

The battlefield was treacherous, but the safest place was always near the commander. Deep inside Konoha’s stronghold, the defenses were thickest.

"Prepare yourselves in the next two days. We’ll depart once the Hidden Mist makes their move," Tsunade said, lifting her chopsticks. "Now, let’s eat."

Later, back home—

"It’s lucky Lady Tsunade is with us," Kurenai sighed as she slipped off her sandals, sinking into the carpet. "If it were just us heading to the frontlines, it would be far too dangerous."

"It’s no less dangerous beside her," Kitazawa warned, stepping up to embrace her from behind. "Don’t let your guard down."

"I know." Kurenai leaned into him briefly before nudging his hip with hers. "While we have time, I plan to train."

"So diligent?" Kitazawa raised a brow, amused.

"I don’t have the talent you do," Kurenai shot back with a soft snort.

"What are you working on? I’ll join." He gave her hip a playful pat.

"No need." Kurenai shook her head. "You should focus on your own training. I know you’ve been working on that regeneration jutsu."

"Fair enough." Kitazawa bent down, brushing his lips against her neck.

Kurenai shivered, images she tried to suppress flickering in her mind. She wouldn’t let herself become the "bad woman" he teased her about. So she slipped outside to train, leaving Kitazawa to his studies.

At his desk, Kitazawa unrolled his notes. His Earth Release training was still incomplete—he needed to master four jutsus before the semester’s end, barely a month away. Still, he preferred to leave that to the battlefield. With his Three-Tomoe Sharingan, he could copy enemy jutsu directly.

Though the Mist favored Water Release, Earth jutsu weren’t uncommon among them. And Water Release was also one of his long-term goals. In fact, all five releases were.

If only the Sharingan could mimic kekkei genkai… it would save him years.

Kitazawa shook the thought away and bent over his notes again. His work on medical ninjutsu for limb regeneration was finally taking shape. At this pace, he could master it within two or three months.

Time slipped by unnoticed until a knock came at the door.

"I’ve run a hot bath for you," Kurenai’s voice called softly. She stepped in, the fresh scent of soap trailing with her. "Go shower."

"Wait for me," Kitazawa said, his tone carrying more than one implication.

"I won’t let you fool around!" Kurenai’s cheeks flushed as she spat back in mock annoyance.

Kitazawa only chuckled and headed toward the bath.

Left alone, Kurenai sat on the bed, taking a deep, steadying breath. Despite their closeness, every night still felt new—her heart thudding with both nerves and excitement, anticipation fluttering in her chest.

Time passed slowly.

Kurenai Kurenai, lost in concentration, suddenly looked up.

"Where do you want to start?"

The door closed softly behind him. Kitazawa walked forward, his presence filling the space.

Kurenai met his gaze, her heartbeat quickening. Flustered, she turned her head aside, refusing to meet his eyes directly—yet the next moment, she deliberately let her robe slip, baring one delicate shoulder.

"Your skin… whiter than snow," Kitazawa whispered, leaning close to her ear.

A soft hum escaped Kurenai’s lips, betraying her shyness.

His lips traced a path down her neck, sending shivers through her. Her body weakened beneath the warmth of his touch, and instinctively, she clutched at his head, holding him close.

Kitazawa’s world narrowed to the pale heat of her skin and the taste of her lips, parted ever so slightly. Her long legs shifted, pressing against him. He didn’t speak—only kissed her, again and again.

"Ki… Kitazawa…" Kurenai’s breath hitched, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar heat. Her face flushed crimson.

He lifted his head at last, eyes half-lidded, before wrapping his arms around her waist. With a smooth motion, he reversed their positions, settling her on top.

Kurenai blinked down at him, his smile brimming with encouragement.

With a soft sigh, she pressed her palm against his abdomen, giving in to resignation.

The night faded wordlessly into dawn.

The next day, with their supplies already bought, Kitazawa and Kurenai trained quietly while waiting for Tsunade’s orders.

By afternoon, Shizune appeared.

"Shizune-senpai," Kitazawa called, leaping down from a tree. Kurenai continued her training nearby while he worked on his medical ninjutsu for limb regeneration.

"Lady Tsunade wants you at the main gate immediately," Shizune said briskly. "You’re to lead the supply transport team. She’ll depart with the main force tomorrow."

"Understood." Kitazawa arched a brow but accepted without hesitation.

"There’s no time for long explanations. The details are in this scroll." Shizune handed him the sealed document.

"Got it." Kitazawa tucked it away. "We’ll depart now."

Shizune gave a curt nod before turning on her heel.

Soon, Kitazawa gathered Kabuto and two others, then set out with Kurenai for the village gates. By the time they arrived, a crowd of ninja had already assembled.

Among them stood two familiar figures—Aburame Shibi and Shiranui Genma.

Shibi, clan head of the Aburame and father to Shino, was a seasoned Jonin. Genma, once Fourth Hokage Minato’s guard, was a sharp-eyed Special Jonin.

"Kitazawa-sama." Shibi stepped forward respectfully.

Kitazawa blinked in surprise. "I don’t deserve that title. Just call me Kitazawa."

"In wartime, formalities matter," Shibi explained calmly. "You are our captain now. It’s only proper."

Behind him, Genma couldn’t hide his daze. Just last year, Kitazawa had been calling him "Senpai." Now, in the blink of an eye, Genma was serving under him.

Life was strange.

But even Genma couldn’t deny Kitazawa’s rapid rise—his strength was undeniable. After all, he had slain Kurosuki Raiga, one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist.

Watching Kitazawa converse easily with Shibi, Kurenai felt as though she were in a dream. She had witnessed his growth firsthand, but only now did the reality of his status hit her.

He had already risen beyond her reach.

Fortunately, she had chosen early—and chosen well. A faint smile touched her lips at the thought, warmth blooming in her chest.

"Enough talk," Kitazawa finally declared. "Let’s move out."

The convoy set off, carriages laden with food, medicine, and ninja tools.

Storage scrolls were too costly for such bulk, and the sheer volume of supplies made horse-drawn transport the only option—unless urgency demanded otherwise.

As the caravan creaked forward, Kitazawa found himself musing. In Boruto’s time, they’ll have lightning trains. How convenient that would be now.

The Aburame clan provided vigilance, their kikaichu scanning constantly for hostile chakra.

Kitazawa unrolled the scroll from Shizune. The intelligence was grim—just this morning, the Mist had mobilized. Four thousand shinobi, led by Ao and Suikazan Fuguki, were marching forth.

An all-out offensive.

Any ordinary Mizukage would never risk such recklessness. But this Mizukage… Yagura, a puppet of Obito, had no hesitation. If not for Gensui’s lingering influence, the Mist might have sent even more.

Kitazawa closed the scroll with a heavy sigh. Four thousand shinobi were daunting enough—especially with the advantage of sea terrain and the dreaded Hidden Mist jutsu.

As expected, Yagura himself would not march. That complicated Kitazawa’s mission.

By the second evening, the caravan was overtaken by Tsunade’s main force. Together, the troops halted to make camp.

Kitazawa slipped into Tsunade’s tent.

"You’ve worked hard, Kitazawa," Tsunade greeted from where she lounged on a carpet.

"It wasn’t difficult. We didn’t even encounter an enemy along the way." Kitazawa sat across from her, his gaze brushing the contours revealed by her loosely draped robes.

Her voice snapped him back. "I just received word—the vanguard was ambushed. Heavy losses." She pressed her temples. "The Mist’s Hidden Mist Jutsu is far too effective for surprise attacks."

Kitazawa’s expression hardened. "A poor start will cripple morale."

"You’re right." Tsunade sat up and unfurled a map.

Three crimson marks stood out.

"These are the Mist’s strongholds. If we can crush even one, we’ll turn the tide."

【Mission Triggered: Secure Konoha’s first victory.】
【Reward: Lightning Release — Lightning Blade】
【Accept?】

Kitazawa exhaled slowly. Three missions in as many days. Truly… war is an opportunity.

[NSSSG] [ARC-06] Chapter : 238 - War Preparations

Becoming Hokage required three steps:

The Hokage's vote, the Jonin vote, and the Daimyo’s approval.

Danzo Shimura felt his stomach twist as he watched the Jonin council. The sight of so many Jonin agreeing to Tsunade being named frontline commander looked less like strategy and more like a rehearsal for the Jonin vote itself.

The villagers’ support? That was already assured. The Senju name alone carried immense weight in Konoha. As the granddaughter of Hashirama Senju, Tsunade’s prestige was unquestionable.

The Daimyo’s approval? Hardly an obstacle. Tsunade was familiar with the Daimyo’s household, and as a renowned medical ninja she had even treated their illnesses.

The more Danzo thought about it, the more suffocating it became. Against Tsunade, he had no advantage. Not with the villagers, not with the Jonin, not even with the Daimyo.

A complete defeat.

Should he concede?

No. Impossible.

Becoming Hokage had been his obsession for decades. He would not—could not—surrender while he still drew breath.

“The frontline commander will be Tsunade,” Hiruzen declared in a low, steady voice. “And the strategist will be Shikaku Nara.”

As tradition demanded, the Nara clan’s brilliance was entrusted with strategy.

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Shikaku said as he stood.

Tsunade gave only a small nod. She hadn’t wanted the role of commander, but circumstances had boxed her in.

First, the war had begun because of Kitazawa, her student—her responsibility. She had also been in charge of the negotiations with the Hidden Mist.
Second, she could not allow Danzo to claw his way back to power. By taking the commander’s mantle, she denied him that chance.
Third, there was Hiruzen. He was her sensei, old and weary, but still working tirelessly to clear her path forward.

Tsunade could resist almost anything—except Hiruzen playing the role of her sensei and tugging at her heart. She could never harden herself against that.

“Shikaku, explain the current situation,” Hiruzen said.

“Though the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura Karatachi, has formally declared war, the Hidden Mist have not mobilized in force,” Shikaku reported. “We suspect reconnaissance teams have already been dispatched. Our Anbu are delivering word to the outposts along the southeastern border as we speak.”

The Land of Water lay southeast of the Land of Fire, across the sea. Any invasion from the Mist would land there first. Konoha had long maintained outposts along its borders, even in times of peace, but they were small—meant to raise alarms, not repel armies.

“Tsunade, your opinion?” Hiruzen asked.

“Send an advance force now,” Tsunade answered. “Once the Mist’s main forces move, we’ll adjust accordingly.”

Her approach was simple: adapt to the situation.

The war’s cause was too strange to commit everything from the start. While Konoha was stronger, it had no desire for a prolonged, large-scale war. Wars among shinobi were like clashing shells—whoever fought hardest, the fisherman profited. If Konoha showed weakness, Kumogakure or another village would pounce, just as they had in past wars.

“Our course should be the opposite!” Danzo barked, slamming his hand on the table. “Strike first! Crush the Mist before they dare set foot on our shores!”

“The Mist’s true state is unclear. Charging blindly would only invite other villages to exploit the chaos,” Tsunade countered calmly.

“She’s right,” Hiruzen agreed without hesitation. “We’ll proceed as Tsunade suggests.”

“Hiruzen, you—” Danzo’s fists clenched, but the Hokage had already turned away.

“Tsunade, who should lead the advance force?” Hiruzen asked.

“The Hyuga Clan,” she said after a pause.

With the Byakugan, they were unmatched at handling sudden encounters and reconnaissance. And unlike pure scouts, the Hyuga possessed formidable combat ability.

Of course, Hiruzen’s question wasn’t about which clan to deploy, but who would command.

Hiashi’s eyes widened in surprise. Traditionally, neither the Hyuga nor Uchiha were granted command. Hiruzen had always kept their influence in check. But Tsunade—Tsunade was different. Even without being Hokage yet, her decisions already shifted the balance.

“…Very well,” Hiruzen said after a moment’s hesitation. To go against Tsunade now would be to undermine his own appointment. “Hiashi, after this meeting you’ll lead a thousand shinobi to the southeastern border.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Hiashi replied solemnly. A rare chance for the Hyuga to claim glory.

“Who will oversee intelligence?” Danzo interjected suddenly.

“Anbu,” Hiruzen said.

“The Anbu are yours, Hiruzen, and you must remain in Konoha,” Danzo pressed. “Why not leave it to me? I commanded Root for years. My experience—”

“Tsunade is the frontline commander,” Hiruzen cut him off. “The Anbu will report directly to her.”

Danzo’s face stiffened. Rejected again. The message was clear: Hiruzen had chosen his successor, and it was not him.

Very well, Hiruzen. If you will not show mercy, then I will not show restraint.

Danzo bit back his words, falling into bitter silence until the council ended.

“For now, that is all,” Hiruzen said, rising to his feet. “We’ll convene again once the Mist moves. Prepare yourselves. Meeting adjourned.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” the Jonin chorused.

As Hiruzen departed, Tsunade was immediately surrounded by shinobi eager to coordinate under her command.

“Lady Tsunade, I’ll return to the Academy first,” Kitazawa said.

“Handle the Academy, but don’t forget—you’re coming with me,” she reminded him.

If he had been only a Chunin instructor, she might have let him stay behind. But his strength rivaled the best Jonin, and besides—this war had begun because of him. Not going would damage both his reputation and hers.

Kitazawa nodded firmly. “Understood.”

He had to go. Because he was the only one who knew the truth—Fourth Mizukage Yagura Karatachi was under someone’s control.

And until that control was broken, the war could never end.

【The war that began because of you should end because of you.】

【Current Mission: Help Fourth Mizukage Yagura Karatachi break free from control.】

【Mission Reward: 30% Senju Clan bloodline and 20% increase in Byakugan purity.】

【Do you accept?】

Kitazawa’s eyes widened.

The reward was absurdly generous.

He already held 70% of the Senju bloodline and 30% Byakugan purity. If he completed this mission, his Senju affinity would hit 100%, and his Byakugan purity would climb to 50%.

One hundred percent Senju—that had to unlock something extraordinary. Fifty percent Byakugan purity might also produce unique effects. Rumors fluttered through his mind: could 100% Byakugan purity somehow lead to the Tenseigan? No—that was too bold. The Tenseigan was Rinnegan-level power; the system would never hand that over so easily. More plausibly, he imagined an evolution akin to the Ōtsutsuki’s moon Byakugan—potent, alien, and rare.

But there was no point indulging fantasies yet. A reward that generous demanded a grueling mission.

At first glance the task was simple: free Yagura from whoever controlled him. In practice, it was a nightmare. Yagura would not appear on the front lines. Kitazawa could either infiltrate the Hidden Mist—the enemy’s heart—or force Yagura into the field. Both options were perilous. If he was discovered inside the Mist, he’d be finished. Forcing Yagura forward was marginally easier: continuous defeats might drive the Mizukage from the rear to the front. Still—difficult.

After accepting, Kitazawa left the council chamber with Kakashi at his side.

“Kakashi, will you be fighting in this war?” he asked.

“I’ll follow Hokage-sama’s orders,” Kakashi said after a beat. “If I can choose… I’d rather teach.” He sounded tired in a way the battlefield had carved into him—endless battles, senseless loss. Two months with the Genius Class had been a restful island; he clung to that routine.

“That’s good,” Kitazawa replied with a light chuckle. “If we all go, Kosuke-senpai will be swamped.”

Kakashi paused—did that mean Kitazawa was going to war? Of course it did. The conflict circled back to him; avoiding it was impossible.

“I’ll return to the Academy and arrange things,” Kitazawa said. He thought it ironic: he had planned for the Genius Class students to act as assistants for the final month of term, and now those plans would be derailed. Training would stagnate—or worse, be interrupted for an unknown stretch.

They reached the Academy. The Jonin meeting had lasted over an hour; the practical exam had already concluded, and the training ground was empty. Students had gone home.

“I’ll fetch Kosuke-senpai,” Kakashi offered.

“Okay,” Kitazawa nodded. “I’ll call Iruka. Meet me in my office afterward.”

Kakashi vanished. Kitazawa found Iruka compiling the Academy rankings.

“Kitazawa-senpai,” Iruka greeted. “By the way, the test was the same as last time—the Genius Class won entirely.”

“Predictable,” Kitazawa smiled. “Wait here. Once Kakashi and Kosuke arrive, we’ll meet.”

A knock announced their return: Kakashi and Kosuke entered and took seats.

“Kakashi and I just attended the Jonin meeting,” Kitazawa said without preamble. “The Hidden Mist has declared war. It’s unavoidable.”

Iruka went pale. “What?”

“War costs lives,” Kosuke sighed.

“You are teachers—you don’t have to go to the front for now,” Kitazawa continued. “But I must. I’ll need you both to teach while I’m gone.”

“I can’t let you—” Iruka began, worry written plain on his face. Blades have no eyes; even great shinobi die without warning.

“I’m going with Lady Tsunade,” Kitazawa assured him. “I’ll be safe enough.”

He then outlined the arrangements.

First: a trial of the teaching-assistant system for the Genius Class. Starting next week, top students—Uchiha Sasuke, Hyuga Neji, Shino Aburame, and others—would act as assistants. Once they’d established a reliable model, the rest of the Genius Class would rotate through.

Second: special training. Some students would continue existing programs—Yakumo Kurama, Hyuga Hinata, Hyuga Neji, and Yamanaka Ino among them. Others would begin new regimens: Akimichi Chōji working the Human Bullet Tank, Uzumaki Naruto starting Wind Release: Great Breakthrough. Sasuke and Sakura were left to Kakashi and Kosuke; Kitazawa trusted them.

“That’s all,” he finished.

“I will carry out the teaching as instructed,” Iruka promised.

“We will too,” Kosuke echoed.

“One more thing,” Kitazawa said, voice steady. “This war may not end soon. If I don’t return in time, you two will be responsible for the final exam.”

They all understood the weight behind that simple sentence. The training schedule was no longer just pedagogy—it was a thread stretching into an uncertain future.

Fortunately, the upcoming final exam—next month’s test—hadn’t triggered any system task. Even if he didn’t participate, Kitazawa would suffer no loss.

“Any other questions?” Kitazawa asked once he had finished his explanation.

“No,” Iruka and the others answered together, shaking their heads.

“Then, everyone can go home.” Kitazawa rose to his feet.

“Kitazawa-senpai, please take care,” Iruka said in a low, serious voice.

“On the battlefield, don’t be reckless. Follow Lady Tsunade’s orders,” Kosuke added. The warning came from his own scars—his teammates had once died because of his own rashness.

Kakashi said nothing, only giving Kitazawa a silent nod.

Once the three departed, Kitazawa slipped away to a quiet corner of the academy grounds. Though the students had long gone, his personal squad was still training.

This time, he would definitely bring Kabuto, Torune, and Izumi to the battlefield. Partly for their growth, partly to complete missions, and perhaps most importantly—to trigger new system tasks.

“Kitazawa-sensei!” Kabuto and the other two stopped their drills the moment they noticed him.

“Go home and prepare,” Kitazawa instructed calmly. “You’ll be coming with me to the southeastern border of the Land of Fire.” He told them of the Mist’s declaration of war.

“Another war…” Kabuto murmured, adjusting his glasses. For him, it wasn’t unfamiliar. He was a child of war, an orphan adopted during the chaos of the Third Great Ninja War.

For Torune and Izumi, however, the news hit heavier. Especially Izumi—though she tried to hide it, her unease was plain. She had never stepped onto a battlefield, yet she understood its cruelty.

“Don’t be afraid,” Kitazawa said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Trust your strength.”

“Yes, Sensei.” Izumi’s nerves eased slightly at his words. With teammates and a teacher this strong, she was far luckier than most.

【Current Mission: Make your squad famous in this war.】
【Mission Reward: A Bloodline Limit and its corresponding Ninjutsu.】
【Accept?】
【Note: The exact reward depends on the fame you achieve.】

Kitazawa’s brow rose. Another variable mission.

He accepted without hesitation. Any Bloodline Limit was valuable—as long as it wasn’t something useless like Hayate’s Hiding in Camouflage. He had no desire to end up coughing blood in the shadows.

The promise of ninjutsu tied to the bloodline made it even better.

[NSSSG] [ARC-06] Chapter : 237 - War with Hidden Mist

“The winner—Uzumaki Naruto!”

Kitazawa’s voice rang out, bringing the battle to its official close.

Neji and Sasuke had both fallen the same way—overwhelmed by Naruto’s relentless combination of Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu, Wind Release: Gale Palm, and a barrage of flying ninja tools. They could defend for a time, but once caught inside the storm’s radius, escape was nearly impossible.

“This concludes the practical exam,” Kitazawa announced. “Take a short break. Rankings will be revealed shortly.”

Leaving the arena, he went to find Iruka.

“In the end, Naruto won,” Tenten sighed, disappointment flickering in her eyes despite her respect for the result. She had supported Neji, but even she had to admit Naruto’s victory was fair.

“Who can even beat him now?” Kiba muttered, frustration written all over his face. “At this rate, even ten years of training might not be enough to catch up.”

“There’s no such thing as an invincible jutsu.”

The calm, steady voice drew everyone’s attention.

“Kosuke-sensei!” The Genius Class students quickly bowed as Kosuke approached.

“Kosuke-sensei, how can we possibly defeat Naruto?” Kiba blurted out, eager for an answer.

Sasuke, Neji, and even Naruto himself turned to listen. If anyone knew where his weaknesses lay, it would be Kosuke.

“The simplest way,” Kosuke said slowly, “is with strong defensive ninjutsu.”

“And Earth Release,” Kakashi added as he appeared at his side.

“Exactly.” Kosuke nodded in agreement.

The two seasoned shinobi began discussing counters to the devastating winds Naruto unleashed, trading insights as the students hung on every word.

Meanwhile, Kitazawa was with Iruka, finalizing the results. As he looked down at the slip before him, three familiar lines of text appeared.

【Current Mission: Help Uzumaki Naruto defeat Uchiha Sasuke and Hyūga Neji in the next Monthly Exam.】
【Mission Reward: One-fifth increase to Chakra capacity limit.】
【Mission complete. Reward issued.】

A strange look crossed Kitazawa’s face as a surge of chakra flooded into him, filling his body with a satisfying fullness. His reserves had now reached an astonishing level—enough to sustain Senju Chakra Mode for an additional thirty seconds.

“The rankings are ready, Kitazawa-senpai,” Iruka reminded him.

“Good work, Iruka.” Kitazawa accepted the roster. “Bring in the students from other classes who want to challenge.”

Iruka chuckled. “After their complete loss last time, I doubt there’ll be many challengers.”

“That’s to be expected. The Genius Class has too much of an edge.” Kitazawa’s eyes flicked over the list before he added, “But for this last month, I plan to implement something new—the tutor system.”

Iruka blinked. “Tutors?”

“Yes. The Genius Class students will temporarily act as teaching assistants for the other classes—demonstrating basic ninjutsu like the Clone Technique. It’ll help them review old knowledge and give them a break from nonstop training.”

Iruka frowned slightly. “Won’t this slow their progress?”

“Not if it’s balanced properly,” Kitazawa replied. “We’ll sort out the details later. For now, it’s time to announce the results.”

When Kitazawa returned to the waiting students, Kosuke and Kakashi stepped back, allowing him to take center stage. Sasuke and Neji looked reluctant—they had wanted to keep hearing from the two veteran shinobi.

“I’ll announce the theoretical exam rankings first,” Kitazawa began.

As he read out the results, Kiba immediately groaned. “Shikamaru, you’re holding back again!”

“How am I holding back?” Shikamaru raised his hands in mock innocence, smirking. “This is just my natural level.”

The class stared at him in disbelief. No one could figure out how he kept bouncing between first and tenth place so consistently.

“I don’t get it,” Naruto muttered, scratching his head.

“You shouldn’t talk,” Ino shot back with a snort. “You and Shikamaru both make no sense.”

Naruto chuckled sheepishly. Even he couldn’t explain the ridiculous amount of chakra he had.

“Next, the practical exam rankings,” Kitazawa continued, instantly drawing everyone’s full attention.

“First place—Uzumaki Naruto.”

“I’m finally first again!” Naruto whooped, pumping his fists. Even though he’d expected it, hearing the official announcement still filled him with pride.

“Don’t get too cocky!” Kiba barked, fists clenched. “Kosuke-sensei and Kakashi-sensei just gave us plenty of ideas to beat you next time!”

“You won’t hold onto first so easily,” Sasuke said coolly, his eyes sharp.

“Agreed,” Neji added, his usual aloofness softened with determination. He could feel the thrill of competition pushing him forward.

Naruto grinned. “Bring it on! Youth is about taking on all challenges!”

“So passionate,” Shikamaru sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand why you all care so much about first place.”

“This is the spirit of youth!” Lee declared, giving a thumbs-up.

“Not everything is about youth,” Tenten groaned, rubbing her forehead.

“Second place, Yakumo Kurama,” Kitazawa read. “Third place, Uchiha Sasuke. Fourth place, Hyūga Neji. Fifth place, Hyūga Hinata.”

Kitazawa raised his hand to silence the class before continuing, “Sixth place, Shino Aburame. Seventh place, Ino Yamanaka.”

The top seven, aside from Uzumaki Naruto, were nearly identical to the results of the last practical exam.

Each of them had improved, of course—but none as drastically as Naruto. His growth had been so explosive that it launched him straight into first place.

“Eighth place, Sakura Haruno. Ninth place, Inuzuka Hana. Tenth place, Tenten. Eleventh place, Inuzuka Kiba.”

Kitazawa paused, then went on, “Twelfth place, Nara Shikamaru. Thirteenth place, Rock Lee. Fourteenth place, Akimichi Choji—”

“I actually made eighth place?” Sakura gasped, her eyes wide with shock and delight.

Last time, Ino Yamanaka had been the one to leap forward. This time, the spotlight was hers. Sakura had jumped from thirteenth place to eighth, a remarkable improvement.

The reason was simple: she had mastered an additional B-rank Water Release jutsu—something most Academy students could only dream of.

“But you’re still one spot below me,” Ino smirked, flicking a golden strand of hair out of her face.

“Hmph, just wait and see!” Sakura shot back, unwilling to concede.

“The Genius Class is brutal,” Tenten sighed. Only a month had passed, yet she had slipped from eighth to tenth.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t grown—she had even learned the Shadow Clone Technique—but both Sakura and Hana had advanced faster, pushing her down the list. In her old Second Year Class A, rankings had never fluctuated this wildly.

“It’s over for me!” Kiba groaned, clutching his head. “I’ve fallen out of the top ten!”

“It’s alright,” Hana said warmly, patting his shoulder. “At least your sister made it in.”

“Does that even count?!” Kiba wailed.

“Twelfth place… troublesome,” Shikamaru muttered, frowning. His written exam had earned him tenth, but his practical had dropped him to twelfth, pushing his overall ranking out of the top ten.

He had aimed for exactly tenth place. He hadn’t accounted for Sakura and Hana’s sudden growth. Now he’d have to explain this to his mother, Yoshino. A headache was already forming.

Kitazawa was about to continue when his gaze shifted sharply toward the academy entrance. A figure approached swiftly, landing before them.

Naruto and Neji turned curiously. The newcomer wore a gray vest.

Sasuke recognized it instantly. An Anbu operative. He had seen Itachi wear the same kind of vest.

“Kitazawa-sama, Kakashi-senpai,” the masked ninja said. “Hokage-sama requests your presence at the Hokage Building’s council room immediately. A Jōnin meeting has been convened.”

Kitazawa’s heart tightened.

Jōnin meetings were rarely sudden. If one was called without warning, something serious was happening in Konoha.

“I understand,” Kitazawa replied with a nod.

The Anbu vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

“Kosuke-senpai.” Kitazawa handed over the roster. “I’ll leave the rest to you, including the challenge matches.”

“No problem,” Kosuke said readily. Though not a Jōnin himself, he understood what this sudden summons implied.

Kitazawa and Kakashi exchanged a glance before heading toward the Hokage Building together.

As they walked, Kitazawa’s mind raced. In the original timeline, nothing major had happened that year beyond the Uchiha massacre. But with his interference, that tragedy would no longer come to pass.

That left only one possibility—Obito Uchiha.

By the time they arrived, the council room was already full. At the center sat Hiruzen, who must have received word first before calling the others to assemble.

Danzo was also present, notably absent from the last council.

“Over here,” Tsunade called, lifting her hand.

“Kakashi, I’ll go ahead,” Kitazawa said before moving to sit beside her.

“It’s a declaration of war from the Hidden Mist Village,” Tsunade whispered.

Kitazawa’s expression hardened. “The reason… wouldn’t happen to be the Kiba, would it?”

“You guessed it,” Tsunade said with a wry smile. “Congratulations—you’ve carved your name into history by single-handedly starting a war with the Mist.”

“Lady Tsunade, is this really the time for jokes?” Kitazawa muttered, exasperated. But deep down, he already knew the truth.

The real reason was Obito.

Wounded, furious, and ruthless, he had forced Yagura—the Fourth Mizukage under his control—to declare war on Konoha. Not because of a sword, but simply to spite the village.

After all, to Obito, the Mist was nothing more than a pawn. Even if Yagura lost and the Mist collapsed, it wouldn’t matter. His real aim was Akatsuki and the Eye of the Moon Plan.

“Don’t worry, the old man won’t blame you,” Tsunade said, her voice softer now. “Anyone can see the Mist wouldn’t declare war over a single blade.”

The Kiba blades might be valuable, but it wasn’t priceless.

And once war erupted, the Hidden Mist Village's losses would extend far beyond a single sword.

Kitazawa nodded.

Though, in truth, he was the one who had sparked this war.

At most, only Kakashi could be added to that list.

“The only person you need to watch is Danzo,” Tsunade warned. “He’ll certainly use this situation to stir trouble.”

“Given his personality, no doubt he will,” Kitazawa replied. He paused, thinking. “And he’ll probably drag you into it as well.”

Danzo’s ultimate goal was to become Hokage, and Tsunade stood directly in his path. Now that Kitazawa had made a mistake linking himself to her, Danzo would inevitably exploit it.

Tsunade merely nodded, unsurprised. She had long expected this.

“But stirring trouble isn’t his only goal,” Kitazawa continued, stroking his chin. “He may see this as an opportunity to seize power.”

War was always a double-edged sword—a risk and a chance for those bold enough to grasp it. If Danzo were to take command of this conflict, he would reclaim his place at the pinnacle of power.

“The old man won’t let him succeed,” Tsunade said firmly. “Danzo’s too old to lead the war.”

Kitazawa cleared his throat. “And you?”

Tsunade went silent. No one in all of Konoha was better suited to command this war than she. Among the middle-aged and younger generation of shinobi, her strength and authority were unmatched.

The others were either too old, like Danzo, or too young, like Kakashi. Hiashi and Fugaku could be considered, but they were clan heads first and Konoha ninjas second. Hiruzen would never entrust them with this responsibility.

By default, the mantle fell to Tsunade.

“I’ve noticed something,” she muttered, rubbing her temples, “ever since I met you, nothing good has happened.” She already sensed she couldn’t avoid this.

“My fault,” Kitazawa said sincerely. “Once this war is over, I’ll take you to the casino, Lady Tsunade.”

“How can a war end so easily?” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“The Hidden Mist Village is no match for us,” Kitazawa replied. “If we uncover why they started this, the war could be over quickly.”

Tsunade gave a slight nod. But she couldn’t immediately see any reason for the Hidden Mist to declare war. If she were in their shoes, there was no logic in attacking a stronger ninja village over a mere blade.

“Alright, everyone’s here. Let’s begin the meeting,” Hiruzen said, clapping the table. “I just received word from Fourth Mizukage Yagura Karatachi—he has declared war on Konoha.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Didn’t we just negotiate with them? Why declare war now?”
“How could the Hidden Mist change their stance so quickly?”
“With their strength, they dare challenge us? They’ve overestimated themselves!”

The Jonin murmured anxiously, bewildered by the sudden declaration.

“Hiruzen, explain the reason for their declaration,” Danzo demanded.

“The Fourth Mizukage claims it’s because we refused to hand over the Lightning Blades: Kiba,” Hiruzen replied. “But that’s clearly an absurd excuse.”

Danzo snorted coldly. “Absurd? This mess was caused by Kitazawa. His seizure of war spoils sparked this conflict. He killed Kurosuki Raiga, so the Lightning Blade: Kiba belongs to him.”

“How is that appropriation?” Hiruzen frowned.

“Perhaps,” Danzo said, sidestepping, “but once war breaks out, how much will Konoha lose due to his selfishness? And Tsunade is partly to blame for failing to guide him properly.”

“Danzo!” Hiruzen snapped. “Unreasonable!”

Hiashi, Fugaku, and the others exchanged glances but said nothing. They knew this was more than a war—it was a struggle for influence within Konoha, a silent clash between Tsunade and Danzo for the position of Hokage.

“Kitazawa followed Konoha’s rules. What’s wrong with that?” Tsunade asked, calm but firm.

“He provoked this war!” Danzo retorted.

“Then let him end it,” Tsunade said, indifferent.

“End it?” Danzo sneered. “Does he have the power?”

“What if we do it together?” Tsunade challenged, looking him squarely in the eyes.

Danzo’s heart skipped. He had come to this council to claim command of the war—he couldn’t allow Tsunade to lead. If she won, she would have a clear path to become the Fifth Hokage.

“Excellent!” Hiruzen exclaimed, joy swelling in his chest. “Then let’s appoint him immediately.” Tsunade had proposed it herself, and he could hardly be happier.

“Wait!” Danzo protested. “I disagree!”

“Disagree with what?” Hiruzen asked sharply.

“Kitazawa made mistakes. And Tsunade, as his teacher, bears responsibility. How can someone at fault lead on the frontlines?”

Ah. So that was his plan.

“This was an unintentional mistake,” Hiruzen said calmly. “Then let her resolve it and atone for her actions.”

Danzo’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Any objections?” Hiruzen asked, glancing at Hiashi and the other Jonin.

“No,” came the unanimous response.

Danzo felt a chill crawl up his spine—his plan had been undone in broad daylight.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 236 - Naruto's Dominance, Sasuke's Shock

“You won this round, but next time, I’ll definitely beat you!”
Sakura huffed, refusing to admit defeat.

“Next time, I’ll still win,” Ino replied with absolute confidence, flashing a bright smile as she tucked away her Ninja Flower.

“Hmph, we’ll see about that!” Sakura shot back, glaring at her rival with fiery determination.

“Don’t forget—you’re treating me to barbecue tonight.” Ino said it casually, as if it were already settled.

Sakura’s expression faltered. A sharp pang hit her chest.
Her allowance… gone in an instant.

“Winner: Ino Yamanaka,” Kitazawa announced with a knowing smile.

“We’re heading back now, Kitazawa-sensei!” Ino waved cheerfully before dragging Sakura back toward the Genius Class formation.

“First round, second match: Hinata Hyuga versus Shino Aburame.” Kitazawa drew the lot and spoke clearly.

As his voice faded, glowing text appeared before his eyes:

【Current Mission: Help Ino Yamanaka defeat Sakura Haruno in the next Monthly Exam.】
【Mission Reward: Mind Transfer Clone Technique.】
【Mission Complete. Reward Issued.】

It was Ino’s mission—and her prize had already been delivered. Kitazawa only glanced at it before turning his focus back to the field.

Hinata stepped forward with calm composure. Across from her, Shino adjusted his glasses.

He had faced Hinata before—never once victorious. The Byakugan simply countered his Kikaichu too well. Even with newly cultivated insects, the outcome seemed obvious.

And indeed, it was.

The Kikaichu swarmed, but Hinata’s Byakugan tracked them with merciless precision. She closed the distance in a blur, the Body Flicker Technique carrying her straight to her opponent.

“Gentle Fist: Eight Trigrams Thirty-Two Palms!”

Strikes rained down like thunder. Shino’s defenses crumbled; his insects dispersed, crushed. The final blow sent him skidding across the ground.

“Winner: Hinata Hyuga,” Kitazawa declared, nodding in approval.

Compared to her timid counterpart in the original story, this Hinata had blossomed—her growth was astonishing.

“Hinata’s gotten so much stronger,” Ino murmured thoughtfully.

“That was the Gentle Fist: Eight Trigrams Thirty-Two Palms,” Neji admitted with a deep breath. She was no longer beneath him—her true potential had finally awakened.

Her change stemmed from more than bloodline alone. Confidence, proper nourishment, and Kitazawa’s relentless guidance had all shaped this version of Hinata.

“No wonder…” Ino nodded, remembering the Hyuga Clan’s famed technique, spoken of in the same breath as the Uchiha Clan’s Fire Release.

Sasuke Uchiha frowned slightly. The speed of her strikes exceeded his expectations. Even with his two-tomoe Sharingan, a single mistake would mean disaster. Luckily, he had his Leaf-Style Swordsmanship and Fire Release to maintain distance.

Nearby, Naruto scratched his head. Kitazawa’s training had forced him to think differently, to analyze. Like Sasuke, he realized that distance was the key. Multiple Shadow Clones, ninja tools, and Wind Release: Gale Palm—that would be his counter.

“First round, third match: Yakumo Kurama versus Choji Akimichi,” Kitazawa announced, glancing at the next slip of paper.

“Choji… tough luck,” Shikamaru muttered, patting his friend’s shoulder.

“Just try your best,” Ino encouraged him with a smile. “It’s only the monthly exam, anyway.”

Sakura pouted. Funny, you didn’t say that when you fought me.

Choji, however, remained calm. His focus was on food, not victory.

“Youth means charging straight at your obstacles!” Naruto gave him a big thumbs-up. “Go for it, Choji!”

Choji grinned innocently and lumbered onto the field.

Facing Yakumo, he wasted no time.

“Partial Multi-Size Technique!”

His right arm ballooned into a massive hand that swept forward like a great windmill.

Gasps erupted from the watching students. Though Sasuke and Naruto had already shown impressive ninjutsu, this was their first glimpse of the Akimichi Clan’s secret technique.

“Whoa!” Naruto’s eyes gleamed. “That jutsu’s amazing!” He imagined combining it with his clones—an army of giants.

Kiba quickly explained. “That’s the Partial Multi-Size Technique. If it were the full Giantification Technique, he’d be taller than the academy itself.”

“Too strong!” Naruto’s imagination went wild with images of colossal clone armies. But he also knew better—clan secrets weren’t meant for outsiders.

Sasuke, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes. Something was off. “Yakumo isn’t using Genjutsu?”

All eyes turned back to the field.

Yakumo dodged the giant hand and countered with a sharp kick to Choji’s wrist. He stumbled but recovered quickly, releasing the technique and rolling back to his feet.

Yakumo pressed forward, throwing a swift punch. Choji blocked with his arms—his greater size held firm. He retaliated with a strike of his own, but Yakumo’s Leaf Whirlwind countered, forcing them into close-quarters combat.

The class watched in shock. Yakumo, known for her Genjutsu, was holding her own in Taijutsu.

“Her hand-to-hand is this good now?” Sakura exclaimed.

“If her Genjutsu is already the best and she covers her weakness in Taijutsu… who could even stop her?” Kiba muttered, wide-eyed.

Sasuke stayed silent, unsettled. Yakumo’s progress spelled danger. He felt pressure tightening around him—he couldn’t afford to fall behind.

“Kitazawa-sensei really is terrifying. Everyone’s improving under him,” Ino murmured. Hinata gave a quiet nod.

Ultimately, Yakumo shifted gears. The moment Choji regained footing, she struck with Genjutsu. The tide turned instantly, and Choji collapsed in defeat.

“Winner: Yakumo Kurama,” Kitazawa declared.

Her strategy was clear—fight with her weakness until the last moment, then secure victory with her strength. It was a brutal, effective way to grow.

Match after match followed. In the blink of an eye, the first round’s fifteen battles concluded.

“Now, the second round begins.”

After the short break, Kitazawa drew another lot.
“Second round, first match—Naruto Uzumaki versus Sasuke Uchiha.”

No doubt, the draw had been rigged again.

“Here we go… the main event.”

For once, Shikamaru dropped his lazy demeanor, his eyes fixed on the field. He might have hated exertion, but a good fight always drew him in—and battles between Naruto and Sasuke never disappointed.

“Sasuke-kun! Take Naruto down again!” Sakura cheered, fists clenched in excitement.

“Naruto, you better win this time!” Kiba barked, his voice booming over the crowd.

The Genius Class instantly split into two noisy camps, each side fiercely backing their favorite.

“Thanks, everyone!” Naruto beamed, waving as if he were already a champion. “On the name of youth, I won’t lose this time!”

“Whether you lose or not isn’t for you to decide,” Sasuke replied coolly, stepping onto the field with composed confidence.

“Sasuke! I’ve been waiting for this! Youth means going all out—come on!” Naruto gave him a big thumbs-up as he joined him in the arena.

Sasuke’s brow twitched. His grip tightened around his ninja sword.

“Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu!”

Naruto opened with his signature move—sixty clones burst into existence, filling the battlefield.

“Tch. Throwing ninja tools again?” Sasuke thought, already weaving signs.

Shadow Clone Technique!

Two clones appeared at his sides—his tried-and-true formation. But to his surprise, Naruto wasn’t using his usual three-row tactic.

Instead, thirty clones formed a sweeping semicircle in front, while the other thirty stood directly behind him in support.

Sasuke frowned. What’s he planning…?

“Wind Release: Gale Palm!”

Naruto slammed his palms together, compressing chakra into a dense current before unleashing it in a deafening roar.

The first row of clones mimicked him instantly.

Thirty-one Violent Wind Palms overlapped into one monstrous storm. The training ground shook, trees bent, and dust exploded into the sky.

Then, the rear formation moved. Sixty kunai whistled forward, caught in the screaming winds and propelled like blades of steel.

Sasuke’s eyes widened. What the hell is this…?

The gale tore across the ground like an ocean swallowing a lone boat. The kunai were no longer simple weapons—they were projectiles carried by a hurricane.

Swordsmanship? Genjutsu? Useless here.

Kitazawa’s lips twitched. “So this is what happens when you give that much chakra to one kid. Outrageous…”

Even the audience felt the pressure. Kitazawa quickly appeared in front of them, forming rapid hand seals.
Water Release: Water Formation Wall!

A wall of water surged up, shielding the Genius Class from Naruto’s storm.

But Sasuke wasn’t so lucky.

Body Flicker Technique!

He darted left at top speed—but the gale caught him almost immediately.

“Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!”

He spun and spat a blazing sphere, but the moment it met the windstorm, it scattered like a candle flame in a hurricane.

One Violent Wind Palm could send a person flying. Thirty-one together could flatten a building.

And the kunai within made it a death storm.

Sasuke barely had time to draw his sword. Steel clashed desperately against steel as he deflected kunai after kunai. But against sixty, propelled by hurricane winds, it was futile.

The gale swallowed him whole.

Kitazawa flickered in front of him. Earth Release: Earth Flow Wall!

A massive wall of stone rose, halting the onslaught at the last moment.

When the winds died down, silence fell.

The Genius Class stood frozen, mouths open in disbelief. Even Sasuke could only stare, stunned.

“Winner—Naruto Uzumaki.”

Kitazawa lowered the wall and announced calmly.

The words snapped everyone back to reality.

Sasuke clenched his fists but said nothing. He hadn’t even shown half his abilities before being crushed. What kind of fight was that…?

“A C-rank Wind Release, stacked with Shadow Clones… and it turns into that?” Shikamaru muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Most people don’t even have that kind of chakra!” Kiba growled.

“More than all of us put together,” Tenten admitted, both envious and awestruck. She could barely manage a few summonings before exhausting herself. Yet Naruto had unleashed thirty-one C-rank jutsu in one go and looked fresh as ever.

Sakura glanced at Sasuke, worry clouding her eyes. Losing like this—so decisively—had to sting.

Neji’s expression darkened. He analyzed carefully. The only way to stop that barrage… was to prevent Naruto from ever casting it. And even that seemed daunting. For the first time, he truly grasped the weight of raw power.

“Youth is a storm!” Lee shouted, flashing his bright grin. “Naruto, well done!”

From the distance, Kakashi and Kosuke finally looked surprised.

“This kid’s chakra pool is unbelievable,” Kosuke said, voice full of wonder.

Kakashi nodded silently. Compared to his own at that age… no, even now, Naruto’s reserves already surpassed him. But then, he reminded himself—Naruto was both an Uzumaki and the Nine-Tails’ jinchūriki. It was only natural.

“Still… that tactic’s crude,” Kosuke added thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t work against strong opponents. Too much chakra wasted.”

“Maybe,” Kakashi replied, eyes narrowing. “But for this generation, it’s more than enough.”

His gaze lingered on Sasuke. Swordsmanship, fire release, and genjutsu weren’t enough against that wind. But lightning release… yes, that could cut through a storm. And Sasuke was ready for it.

Kitazawa rested a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder. “You two can step down.”

Sasuke said nothing, his eyes shadowed as he walked off the field.

“Second round, second match—Tenten versus Inuzuka Hana!” Kitazawa called out.

Kitazawa’s voice rang out across the field after drawing the next lot.

“Sis, watch out for her ninja tools!” Kiba called out immediately, concern lacing his tone.

“Mhm.” Inuzuka Hana gave him a confident smile. “Don’t worry. Kitazawa-sensei taught me a new secret technique. I think it’s time to test it out.”

The word Secret Technique made Tenten’s eyes sharpen. She had no idea what Hana had learned under Kitazawa’s guidance, and that uncertainty made her wary.

The two kunoichi stepped into the arena.

Not wasting a moment, Tenten formed hand seals. She had no intention of giving Hana the chance to use her mysterious technique first.

Shadow Clone Jutsu!

Four identical Tentens appeared, each immediately unleashing a storm of ninja tools. Kunai and shuriken filled the sky until the sun itself seemed blotted out.

Hana’s expression tightened. She knows the Shadow Clone Technique too?!

There was no time to hesitate. She slammed her hands together.
“Quadruple Fang Over Fang!”

With a sharp growl, Hana and the three Haimaru brothers spun into four violent tornadoes of fang and chakra. The vortexes tore across the battlefield, deflecting Tenten’s raining steel as if they were mere twigs in a storm.

Then, the spinning fangs accelerated and lunged straight at Tenten.

“What?!”

Three of the Tentens scattered to both sides, hurling kunai and chains in retreat. But their weapons had no effect—nothing could halt the momentum of the Inuzuka clan’s ultimate assault.

After all, Fang Over Fang was powerful enough to drill through solid stone. With four users and chakra-enhanced speed, the technique’s destructive force was leagues above simple ninja tools.

The tornado pack split into two pairs, hunting the Tentens like wolves cornering prey.

Boom!

The real Tenten was struck, her clones dispersing instantly under the crushing force. She cried out as her body was flung backward—only to be caught mid-air by Kitazawa, who appeared in a flash.

“Thank you, Kitazawa-sensei…” Tenten gasped, pale but safe.

“Winner—Inuzuka Hana!” Kitazawa declared, his tone firm.

The match ended, and the exams rolled on. Morning crept toward noon, the arena buzzing with the tension of each clash.

Finally, Kitazawa raised his voice again.
“Third round, seventh match—Uzumaki Naruto versus Hyūga Neji!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. This was the third and final “arranged” battle of the day.

Neji stepped onto the field with a grave expression. The devastating match between Sasuke and Naruto earlier still lingered in his mind. Pressure weighed on his chest—he knew he had little chance, but pride and duty demanded he fight.

He charged in with blinding speed.
“Gentle Fist—Eight Trigrams Thirty-Two Palms!”

His goal was clear: suppress Naruto before he could call forth his clones.

But Naruto wasn’t so easily caught. With a clap of his hands, he cloaked himself in surging winds.
“Wind Release: Gale Palm!”

The gale erupted around him, accelerating his body and forcing distance between them.

Neji faltered for a split second, eyes widening. He’s using wind release like armor… to evade?

“Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu!”

Naruto took full advantage of the gap. In an instant, sixty clones filled the field.

“Eight Trigrams—Vacuum Palm!”

Neji reacted swiftly, his Byakugan spotting the real Naruto among the sea of copies. He launched a sharp palm strike straight at him—

—but it was already too late.

“Wind Release: Gale Palm!”

The storm howled to life once again, vast and unstoppable, descending upon the Hyūga prodigy like the wrath of nature itself.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 235 - Stubborn Tsunade

Thursday

The Genius Class was set to face their second monthly exam.

Kitazawa arrived at the academy after breakfast, still mulling over his training. For the past two days, he had been drilling Earth Release: Headhunter Jutsu, but his progress felt frustratingly slow.

He considered tapping into the Three-Tomoe Sharingan to accelerate the process by copying the technique outright. But revealing that ability in front of Konoha’s shinobi was dangerous. With the Anbu scouring the village for Obito, the last thing he needed was to give Hiruzen another reason for suspicion.

After some thought, Kitazawa devised another approach. He would follow Kakuzu’s example—take bounty missions on weekends through the underground exchange. Test his skills against outsiders where it wouldn’t raise eyebrows. Perhaps even against an Iwagakure shinobi this Saturday.

“Good morning, Kitazawa-sensei!”

A sweet, floral scent brushed past him as Ino appeared, bright and energetic.

“Morning,” Kitazawa replied, snapping out of his thoughts. He smiled and asked, “Where are Shikamaru and Choji today?”

“I stopped at the flower shop, so I didn’t come with them,” she said.

“Oh? What for?”

“I asked my mom to prepare the petals I’ll need for tomorrow’s jutsu.” She clenched her little fist with determination. “This time, I’m definitely beating Sakura!”

Kitazawa chuckled. “Your strength is slightly ahead of hers. Just make sure to watch out for her Water Release: Water Formation Wall.”

“Kitazawa-sensei!”

Ino skipped ahead, spinning around to face him while walking backward, her golden ponytail swaying. “Does that jutsu have a weakness?”

Kitazawa tapped her forehead with a finger, amused. “What’s this? You trying to make me help you cheat?”

“It’s not cheating!” Ino puffed her cheeks. “Sakura’s seen my techniques plenty of times, but I haven’t seen her use this one. I’m just gathering intelligence.”

“Fine.” Kitazawa thought for a moment. “I’ll show you the jutsu myself. But as for finding its weak point—that’s up to you.”

Ino’s face lit up. “Thank you, Kitazawa-sensei!”

They headed to the training ground together. Since today was only the written exam, the field was quiet.

“Water Release: Water Formation Wall!”

Kitazawa formed the hand seals, and a sudden surge of water encircled him, rising into a protective barrier.

“An all-around defense?” Ino murmured, frowning as she analyzed it.

Kitazawa dropped the technique and asked, “Well?”

“It looks really troublesome…” Ino admitted, her expression tight. “No wonder Sakura’s so confident.”

“No jutsu is invincible,” Kitazawa reminded her, patting her head.

“Mm. I’ll think it through this afternoon,” Ino said breezily, then tugged his arm. “But for now, let’s hurry!”

When they arrived at the classroom, Tenten eyed them curiously. “Ino, why did you come with Kitazawa-sensei today?”

“I bumped into him,” Ino said casually, her eyes darting mischievously. “I asked for some tips on beating Sakura.”

“Eh?!” Sakura shot up, indignant. “That’s cheating!”

“Hmph! Just wait and accept defeat!” Ino declared, clinging triumphantly to Kitazawa’s arm.

“Kitazawa-sensei isn’t like that!” Sakura huffed, glancing at him with certainty.

Caught, Ino’s smile faltered. “Tch, you saw through me?” She pouted.

“How terrifying,” Shikamaru sighed, shaking his head. “Psychological warfare for a monthly exam…”

“I call it youth!” Lee exclaimed, striking his familiar pose with sparkling teeth.

“Where’s Naruto?” Kiba asked, scanning the room. “It’s weird without him yelling.”

“If you can get used to that, you’re doomed,” Shikamaru muttered.

“He probably overslept,” Kitazawa said, glancing at the clock. “Still ten minutes left.”

“He must’ve trained too late last night,” Kiba guessed.

“That’s why he gets first place,” Ino said with admiration.

“Correction—last time, Sasuke-kun was first!” Sakura snapped.

“This time too,” Sasuke said flatly.

Before anyone could respond, a blur burst through the doorway.

“Ahhh! Am I late?!” Naruto panted, bracing himself against the desk.

“The exam’s already over,” Shikamaru deadpanned.

Naruto froze. Sasuke sighed, shaking his head—how could he fall for something so obvious?

Kitazawa chuckled, patting Naruto’s shoulder. “Relax, it hasn’t started yet. Take your seat.”

Naruto exhaled in relief, then shot Shikamaru a glare. “You tricked me!”

“I’ll buy you Ichiraku for lunch,” Shikamaru replied instantly. Problem solved.

Soon, the exam began. Kitazawa handed out the papers and, unlike last time, didn’t use the opportunity to sneak away for training. Instead, he sat at the front desk, scribbling notes for his experimental limb-regeneration ninjutsu while the class worked.

Two hours later, he called time. The students’ varied expressions—relief, despair, smugness—made him smile as he collected the papers.

“Tomorrow at nine sharp,” he announced, “we’ll hold the practical exam at the Training Ground. Don’t be late.”

Back in his office, Kitazawa summoned nine Shadow Clones. Together, they graded all thirty tests in no time. As expected, the rankings barely shifted—except for Shikamaru, who had slipped dramatically from first to tenth, while Sakura, Neji, Sasuke, and Hinata each climbed a notch.

“The real decider will be the practicals,” Kitazawa mused, stretching.

This time, the system had issued him two side missions—one for Ino, one for Naruto. He had already taught them everything they needed. The rest was up to them.

Closing the office door, Kitazawa stepped outside—only to spot Tsunade, Shikaku, and the Hidden Mist delegation at the main gate.

His brow furrowed. Negotiations had never interested him much, but running into them now was unexpected. Curious, he decided to follow.

At the gate, Fuguki's voice rumbled with frustration.
“Konoha’s arrogance—we’ll remember it. Sooner or later, we’ll return to challenge you.”

No matter what terms they’d offered, Konoha had flatly refused to hand over the Kiba. The Mizukage’s latest order had forced Fuguki to withdraw early, carrying only Raiga’s corpse back with him. Still, Konoha’s stubbornness left a bitter taste.

“Konoha is always ready to welcome you,” Tsunade replied coolly, unfazed.

“Let’s go.”

Fuguki leapt into the forest, his men close behind.

“It’s finally over… What a waste of my time.”

Tsunade stretched her shoulders with clear irritation. “Next time, whoever wants to sit through those negotiations can go in my place.”

Shikaku and the others wisely kept silent, pretending not to hear.

“You’re dismissed.”

Tsunade waved them off, knowing venting her frustration on them was pointless.

“Yes, Lady Tsunade.”

They bowed lightly before turning to leave.

“You worked hard, Lady Tsunade.”

Kitazawa stepped forward, his voice calm.

“Do you have plans this afternoon?” she asked, giving him a sidelong glance. She had noticed him tailing the group long before.

“Nothing, really,” Kitazawa admitted after a pause. “But if you’re thinking of dragging me to the casino, I—”

“You what?”

Before he could finish, Tsunade seized his wrist with surprising force. Her amber eyes gleamed. “I haven’t set foot in the casino for days—because of you. You owe me.”

Kitazawa stiffened. The negotiations had dragged on only because he had taken Raiga’s Kiba. Without that, there would’ve been nothing for the Hidden Mist to bargain over.

He tried to pull free, but her grip was ironclad.

“…Alright,” he sighed. After all, he was responsible.

“Good!” Tsunade’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go before Shizune finds out!”

“Aren’t you at least going to eat lunch?” Kitazawa asked, lips twitching.

“Go buy us two bento boxes.” She finally released him but wagged a finger in warning. “And don’t think of running off, or you’ll regret it.”

“How could I dare?” Kitazawa chuckled. “I’m a man of my word.”

“I’ll wait at our usual spot,” she said, her expression softening briefly before striding away.

Kitazawa exhaled. Buying bentos felt wasteful when he had food at home. Better to cook two portions himself.

“You’re back? I’ll start dinner.”

Kurenai rose to her feet as soon as he entered.

“No need,” Kitazawa replied. “I’m eating out. Tsunade wants me to bring her food at the casino.”

“The negotiations with the Hidden Mist are done, then?” Kurenai asked, immediately understanding.

“Mm.” Kitazawa moved into the kitchen.

Without a word, Kurenai followed. She picked up an apron, tied it neatly around his waist, and said gently, “I’ll fetch the containers.”

Her movements were calm and practiced, her expression warm—like a wife who’d done this countless times.

When the meal was ready, Kitazawa carried the two lunch boxes straight to the casino.

Tsunade was already there, eyes locked on the dealer, completely immersed in the game.

“Lady Tsunade,” Kitazawa said, setting the boxes down. “Eat first.”

“Don’t have time,” she replied curtly, not looking away. “Feed me.”

Kitazawa blinked. “How can you say that?”

“Why not?” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m your teacher, after all.”

“…Fine.” He picked up the chopsticks, grasped a fried shrimp, and held it out.

Tsunade leaned forward, lips parting just enough to catch it. Her tongue flicked lightly against the food before pulling it into her mouth.

Kitazawa could only think: a feast for the eyes.

“Damn it!”

Her expression soured in an instant, delicate features twisting with annoyance. “I lost again!”

Kitazawa only shook his head. For someone who’d lost for decades, her persistence was almost admirable.

“Open your mouth,” he said, offering a rice ball this time.

Tsunade’s face was dark, but she bit down fiercely. For a moment, Kitazawa worried she’d take his fingers along with it.

The afternoon dragged on in the same rhythm—feeding her between losses. Unsurprisingly, Tsunade didn’t win a single round.

When they finally stepped out of the casino, the air felt lighter.

“Fuguki’s behavior was odd,” Tsunade muttered. “A few days ago he was unyielding, but today he gave in far too easily.”

Kitazawa’s brow furrowed. Could this be Obito’s doing? If Obito truly controlled the Fourth Mizukage, it explained everything.

A chill of foreboding crept through him. In the original timeline, Obito abandoned the Mist only after Ao exposed the truth with his Byakugan. But now, Ao hadn’t uncovered anything, and Obito was injured—dangerously unstable.

If he lashed out, he might even pit the Mist against Konoha directly.

“Forget it. It’s only the Mist,” Tsunade said dismissively. “They’ve been bleeding strength for years. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Mm.” Kitazawa nodded. If it came to war, we’d manage. And maybe I’d even get a few system missions out of it.

“Lady Tsunade!”

Shizune came rushing up, Tonton in her arms. “You went to the casino again, didn’t you?”

Tsunade didn’t even flinch. “No. Kitazawa and I were at the training grounds.”

“That’s right,” Kitazawa confirmed solemnly.

“Really?” Shizune asked, suspicious.

“You doubt me? Or Kitazawa?” Tsunade waved dismissively. “Anyway, I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

Left with no room to argue, Shizune sighed.

“Kitazawa, tell Kurenai to join us for dinner,” Tsunade added.

“Understood.” Kitazawa inclined his head.

That night, far away in the Mizukage’s office…

“Fuguki’s squad is returning,” Yagura reported.

“Good,” Obito’s voice answered coldly. “Tomorrow, you will declare war on Konoha.”

“Yes.” Yagura bowed and left without hesitation.

When the door closed, Obito’s form rippled, revealing a White Zetsu clone in disguise.

The real Obito remained in the Land of Fire, still healing. But his Mangekyō’s control over Yagura persisted—irresistible, permanent.

And with that, the Mist would serve as his tool of vengeance. He knew they couldn’t possibly defeat Konoha… but bleeding them, irritating them, was satisfaction enough.

After years of playing “Mizukage,” he was done. It was time to focus on Akatsuki and the Eye of the Moon plan.

The Mist could burn.

Friday

The second day of the monthly exams—practical combat.

“Kosuke-senpai, Kakashi, good morning.”

Kitazawa arrived just in time, spotting the two waiting instructors.

“Kitazawa-sensei!”

Naruto, Kiba, and the others chorused in greeting.

“Everyone, line up! We’re starting the matches.” Kitazawa clapped his hands.

Iruka brought out the lottery box. The students shuffled into formation, buzzing with anticipation.

“First round, first match…” Kitazawa’s lips curved in amusement. “Ino Yamanaka versus Sakura Haruno.”

The classroom erupted.

“Ino, you're gonna eat dust!” Sakura shouted, fists raised, brimming with spirit.

“Dream on! Today you’re the one going down!” Ino declared, hands on her hips.

“Times have changed,” Sakura shot back. “I’ve mastered Water Release—I’m not just a medic anymore.”

“Hah! I learned ninjutsu from Kitazawa-sensei himself!” Ino countered smugly.

“Kosuke-sensei isn’t bad either!” Sakura retorted.

Kitazawa chuckled at their squabbling. Children, yet already so full of rivalry.

The two marched to the center of the field, performed the Seal of Confrontation, and the match began.

“Ninja Art: Hundred Petal Storm!”

Ino swept her arms, releasing a storm of flower petals that clouded Sakura’s vision.

Sakura immediately formed seals, but Ino’s shuriken of petals sliced in from the side.

“Water Release: Water Formation Wall!”

A barrier of water rose to shield Sakura. The petals struck and stuck fast. She turned sharply, kunai ready—

—but Ino was gone.

More petals whirled around her, obscuring everything.

From above, Ino dropped straight into the Water Wall, fists clenched.

This was the counter she’d devised all night.

Sakura’s kunai shot upward, but Ino tilted her head, dodging narrowly, and drove a punch into her chest.

Sakura staggered back, teeth gritted, and launched herself forward.

The two clashed in close-quarters taijutsu, trading sharp blows, evenly matched.

Then, Ino seized her chance.

“Ninja Art: Hundred Petal Storm!”

Another wave of petals burst forth.

Sakura’s hands flashed through seals, but too late. Ino’s flower blade was already poised at her throat.

Victory.

The difference was simple—while Sakura’s jutsu demanded more seals, Ino’s could be cast in an instant faster.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 234 - Itachi's conviction

After classes ended, Kitazawa made his way to Konoha Hospital.

He didn’t return to his regular office but instead entered a secluded chamber lined with specialized medical instruments. This was the room reserved for the most complex cases—decoding unknown poisons, dissecting rare conditions, or experiments far beyond standard medical work.

As one of Konoha Hospital’s senior medical-nin, Kitazawa had the authority to use it freely.

Once the door was shut, he unrolled a summoning scroll. From its seal, he retrieved two things: White Zetsu’s spores and the severed arm of Obito.

He set them under the instruments and began his analysis.

As expected.

Obito’s arm was a grotesque fusion—Hashirama cells stabilized with White Zetsu tissue. Pure Hashirama cells were too volatile. And the spores… they were nothing less than raw White Zetsu matter.

Kitazawa tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking.

If limb regeneration could be developed using Zetsu cells as the base, the usual side effect—shortened lifespan—might be avoided. The flaw, however, was obvious: the supply. At best, what he had could treat three patients. No more.

Still, if the technique succeeded, perhaps Kosuke could be the first to test it.

His thoughts drifted. Orochimaru…

Had that man not defected, his cloning technology would have changed everything. With Zetsu cells in Orochimaru’s hands, the possibilities would have been limitless. After all, he was the closest thing this world had to a scientist.

Obito’s arm itself was valuable. If Hashirama’s cells and Zetsu cells could be balanced, then in theory, Wood Release shinobi could be manufactured. More importantly, such grafts might even help relieve the Mangekyō Sharingan’s crushing burden.

But again, the obstacle was the same—too few Zetsu cells, too few Hashirama cells. And with Tsunade’s presence, using them recklessly was impossible. Not that Kitazawa needed to. The system’s missions offered him alternate paths to Wood Release if necessary.

He resealed the arm and spores, slipping them back into the scroll. The thought pressed down on him again: he needed his own faction. Without it, he had to rely on the hospital even for basic examinations, let alone advanced experiments.

But laboratories weren’t cheap. Orochimaru’s Hidden Sound Village had been built as much for money as secrecy. Precision equipment cost fortunes—especially in the strange patchwork state of shinobi technology. Kitazawa’s current funds couldn’t even buy half of what he needed.

His mind flickered to Kabuto. Another genius-in-the-making. With guidance, Kabuto could grow into the role of a true shinobi scientist—though without Orochimaru’s shadow, his progress would be slower. Still, it was worth considering.

For now, everything hinged on Tsunade’s rise as Hokage. With her in power, his own influence would grow.

Kitazawa finally returned home.

Kurenai wasn’t inside. He didn’t need to check—she was behind the house, practicing her monstrous strength. Ever since the battle with Shinno, her diligence had doubled. The fight had laid bare her weakness, and she knew if she didn’t catch up, the distance between them would only widen.

Kitazawa sat down on the sofa, turning his mind to Kiba's new jutsu. The modification he envisioned was less about adding and more about subtracting, stripping it down to something simpler yet brutal. His pen moved across paper, refining the details.

Time slipped by. The door creaked open.

Kurenai stepped in, sweat dripping down her neck, her black hair plastered to her face. She paused at the sight of him, then wiped her forehead.

“When did you get back?”

Kitazawa set his pen aside and patted his thigh in silent invitation.

Kurenai shook her head with a faint smile. “I’m all sweaty. I’ll shower first.”

“I’ll help you wash,” he countered, his eyes glinting with mischief.

The sheen of sweat across her fair skin only made her beauty sharper—messy, dangerously alluring.

“Think you can resist?” she teased, rolling her eyes.

“I can try. Don’t believe me? Test it.”

“I’m not testing anything,” she huffed, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re hopeless with this stuff.” She turned away, heading to the bathroom.

Kitazawa smirked faintly and bent back to his notes, sketching out the new jutsu. He would call it War Stomp—a technique perfectly suited for Kiba and his three-headed hound.

By the time he finished, Kurenai reemerged, hair tied up, draped in a deep crimson nightgown. She crossed the room and perched on his lap.

“What are you writing?”

“Ninjutsu for Kiba,” he replied, one arm circling her waist while the other trailed toward the hem of her gown.

Kurenai’s breath caught. His hand brushed lightly over her stomach, warm and teasing.

“We still need to eat,” she whispered, voice unsteady.

“You’re overthinking again.” Kitazawa’s breath tickled her ear.

“You’re the one being handsy!” Her blush deepened as she elbowed him, though the warmth in her chest betrayed her words.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked evenly, fingertips tracing her side.

“I… I’ll cook,” she stammered, leaning into him.

“Let’s cook together,” he suggested suddenly.

“Together?” She blinked in confusion.

“Hold tight. Don’t fall.”

He stood, then abruptly released his support. Her feet left the ground, and instinctively, she clung to his neck.

“P-Pervert!” she hissed once her heartbeat slowed.

Kitazawa just raised an eyebrow and carried her toward the kitchen. Her protests faltered into hazy breaths, lips biting down on their own tremor.

“Who’s the pervert now?” he murmured, squeezing her curves with a smirk.

“Your fault!” she snapped, though her voice was weak.

Kitazawa only chuckled and stepped into the kitchen. But before he could set her down, she lifted his face into her embrace, ruby eyes gleaming.

“You’ll block my sight like this—mmph!”

Her lips silenced him.

Dinner could wait. Shinobi could skip meals. And besides—there was always fruit.

It was another sleepless night.

Wednesday

Only a single day remained before the monthly exam.

Kitazawa was still half-asleep when a knock echoed against his door. He cracked his eyes open, glanced at the clock on the wall—already half past eight. Normally, he’d be on his way to the Academy by now. But today… he had lingered in bed a little longer—with Kurenai.

“You should go back to sleep,” he said softly, noticing the faint tremble of her eyelashes.

“Mmm…” Kurenai, sore and exhausted from last night’s stubbornness, gave a weak reply before drifting back into deeper slumber. She had paid the price for challenging him. After all, seventy percent Senju bloodline wasn’t exactly gentle—it was voracious.

Kitazawa slipped out of bed, dressed, and went to answer the door.

When he opened it, he froze.
“Itachi? What brings you here so early?”

“I have something to ask you.” Itachi’s tone was calm but deliberate. Originally, he had intended to seek out Tsunade. After some thought, however, he had chosen Kitazawa instead.

“What is it?” Kitazawa asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Could Obito have contacted him? Impossible. Even with Hashirama’s cells, wounds like a severed arm and a pierced heart wouldn’t heal overnight.

“Yesterday,” Itachi began slowly, “Hokage-sama ordered the Anbu to search the village for a man missing an arm. But he gave me a separate mission—to depart for Sunagakure.”

Kitazawa’s brow arched. So, it was Obito. And Itachi had been deliberately kept out of the matter. Was Hiruzen suspicious of a link between the Uchiha and Danzō? Or wary that the masked intruder was an Uchiha himself?

It wasn’t hard to see the logic. Sharingan—whether transplanted or natural—always traced back to the clan. And if it was natural, suspicion toward the Uchiha was inevitable. Hiruzen’s doubts, though frustrating, were only human.

What he could never have imagined was that the masked man was none other than Uchiha Obito—a war hero believed long dead. With Kamui in play, the Anbu’s search would prove fruitless.

“I want to know,” Itachi asked, voice steady but laced with unease, “did something happen yesterday? And is it tied to the Uchiha?”

His greatest fear was clear: open conflict between the clan and the village. Things had been improving under Tsunade, yet suddenly yesterday, the fragile balance seemed to tip.

“I know a little,” Kitazawa said after a pause. “Tell me… have you ever seen a shinobi with the Sharingan who wasn’t from your clan?”

Itachi stiffened. His mind flickered first to Kakashi. But that didn’t fit—not enough to justify the Anbu’s mobilization. Then, another memory surfaced. A masked man he’d once encountered on a mission—who had slaughtered his teammates, yet spared him after seeing his Sharingan. The aura that day… it had felt distinctly Uchiha, but he’d found no trace of the man in the clan’s records.

“Yes,” Itachi admitted. He described the man in detail.

Kitazawa feigned surprise. “Then it’s the same person. He appeared in Konoha last night. Kakashi and I managed to break one of his arms.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed. No wonder Hiruzen had kept him away—he must have believed the man tied to the clan. Yet in truth, they were adversaries. The realization ignited killing intent within him. That masked man had not only murdered his comrades, but now threatened to shatter the clan’s hard-earned progress. Unforgivable.

Kitazawa noted the shift in his expression. Exactly as intended. By feeding this resentment, he ensured Itachi would view Obito only as an enemy, leaving no room for cooperation as in the original tale.

“What should I do?” Itachi asked firmly.

“Exactly what you’re meant to,” Kitazawa replied with a faint smile. “Let the Anbu do their work. Only then will the suspicions be cleared.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Relief passed through Itachi’s features.

“Let’s walk and talk,” Kitazawa said, slipping on his shoes. “I’ll share what I know of his techniques.”

“Alright.”

“He uses space–time ninjutsu,” Kitazawa explained. He didn’t mention Kamui by name, but the description made Itachi think of the Mangekyō Sharingan. But why only one ability? Was the other eye missing—or simply unused?

“And,” Kitazawa added, “he wields Wood Release.”

Shock flickered across Itachi’s face. Sharingan and Wood Release together? No wonder Hiruzen was rattled. The implications for Konoha were enormous.

“I understand,” Itachi said darkly. “If I encounter him again, I’ll capture him.” His pride and confidence radiated in that moment.

Kitazawa wasn’t surprised. Itachi had always been like this—prideful, determined to shoulder everything alone. Whether in the Uchiha massacre or in molding Sasuke, he bore every burden himself. And with his endless array of abilities, it was no wonder he was jokingly considered Kishimoto’s “golden child” in another life.

Still, Kitazawa’s goal was met. Obito was badly injured, unable to return to Konoha soon. And Itachi now despised him as an enemy. The clan massacre that once loomed had no chance of unfolding.

“Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Kitazawa warned.

“I understand,” Itachi said solemnly. Secrets involving Wood Release and Sharingan were matters of the highest classification. That Kitazawa had shared them at all… he assumed it was at Tsunade’s command.

“Good. I’m off to class. Until next time.”

With a casual wave, Kitazawa dismissed him. Itachi nodded once before vanishing.

[NNSS] Chapter : 39

Roshi had given instructions before he left, so when Anko and Itachi arrived at the Wasabi estate, they instinctively kept their distance—no needless chatter, no probing questions.

Shizune, however, moved first. Noticing the two younger shinobi’s guarded posture, she closed the gap with careful steps.

“I’m Shizune,” she said softly. “I used to live in Konoha, but I left with my teacher… It’s been seven or eight years.”

She offered her background plainly. At the name of Konoha, the tension in Anko’s shoulders eased. A genuine smile broke through. “Shizune-senpai is already a jōnin, right?”

“No.” Shizune shook her head, serious. “I was only a chūnin when I left—and I still am.” Her gaze flicked around before she lowered her voice. “My ninja registration is 010800.”

“Anko Mitarashi, Chūnin.” The purple-haired kunoichi introduced herself readily; a proper number lent Shizune immediate credibility.

“Uchiha Itachi, genin.” The black-haired boy’s reply was brief and polite.

“Roshi mentioned you before he departed.” Shizune inclined her head. “I specialize in medical ninjutsu—if you get hurt, come to me. And… for combat support, I do have some self-defense jutsus.”

She wasn’t a talker by nature, but speaking to two village juniors stirred an old connection. Her calm, honest demeanor slowly put Anko at ease.

“Shizune-nee’s teacher…” Anko began, then clamped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry—that was rude.”

“It’s all right.” Shizune’s voice was gentle. “My teacher retired. I retired with her.”

A muffled commotion cut through them from the Wasabi courtyard. Jirochō burst back through the sliding doors, his face storm-dark.

“The city gates are closed!” he barked. “They declared an emergency lockdown… Jubei is making a move!”

Shizune stepped forward immediately. “Move to the backyard! We’ll hold the front.”

Itachi and Anko exchanged a look. Itachi melted into the corridor’s shadow—part of the plan. He would observe, unseen, and strike when the moment came.

Jirochō shook his head. “No. Their target is me. If I hide, they’ll sweep to the back of the house.” He looked to Shizune and Anko. “A ninja who watches from the shadows gains the advantage—but if I conceal myself, you’ll be the ones forced into exposure.”

He inhaled, steady. “I’ll take the front courtyard with my men. When to act is your call.”

The head of the Wasabi Family bowed deeply to them both, then glanced toward the corridor where Itachi had slipped away and offered another solemn bow.

“Everything—entrusted to you. For Deai Port, for the Wasabi family… I will not forget this.” He turned then, shoulders squared, and strode toward the front, resolve steeling him like armor.

Anko watched his retreating back and breathed, “This Wasabi-san… he’s a good man.”

“Indeed,” Shizune replied softly. “He was my teacher’s friend.”

Tension thickened in the courtyard. The metallic rattle of armor, the muffled commands of guards, and the glint of blades being drawn all wove together into a taut hush. Shizune fell silent, checked her tool pouch, and rolled back her sleeve to inspect the shuriken launcher strapped to her arm.

Anko’s grin vanished too. Her right hand slid into the wide purple sleeve of her coat, fingers finding the familiar weight of a kunai.

Minutes crawled by like hours. The front guards’ breath was audible, their knuckles white on hilts. Every gust of wind over the wall sounded like approaching boots. The whole estate held its breath.

Suddenly—

BOOM—!!!

A deafening blast shattered the stillness. The heavy front gate of the Wasabi house shuddered as if struck by an invisible battering ram; the door and its wooden frames warped, splintered, and blew inward. Splinters sprayed like a furious rain.

Through the choking dust, three silhouettes strode over the wreckage—dawned as if from the mouth of some hellish rift—then slowed into the front courtyard.

The man leading them was Jubei himself, the city guard captain. His white haori snapped in the blast wind. He kept his katana sheathed, but the air around him pulsed with a palpable, chilling killing intent. The nearest Wasabi guards staggered back, faces drained of color.

To Jubei’s left stood a figure more terrifying than any thug: his left arm bound in blood-darkened rags, fingers pale and unnaturally sharp as bone. A filthy crimson sash hung from his sleeve. His left eye was a dull, dead amber—vacant as a fish’s—and it swept the courtyard with clinical indifference.

To Jubei’s right, another silhouette slouched beneath an oilskin cloak mottled with mildew and salt stains. The hood shadowed a gray-green jaw and cracked, bloodless lips, as if the man had risen from some drowned grave. Slung over his shoulder was a hulking brown gourd, half a person’s height, its surface slick with moss—an object as heavy and uncanny as the figure who bore it.

Their arrival chilled the courtyard as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. The Wasabi guards felt their courage drain away; weapons trembled in white-knuckled hands beneath an utterly inhuman pressure.

Jubei’s gaze, a cold edge, cut across the trembling defenders and landed on Wasabi Jirochō in the center. A humorless curl touched his mouth; his voice, low and calm, rolled across the courtyard like distant thunder.

“Wasabi Jirochō… your road ends here.”

His eyes swept the assembled men again before returning to Jirochō’s face. The final words fell like a guillotine.

“And these insects? They’ll be crushed along with you.”

[NNSS] Chapter : 38

Rogue ninja—hunters, lone wolves, shadows that civilians avoided yet whispered about in fear. To the powerful, they were tools to be despised but used. To the clans, they were wild dogs and vermin. To the great villages, they were rot that refused to be cut away.

Jubei didn’t care for such labels. Power was the only truth. He knew this well. For years he led the Black Snake Group—pillaging, selling blades for hire, killing without hesitation. As long as they didn’t provoke the great behemoths that ruled the continent—the hidden villages—their lives were easier than most rogues could ever dream. He believed he had mastered survival in the cracks of this world.

Until those eyes found him.

Cold, serpentine, unblinking.

“Hmm… an interesting life.” The voice was soft, almost effeminate, yet carried a chill that slithered down the spine. “Let me see where your limits lie…”

Pinned by an invisible force, Jubei felt his bones strain, his very soul laid bare under that gaze. The power he had relied on, the strength that made him a predator in the wilderness, became nothing more than a child’s toy in those hands.

They were caught, played with, then discarded like waste.

“You brought me a moment of amusement. But in the end, you’re still defective products.” That voice lingered like venom on a wound. “If not for those flies chasing me so tirelessly, perhaps I’d have found some use for you.”

Orochimaru. Once one of Konoha’s legendary Sannin. Now a rogue ninja. Even hunted, even cornered, his shadow was enough to reduce men like Jubei to trembling prey.

“Should we… join a Village?” someone rasped after a long silence, lungs still heaving.

The darkness stilled.

“Join a minor village?” another spat. “Stable, maybe. But poor as dirt! And they’d never risk taking us in.”

“What about the great villages? Hah! You think they’d let us walk in? They’d gut us, strip us of every secret, then chain us as the lowest dogs. Die on their orders for scraps.”

The whispers crawled through the dark like insects, bitter and venomous. Dependence? Servitude? The thought festered in Jubei’s heart like poison. Then another idea—mad, arrogant, irresistible—flared to life.

“Then we’ll build one ourselves,” he snarled. His voice sliced through the muttering, raw and desperate. “A village of our own!”

And so the search began. Remote lands lacked wealth. Central lands were death traps. But after long searching, the Land of Tea emerged as the perfect target. Far from the wars of the shinobi world, yet rich enough to support a village of its own.

They could not approach the Daimyo directly.

Jubei chose Nochapo. He united the scattered bandits into the Chayama Gang, while the Black Snake Group—masquerading as pirates—unleashed terror upon the sea route to Nazaki Island. Merchant ships sank. Trade collapsed. Panic spread like fire. And they again emerged as saviors. Finally, the Daimyo sent an envoy.

“Your strength is remarkable. The Land of Tea will not forget your aid in resolving this sea crisis.” The envoy’s tone was polite, but his eyes weighed Jubei carefully. “Yet… Konohagakure has long been our ally. To change course so suddenly is no small matter.”

Lowering his voice, the envoy added, “If you establish a foundation—prove your village can stand—then mission contracts will follow. The Daimyo will open… doors of convenience.”

Doors of convenience. Suppress the Wasabi family, elevate the Hejies, and let the Chayama Gang step into the light.

But a village cost money. Vast sums of it. Tools, strongholds, recruitment—every step bled ryo. Their savings were a drop in the ocean. And so, they seized Nochapo and Deai. Every street, every merchant, every traveler—bled dry to fund their dream.

Now, as Jubei lowered his gaze from the inn’s shadowed outline beneath the gray sky, a scarred captain hurried over and whispered his report.

Only one figure remained inside Haifi Pavilion. The other two must have gone to guard the messenger.

Shoshi should have handled a regular jōnin without issue. Yet no word had come. Something had gone wrong.

Jubei frowned. With Shoshi’s strength, defeat was possible—but death? No. Impossible. That left only the Konoha shinobi in play… and perhaps one or two hidden pieces under Jirocho’s sleeve.

But only one or two. If Jirocho truly had more, he would have already unleashed them against the Chayama Gang.

Reinforce Shoshi? Throw more men at the messenger’s route?

No.

If the first interception failed, sending reinforcements would only be too little, too late. Chasing after the courier now risked scattering their strength and missing the real opportunity.

Better to show power, not scatter it.

There was only one clean solution—

Kill Wasabi Jirochō. Remove him, and that “ironclad” evidence would have no owner—just a story the Wasabi House had fabricated. The Daimyō could discard it, accuse Jirochō of conspiracy, and the whole scandal would collapse with him. Remove the head, and the rot beneath would die with it.

“Gather the men,” Jubei ordered, his voice flat and iron-true. “Lock down the city.”

“Sir? The reason?” The scarred captain flinched, sweat beading on his brow. “We can’t suppress everyone—this’ll spark backlash…”

Their freedom to roam the city so brazenly had depended on the other factions’ worry about the Daimyō’s favor toward the Hejies—on hesitation, not consent. A sudden, sweeping lockdown would shred that fragile equilibrium and force every guild and household to choose a side.

Jubei’s eyes, sunk beneath a shadowed brow, were cold as wells; the outline of the Wasabi House reflected in them. Murderous intent coiled there, and the scarred man swallowed the rest of his protest.

“Hmph.” Jubei’s snort was contempt itself. “Good. Let them be vigilant.”

The captain’s face shifted as realization clicked: once the lockdown began, the city’s leaders would lock their doors and pull their men in, convinced chaos was the goal. In that panic, even Jirochō’s allies would be rooted to their own gates, unable to rush to his aid.

An assault on the Wasabi House would need elite power—not the common thugs of Chayama. The gang’s job was to frighten and confuse: make every “fish” slip back into its hole so the hunters could strike.

“Yes, sir. Immediately.” The captain bowed, then fled, boots thudding over rotten boards, his sword sheath rasping the doorframe.

Silence swallowed the room. Wind moaned through the broken window as Jubei’s fingers tightened on his sword hilt.

Wasabi Jirochō….

[NNSS] Chapter : 37

A shrill screech split through the crash of the waves as Shoshi’s arms and neck snapped outward, writhing with unnatural flexibility and power—like a boa constrictor striking from every angle at once.

His gray-blue limbs sliced through the air with a piercing whistle, fingertips glowing faintly as they wove together into a deadly net, cutting off every avenue of Roshi’s escape.

Roshi’s body spun and twisted atop the rolling waves like a top on the verge of collapse. Every shift of the tide carried him just enough to slip past the onslaught, his evasions honed to the very edge of possibility.

Rip—rip—rip!

Claws grazed his forehead, shoulders, ribs—each swipe missing by a hair, the air itself tearing with every strike. The rancid wind they carried stung his skin, and fresh rips split open across his vest. Fibers hissed as they blackened and curled, poisoned at the edges.

Even so, Roshi’s form traced a phantom’s path across the water, his movements unpredictable and fluid.

But Shoshi only grew more frenzied. His limbs lashed like wild whips, battering the sea and sending curtains of spray into the sky. A guttural roar bubbled in his throat—feral and delighted, as though savoring the kill before the blood was spilled.

“Water Release: Water Thousand Needles!”

The spray and droplets suspended in the air crystallized into gleaming senbon, hundreds upon hundreds.

Shoshi barked out a manic laugh. “Pointless! Absolutely pointless, boy!”

But Roshi’s eyes didn’t flicker. His hands sealed again, his voice calm and cutting through the storm:

“Wind Release: Raging Current!”

Two techniques fused as his chakra surged.

Compound Ninjutsu—Stormy Rain Thousand Needles!

Water as bone. Wind as blade.

He inhaled deep, his chest swelling like a bellows—then exhaled with ferocious force.

Whooosh—!!!

A hurricane tore free, so dense it seemed almost solid. Countless needles, hair-thin yet honed to killing points, spun with savage speed within its gale. Propelled by the storm, they became a torrent of destruction, blue and white rain that howled toward Shoshi like the wheel of a Shinigami.

The maelstrom swallowed him whole. Every limb, every grotesque extension of his body vanished into the shredding storm of needles.

Shoshi’s wild grin faltered. His instincts screamed warning.

With a sharp cry, he wrenched his limbs back like serpents recoiling to the nest, curling inward. Arms crossed over his head, legs bent low, his entire frame hunched to shield the chestplate beneath. A dense glow of gray-blue chakra flared across his exposed skin, hardening it against the storm.

Puff-puff-puff!

The sound was relentless, like monsoon rain battering giant leaves. Needles slammed into his arms, shredding gray-blue skin into pale gouges before breaking apart in sprays of mist. His defense held, but only barely—viscous black liquid oozed from new scratches, revealing sinewy purple-blue muscle beneath.

And still the storm raged.

No matter how tightly he curled, there were gaps. The torrent sought them out, slipping through, burrowing in. Needles hissed into the chestplate with metallic fury—

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Each strike sparked violently across the dark armor, scattering light like fireworks over midnight steel. The relentless barrage sent high-frequency tremors shuddering through the plates, drilling vibration deep into Shoshi’s body.

His frame convulsed beneath the storm, battered as though an invisible giant pounded him with hammer-blows. The armor rang with shrieking protest. Pockmarks cratered its surface. Edges bent and warped under the unceasing rain.

Then—

Crack!

A fingernail-sized plate, worn down by dozens of consecutive impacts, split apart with a screech of metal. The fragment tore free, tumbling into the foaming sea below.

The moment the broken plate clattered into the sea, Shoshi froze mid-defense.

Through the gap in his crossed arms, his cold green eyes locked on Roshi—and constricted with raw, instinctive fear. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t pride. It was something deeper, primal, a terror that cut through his nerves like lightning.

His hand shot to his chest, clutching the exposed gap in his armor with frantic speed. The movement was so desperate, so undignified, it reeked of panic.

'So that’s it.'

A sharp glint lit Roshi’s eyes. This strange ninja’s sleeveless body was hardened everywhere by his cursed flesh… except where he guarded with armor. The chestplate wasn’t decoration—it was protection. A weakness.

“You dare…!” Shoshi’s roar shook with fury and shame, his voice fraying into something inhuman.

He tore his arms from his guard, his mask twisting in rage. His pupils narrowed into bestial slits, the sickly gray-blue sheen of his skin intensifying. Black fluid bubbled from the wounds on his arms and neck, boiling over the surface, sealing the flesh while spreading a putrid, sweet stench.

He had abandoned all defense.

His arms elongated violently, whipping forward like colossal, barbed hammers. They tore through the air, aiming to crush Roshi head-on. His assault was pure frenzy, an exchange of wounds—death for death.

But behind that violence, his heart churned worse than the waves.

The water needles were still pouring down in endless torrents, wind-fed and merciless. Such a technique should drain oceans of chakra. Yet the Konoha ninja before him showed no sign of strain—calm, controlled, inexhaustible.

If this drags on… I’ll be crushed before he even bleeds.

For the first time, a serpent of doubt coiled in his chest. Beneath his rage, retreat hissed its tempting whisper. And in that instant of hesitation, the slightest pause betrayed him.

Roshi moved.

One step forward. One breath. One seal.

“Water Release: Reverse Vortex Coffin.”

The sea roared in answer.

Tens of meters ahead, the water convulsed as though cupped by an invisible giant hand. Four towering whirlpools erupted upward, thick water walls spinning with thunderous force. Each wall churned like a grinding millstone, encircling Shoshi in an instant.

His claws slammed against them.

Thump! Thump!

Spray burst outward, the walls trembling under the blow—but they held. Worse, the spinning current recoiled his strength back into his own body, driving him stumbling. Pain lanced through his arms, making his blood boil.

Shoshi’s eyes widened. The rotating prison sealed every path, the sucking current dragging even his massive frame toward its walls. Every strike he threw was swallowed, redirected, and hurled back at him with multiplied force.

Outside, Roshi stood like stone against the gale, one hand outstretched, fingers spread, holding the cage steady with effortless control. His hair lifted in the sea wind, his gaze fixed, cold and merciless—like a judge passing sentence.

Inside, Shoshi was reduced to a grotesque insect caught in amber. Dim light filtered through the spinning walls, broken into flickers. The deafening roar of churning water filled his ears, smothering thought. His elongated limbs lashed and lashed again, but every blow was neutralized, his body buckling under the recoil.

Black ichor poured from the gashes in his skin, struggling to seal his wounds. But the high-speed currents ripped the healing away, shredding it faster than it could mend. His chestplate, battered and cracked, gleamed under the dim light. And through that small, fatal gap—

Shhhhkt!

A single jet of water pierced through.

It slipped past the flailing limbs, through the armor’s wound, and drove clean through his body.

Blood gushed.

Shoshi’s struggles faltered. His limbs sagged, then collapsed, his monstrous form dragged down by the torrent.

The ninja, who moments ago raged like a beast, fell silent at last.

[NNSS] Chapter : 36

Roshi stood balanced on the rolling sea, chakra flowing beneath his feet as if anchoring him to an invisible reef.

Across from him, Shoshi also stood on the waves, his black chestplate catching the pale light of the sky with a cold, metallic sheen.

With a flick of his wrist, Roshi summoned the scroll Wasabi Jirocho had entrusted to him—the damning evidence of the Chayama Gang’s crimes, along with the letter to the Daimyō. Meeting Shoshi’s piercing gaze, his voice cut through the roar of the tide:

“There are two copies. One with the messenger, one with me. If you strike that ship, I’ll head for Naqi Island and deliver this straight to the Daimyō myself. Or…” his tone sharpened, “…we settle this here. I promise that ship won’t budge until one of us falls.”

Shoshi’s lone visible eye narrowed. A low, metallic rasp escaped his throat, halfway between a chuckle and the grind of rusted gears. “A Konoha ninja… so your aim is me. Interesting.” He tilted his head, vertebrae clicking like clashing blades.

“Good. Saves me the trouble. As you wish.”

The instant the words left his lips, he moved. Not forward—sideways, unnaturally fluid. A black blur ripped across the waves between them.

His right arm.

It had stretched grotesquely long, skin a bluish-grey, ending in hooked claws with nails like obsidian. The air itself seemed to sour with a sickly-sweet stench as it streaked for Roshi’s face.

The strike was so fast it left only a warped afterimage.

Roshi’s pupils contracted. Chakra flared at his soles, propelling him diagonally across the water in a sharp glide. The claws grazed his vest—shhht—tearing a thin line across the fabric.

Missed.

But Shoshi’s eyes didn’t flicker. His elongated arm twisted in mid-air like a whip without bones, snapping back at a sharper, crueler angle—straight for Roshi’s exposed back. At the same time, Shoshi’s own body skimmed over the waves, drawn forward by the arm’s momentum, gliding like a phantom.

Suspended in mid-air with nothing to brace against, Roshi exhaled. His core muscles coiled, twisting his body mid-flight. His right hand snapped into his pouch—three kunai flashing between his fingers. With a single whip of his wrist, he launched them not at Shoshi, but precisely at the joint of the grotesque arm.

Clang!

The kunai bit, but the arm was like striking an oil-hardened vine. Only shallow marks scored its hide before the blades were knocked aside, vanishing into the sea. The whip-arm barely slowed, carving forward.

Hard as iron…

Roshi landed on the water, chakra locking him steady. His hands blurred into seals.

“Water Release: Water Shockwave!”

The ocean itself surged at his call. The sea roared upward, a towering wall of water crashing forward with crushing force. It swallowed Shoshi whole, arm and all, in a foaming deluge.

BOOM!

The waves detonated in spray, drowning the battlefield in white mist.

Rule of shinobi combat: never assume the enemy is down. Don’t stand and admire your strike. Don’t get greedy. Move.

Roshi had already begun his retreat when—

“Gurrrgggghhhh…”

A guttural, inhuman rasp vibrated just above him.

A shadow burst from the collapsing wall of water.

Not an arm. A head.

Shoshi’s neck had stretched as grotesquely as his limb, extending several meters. His face lunged like a chained flail, jaws wide. The stench hit first, rotten-sweet and suffocating.

The mask loomed inches away, its single eye burning cold green. His mouth yawned open, two rows of serrated teeth bared, dripping with strands of viscous, greenish fluid.

Roshi’s body arched backward, almost parallel to the sea’s surface. At the last instant, his left palm slapped the waves, chakra exploding beneath it. The recoil shot him skimming backward across the water like a silver fish. His right hand whipped up, kunai flashing.

Pfft!

The blade drove into the side of Shoshi’s outstretched neck. But instead of the clean give of flesh and bone, Roshi felt resistance like stabbing into slick, unyielding rubber. The kunai sank barely an inch before locking in place, the texture both revolting and unnatural.

The strike knocked Shoshi’s head off balance, but those eerie green eyes never wavered. They fixed on Roshi with a predator’s hunger, and the stench rolling from his fanged maw thickened in the air.

“Hiss—!”

The sound was inhuman, scraping from deep within his throat. His neck twisted violently around the embedded kunai, serpentine and grotesque, jaws snapping at Roshi from an impossible angle.

Roshi didn’t cling to the weapon. He released it instantly, retreating on the momentum, fingers already flashing into seals.

“Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet!”

The sea answered his call with a furious roar. Water churned and surged upward, condensing into a colossal dragon of raging current. Scales of spray glittered in the dim light as it coiled high, bellowing before it dove. Its cavernous jaws crashed down toward Shoshi’s lunging head—and the twisted body behind it.

RUMBLE—!!!

The impact tore across the sea like a natural disaster. A towering column of water erupted skyward, waves collapsing outward in a torrential downpour. Foam and shattered spray pelted everything within reach, while the ocean itself was gouged into a vast crater of whitewater and turbulence.

But as the mist thinned, Roshi’s eyes narrowed.

Shoshi was still there. Standing. Unmoved.

His grotesque arm and elongated neck recoiled with unsettling flexibility, shrinking back into place as if nothing had happened. At his throat, the kunai’s wound peeled open to reveal bluish-purple flesh—yet no blood spilled. Instead, a viscous black tar oozed from the edges, writhing like living sludge as it stitched the gash shut before Roshi’s eyes.

His chestplate bore only shallow dents and chalky white scratches from the dragon’s crushing blow. Hardly more than cosmetic.

Shoshi raised a hand, smearing the black liquid from his healing wound across his fingertip. He stared at it for a moment, then dragged his crimson tongue over it with slow, deliberate malice. The gesture was utterly wrong—bestial, obscene. When his gaze lifted again, the mocking coldness was gone. In its place burned raw cruelty, the thrill of a predator that had just found its prey.

“Konoha’s ninjutsu…” his voice rasped, low and jagged, “…is nothing special. I wonder—” his teeth glinted in a twisted grin, “—what your blood will taste like.”

He leaned forward, arms loose at his sides, black nails extending like hooked talons. Every joint in his body ticked with quiet, dreadful clacks, like weapons being primed.

Roshi’s expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts raced. So resilient… Water Release barely dents him, and even direct cuts won’t pierce that altered flesh. His skin, his organs—engineered for endurance, for survival. But…

His eyes flicked once more to the dark breastplate covering Shoshi’s chest, the only part of him that hadn’t flexed and healed like the rest.

That armor… it may be the key.

[NNSS] Chapter : 35

The sea breeze, heavy with salt and the stench of fish, whipped through the ship’s cabin. The wooden hull groaned under the crashing waves, each sway turning the messenger beside Roshi a shade paler. He was a capable young man under normal circumstances, but now he clutched at his clothes with white-knuckled fists, his eyes flicking nervously toward the churning, dark-blue sea beyond the porthole.

“Th-they’re chasing us! Hurry!”

“Get your weapons—harpoons, now!”

Above, the sailors’ rough shouts rang out across the deck, mingling with the sharp clang of metal. The steady rhythm of the voyage shattered into chaos.

Meanwhile, Roshi sat cross-legged on the damp floorboards, his eyes closed, body rising and falling in time with the ship’s pitch. He looked as unshakable as a stone in a storm. The messenger’s panic didn’t ripple him in the slightest.

“They’re here…”

His eyes opened, calm and unhurried, and he rose smoothly, his movements flowing with the ship’s sway instead of against it.

“Stay put,” he ordered, halting the messenger who was about to stand.

The cabin door creaked as Roshi pushed it open. He stepped onto the deck, behind a row of sailors bracing harpoons with pale knuckles, their eyes wide with fear. His gaze fixed on the sea.

A figure was racing across the waves, fast and steady, skimming the surface of the water with practiced steps.

Tall. Lean. Clad in a sleeveless black bodysuit beneath a dark breastplate that gleamed coldly in the sun. A mask hid his face, leaving only eyes sharp as a hawk’s visible.

Roshi’s eyes narrowed. “Black Snake Group… or just one of their men?”

To chase a ship so far, balancing on open water without faltering—the chakra reserves and control required put the enemy at least at the elite Chūnin level.

If this was only a subordinate, then the Black Snake Group’s true strength was even more formidable than his initial estimate.

At the same time, back at Haifi Pavilion inn—

A shadow slipped in through the first-floor lobby like smoke, merging seamlessly with the bustle of waiters, guests, and the innkeeper. Despite his outlandish appearance, no one seemed to notice him. Their eyes slid past as if he wasn’t there.

Genshoku.

His ears caught every sound. His senses extended upward. From the three rooms above, he felt them clearly—three distinct life forces, each sharp, condensed, undeniably shinobi.

“Konoha ninja… all here,” he muttered. He didn’t climb the stairs, but the pulse of their chakra signatures was unmistakable.

Yet unease gnawed at him. Wasabi Jirocho had been anything but discreet—gathering the port’s leaders, flaunting his evidence, declaring he’d already sent a messenger to the Daimyō, and invoking Konoha’s name to add weight. It was too loud, too obvious. A provocation daring his enemies to respond immediately.

If that was the case… then why were all three Konoha shinobi still here?

'Was the messenger who left just a decoy? Did the real courier already slip away in secret?'

But then—why had no news come from the Daimyō’s palace yet?

The chakra upstairs was real, he confirmed again. No illusion. No clone.

Or… had Konoha sent reinforcements he couldn’t sense?

Genshoku’s thoughts churned, and unease coiled in his gut. He turned on his heel, slipping out into the street.

The wind carried the bustle of Deai Port around him. He scanned upward—and froze.

From a half-open window on the top floor, a pair of calm eyes stared down at him.

His chest tightened. Instinct kicked in—he leapt back several paces, wrist rising. The bell tied there, carved with the character “Shoku,” rang with a low, urgent hum. An invisible ripple spread out, cloaking his body.

No genjutsu. No barrier trap.

He exhaled once, steadying his breath, and lifted his gaze again.

The eyes were still there. Watching. Unblinking.

This time, three figures appeared behind the window—Roshi, Anko, and Itachi. Their eyes, calm and unyielding, fixed on Genshoku with identical indifference.

“Shadow Clone Jutsu…” Genshoku muttered, fury and caution flaring at once. So that explained it—three distinct chakra signatures, yet only a single scent.

“Damn clever…” he hissed, the copper coin gritting between his teeth, scraping faintly.

To divide chakra into three while keeping each clone strong enough to fool him… that meant the real one was elsewhere. Likely the captain himself remained, while the ones dispatched were only the kid and the kunoichi.

With Shoshi’s strength, those two would be easy prey.

That left Genshoku with one task: pin down this so-called captain. Keep him rooted here in Haifi Pavilion until Shoshi succeeded—or force him to move first and expose a weakness.

Abandoning his attempt to peer deeper into the inn, Genshoku melted into the street’s shadows. The bell tied at his wrist gave off a steady, low chime—like a serpent’s tongue tasting the air before a strike—as an invisible field spread outward, slowly enveloping the pavilion.

On the third floor of Haifi Pavilion, Roshi stood at the window, watching Genshoku’s form vanish into the darkened street corner. Through the unique sensory link of his Wood Clones, the information synchronized instantly—the main body intercepted at sea, Genshoku lurking here.

“The bait is taken. Diversion begins.”

At his thought, the two Wood Clones behind him—shaped as Anko and Itachi—slipped wordlessly to a corner. Their forms unraveled, crumbling into blocks of wood that clattered to the floor. The chakra they carried did not dissipate, but returned to the clone at the window like rivers flowing back into the sea.

Though his Sage Mode training was still incomplete, Roshi’s relentless practice had honed his chakra control to a razor’s edge. Especially with Wood Release clones, he could split, reclaim chakra with ease.

Time shifted back—just after Tanzai’s cargo ship set sail.

“The plan splits three ways,” Roshi said evenly, standing in the inn room with Anko and Itachi. “First is the messenger. I’ll take that route myself. Since Jirocho openly reported to the Daimyō, the enemy will likely focus on intercepting him. That path has the highest chance of encountering the Black Snake Group’s core or their elites. Key intelligence will come from there.”

Anko crossed her arms, brow arched. “And here? What about old man Wasabi’s place?”

“Haifi Pavilion must look as if all three of us remain here. It serves two purposes—misleading scouts and acting as bait for any ninja bold enough to investigate. That’s why I’ll leave behind clones to impersonate us.” His gaze swept over them both.

“Clones, huh? If you’re using Shadow Clones, won’t your chakra get shredded, Roshi?” Anko asked, frowning. Splitting chakra evenly between multiple bodies—on top of combat—was no small burden.

“It’ll hold.” Roshi gave no further explanation. He had no intention of revealing the secret of Wood Release.

Anko clicked her tongue, but didn’t press. “Fine. Then Itachi and I take the third route—the Wasabi estate?”

“Correct. If the enemy targets the Wasabi Family directly, they’ll be facing more than assassination—they’ll bring numbers. A single jōnin can keep Jirocho safe from small strikes, but if the enemy commits to a full assault…” Roshi’s voice grew heavier. 'Shizune’s medical ninjutsu won’t be enough. And Tsunade… once blood is spilled, her presence could turn into a liability the enemy might exploit.'

So, Itachi and Anko’s task was clear: reinforcement, should the enemy strike the Wasabi Family in force.

Before dismissing them, Roshi added one final instruction. “The person at the Wasabi estate is an exceptional medical ninja. Trust her. But don’t ask questions about her background. Consider that a personal request from me.”

Anko scratched her cheek with a crooked smile. “A request from the captain, huh? Guess I’ll keep my mouth shut. But… you know what I mean, Roshi.”

He did. After Orochimaru’s defection, Anko had no patience for secrets that endangered the village. If this truly touched Konoha’s safety, she would report it regardless of sentiment.

Itachi, however, only gave a quiet nod.

Knowing Roshi’s true identity, the Uchiha understood better than anyone—this was the last person who would ever betray the Leaf.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 233 - Danzo and Obito's Rage

Hiruzen's first thought was Danzo—and it wasn’t a baseless suspicion. After all, Danzo had once overseen Wood Release experiments. There was even a survivor: now serving in the Anbu under the codename Tenzo.

If there had been one survivor, there could certainly be another.

Given Danzo’s nature, it wasn’t far-fetched to imagine he had hidden a second subject, perhaps even using Tenzo as a decoy to throw him off.

Sharingan and Wood Release—two Bloodline Limits fused into a single body. The thought alone made Hiruzen’s chest tighten.

'Danzo… just how much have you kept from me?'

In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to storm the Shimura compound, drag Danzo out by the collar, and demand the truth. But with Kitazawa and Kakashi standing before him, he forced the impulse down.

“Tell me everything. In detail,” Hiruzen said after reseating himself.

“Yes.” Kakashi began, recounting from his and Kitazawa’s coordinated strikes up to the moment they severed the masked man’s arm and forced him to flee.

“You both did well,” Hiruzen finally praised, his eyes falling on Kitazawa. “Especially you—finding his weakness so quickly.”

With his arm lost and his body gravely wounded, hunting him down would be far easier. As long as he remained in Konoha, even Danzo would be unable to hide him.

“You’ve done enough. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Hiruzen ordered with a dismissive wave. “I’ll have Anbu investigate the masked man immediately.”

“Hokage-sama,” Kakashi hesitated, then spoke with uncharacteristic gravity. “If there are results… I’d like to be informed. That man felt… familiar, as though I’ve seen him before.”

“You’ve seen him?” Hiruzen’s gaze sharpened. “That’s valuable. I’ll notify you when I know more.”

“Thank you.” Kakashi bowed slightly, then departed with Kitazawa.

“Haru,” Hiruzen called the moment they were gone.

The door opened, and Haru stepped inside. “Hokage-sama.”

“Where is Danzo?”

“Still at the Shimura compound.”

“Gather the Anbu. We’re going there now.” Hiruzen rose, then paused. “Don’t bring Itachi.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.” Hare vanished.

Minutes later, Hiruzen himself strode into the Shimura compound.

“Hiruzen.”

Danzo was already waiting, his face wearing the faintest trace of smugness. No doubt he believed his old comrade had come to reinstate him. After all, he hadn’t erred in recent days. Surely this was no more than a friendly visit.

“Stand down,” Hiruzen commanded the Shimura guards. “I will speak to Danzo alone.”

The men dispersed, leaving the two elders facing each other.

“What is it, Hiruzen?” Danzo asked casually.

“Answer me truthfully,” Hiruzen’s expression hardened. “Besides Tenzo, are there any other survivors of the Wood Release experiments?”

Danzo blinked. “...?”

Why that question again? Did Tsunade dig something up?

“To my knowledge, Kinoe is the only one,” he said firmly.

“Danzo!” Hiruzen’s voice boomed. “I’m not in the mood for games. Speak plainly!”

The sudden roar made Danzo flinch. But then realization crept over him. Hiruzen wouldn’t demand this unless—

“You’ve… seen another Wood Release user?” Danzo asked, incredulous.

“Indeed,” Hiruzen confirmed coldly.

“Impossible! Absolutely impossible!” Danzo shook his head. “When I reached Orochimaru’s lab, only Kinoe was alive!”

“Could Orochimaru have hidden another survivor?” Hiruzen pressed, his face darkening.

Danzo’s eyes lit up. “It’s possible. The experiments were his work—I merely supplied funds and materials.”

Hiruzen frowned deeply. Judging by his reaction, Danzo might actually be telling the truth. If Orochimaru had concealed someone, why send that ninja after Kakashi and Kitazawa? A vendetta?

“That snake… he dared deceive me,” Danzo muttered bitterly.

“It’s too soon to say,” Hiruzen cut in, though his mind raced. “But there are ways to uncover this second Wood Release ninja’s identity.”

“Hiruzen, do you have a lead? Entrust this to me—I can mobilize my former Root operatives—”

“No.” Hiruzen’s refusal was immediate. “But I will need your help with something else.”

“What is it?” Danzo asked, trying to mask his anticipation. Even crumbs of responsibility could be turned into leverage for Root’s return.

“Do you still have Sharingan?” Hiruzen asked slowly.

Danzo froze. “...What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Hiruzen’s tone was icy. “I won’t spell it out—to save you some face.”

Danzo straightened, feigning righteousness. “Though I dislike the Uchiha, I have never stooped to murdering them for their eyes!”

Of course, he would never hand over his stash. His few treasured Sharingan had taken years to collect. In the massacre yet to come, he would gather even more. But for now, he could not afford to reveal his hand.

“Still refusing?” Hiruzen’s voice dropped into warning.

“Hiruzen,” Danzo’s face twisted, “must you push me so far?”

The Third Hokage held his gaze for a long, heavy moment. Then, with a sigh, he turned. “Take care of yourself.”

He left without another word.

The truth was, Hiruzen hadn’t sought to kill him—only to confirm his suspicion. If the Wood Release user had also wielded Sharingan, then surely those eyes had been transplanted. Danzo would have been the obvious suspect. But now, with no proof and Danzo stonewalling, the investigation would have to shift elsewhere.

First, he would scour Konoha and its borders for traces of this masked intruder.

Behind him, Danzo trembled with fury.

“Hiruzen… you’ll regret this!” he spat, voice shaking. His eyes narrowed, cruel light flashing within.

'So be it. If persuasion won’t work… then I’ll use Kotoamatsukami.'

He had once considered turning it on Hiruzen, but the risk was too great—the Hokage’s will might resist even that ultimate genjutsu.

No. His target would be Tsunade.

Not yet. Not until the moment the Fifth Hokage was decided. Then, under the guise of loyalty, he would strike.

Ninja Academy

“Kitazawa, thanks for today.”

Kakashi exhaled slowly, his voice calm but weighted.

“What’s there to thank?” Kitazawa replied with indifference. “We’re all shinobi of Konoha. Naturally, we fight together against our enemies.”

“Not just for standing against that masked man,” Kakashi added, his eye drifting to the weapon at his side, “but also for this blade you gave me.”

It was no ordinary sword—reforged from the Kiba, imbued with lightning-attracting properties, its value exceeded that of a pure chakra-metal weapon. Accepting it placed Kakashi in Kitazawa’s debt.

By all logic, he shouldn’t have taken it. But he liked the blade too much.

And so, instead of guilt, he carried only a quiet resolve: when the chance came, he would repay Kitazawa.

“It’s nothing,” Kitazawa waved dismissively. “I just happened to pick it up for free.”

He truly meant it. To him, Kiba had come too easily to hold any special weight. Besides, in the face of true power, ninja tools—no matter how rare—were often little more than trinkets.

Kakashi fell silent. Free, huh? From his perspective, Kitazawa made it sound like Kurosuki Raiga had casually tossed Lightning Fang aside on a whim. The thought left him speechless, hovering on the edge of complaint but never voicing it.

“There’s one more thing.” Kakashi took a few steps, then paused as though remembering. “I plan to take next Tuesday off.”

“An outside mission?” Kitazawa asked, curious.

“No.” Kakashi shook his head. “The Memorial Stone.”

Kitazawa’s heart skipped.

The Memorial Stone—the place where Konoha honored its fallen. Kakashi’s destination could only mean one thing: he was going to pay respects to Rin Nohara and Obito.

And under normal circumstances, Obito would have gone as well.

Realization dawned. The Mist delegation’s late arrival wasn’t negligence—it was Obito’s delay, buying himself time to grieve at Rin’s resting place. But now, with his body in tatters, he couldn’t go at all.

“The Genius Class training has already settled into a rhythm." Kitazawa said evenly. “Your absence won’t matter for a day.”

“Mm.” Kakashi nodded, then added softly, “Thanks.”

Kitazawa’s tone hardened. “That masked man may be wounded, but when he recovers, he’ll come for revenge. Be careful.”

“I know,” Kakashi said seriously. If Obito returned, his first target would undoubtedly be him—the one who had severed his arm and driven Raikiri nearly through his heart.

“Will he even survive those wounds?” Kakashi murmured.

“Hard to say,” Kitazawa answered, voice heavy with meaning. “Sharingan combined with Wood Release… he may have ways to cling to life.”

Kakashi gave a curt nod.

The two returned to the training grounds, gathering their students. Kitazawa lingered at a distance, watching Hinata, Ino, and the others push themselves through drills. Their progress varied, but after a month, three stood ready to advance: Hana, Kiba, and Chōji.

Chōji had nearly mastered the Partial Multi-Size Technique. His next steps were straightforward—refining clan techniques like the Human Bullet Tank.

Hana and Kiba were different. Kitazawa had modified their paths. Hana was working on Quadruple Fang Over Fang, while Kiba attempted the Three-Headed Hellhound.

Hana had the advantage of her own ninken, making her progression smooth. Kiba, though, was trickier.

Another head for the Hellhound? No. Adding heads didn’t always add strength.

Kitazawa rubbed his chin. As things stood, Kiba lacked offensive options. His three-headed form was powerful but crude.

He remembered Kiba’s chakra nature: Earth. Perhaps Earth Release could fill the gap? But most of his Earth jutsu required hand seals, useless in Hellhound form.

“Earth Release without hand seals…” Kitazawa muttered, mind racing.

Then he recalled Pain’s summon. With a beast as massive as the Three-Headed Hellhound, a single stomp could fracture the ground, sending debris flying. A crude but devastating attack.

The problem? Kiba was still too young. The Hellhound’s body wasn’t built for the monstrous strength that technique demanded.

Unless… he simplified it. Strip away the refined elements, leave only raw chakra output. A downgraded, easier version—less elegant, but still effective.

“I really am following in Tobirama’s footsteps,” Kitazawa chuckled wryly. But it wasn’t a bad path. Each new jutsu not only expanded his arsenal, but could be traded with Hiruzen for others of equal value. And then there were the system’s missions… the returns were always worthwhile.

For now, though, he’d wait. The monthly exam loomed, and there was no need to rush Hana, Kiba, and Chōji into advanced training. He would refine his Hellhound Sky Kick first.

After a time, Kitazawa left two shadow clones to supervise while he slipped into a quiet corner.

Mission complete: Drive away Uchiha Obito.
Reward: Three-Tomoe Sharingan.

Alone, he activated his new eyes.

A surge of power coursed through him as the tomoe spun to life. His chakra sharpened, and his vision became razor-clear.

The Three-Tomoe Sharingan’s observational prowess was astounding. He could track every movement, predict attacks, and even copy jutsu at a glance. And beyond that—its genjutsu.

No hand seals, no preparation. Just a look, and his target would be ensnared in illusion. Terrifying in its simplicity. With this, Kitazawa stood at the peak of ordinary genjutsu users.

Satisfied, he headed to the academy’s artificial lake. Obito wouldn’t return soon, but the pressure lingered. His strength was still lacking.

With Senju Chakra Mode, he could suppress Obito temporarily. But Kamui’s intangibility lasted five minutes, while his chakra mode burned out in three. Unless he extended it. More chakra, more time—that was the key.

In short, he needed more jutsu. More missions. More growth.

Today’s task: Earth Release: Headhunter Jutsu. Diving underground to ambush or evade—simple, practical, effective.

Elsewhere, deep in a cave in the Land of Fire…

“Kakashi!”

Obito’s eyes snapped open as he let out a hoarse roar, filled with rage. The sound was quickly swallowed by pain, his body wracked with agony.

“Your injuries this time rival those from Kannabi Bridge.”

The voice came from the shadows. Obito turned his head, teeth clenched, and saw Zetsu—the half-black, half-white figure with its grotesque pitcher-plant form.

The words had come from Black Zetsu—the hidden mastermind of shinobi history.

“If not for the Hashirama cells, you’d already be dead,” Black Zetsu said coldly. “Until the Moon’s Eye Plan begins, stay away from Konoha. Focus on healing.”

Obito scowled. He had gone twice to Konoha—and twice returned broken. Even Zetsu was growing wary. It wanted only to move forward, to free its mother, Kaguya Ōtsutsuki.

“I won’t die,” Obito growled. Hashirama cells gave him regeneration, and Izanagi lurked as a last resort.

“Don’t forget,” Black Zetsu pressed, “Madara saved you for a reason. Once the Moon’s Eye Plan succeeds, destroying Konoha will be as easy as snapping a twig.”

Obito’s face twisted with unwillingness. With Mangekyō Sharingan, Hashirama cells, and Wood Release, he had believed Kakashi would fall easily. Instead, he had his heart nearly pierced—the same way Rin had died.

“Once you recover, join the Akatsuki. Begin the plan without delay,” Black Zetsu ordered.

Obito’s expression shifted. His rage deepened into something darker. “You’re right… and before that, I’ll make the Mist deliver a grand ‘gift’ to Konoha.”

He no longer needed to control the Hidden Mist. But before discarding it, he would use it—use it to stoke his hatred until it consumed everything.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 232 - Kakashi Vs Obito

Mid-fight, Kakashi suddenly halted and pulled back.

His gaze shifted behind him, brows knitting together.

“What’s wrong, Kakashi?”

Kitazawa instinctively tightened his grip on Zangetsu.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” Kakashi said, voice low and heavy.

Kitazawa’s heart skipped a beat.

Obito?

Who else could it be? No one else had reason to spy on him and Kakashi.

Then came the voice of the system:

As a future Hokage, you must repel strong enemies.
Current Mission: Drive away Obito Uchiha.
Reward: Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
Do you accept?

Kitazawa blinked in shock.

He had assumed he would only receive the Three-Tomoe Sharingan once he helped Sasuke awaken his own. That would have been too late… but this? This was unexpected—and perfect.

Without hesitation, he accepted.

A bonus windfall.

Especially since Kakashi had already sensed Obito. A clash was inevitable. And the system’s choice of wording—drive away, not defeat or kill—was telling. It didn’t believe Obito could be killed here.

Which was true.

Obito wasn’t just another enemy. He was one of the great antagonists of the original story—his advantages nearly on par with Sasuke and Naruto themselves.

Kamui alone was broken enough. Add in Hashirama’s cells, giving him stamina to spam it, and the reality-bending cheat of Izanagi… he was practically untouchable.

In the distance, White Zetsu tilted his head, smirking.

“Kakashi’s noticed. What now? Planning a tearful reunion with your old teammate?”

Obito’s chakra had slipped for only an instant, his emotions spiking—but that was enough. He didn’t bother denying it.

“Harmless,” he muttered.

“Are you going to reveal yourself, Obito?” Zetsu pressed.

“I am Madara Uchiha now,” Obito snapped, glaring.

“Lord Madara, then—shall we leave?” Zetsu backpedaled instantly.

“Leave? That’s not Madara Uchiha’s style.” A flicker of excitement lit Obito’s eye. “Why not announce my return to Konoha with thunder and flame?”

“Don’t forget the Moon’s Eye Plan,” Zetsu reminded smoothly.

“How dull.” Obito’s lip curled. “Then at least let me test how far Kakashi has come.”

“Come out!” Kakashi’s sharp voice cut through the air.

A shadow stepped into view.

Obito’s voice, cold and mocking, rang out. “Who are you?”

Kakashi studied the swirling orange mask carefully.

“It’s been too long since I returned to Konoha. The younger generation… is truly disappointing,” Obito sneered.

Playing games again.

Kakashi lunged without hesitation, his blade thrusting forward.

Obito didn’t even move.

Confused but committed, Kakashi followed through—only to watch his blade slip straight through Obito’s body.

His eye widened in shock.

“That all you’ve got?” Obito’s foot lashed out, slamming into Kakashi. The force drove him back, though he caught himself with a guarded block.

Obito flicked his wrist. From nowhere, kunai and shuriken erupted in a storm, hurtling toward Kakashi.

“Uchiha Style: Raging Wind Sword!”

Kitazawa blurred into place in front of him, Zangetsu already raised. The blade thrummed violently, heat surging through it. A massive arc of flame roared outward, scattering the barrage.

“Kakashi, be careful,” Kitazawa warned.

Obito’s gaze slid to him, dismissive. “So this is your new teammate? Hmph. Doesn’t look like much.”

Kakashi’s eye narrowed. “You know me?”

The phrasing—new teammate—stabbed at old wounds. Rin. Obito. The memories Kakashi never let himself dwell on.

Kitazawa, already aware of Obito’s identity, caught the hidden barb immediately.

“No,” Obito said flatly. “I only heard that you killed your own comrade.”

Lightning flared violently. Kakashi’s Sharingan whirled, his chakra condensing into a blade of raw lightning.

“Lightning Release: Raikiri!”

He flashed forward, a streak of speed and killing intent—

And pierced nothing.

Again, his attack passed harmlessly through Obito.

A chain shot from Obito’s sleeve, wrapping around Kakashi before he could react.

"Tch—!" Kakashi immediately cut with his Lightning Blade, but the chain didn’t so much as tremble.

Obito raised his arm, ready to gloat—

But Kitazawa was already weaving seals. A water dragon roared into existence, crashing toward them.

Obito smirked, yanking the chain to drag Kakashi into its path—

Only for the dragon to swerve unnaturally, twisting around Kakashi and hurtling straight for him.

“Water Release? Barely worth my time.” Two massive shuriken tore free from his Kamui space, slicing the dragon apart.

Kakashi burst free from the chain in the chaos, his blade flashing white. He lunged for Obito’s throat.

The chain whipped back to intercept, steel clashing.

Kitazawa’s seals snapped into completion. “Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Flower Crimson!”

Shuriken ignited with flames, raining down in a blazing storm.

Kakashi’s blade twisted, angling suddenly for Obito’s mask—

“A wasted effort,” Obito muttered. His body flickered intangible again, ignoring both steel and fire.

Kakashi slid back, regrouping beside Kitazawa.

“This is a Space–Time ninjutsu,” Kitazawa said grimly.

Kamui. Intangibility for up to five minutes. Untouchable… yet unable to strike until he solidified.

That was the window.

“Mhm,” Kakashi nodded, recalling Minato-sensei’s mastery of the Flying Thunder God. “Did you notice anything else?”

Kitazawa’s eyes sharpened. “We strike when he strikes.”

Kakashi blinked. He hadn’t expected Kitazawa to see so clearly.

“I’ll draw him out. You wait for the opening,” Kitazawa said.

“You sure?” Kakashi asked. “I can lead instead—”

“You have the Sharingan. You’ll see the chance better than me. Besides…” Kitazawa’s lips quirked. “We’re in Konoha. Once this fight escalates, reinforcements will come.”

Obito’s voice cut across them, disdain dripping from it. “Plotting right in front of me? Pathetic.”

Kitazawa’s chakra surged, Senju power flooding his body. No outward change gave him away—unlike Lightning Release Chakra Mode’s visible arcs of electricity. To Kakashi, it was only proof that this Academy teacher still hid depths unseen.

There were two ways to deal with Kamui.

One—like Minato. Catch Obito the instant he turned tangible to attack.

Two—like Konan. Force him out by making intangibility unsustainable.

Kitazawa’s eyes burned with resolve.

“Then we’ll see which way works best.”

Kitazawa intended to use both strategies.

With Senju Chakra Mode, he could partially mimic Konan’s relentless pressure.

That was why he insisted on leading the assault.

Three minutes of Senju Chakra Mode might sound short, but three minutes was enough. Enough for reinforcements from Konoha to arrive.

“Fire Release: Great Fireball”

His hands blurred through seals—faster than before. In the next instant, a massive fireball surged from his mouth.

Obito’s lone eye narrowed.

His hand signs… why so fast all of a sudden?

Before he could dwell on it, he used Body Flicker, slipping past the fireball. But as his feet touched the ground, another roar filled his ears.

A water dragon came crashing in.

Tch—again?

Obito twisted, letting the beast phase through him. But no sooner had it passed than a flaming shuriken followed.

Then another jutsu. And another.

Kakashi, keeping pace, found himself stunned.

His speed… his seals are faster than mine?

There was no time to question it. He threw himself back into the fight, coordinating seamlessly with Kitazawa. Alone, their plan would have been obvious. Together, it became a storm.

Obito gritted his teeth.

Their rhythm left him no opening. He had no chance to weave his own jutsu—only relying on Kamui’s intangibility while dodging.

If this kept up, five minutes would run out.

And then—he would be forced to materialize. Even if only for an instant, under this barrage, he would take a hit.

More than that—it was humiliating. To be driven into such a state by these two…

Still, Obito refused to believe they’d uncovered Kamui’s weakness.

Coincidence, he thought coldly. Luck and teamwork, nothing more.

His eye flared scarlet.

“Enough.”

Time seemed to slow for Kitazawa and Kakashi as Obito surged forward, dropping intangibility.

“Wood Release: Cutting Sprigs Jutsu!”

Branches exploded from the ground, spearing outward like a forest of blades.

“Wood Release?!”

Kakashi froze for a split-second—just long enough for the branches to impale his side.

Obito smirked. As expected. No Konoha shinobi can stay calm at the sight of Wood Release.

But in the blink of an eye, Kitazawa’s body crumbled into mud.

“What—?!”

His eyes darted. Kakashi vanished with a bang.

“Shadow Clone?!”

Obito’s composure cracked.

A flash of lightning split the night.

Before he could phase again, killing intent slammed into him from behind.

No—too late!

“Raikiri!”

Kakashi’s strike severed Obito’s left arm cleanly, then drove straight through his torso.

Blood sprayed violently as Obito choked out a ragged breath.

For a brief, bitter instant—he saw himself as Rin must have seen him.

Kitazawa lunged in to finish the job—but suddenly, pale white growths sprouted across his body like cotton.

“White Zetsu’s Spore Technique…”

Kitazawa reacted instantly, abandoning Obito and forming seals.

The spores latched tight, feeding on his chakra while trying to smother him. Fragile, yes, but insidious—nearly invisible until triggered. Even the Fifth Mizukage had fallen victim once.

But Kitazawa had no intention of brute-forcing it.

“Sealing Technique—Evil Sealing Method!”

Cursed black markings spread across the spores, freezing them mid-expansion.

Half a Zetsu—gift-wrapped. Too valuable to waste.

Meanwhile, Obito phased, body twisting into Kamui’s void. Mortally wounded but unreachable, he vanished without a word.

The spores on Kitazawa went limp, powerless.

Satisfied, he sealed them into a storage scroll.

Then his eyes fell on the ground.

Obito’s severed arm.

His lips curved faintly. Another prize. He stored that too.

Kakashi, however, stood rooted, staring at the bloodied dirt.

“Why are you zoning out?” Kitazawa asked lightly as he closed the scroll. “That guy has space–time ninjutsu. Of course we couldn’t hold him.”

“That’s not it,” Kakashi muttered, frowning. “His eyes… they felt familiar.”

Kitazawa smiled faintly. “It was the Sharingan. No wonder it felt familiar.”

Relief washed over him. Obito was gone—badly wounded, unlikely to resurface for years. Which meant no secret meeting with Itachi. No Uchiha massacre.

Sudden, yes. But logical. If Obito came to Konoha, of course he’d seek out Kakashi.

Kakashi shook his head. “Not just the Sharingan… Never mind. We should see Hokage-sama immediately.”

The appearance of Sharingan and Wood Release together—if word spread, the village would be shaken to its core.

“Kitazawa! Kakashi!”

Kosuke finally arrived, panting. “What in the world happened here?”

He wasn’t truly late—the battle had ended too fast. Earlier, the commotion was small enough that he mistook it for a sparring match. Only when the clash grew too fierce did he rush over.

“Nothing,” Kitazawa said smoothly. “Just sparring.”

He added with a smile, “Kosuke-senpai, you should get back to your class.”

“…Alright.” Though confused, Kosuke left, relieved both were unharmed.

Kitazawa watched him go, then muttered, “The fewer who know, the better.”

“Agreed,” Kakashi nodded. For Kosuke’s own protection, secrecy was necessary.

“Want that severed arm?” Kitazawa asked casually.

Kakashi’s expression didn’t waver. “No.”

“Then let’s go.” Kitazawa’s tone hardened. “Hokage-sama must hear of this.”

Together, they hurried to the Hokage Building.

Hiruzen looked up, eyebrows rising. “It’s rare to see you two together.”

“Hokage-sama,” Kakashi said gravely, “a masked man attacked us at the Academy.”

“What? Someone infiltrated Konoha?!” Hiruzen’s face darkened. “Where is he now? Did you capture him?”

Their presence here proved they had survived. But if they failed to capture the intruder…

“No,” Kakashi admitted. “We couldn’t stop him from escaping.”

“Even with your strength?” Hiruzen frowned deeply. Kitazawa and Kakashi were both elite Jonin. Anyone who slipped through them was no ordinary foe.

He was already piecing it together—the jutsu used, the mask…

But Kakashi’s next words froze him.

“He had space–time ninjutsu. And he wielded both Sharingan… and Wood Release.”

“What did you say?!”

Hiruzen surged to his feet, disbelief etched across his face.

Wood Release and Sharingan. Together.

Impossible. Unthinkable.

Unless…

One name rose unbidden in his mind.

Danzo Shimura.

[NSSSG] [ARC-05] Chapter : 231 - Obito's Jealousy

“We won!”

Izumi’s cheer broke the silence, her face lighting up.

This mission felt worlds apart from their last one, which was very boring. Against Shinno, the three of them—and even Kurenai—had been powerless.

“That was… a truly thrilling battle.”

Torune exhaled heavily. His insects had failed for the first time, leaving him frustrated but reflective. If his insects were rendered useless, his personal strength alone couldn’t make a difference. He would need to train even harder.

“With Kitazawa-sensei here, it was thrilling… but never dangerous.”

Kabuto pushed up his glasses, his eyes sharp. After this fight, he reassessed his teacher’s strength. In his mind, only a handful of people in Konoha—Hiruzen, Tsunade, perhaps one or two others—could confidently stand above Kitazawa.

Kurenai’s eyes flicked to Shinno, her brows furrowing. “What about him? A side effect of that forbidden jutsu?”

There was no mistaking it—Shinno now looked like a walking corpse, withered skin stretched over bone, his breaths shallow and rattling.

“Yes.”

Kitazawa crouched, placing his hand above the man. A faint green glow of medical chakra lit his palm. “The stronger the forbidden jutsu, the harsher the price.”

He didn’t turn as he called, “Izumi.”

Shinno’s condition was worse than expected, but he couldn’t be allowed to die just yet.

“Kitazawa-sensei.” Izumi hurried to his side.

“Use your Sharingan. Control him.”

Her eyes spun to life, two tomoe forming in each. She fixed her gaze on the hollow husk before her.

Shinno, once a formidable jonin, couldn’t resist. His expression dulled, his will shackled by her gaze.

“Izumi, ask him where the medical forbidden jutsu are. If they’re not on scrolls, have him write them down.”

“Understood.”

Her voice was calm as she relayed Kitazawa’s words.

“…In the control room of the Angkor Fortress…” Shinno rasped.

Kitazawa’s eyes narrowed. The Angkor Fortress—the city beneath Soragakure Village. In the original story, powered by the Zero-Tailed, it could soar into the sky and fire a chakra cannon rivaling a Tailed Beast Ball. A so-called invincible weapon—yet one that Shino had once crippled single-handedly with his clan’s kikaichu.

“Kabuto, stabilize his condition. Izumi, have him record the forbidden jutsus. Kurenai, you’re with me—we’re heading to the Angkor Fortress.”

“Yes, Kitazawa-sensei,” Kabuto and Izumi answered together.

“Let’s move.”

Withdrawing his Mystic Palm, Kitazawa turned toward the shaft the Soragakure shinobi had used earlier and leapt down. Kurenai followed without hesitation.

“There shouldn’t be many enemies left here,” Kitazawa remarked as they landed in a steel corridor.

Kurenai’s curiosity finally broke through. “How do you know so much about this place?”

“I sent a Shadow Clone to scout ahead,” he replied simply.

“I see…” She nodded, glancing around at the metallic walls and listening to the faint grind of gears echoing through the fortress.

“And this Angkor Fortress—what exactly is it?”

“A massive flying fortress,” Kitazawa said. “It’s the pride of Soragakure.”

Kurenai’s eyes widened. “A flying fortress? The shinobi world really is full of absurd things…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Kitazawa shook his head. “To true powerhouses, it’s just a massive target.”

“Fair point,” Kurenai agreed. “If it were truly unstoppable, Soragakure wouldn’t have been destroyed in the first place.”

Kitazawa halted suddenly. “Someone ahead.”

“I’ll handle them,” Kurenai volunteered quickly. She hadn’t contributed much against Shinno, and she wasn’t about to be a burden twice in one day.

Kitazawa gave a nod.

She darted forward.

“Who goes there?!”

Two Soragakure shinobi whirled at the intrusion.

“Ninja Art: Hundred Petal Storm!”

Petals filled the air, swirling in a deadly storm. Kurenai’s form blurred, vanishing into the crimson haze.

When she reappeared, she was behind one of the shinobi. A flick of her wrist sent petals slashing through his throat. Blood sprayed as he collapsed.

The second shinobi froze in terror, whipping his head around—but Kurenai had already disappeared.

A rush of air overhead—then a sharp kick knocked him unconscious.

Kitazawa stepped forward as she landed. “Efficient and clean.”

He pushed open the heavy steel door ahead—and stopped.

A wave of silence pressed down. Inside were huddled villagers, gaunt and trembling, their eyes hollow with fear.

Kurenai’s breath caught. “These people…?”

“They’re batteries,” Kitazawa answered grimly, forming a hand seal and summoning a Shadow Clone. “Fuel for the Zero-Tailed.”

Kurenai’s stomach twisted. Even without knowing what the Zero-Tailed truly was, she understood the cruelty of using human beings as living energy sources.

“They’re all kidnapped from nearby villages,” Kitazawa continued. “Get them out.”

At the word out, the captives stirred, hope flashing in their hollow gazes.

“Are you… here to save us?”
“Thank you!”
“We’ll never forget this kindness!”

Tears of gratitude streamed down their faces as the clone guided them away.

“Shinno deserved worse than death,” Kurenai muttered darkly, rage bubbling at the sight.

“Kurenai.” Kitazawa’s voice was steady. “Let’s head deeper. The energy gathered here flows to the next level—the control room. That’s where the Zero-Tailed is.”

Together, they descended. Any remaining Soragakure shinobi fell swiftly under Kurenai’s strikes.

At last, Kitazawa halted. “This is it.”

A suffocatingly cold chakra seeped through the steel door ahead.

Kitazawa raised his hand, pressing the release. With a hiss, the door slid open.

Before them loomed a massive cylindrical tank of reinforced glass.

Inside, coiled like some foul serpent, was a creature with a shifting, mud-like body and a mask-shaped face.

The Zero-Tailed.

The moment its eyes found them, it slammed into the glass with terrifying force—yet the container held firm, humming with power.

“This is the Zero-Tailed? Tch… it’s hideous.”

Kurenai wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ugly or not, the fact that Shinno managed to create the Zero-Tailed is proof of his… peculiar talent.”

Kitazawa studied the grotesque mass before him, eyes narrowing. He had never laid eyes on an actual Tailed Beast, so he couldn’t make a direct comparison—but one thing was certain. This creature was leagues beneath the real thing.

In the original story, Naruto and Sasuke had torn it apart with sheer chakra. That alone revealed its greatest weakness: a limit.

Kurenai frowned. “So, what do you intend to do with it?”

“For now… nothing.” Kitazawa’s answer came after a pause.

The Zero-Tailed thrived on darkness—the festering malice in people’s hearts. To feed it was to harvest negative emotions. Shinno’s method had been simple: abduct innocents, torment them, force them to generate despair. Cruel, but effective.

Kitazawa had no need for such ugliness. He had his own system—and moral lines he refused to cross. Besides, a creature bound by a chakra ceiling could never rise to the level of a true Tailed Beast. Even if it could, where would he find such an endless supply of hatred to sustain it? Shinno had devoted decades, and still it wasn’t enough.

No, Kitazawa wouldn’t waste time fattening this mockery of a beast. But nor would he discard it. Once he mastered the Four Symbols Seal, he planned to lock it away inside a scroll, a living power bank. Its chakra—born of Yin Release—was perfectly suited for Genjutsu and other Yin-based jutsus.

With that thought, Kitazawa pulled his gaze away from the writhing creature and began rifling through Shinno’s study.

“Here!” Kurenai called out, already holding three sealed scrolls.

They contained Shinno’s forbidden works: Cellular Activation, Body Regeneration.

Kitazawa accepted them and skimmed through, nodding with quiet approval. Body Regeneration, in particular, resembled the system-granted version he already possessed. It also explained much about Shinno’s faux strength.

No wonder his Eight Gates Formation felt like a counterfeit. Glossy on the outside, rotten within. On the surface, he seemed formidable, but compared to Gai or Dai, whose strength was forged through years of grueling training, Shinno’s foundation was laughably brittle.

“Let’s head out.” Kitazawa tucked the scrolls away.

They retraced their steps back to the surface, where Izumi hurried over.

“Kitazawa-sensei,” she said, offering another scroll. “These are Shinno’s original notes on the jutsus.”

Kitazawa skimmed the parchment. They were identical to what he’d already acquired—untampered, authentic.

“Kabuto,” he ordered without hesitation, “end his wretched life.”

“Understood.”

Kabuto ceased the healing chakra flow, and Shinno’s labored breaths quickly stilled. To be certain, Kabuto drove a kunai into the man’s heart.

“A clean finishing blow. Good habit,” Kitazawa remarked approvingly.

Kurenai chuckled softly. “Kabuto looks more like a true shinobi than I do.”

Kitazawa elbowed her lightly. “Then train harder. Don’t let my student leave you behind.”

Rolling her eyes, Kurenai huffed. “Yes, Kitazawa-sensei.” But inside, she knew talent wasn’t something sheer effort could bridge.

Turning to his team, Kitazawa unfurled a separate mission scroll. “Kabuto, take Izumi and Torune. Finish this bandit suppression mission. Kurenai and I will handle the fortress.”

“Understood.” Kabuto glanced through the mission details—straightforward, nothing troublesome. With a nod, he led his teammates toward the mountains.

As for Angkor Fortress, Kitazawa gave no quarter. “Slaughter every Soragakure shinobi inside, then collapse the entrance.”

This was the shinobi world: kill or be killed. Every ninja’s hands dripped with blood. Perhaps that was why men like Jiraiya still clung desperately to the dream of peace, pinning hope on a destined Child of Prophecy. But the path remained unseen.

Once the fortress was purged, Kitazawa and Kurenai waited for the others to return. Their B-rank mission concluded swiftly, and by dawn the next day, the group was back in Konoha.

“You’ve all done well. Go rest,” Kitazawa told them, patting Kabuto’s shoulder.

The three chorused, “Yes, Kitazawa-sensei,” their spirits lighter despite the lack of official reward. After all, surviving Shinno had been reward enough in experience.

“You too, Kurenai,” Kitazawa said more softly. “I’m heading to the Mission Hall.”

She simply nodded and let him go.

After submitting the B-rank report, Kitazawa returned home and unrolled the scroll for Cellular Activation.

He finally understood the difference between Shinno and the Fourth Raikage. Shinno’s method was a balloon—temporarily inflated to seem strong, constantly requiring maintenance with Body Regeneration. The Raikage, on the other hand, was a solid iron weight: naturally durable, no artificial upkeep required.

Just like Shinno’s false Eight Gates compared to Gai’s authentic ones.

Rubbing his chin, Kitazawa considered. He wouldn’t use the jutsu as it was. Instead, he’d reshape it into a Yang Release Chakra Mode—a far more sustainable, efficient path.

At that moment, his system chimed:

Current Mission: Modify Cellular Activation into Yang Release Chakra Mode.
Reward: Water Release: Water Severing Wave.

Kitazawa raised his brows, pleasantly surprised. An S-rank water jutsu, one of Tobirama’s finest—capable of slicing through even the roots of the Divine Tree.

There was no hesitation. He accepted.

The next morning, he headed for Konoha’s gates. Crowds gathered, eager to glimpse the Hidden Mist delegation. Kitazawa had a different motive: he wanted to confirm if Obito had indeed slipped into the village during these talks.

By the time the Mist delegation arrived, Konoha’s team—Tsunade, Shikaku, and ten others—was already in place, granting the Mist considerable face.

And among the Mist shinobi, Kitazawa’s sharp eyes immediately locked onto one figure: Suikazan Fuguki, hulking frame and Samehada strapped to his back.

That blade wasn’t a mere weapon—it was alive, feeding on chakra itself. A fickle partner, loyal only to the flavor of its feast. Someday, it would betray its wielder for a more “delicious” host.

Just as it once abandoned its master for Killer B and the Eight-Tails.

Kitazawa’s eyes swept slowly across the Hidden Mist delegation.

With so many onlookers, he couldn’t risk activating his Byakugan. Not that it mattered—he doubted he’d be able to pick out Obito even if he did.

He wasn’t disappointed. This was what he expected.

Once Tsunade led Fuguki and the others toward the Hokage Building, Kitazawa turned back toward home.

Obito’s Kamui was troublesome, yes—but the original story had already shown plenty of ways to deal with it. And here, inside Konoha, Obito wouldn’t linger. At most, he’d make a fleeting appearance.

Still, Kitazawa’s mind turned to another angle—Kakashi.

If Obito had truly returned to the village, he would have to seek Kakashi out. That bond between them ran too deep, too bitter to ignore. But there was no need to rush. If Obito had slipped in with the Mist delegation, then he’d be locked in meetings all day. Negotiations over Lightning Blades: Kiba would drag endlessly, especially since Konoha had no intention of giving it up.

The next morning, Tuesday

Kitazawa was midway through breakfast when a knock came at his door.

He rose, opened it—

“Tenten?”

“Kitazawa-sensei, you really do have great foresight!” she said brightly, holding a scroll.

Kitazawa blinked. “You came this early? Don’t tell me the Kiba have already been reforged?”

“Exactly!” she beamed. “Didn’t I say one month? That was only an estimate. My father gained new insights while reforging it, so the process finished in half the time.”

“I see.” Kitazawa smiled faintly. “A double blessing, then.”

“Sensei, I’ve brought both swords.”

She unsealed the scroll with practiced hands. Two sheathed ninja blades materialized before them.

“Thank you.” Kitazawa accepted them with a nod.

“Then I’ll be off. Goodbye, sensei.” Without lingering, Tenten turned and left.

Kitazawa stored the blades away, finished his meal, and made for the Ninja Academy.

At 8:30 sharp, before the Genius Class began, he found Kakashi.

“Kakashi, here.”

Kakashi glanced at the sword, then drew it carefully. “So this is the reforged Kiba? Hn. Doesn’t look like much.”

“You’ll know once you try it.” Kitazawa gestured. “Let’s not test it here—we might fry some poor student.”

“…Fair enough.” Kakashi led him to a remote training ground, the same one he sometimes used to try Lightning Release: Kirin.

“It should respond just by channeling lightning chakra,” Kitazawa explained, recalling Raiga’s use of the weapon.

Kakashi raised the blade, flooding it with chakra.

In an instant, arcs of lightning raced down the metal, bursting into dazzling brilliance.

“A fine sword,” Kakashi admitted, genuine admiration slipping into his tone.

He knew swords. His father had been Konoha’s White Fang, a name as feared as the Sannin. Kakashi himself had once wielded Sakumo’s short sword before it was lost at Kannabi Bridge. Along with Obito.

Now, holding a blade once more, something long buried stirred within him.

He thrust it skyward. Lightning shot from the tip, splitting the heavens as storm clouds gathered overhead.

“It really is simpler than shaping lightning release manually.” He exhaled, withdrawing his chakra but unable to resist a few more test swings.

Kitazawa tilted his head. “Could this be the legendary Hatake-style Swordsmanship?”

“You know of it?” Kakashi asked, surprised.

“Only in name.”

A shadow of nostalgia passed through Kakashi’s eye. Hatake-style Swordsmanship—hardly spoken of now, overshadowed by the fame of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. Yet once, it had shaken the shinobi world.

“You speak as though you’d like to see it for yourself,” Kakashi said.

Kitazawa coughed lightly. “It would be an honor.”

“Then spar with me.” Kakashi’s grip tightened.

“Go easy on me,” Kitazawa replied with a grin, drawing Zangetsu. He wasn’t foolish—his kenjutsu couldn’t match Hatake-style at its peak.

Kakashi exhaled slowly. It had been years since he last felt this—blade in hand, old instincts waking.

In a flash, he lunged.

“So fast—!” Kitazawa’s eyes narrowed, barely managing to intercept with Zangetsu.

Clang!

Kakashi twisted, his blade darting for Kitazawa’s eyes with assassin-like precision. Kitazawa squinted instinctively. No wonder Sakumo had been called White Fang.

He bent back, avoiding the thrust, then swept upward with his own blade.

“Good!” Kakashi’s excitement flared. This was like sparring with Obito in his youth—except now, his opponent’s raw strength forced him to push harder.

Steel clashed, sparks flying in the morning sun.

From a distance, someone watched.

Obito.

Dragged to the village under the Mist’s banner, he had wasted yesterday in endless negotiations. Konoha refused to hand over the Kiba, and on the second day, he’d ditched the talks entirely.

Now, arriving at the Academy, he found Kakashi wielding the reforged blade. Understanding hit him at once: Konoha had never intended to give it away. They had handed it to Kakashi instead.

His fists clenched. Why him?

Kakashi—always praised, always chosen. While he—Obito—had been overlooked, scorned, called worthless.

The only time Rin had looked his way, it was never just him she saw. And in the end, Kakashi himself had killed her.

Why? Was Konoha more important than Rin? Why had Minato, the Yellow Flash, arrived too late to stop it?

That day, Obito’s heart had shattered. He had returned as a wraith of vengeance, unleashing the Nine-Tails upon the village. And now…

“Good strike!” Kakashi’s voice rang, jolting him back.

Obito’s gaze snapped to his former teammate, a familiar silhouette etched in the clash of blades. His teeth ground together.

What are you doing? he thought bitterly. Smiling? Laughing? Have you forgotten you killed Rin?

“Kakashi seems happy,” a lazy voice murmured at his feet.

Obito turned, glaring. “Shut up.”

White Zetsu smirked. “I’ve picked up some intel. You know why Kakashi’s teaching classes? Hiruzen’s orders. Something about a ‘Genius Class.’”

Obito’s lip curled. “A class for little brats? Hmph. If it had existed back then, I never would’ve qualified. I was always dead last.”

Yet dead last or not, here he stood—the strongest Uchiha alive.

“And that’s not all,” White Zetsu added with a sly chuckle. “Kakashi’s taken on a student. A boy named… Uchiha Sasuke.”

Obito froze.

An Uchiha?

His jaw tightened. Why? Out of everyone, why choose an Uchiha?

Was this his replacement?

Obito’s eyes burned as he watched Kakashi spar with Kitazawa, displeasure twisting inside him like a knife.

[NNSS] Chapter : 34

Tanzai stood at the gangplank of the cargo ship about to set sail, a wide smile plastered across his face. Yet beneath the sunlight, small beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

He clasped Roshi’s hand tightly.

“Roshi-sama! Words cannot express my gratitude! If it weren’t for you this time…” His voice was loud, but his eyes flickered nervously toward the shadows near a warehouse on the dock. Several men in leather guard armor stood there, arms folded.

“The goods are finally on board, and now I can breathe again!” He wiped his sweat, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “But… are you truly not coming with the ship? I fear those people have taken a grudge against you. That incident at the city gate…”

Roshi smoothly withdrew his hand, his face composed as ever.

“Rest assured, Tanzai-san.” His gaze swept over the guards, who instinctively shrank back the instant his eyes met theirs.

“Ah! Your words put my mind at ease!” Tanzai’s worry instantly dissolved into an obsequious grin, as though his earlier anxiety had never existed.

Rubbing his hands, he said, “I’ve already paid for five days at Haifi Pavilion. Please stay there without concern! I had hoped to properly host you as thanks, but alas, the ship cannot wait… Please, accept this small token of appreciation!” He produced a bulging pouch of coins as if from nowhere, pressing it toward Roshi.

“It was my duty, Tanzai-san. There’s no need.” Roshi raised a hand and gently pushed the money back.

Tanzai accepted it again with a bow. “If I ever need another mission, I will surely seek Konoha’s shinobi once more. Then, I must take my leave.”

He ascended the gangplank, looking back three times with each step. Only when the ship’s dull horn echoed and the vessel pulled away into the busy lanes of the port, fading into the horizon, did his figure vanish from sight.

Almost at that same moment, the air in the Wasabi Family’s estate at the heart of Deai Port grew heavy.

Inside a dimly lit Japanese-style chamber, even the finest incense could not mask the tension.

Seven or eight well-dressed men sat formally on tatami mats. They were the power-brokers of Deai Port—heads of the fishing guild, the dockworkers’ union, and several of the largest trading houses. Only the Hejies family was absent.

Every gaze was fixed on Wasabi Jirochō, seated in the main position.

He wore a dark gray formal kimono, his back straight as a pine. The humility that usually softened his gaunt features was gone, replaced by grim resolve, as if he had already burned his bridges.

On the low table before him lay a thick scroll of documents and several rubbed portraits, their blurred lines still revealing cruel, unforgettable faces.

“Gentlemen,” Jirochō’s voice was quiet but cut through the silence like steel, “I invited you here today to expose a lie that threatens the very survival of Deai Port!”

He lifted one of the portraits—a man with a scarred eye and brutish expression.

“This is Shionzu, a ruthless bandit of the Chayama Gang in Nochapo. Three months ago, his men ambushed three merchant caravans from Nanshou Post, leaving seventeen dead or wounded.” He raised another. “And this one…”

One after another, he displayed the portraits. Under the dim yellow lamplight, each face looked more sinister than the last.

Jirochō’s voice tightened with restrained fury. “These men, and nearly three hundred desperate followers, were not annihilated as the Hejies Family claims. They are here—under our noses! They hold the gates, the docks, the streets! Cloaked in the guise of a ‘special transit tax,’ they are bleeding merchants dry and strangling this city!”

A ripple of shock swept through the room.

The elderly president of the fishing guild spoke, trembling, “Jirochō, this is no trivial accusation! Without undeniable proof…”

“The proof is here!” Jirochō slammed the thick bundle onto the table.

“From the tokens left at the Nochapo hideout, to the testimony of escaped laborers, and even the tattoos they failed to conceal!” He drew a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the startled, wavering faces. Then he struck the final blow:

“More importantly—all this evidence was collected and verified with the assistance of a Konoha shinobi squad, on an official guard mission. Roshi, Special Jōnin!”

“Konoha?!” The single word dropped like a boulder into a still pond, sending ripples through the men’s hearts.

Where there had been doubt, their expressions grew complicated.

“Precisely.” Jirochō’s voice deepened, seeing the shift in their eyes. “I have already dispatched envoys to the capital with the evidence and our letters. The Daimyō will know the truth.

And I ask that when you return to your homes, you ready your men and sharpen your blades. Together, we will purge these jackals from Deai Port!”

Silence fell over the room.

The prominent figures exchanged looks, sending quick, wordless messages. Some ignited with anger and nodded vigorously; others frowned, fingers tapping their knees in thought.

At last the old president of the fishing guild spoke slowly. “If a Konoha shinobi testifies and these… material proofs,” he nodded toward the documents, “are genuine, then we accept it. We’ll return and make preparations.”

He hesitated, changing tone. “That said—the Hejies Family currently holds authority here, and those people were appointed by them. It would be unwise to move without an order from the Daimyō. Once his order arrives, however, we will purge these parasites at once.”

“Exactly.”

“We should wait for the Daimyō’s command.”

The others echoed the sentiment: we believe Jirochō and the evidence, but not a single man will act until the official word comes down.

Jirochō had expected this. These old foxes wanted him to do the dirty work—then use his hand to strike the cancer the Hejies family had fostered—yet they refused to risk anything until the dust settled.

He showed no disappointment. Instead, he nodded solemnly. “What you say is true. Without a formal mandate, words fall flat; without words, nothing succeeds. I understand. We wait on the Daimyō’s judgment. Prepare thoroughly now, so when the moment comes, we may strike and finish it in one blow.”

“Of course.”

“Rest assured, Head of the Wasabi Family.”

They rose, bowed in ceremony, faces set with solemn calculation, and departed in a hurry. The tatami room emptied, and only the faint scent of incense lingered.

Almost as the dignitaries left the gate, secret messages—quick as insects trapped in a web—began to vibrate through different channels.

Outside the center of town, in a dim, ragged room facing a broken shipyard, daylight was mostly blocked by tarpaulins and the air tasted of cheap tobacco.

Jubei sat cross-legged in the deepest shadow, his katana across his knees. A lean man knelt before him, voice low and urgent.

“…Wasabi Jirochō gathered them, showed papers and portraits—said it’s irrefutable. Said a Konoha ninja helped obtain it… He’s sending it to the Daimyō. The order arrives tomorrow. He’ll move once the order is in hand…”

Jubei’s half-closed eyes snapped open. The scabbard on his lap seemed to hum.

So that’s it—the old man sought Konoha’s endorsement.

“Reporting to the Daimyō…” Jubei’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile. “The old fool moves fast.”

He didn’t know—and didn’t need to know—how the Daimyō would react. Deny the evidence? Send an Elder tied to the Hejies? Or, seeing Konoha’s involvement, quietly abandon the Chayama Gang?

None of that mattered. The messenger had to be silenced so the Daimyō never saw the proof.

Jubei rose, his tall shadow swallowing the room and pinning the kneeling subordinate in its pressure.

“Where are the Konoha ninja now?”

“At Haifi Pavilion. We’re watching them.”

“Arrange constant surveillance on the Wasabi Family.” His voice was a command.

“Yes!”

As the man left, Jubei spoke into the dark: “Have Shoshi eliminate the Wasabi messenger. Genshoku—shadow the Konoha ninjas.”

A figure detached from the gloom. Deep sockets framed iridescent green pupils; a snarling dog tattoo shaded beneath his eyes. Feathers and bone threaded through his unkempt hair; a copper coin clamped between his teeth; a patchwork kasaya hung on his frame, a bell marked “Food” jingling at his wrist.

“Something’s off,” Genshoku muttered, the coin muffling his words.

The samurai ordnance replied coldly, “It’s irrelevant now. We’ve invested too much. Dealing with Konoha was always part of the plan—only now it comes sooner than expected.”

[NNSS] Chapter : 33

Jubei was a wanderer. He’d never had a fixed abode before, and even now—despite holding the title of Chief Guard of Deai Port—he still shifted his residence daily. Not even his own men from the Chayama Gang could find him unless he chose to appear.

“Just a little longer… the final stretch.”

The Konoha shinobi would be leaving soon. They were only here for an escort mission.

And yet, unease gnawed at him.

The Wasabi Family had reached out to those Konoha ninja, and one of them had even paid a return visit. A bad sign. But this wasn’t the right moment to act.

Jubei felt a stab of regret. Hejies Yuuma had long wanted him to eliminate Wasabi Jirocho, but back then Jirocho had been far too obedient. Dissatisfied though he might have been, he’d stayed quiet and caused no trouble.

Now? Striking at the Konoha shinobi was too risky.

But doing nothing wasn’t an option either.

So—Jubei made up his mind.

The next morning, Roshi rose early and wandered the streets as usual. By the time the mist burned away and the port glittered gold under the morning sun, he returned to the inn.

Tanzai had been waiting nervously, and the instant he saw Roshi his face lit up like a man sighting a savior. “Captain Roshi! Great news! The port has approved it—my goods can be loaded today! I’ll trouble you few to escort…”

Given permission, the cloth merchant wasted no time. Workers were quickly arranged, his eagerness plain—he wanted out of Deai Port as soon as possible.

The docks were their usual chaos: shouting laborers, creaking cargo, and the smell of salt and fish in the air. Tanzai’s men carefully carried the heavy, cloth-wrapped bolts from the warehouse to the cargo ship waiting at the berth.

The thuggish guards lingered nearby, watching. But the three shinobi could tell—their eyes weren’t on the goods. They were on them.

Roshi strode calmly toward Tanzai, who was bent in hushed conversation with a port official. Anko fell in step half a pace behind him, casual in posture but alert in intent. Together, their figures slipped into the narrow passage between stacked cargo and bustling dockworkers. Immediately, the distant guards’ attention sharpened.

Now.

Perched idly on a cargo box, Itachi lifted his head. Sunlight glinted off his eyes—two crimson tomoe spinning in silent command. Like ripples spreading through a still pond, the gaze unsettled several guards, their pupils briefly unfocused.

It lasted only a heartbeat.

When clarity returned, Roshi was already at Tanzai’s side, pointing toward the ship while Anko stood with arms folded. Two figures, nothing unusual. A guard blinked, confused. Where was the boy? He turned—and there was the black-haired genin, forehead protector gleaming, still seated on the cargo box, calmly watching the laborers. The guard exhaled slowly, convinced he’d imagined things.

Shielded by Itachi’s illusion and Anko’s presence, Roshi left behind a clone and quietly slipped away toward the Wasabi estate, masking his movements. The fact that Tanzai had been permitted to depart early told him all he needed—the enemy was already on edge. He had to accelerate his own plans.

The Wasabi residence remained tranquil.

In the garden, Tsunade lounged against the veranda, a plain white sake cup in hand. She stared at the dappled light and shadows drifting across the gravel, the faint fragrance of alcohol mingling with the morning breeze, her posture steeped in lazy decadence.

Wasabi Jirocho sat nearby, dutifully keeping her company.

“Jirocho, someone’s here for you,” Tsunade murmured without moving her gaze.

The head of the Wasabi Family stiffened, then excused himself and walked briskly down the corridor. At the courtyard gate, as expected, Roshi stood waiting.

Without exchanging words outside, Jirocho led him back into the reception room.

“I’ll be direct, Wasabi-san,” Roshi began. “You’ve realized the true purpose behind the Chayama Gang, haven’t you?”

Jirocho didn’t answer outright. Instead, he replied evenly, “My family began as fishermen and peddlers of Deai Port, who joined together to defend against wandering shinobi raids. The Wasabi Family has always cared only for matters within the port. Beyond that… it is thanks to Konoha’s protection that Deai Port has long been spared much suffering at the hands of ninja. Today’s chaos is nothing more than opportunists chasing profit. And Deai Port despises their greed.”

So—the Wasabi Family was the port’s local faction. Then, by contrast…

“The Hejies Family doesn’t seem to share that view,” Roshi said quietly.

“Those Hejies are outsiders; they only care about money.” The middle-aged man’s lids drooped. “They’re relatives of the Daimyō’s former wife—they're not like us.”

“You have proof the Chayama Gang hasn’t been wiped out, yes?”

“Of course.” Jirochō’s eyes flashed, sharp as a blade. “Everything’s prepared.”

Roshi tapped the table once, deliberate. “Would you be willing to present this to the people of Deai Port? Will the Wasabi Family report these events to the Daimyō?”

Jirochō’s brow tightened. Report to the Daimyō? What would that accomplish? Much of this chaos had the Daimyō’s silent tolerance. This young ninja, however earnest, didn’t seem to grasp the convoluted politics of adults.

Roshi’s smile was calm. “The Daimyō of the Land of Tea has never accepted brigands as the official guards of Deai Port, nor approved a bandit leader as Town Guard responsible for public safety.”

“They’ll refuse to accept the evidence,” Jirochō muttered, planning out the possible blowback. “They might even scold us for being petty—and use it as an excuse to move against the Wasabi Family.”

“Exactly.” Roshi’s tone remained steady. “And if not for Konoha…”

The reception room fell silent. Sunlight striped Roshi’s face through the lattice as he met Jirochō’s uncertain gaze and spoke each line with measured clarity:

“You simply need to state in your report to the Daimyō: Under the escort of the ninja squad dispatched from Konohagakure, it’s been confirmed the Chayama Gang—previously entrenched in Nochapo—was never truly eradicated. The Hejies Family, whether through a hunger for recognition or because they were misled by Jubei, recruited these bandits as Deai Port guards. This led to the collapse of port order and widespread grievance from merchants and travelers. We request the Daimyō launch a full investigation, restore order, and placate the populace.”

Confusion, doubt, even a faint hint of condescension melted from Jirochō’s face as if thin ice had been thrown into boiling water. Surprise and sober realization replaced it; his breath sharpened, his back straightened. He shook his head in admiration. “Roshi-kun… you don’t seem like a mere ninja.”

“To craft such a strategy at your age is remarkable.”

Roshi’s words made the point obvious: the Daimyō would avoid direct confrontation with Konoha. For the Land of Tea, a homegrown ninja village might be desirable if it succeeded—but it was not worth a direct clash with a Great Nation.

Why draw that conclusion? Roshi laid out the logic. First, the Black Snake Group needs the Chayama Gang to launder and accumulate wealth. If a nation were truly backing them outright, such clumsy, small-time methods wouldn’t be necessary. Second, the Chayama Gang’s attempts to legitimize themselves—with ceremonies and public-facing trappings—suggested the Land of Tea wanted plausible deniability and room to maneuver.

In short, the Land of Tea could offer limited assistance while keeping plausible ignorance. That meant the fastest way to flush out the hidden Black Snake Group was to remove the Chayama Gang—their fundraising arm—and force the higher players to act. Direct action against the core would be far riskier; exposing their tool first was far smarter.

“So,” Roshi asked again, quietly, “will the Wasabi Family take the lead?”

Jirochō’s face hardened into resolve. “This is what my family exists for. Tell me what to do.”

[NNSS] Chapter : 32

After leaving the Wasabi Family estate, Roshi sensed someone tailing him from the shadows.

He didn’t bother shaking them off. Instead, he strolled through the city, pausing at shops, casually chatting with vendors about market prices, then settling down at a street-side teahouse.

A pot of coarse local tea and a few sticky rice cakes soon arrived. The tea was bitter, the cakes chewy—ordinary fare—but the idle chatter drifting through the teahouse confirmed Jirocho’s warning. The Chayama Gang’s disguised guards had built up a month’s worth of simmering resentment, like smoldering charcoal waiting for a single spark.

By the time Roshi returned to Haifi Pavilion, night had already fallen.

Tanzai looked surprised to see him back so soon. After a short exchange, Tanzai retired to his room, leaving Roshi alone.

Moments later, a knock sounded. At the door stood Anko, tapping her forehead with two fingers in a playful salute.

“You’re back early, Captain? Don’t tell me the Wasabi Family bored you.”

Roshi glanced up at Anko.

She smirked. “Well, I dug up something interesting.”

Roshi smiled faintly. “Then I’ll trouble Lady Anko to enlighten us.”

“When you visited the Wasabi estate, a shipment came into the docks. I checked it out—ninja tools. Kunai, shuriken, protective gear.”

“Do you know where they were sent?” Roshi’s tone sharpened.

“I already dispatched Itachi. I’d have gone myself, but I stand out too much.” Her smile turned wry. “Pretty faces don’t blend in at the docks.”

It was then that Itachi entered, bowing politely. “Captain, Anko-senpai. I confirmed everything. The entire shipment went to Naqi Island. From what I gathered, they’ve been quietly stockpiling ninja tools all month.”

Roshi nodded, then asked, “And Tanzai-san’s goods?”

“They’re safe. I watched the docks all afternoon. The guards kept sneaking glances our way, but they weren’t interested in the cloth merchant’s cargo.”

“I see.” Roshi then recounted the information Jirocho had given him—carefully omitting Tsunade’s involvement—mentioning only that Jirocho had hired a powerful ally and there was little need to worry about security.

When he finished, the three fell into thoughtful silence.

Anko broke it first, frowning. “The Chayama Gang’s desperate for money, the Black Snake Group pops in and out of nowhere, and Naqi Island’s secretly buying weapons. These things… they’re like beads scattered on the ground. I just can’t see the thread tying them together.”

“The Black Snake Group connects to Jubei,” Itachi offered.

At that moment, Tanzai returned upstairs, announcing dinner. Roshi glanced at Anko.

She raised her hands dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Come on, kid,” she said, clapping Itachi’s shoulder. “Let’s help that poor cloth merchant carry dishes before he bursts into tears and ruins dinner for all of us.”

Without a word, Itachi followed her out. The door clicked shut, sealing off the noise of the hall.

Alone now, Roshi rose and pushed open the window. A cool breeze stirred his hair as he gazed into the night.

Kunai and shuriken were called ninja tools for a reason—ordinary people didn’t use them. Even for shinobi, in close combat a sword was more decisive; Anbu standard gear proved that much.

For an ordinary group, especially one outside the village system, to buy weapons like these in bulk was anything but normal.

And the Chayama Gang—openly clawing after money ever since their takeover—looked less like greedy thugs and more like a force funding something larger. Their hunger wasn’t just bandit nature. Their eyes were fixed on Shinobi.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a hotel attendant entered with a tray.

Dinner was typical port fare: a steaming bowl of thick fish stew, creamy broth topped with floating scallions; a plate of small sea fish fried until golden and crisp; and the house specialty—fish paste cakes, springy and white, flecked with red pepper for a kick. For the shinobi, Tanzai even brought out a plate of seasonal fruit.

“Everything alright?” Roshi asked casually as he sat down.

“No issues.” Anko deftly set out the bowls and chopsticks, while Itachi quietly placed the fruit platter in the center.

Roshi’s gaze swept over the fragrant dishes. “Once the mission is wrapped up, we’ll find another chance to try the local specialties.”

“Then you’re paying, Captain.” Anko’s eyes lit up, her tone shameless.

The chef’s skills were commendable—the fish fresh, the seasoning simple but precise. By the time Roshi finished, he found himself oddly charmed by Deai Port. He decided that once their mission was complete, he would linger a few days to soak in the sights and flavors—assuming, of course, the current mess could be untangled without disaster.

When the dishes were cleared, silence settled over the room. Roshi broke it, his voice carrying clearly.

“I’ve been thinking. The Black Snake Group’s true aim may be to establish a Ninja Village here in the Land of Tea, with the Chayama Gang propping them up.”

“A Ninja Village?!” Anko nearly spat out her drink, eyes wide. “With just a bunch of strays? What a joke!”

Even Itachi’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his usually calm features.

“It isn’t impossible.” Roshi’s tone was steady, matter-of-fact. “The Five Great Nations aren’t the only ones with ninja villages. Many smaller countries have their own. As long as they don’t infringe on the great powers’ core interests, no one has the will—or even the resources—to wipe them all out. When war breaks out, the major villages are too busy with their own fronts, leaving gaps in influence. The nobles of smaller nations still have needs, still face threats. Without their own standing force, their safety becomes fragile. That’s why founding a Ninja Village under their direct influence is a logical choice.”

“But… what about Guardian Ninja?” Anko protested. “Can’t a Daimyo just hire powerful shinobi to serve as personal guards? Isn’t that enough?”

“The principle is different.” Roshi shook his head. “Guardian Ninja are private soldiers, bound by individual loyalty. They can be swayed, corrupted, or turned against their masters. A Ninja Village,” his voice sharpened on the word, “is institutional. It holds legal recognition, sustained funding, and clearly defined boundaries. That stability is what makes it valuable.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “And frankly, only this explanation fits why the Land of Tea tolerates the Chayama Gang’s behavior here in Deai Port.”

Anko opened her mouth, ready to retort—but no counterargument came. With a frustrated sigh, she ran a hand through her hair.

“So what’s the play, Roshi?” she finally asked. “First, get this unlucky merchant’s goods on the ship, then rush back to the Village and dump the headache on the Hokage’s desk?”

Roshi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his robe and withdrew a scroll, placing it on the table. The black A-rank mission scroll, marked with Hiruzen’s personal seal, gleamed coldly in the lamplight.

“The Village,” Roshi tapped the scroll with one finger, his gaze meeting both Anko’s and Itachi’s, “has already given us the authority. And it has a preference.”

The words were unspoken but clear: expel—or annihilate—the Black Snake Group.

From the Land of Tea’s perspective, having its own Ninja Village was appealing. If resources were going to be invested, why not invest in power rooted on their soil, serving their interests first?

But Konoha’s view was very different. In the early days, the smaller villages formed alongside the Five Great Ones had been ignored, either because they were distant or because Konoha lacked the manpower to care. The Land of Fire’s wealth had always provided sufficient missions to sustain the Village.

Now, though, things had changed. Konoha had thousands of registered shinobi, with numbers still growing even in peacetime. The Land of Tea, a stable and lucrative source of missions, would never be ceded—unless there was no other choice.

A cool night breeze drifted through the open window, curling the edges of the mission scroll. Under the lamplight, three shadows stretched long across the wall, silent and unmoving.

[NNSS] Chapter : 31

“Lady Tsunade, you were too rude!” Shizune finally burst out after Roshi left. “To speak like that—and even strike him!”

“Tch. That brat wasn’t exactly polite either, was he?” The Senju Princess waved her hand dismissively. “Besides, he didn’t seem to care, so stop fussing.”

Return to the village… what would that accomplish? Tsunade’s gaze drifted toward the courtyard, where green bamboo swayed gently in the wind. All that waited there were heavy stares—silent, burning expectations. And she… she was someone who couldn’t even face blood. What use was she now? She couldn’t shoulder anything, couldn’t endure anything.

That was why she wanted to see Roshi. To confirm with her own eyes whether that boy truly carried that power.

The brief clash in the courtyard caused no ripples outside. When Roshi stepped out, Jirocho was already waiting by the corridor, standing respectfully with a perfectly measured humility, as though the muffled crack of shattered stone just moments ago had been nothing more than the wind knocking loose a tile. He led Roshi through winding halls to an elegantly furnished reception room at the front of the estate.

“Regarding the Chayama Gang,” Roshi began as soon as they sat, his tone direct, deliberately sidestepping the matter of Tsunade. “Do you have more precise intelligence?”

Jirocho straightened, his expression grave. “Nochapo has always been a den of ronin and fugitives. In the past, their numbers were small. Both my family and the Hejies would send men regularly to clear them out, barely keeping the trade routes safe.” He paused, brows furrowing. “But about four months ago, everything changed. A wandering samurai appeared. With sheer force and ruthless methods, he united the scattered bands in Nochapo, forged them into a single force, and even built a stronghold on the hillside.”

“At that time, both our houses realized the matter was far beyond our ability to handle. We petitioned Konoha for a mission, but no response ever came.” A hint of bitterness entered his voice. “In the meantime, we could only strengthen patrols along the trade roads, doing our best to hold on.”

His tone dropped lower. “The turning point came half a month ago. The Hejies family suddenly declared that they had completely eradicated the Nochapo bandits. At the same time, they announced they had recruited a new unit of elite guards to guarantee the safety of Deai Port. Almost immediately afterward, an envoy from the Daimyo’s Palace arrived. My family was reprimanded for ‘ineffective governance, allowing bandits to flourish,’ while the Hejies were praised for ‘eliminating evil and restoring peace, a great service to the region.’ The Daimyo then transferred management of the port to the Hejies—for the next four years.”

“After securing the Daimyo’s favor, the Hejies appointed a man named Jubei as the city’s defense chief.”

Jirocho’s expression hardened. “And you understand, Roshi-kun, those so-called new guards are none other than the former Chayama Gang—and Jubei is the wandering samurai who forged them into one.”

Roshi listened in silence, his fingertips rhythmically tapping the polished edge of the low table. The situation was far messier than he’d expected.

“How strong is this Jubei?” he finally asked.

Jirocho’s face grew grim, his words measured. “He is a dangerous, ruthless man. As for his true ability… forgive me, we found only scattered rumors. They say that during the suppression, he displayed strength and speed far beyond an ordinary warrior. Some even whisper he wields techniques akin to Ninjutsu.” Jirocho bowed his head slightly, his tone apologetic. “But we have no concrete proof.”

“Hm…” Roshi pondered briefly before shifting the topic. “Then, what about the Black Snake Group? Have you ever heard that name?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Jirocho’s face, as though weighing whether to speak. After several seconds, he finally began:

“…Indeed, I’ve heard of them. About two months ago, the sea route from Deai Port to Naqi Island was plagued by vicious pirates, causing severe losses. The Daimyo’s Palace was furious. Not long after, word spread that a band of wandering Ninja—the Black Snake Group—accepted a commission from the Daimyo himself and wiped the pirates out.”

He paused, watching Roshi’s expression before continuing. “But after that incident, the Black Snake Group seemed to vanish completely. No further sightings in Deai Port or its surrounding waters. Perhaps they simply collected their reward and left.”

The Daimyo again…

“I understand.” Roshi gave a small nod. “Your information is valuable. Thank you, Wasabi-san.”

“I’m glad I could be of use.” Jirocho bowed slightly, then cautiously asked, “May I know what Roshi-kun intends to do next? If the Wasabi family can assist in any way, please give the word.”

“If possible, continue to gather intel on the Chayama Gang.” Roshi rose to his feet. “I’ll return to the inn to make arrangements.”

He had initially come concerned for Jirocho’s safety. But with Tsunade—one of the Sannin—residing here, and Shizune near Jonin level, even if Tsunade chose not to act, Jirocho was in no real danger from assassins.

“If anything urgent arises, send word to me at Haifi Pavilion.”

“Understood,” Jirocho said respectfully, personally escorting Roshi from the reception room.

At the pier, Anko leaned casually against a wall, the hem of her new purple trench coat lifted slightly by the sea breeze. A blade of grass hung loosely from her mouth as her sharp eyes swept over the busy port: porters shouting as they hauled crates, guards in worn leather armor patrolling with lazy steps, their gazes lingering too long on piles of valuables.

A caravan of fully loaded wagons clattered toward the docks, guarded by several men. The owner spoke in hushed tones with a port official, who quickly waved laborers over to prioritize this shipment.

Beside them, Tanzai muttered indignantly, his face twisted with frustration.

Anko’s ears caught a few of his words:

“Damn it… straight onto the ship as soon as they arrive…”
“My goods left behind again…”
“If only I’d bought weapons too…”

Weapons?

Anko’s expression sharpened. She pushed off the wall and walked over. “Tanzai-san, who are those people?”

“They’re weapon merchants,” Hongshan spat bitterly. “I don’t know why, but someone’s buying up weapons in bulk. Their shipments get priority, while my cloth has to wait days before loading. Anko-sama, I must rely on you…” He continued, pleading for her protection.

Now that Roshi had gone, the merchant’s sense of security rested entirely on Anko and Itachi. The boy was still too young, so Tanzai clung to Anko like a lifeline.

But Anko only gave a distracted reply. Her hand slipped behind her back, fingers flicking lightly. From the shadowed sleeve of her trench coat, a thin gray serpent—no thicker than a finger—slid out soundlessly. It hugged the ground, darting swiftly into the shadows between crates and wagons, vanishing without a trace.

[NNSS] Chapter : 30

With his plan set, Roshi first spoke with Tanzai. The merchant, visibly anxious, tried to dissuade him again and again, but Roshi’s steady, unwavering gaze left no room for negotiation. With two Konoha shinobi remaining behind to guard the warehouse, Tanzai finally relented, though unwillingly.

Not long after, Wasabi Jirocho returned, this time personally inviting Roshi to the Wasabi estate.

The Wasabi Family referred not only to the household itself but also to the clan-like organization it led. The estate wasn’t extravagant, but it housed dozens of the family’s core members and their kin. Its perimeter was fortified with guards armed with bows and even firearms—an unusual sight for shinobi-trained eyes. Watchtowers rose before the rear courtyard, manned at every hour.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Jirocho commanded genuine respect from his kin, and that same courtesy extended to Roshi as he was led deeper in.

They passed through an ornate sliding door decorated with pine and crane motifs. Beyond it lay a serene garden—raked white sand, stepping stones, and carefully trimmed greenery. Corridors ringed the space, connecting tea rooms and private residences.

Roshi slowed slightly, taking in the refined atmosphere. “This feels like the inner residence.”

“Indeed,” Jirocho replied, continuing without pause. “There is someone here Roshi-dono should meet.”

The words triggered Roshi’s inner alarm, and he readied himself.

Before a secluded courtyard screened by slender bamboo, Jirocho halted. Bowing low, he announced:
“Konoha’s Special Jonin, Roshi, has arrived.”

The door slid open with a soft rasp. A young girl peeked out—dark blue casual wear, neat black hair cut short, and a delicate face with calm, intelligent eyes. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. The moment her gaze fell on Roshi, surprise flickered there—quickly buried beneath polite composure.

Shizune?

Recognition clicked immediately. And if Shizune was here… then the one inside could only be—

His guard eased.

“Please, come in.” Shizune stepped aside, her voice steady, gentle.

Jirocho did not enter. After a final bow, he withdrew to wait quietly under the veranda. Roshi followed Shizune into the courtyard.

The first thing he saw was the figure by the stone table.

Sunlight filtered through bamboo leaves, scattering dappled shadows across the garden. A woman sat lazily on a stool, clad in a loose green robe. Her golden hair, untied, spilled down her shoulders like molten light. Several sake bottles sat before her—some drained, some half-filled. She raised a heavy ceramic cup, tilting it back with a practiced ease, swallowing greedily.

Her profile in the shifting light was breathtaking. Smooth, youthful skin. Sharp brows. The kind of beauty that seemed untouched by age—no older than her early twenties.

Tsunade. As expected.

“Hm?” Tsunade set the cup down, wiping stray liquor from her lips with the back of her hand. Slowly, her head turned. Her amber eyes, dulled with alcohol, wandered toward Roshi, hazy but penetrating all the same.

“Lady Tsunade, you’ve had too much,” Shizune chided softly. “Roshi-kun is here.”

“Oh—” Tsunade dragged the word out, her voice rough, thick with drink. “So that brat’s finally here.”

Her gaze sharpened just slightly. “Old Momoka isn’t dead yet, is she?”

Roshi’s face tightened despite himself. Of all things, he couldn’t take lightly the one elder who had given him genuine care and warmth.

“Grandma is still full of vigor. Honestly, she may be healthier than you right now.”

“Heh… good.” Tsunade accepted the jab without flinching, as if his words slid right past her. Or perhaps, in her haze, she simply didn’t care. She pushed against the stone table and rose unsteadily, the faint tremor in her body betraying just how much she’d had to drink.

Her steps carried her closer, unhurried but heavy, until the scent of sake lingered thick in the air between them. She leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing as if to pierce through him.

Her amber gaze, though blurred, still held the scrutiny of someone weighing far more than appearances.

“I heard you were dying once… Grandma Momoka even sent me a letter, begging me to save you…” Tsunade burped softly, her amber eyes half-lidded. “But looking at you now… lively, standing tall… seems you’re doing just fine.”

She lazily extended a finger toward Roshi’s chest, but stopped midway, pulling it back with a slurred murmur. “Since you’re alive… why not just stay in the village? She’s already seventy-eight… she shouldn’t have to keep worrying about you…”

The heady mix of alcohol and faint perfume hung thick in the air. Roshi frowned and instinctively shifted a step back.
“The Village has assigned me a mission,” he replied, steady but curt. “I intend to see it through.”

“Village, Village…” Tsunade repeated the word like a bitter chant, her lips curling as if she could taste the syllables. “Even Grandpa… one after another… and in the end, what did it change?”

Before Roshi could respond, she suddenly closed the distance with startling speed—far too sharp for a drunken stumble. A slender, deceptively delicate hand slammed onto his shoulder, crushing down with monstrous force.

“Ugh—!” Roshi gritted his teeth as an overwhelming weight crashed onto him. The bluestone beneath his feet groaned in protest before cracking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing outward.

The haze in Tsunade’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, piercing clarity that cut like a blade. Her gaze locked onto his.
“You… Grandma Momoka used that on you, didn’t she?!”

The pressure was suffocating. Roshi’s only option was to flare his chakra. In an instant, a condensed blaze of blue surged from his pores, rippling with raw vitality.

Boom!

The stone beneath him exploded, shards flying as a violent shockwave swept the courtyard, scattering white sand and whipping bamboo leaves into a frenzy. Roshi forced his spine straight against her crushing strength, the pit beneath him sinking deeper with every heartbeat.

“Hmph.” Tsunade sneered, a flash of complicated emotion crossing her face. Then, just as abruptly, she released him. The weight vanished like mist.

Her posture softened, arms crossing as she leaned back casually against the stone table. As though nothing had happened, she lifted her sake cup again, swirling the liquid.

“So tell me…” she asked coolly, her gaze still sharp despite her languid air. “What kind of mission could be important enough… for the old man to send you?”

Roshi brushed his shoulder where no dust lingered, his voice calm as if the ground hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole.
“You misunderstand. Grandma Momoka’s attempt was never announced—it was an accident. At most, the Third Hokage has his suspicions, nothing more.”

He paused, then added evenly: “As for the mission… Jirocho-san has already explained.”

Tsunade’s amber eyes narrowed, her lashes casting thin shadows across her cheeks. The courtyard fell into silence, broken only by the restless rustle of bamboo. Off to the side, Shizune stood tensely, her brow knit, her gaze flicking between master and shinobi with faint worry.

Finishing the last of her cup, Tsunade let it fall onto the table with a muted clink. She didn’t look at Roshi this time. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively, reaching for another bottle.
“Go, then. Do whatever you came here for,” she muttered, her voice already thickening with drink again.

Roshi bowed slightly. “Yes, Lady Tsunade.”

He turned and followed Shizune toward the gate. Just before stepping out, he stopped. Without looking back, his voice carried clearly across the courtyard:
“Grandma misses you. If you have time… it would be good to return to the Village and see her.”