STIN: Chapter 89/91

Chapter 89: Want to Kill Me?

Can't dodge it? Then break through it.

Ryo's objective was absolutely clear: destroy the sealing core.

Only by destroying the prison that bound the space could the Flying Thunder God coordinates he left behind be relocated.

Counting on reinforcements from Konoha to arrive at some unknown time? That was never an option.

Your life can only be held in your own hands.

Muscle fibers pushed to their limits screamed in pain as overwhelming strength surged through them.

He planted both feet with explosive force, like two red-hot iron nails driven deep into the cracked, shattered earth, sinking a full foot down. The muscles in his right arm gripping the sword coiled like a steel python. The Kusanagi Sword seemed to sense its master's raging murderous intent and unbreakable resolve, emitting a low, sanguine hum.

Sword Technique: Mountain-Sunderer!

His wrist vibrated at a speed invisible to the naked eye. The Kusanagi Sword turned into a crimson arc tearing through the rain. Compressed force gathered along the blade, rending the air with a piercing shriek.

Bang. Boom.

A thunderous explosion shook the battlefield. That rampaging Earth Release vortex, devouring flesh and crushing rock, collided with Yamiketsu's half-suppressed king-chakra tornado. The shockwave burst outward, flinging debris everywhere.

Puh puh puh! Ah!

Screams of agony tore through the rain. Iwa shinobi who had charged forward laughingly were shredded before they could react, their bodies turned into sieves of blood.

The price...

Pain exploded in his left shoulder. An invisible wind blade, Great Wind Cut, struck at the moment his old strength faded and his new power had yet to rise, brutally tearing through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed like a high-pressure jet. The blade also slashed through his trouser leg.

The toxin's paralysis intensified, like ten thousand ants gnawing at his heart, assaulting his nerves.

His altered physiology forced his torn muscles to contract shut. Taking advantage of the shockwave from his slash, Ryo's body spun like a steel gyroscope, twisting in defiance of physical law.

Shraa!

His trouser leg ripped open. Deep gashes revealing bone appeared on the outside of his thigh. Blood gushed in torrents, dyeing the mud red beneath his feet.

A kunai grazed his ankle by mere millimeters.

Poison surged through his body. With every violent movement and loss of blood, the venom that had been suppressed by the Kusanagi sword spread like bone-deep frost.

An Iwa shinobi in front of him froze in terror, his guts twisting.

"Wind Cut and Earth Sting… and he's still moving?!"

"Impossible… is he a monster?!"

Blood vessels throbbed across Ryo's chest.

"Stop that monster! At all costs!"

At the cave entrance, Tsunade bit her lip hard, her knuckles white. As a medical ninja, she knew better than anyone how fatal those wounds were: a shoulder torn to the bone, thigh flesh ripped apart, spreading poison, gushing blood. Under normal circumstances, no one could survive that.

Yet she watched that blood-soaked figure charge through the storm, and memories of their last sparring match surfaced. She had known this day would come, the day he surpassed her, but witnessing it filled her with helpless awe.

Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted coldly. His serpent-like tongue licked his lips as the Iwa shinobi retreated. His gaze locked greedily onto Ryo, whose blood-drenched figure cut through the rain.

His muscles strained under each crushing blow. Even as poison and blood loss dragged him toward collapse, his eyes grew sharper, wilder. Like a lone wolf cornered, he pushed forward. The core was just ahead.

The Kusanagi Sword in his grip had become a streak of red lightning. He shed all excess movement, leaving only pure, lethal intent.

Sword Technique: Piercing Wind!

A foundational sword art pushed to perfection. Every block was flawless. Every stab struck at a vital point. Kunai, shuriken, small-scale water and fire jutsu—everything in his path was deflected or slashed apart.

Guided by his sensory perception, he weaved through storms of jutsu and blades. Mud and blood exploded beneath his feet. Afterimages trailed behind him like phantoms.

Puh! Puh! Three Iwa shinobi fell with their throats pierced, clutching their necks as they collapsed.

"Stop him! Use your lives to block him!" the adjutant screamed, his voice cracking. Ryo's target was clear, the core. They couldn't let him reach it.

A few elite jōnin exchanged glances, their resolve hardening. If ranged attacks failed, they would crush him in close combat. Use corpses as a wall to bury him alive.

"Earth Release: Rock Fist Technique!" "Earth Release: Weighted Rock Technique!" They launched pincer attacks from both sides. Rock fists as heavy as mountains slammed down, the ground caving beneath their weight. The air grew thick with pressure, locking Ryo in place.

"Get out!" Ryo roared like a beast. The creeping weakness in his body was crushed beneath sheer willpower.

Sword Technique: Shattering Rock!

He spun, waist twisting, force traveling up his spine as every drop of strength poured into his sword. The Kusanagi flared dark red, tracing a deadly arc.

Boom!

Like a knife slicing through tofu, the massive rock fist exploded beneath his strike.

The sword's aftershock lashed out, cutting into a jōnin's chest. His vest tore apart, revealing a deep wound that sprayed blood as he was thrown backward like a broken doll.

The earth cracked open, the shock tearing a pit into the ground. Ryo staggered but kept moving, his target in sight.

At that instant...

Shii shii!

Seven or eight bluish kunai coated in poison shot toward his back and legs from blind angles.

Life and death hung by a thread. Ryo bent his body unnaturally, evading with supreme control and his danger sense.

Most of the kunai grazed past.

Puh! One pierced his thigh. Another embedded into his torn shoulder.

"Ugh!" Agony flared. The venom burned through his veins, darkness creeping into his vision. He dropped to one knee as blood poured freely.

"He's done for! Kill him!" a nearby jōnin howled.

Poison, blood loss, exhaustion, his body was on the verge of collapse.

Yet he did not fall. His sharp gaze swept across the battlefield and locked onto an Iwa shinobi sneaking toward the altar's control panel behind Orochimaru.

He lunged.

Ignoring the tearing pain in his shoulder, Ryo shoved his left hand into the wound, grasped the embedded kunai, and ripped it out, flesh and all.

The wound widened, blood gushing again.

Without hesitation, he flung the blood-soaked kunai with all his remaining strength.

Puh shik!

The kunai struck the Iwa shinobi's throat with surgical precision, throwing the corpse backward.

At the cave's mouth, Tsunade's heart nearly shattered. Even after witnessing Ryo's monstrous endurance countless times, this sight still shocked her to her core.

Inside the cave, Jiraiya's swollen eyes caught sight of Ryo pulling the kunai and killing the enemy. His cracked lips moved weakly. "Monster..."

"Heh..." he rasped, "so it's not just a figure of speech. He really is... a monster."

"We can't stop the sealing core!" The last shred of obsession in Ryo's mind burned. His blood boiled. With a roar, he surged forward. Each step splashed crimson in the mud.

The Iwa shinobi formed a living wall with their bodies, blocking his path.

"Earth Release: Earth Prison Hall!" a jōnin roared, slamming his palms into the ground.

Boom! The earth trembled. Two heavy stone gates slammed shut, forming a hemispherical prison lined with spikes.

"He's trapped! Pour chakra! Focus fire!" voices shouted in triumph.

The adjutant drew his blade frantically. "Kill him now!"

The next instant...

Rumble!

A roar, more terrifying than hell itself, erupted from within. A torrent of red sword energy ripped through the chakra-reinforced prison, obliterating it and the jōnin who cast it. Stone dust and blood exploded outward.

Ryo's blood-soaked figure emerged from the carnage.

He was gasping, blood and sweat streaming down his mud-covered body. His sword hand trembled. His vision blurred.

Every flying slash drained the last of his life force.

The final distance. Ahead stood five elite jōnin forming an iron barrier. They abandoned attack, focusing solely on defense.

"Combine your jutsu!" their leader roared.

Five sets of seals formed in unison. Chakra surged violently.

Boom! A towering composite earth wall rose, layers stacking like steel. Beyond it glowed the altar etched with sealing runes. Several sealing ninjas pressed their palms against the core, injecting chakra frantically. A cold, heavy spatial force spread, locking down Ryo's Flying Thunder God coordinates.

"Protect the sealing core! Iwa's will shall not fall!" the adjutant roared, eyes bloodshot.

Ryo glanced once toward the cave. Tsunade's chakra was nearly spent protecting Jiraiya. Orochimaru stood watching, his expression unreadable.

No time left. Not even a heartbeat.

One final breath. One final flicker of life. Ryo lifted his head as if to swallow the bloodied air. His life force ignited like a dying star. Steam rose from his skin as his chakra burned.

Strength ignited. Life ignited. Soul ignited.

Both hands gripped the Kusanagi.

He raised it high.

Ignoring the shinobi lunging from the walls. Ignoring blades aimed at his vital points. Ignoring everything.

There was only the altar ahead.

Slice!

Time froze.

Dark red brilliance condensed to a single point.

It exploded outward, a beam so thin it looked like a thread, yet brighter than the sun. It broke the sound barrier, tearing through space itself.

Where the light passed...

Puh. Puh. Puh. Puh.

The five elite jōnin and the chakra-reinforced wall were sliced cleanly in half, silently and effortlessly. The cut was mirror-smooth, reflecting their frozen, terrified faces.

The sword energy didn't stop.

It pierced through the sealing core altar, tearing apart the runes and the sealing shinobi maintaining it.

A ripping sound cracked through the air.

The oppressive, suffocating force vanished instantly. Space felt free again. Ryo dropped to one knee, his face pale, lips cracked, spitting blood.

He was at his limit. The toxin spread uncontrollably through his body.

"The seal... it's broken?!" "Yamada and the others!!" panicked screams echoed.

"He's not going to last! Kill him!" the adjutant shouted, voice shrill. Iwa shinobi surged toward Ryo's kneeling form.

"Ryo!!" Tsunade screamed, about to run forward, but Orochimaru grabbed her arm.

Ryo's vision blurred.

"Is it over?"

Just as a kunai was about to pierce his back...

A familiar coordinate of the Flying Thunder God Technique flared to life in his senses. It was the kunai he had secretly placed deep inside the cave earlier.

Ryo's head snapped up. The corner of his bloodied lips curled into a cold, arrogant smile.

You want to kill me? Dream on.

"Flying Thunder God!" he roared, his hoarse voice echoing across the battlefield.

Ryo vanished.

The next moment, he appeared beside the unconscious Jiraiya. His arms shot out, grabbing Jiraiya's collar and reaching for Tsunade.

"You?!" Orochimaru's pupils shrank, startled.

"And you," Ryo said coldly, his other hand lunging toward him.

Before anyone could react...

Inside the cave, four figures—Ryo, the dying Jiraiya, the stunned Tsunade, and the shocked Orochimaru—vanished completely.

All that remained on the wall was a kunai engraved with the Flying Thunder God seal, trembling faintly.

Silence. Outside, hundreds of Iwa shinobi struck at empty air.

The adjutant's face twisted between horror and disbelief.

The entire Iwa force stared at the blood-soaked ground and the vanished cave.

The sealing was destroyed.

The man was gone.

That red-haired monster had escaped using space-time ninjutsu, right under their noses, taking everything they fought to protect.

Rumble. The endless rain poured down, washing over corpses, shattered earth, and the despair etched into every Iwa shinobi's face.

They had lost half their elite force in exchange for a ruined battlefield and an unbearable humiliation.

What now? Which way to pursue?

Could they even catch him?

The rain drowned out their rage.

(To be continued.)

I can only say maybe, since it was his first real battle in the war. His lack of experience and perhaps a touch of overconfidence likely led to those rookie mistakes.

Chapter 90: Tsunade’s Generous Hug

Boom!

The roar of torn space still buzzed in his skull. The knife-cold wind and thick stench of blood were instantly replaced by the heat and urgency of the Konoha camp, and the sting of disinfectant.

Ryo was drenched in blood. The mud beneath his feet swirled dark red. Drowned by pain and venom alike, his consciousness finally went dark. The image of collapsing earth walls and the terror of Iwa shinobi flashed once before his body went limp, pitching forward.

"Ryo!!"

Tsunade's scream cracked out on pure instinct. She threw her arms wide and, a split second before he hit the mud, caught him hard against her chest. The young body in her arms was ice-cold, his breath so faint it made her heart seize.

To hell with composure. The bloodied, mud-smeared face of Ryo sank deep into Tsunade's generous chest, the only warmth in a frozen world of death.

Tsunade put her entire strength into holding the man in her arms, clutching him like a treasure about to shatter. His frozen brow pressed into the hollow of her neck. She couldn't tell if what soaked her skin was rain, blood, or her own tears.

At the same time, her other hand shot out, hooking with surgical precision into the collar of the man collapsed beside them, Jiraiya. His chest was crushed in, his face pale, already unconscious. Her knuckles turned white.

"Orochimaru!!" Tsunade's roar came out raw, her voice twisted by terror and strain. Her golden eyes burned with reckless determination. "Help me, now!"

From the shadows, Orochimaru glided forward without a sound, like a stream of quicksilver. His serpentine gaze flicked toward the ancient sword at Ryo's waist, soaked in blood yet still radiating ferocity. His eyes narrowed before returning to their usual icy calm.

When he saw Tsunade clutch Ryo to her chest as if she wanted to merge him into her bones, the corner of his pale mouth twitched upward, a faint, almost mocking curve. Something flickered in his golden pupils. Something about this master-disciple dynamic seemed a little unusual.

That idiot Jiraiya probably thought the same. The thought passed through his mind, unspoken. Orochimaru wasted no words. His pale hand moved with precision, pressing down on Jiraiya's shoulder. His movements were calm, efficient, and deliberate.

"Ha!"

Two figures burst into motion at once.

Tsunade held the unconscious Ryo. Orochimaru dragged the dying Jiraiya. They became streaks of crimson, tore through the heavy tent flaps, and, wreathed in the breath of death, charged into the chaos of the main medical camp.

"Out of the way! Highest priority!"

Tsunade's thunderous shout swept through the tent like a physical wave, crushing every sound beneath it. Even the air felt as if it had frozen.

"Clear space! Disinfect! Cardiac stimulants! Chakra restoratives! Move!"

She didn't need to explain the steps. The moment her sharp eyes, eyes that saw through life and death, landed on Jiraiya's wounds, the battlefield turned into an operating room.

She set Ryo down roughly on the stretcher next to her and immediately turned to Jiraiya.

Rip!

Her blood-splattered hands became weapons against death itself. Ten times stronger than before, emerald medical chakra burst from her palms. With unrestrained fury, she pressed it to the fatal wound in Jiraiya's chest. Flesh sizzled. The power of life flared to life.

Her sharp eyes flicked toward Ryo. She barked at a trembling genin, "Check his vitals! Antitoxin, now! Keep him stable! Any change, report immediately!" The ferocity in her tone barely concealed the fear beneath it.

The tent became a battlefield in an instant. Under Tsunade's absolute command, every medic worked with desperate precision.

Outside, in the muddy clearing, the last tremor of warped space had not yet faded.

Danzō stood unmoving in the rain, a stone pillar wrapped in a dark cloak. His hawk-like eyes fixed on the emerald glow spilling from the tent, the light of Tsunade's full power.

Moments later, he moved.

One step forward, and the mud sank beneath his weight. He pushed through the flaps, a shadow entering a place thick with blood and rebirth.

Without glancing at the medics rushing about, he walked straight toward a silver-gray figure leaning against a post, arms folded and eyes cold, Orochimaru.

"Status."

Orochimaru turned slowly, golden eyes meeting Danzō's gaze. The air between them seemed to freeze.

"Tsunade and the so-called dead-last," his chin tilted toward the operating table, "are dying. Kamiyama Ryo…" His gaze shifted to the stretcher, where the boy's breathing was shallow and faint. "Grievously wounded, comatose."

A pause. His voice cut sharp and clean. "Left shoulder, through-and-through. Thigh torn open. Overdose of field meds. A numbing neurotoxin from Iwa is spreading. Without immediate treatment, the damage will set deep."

Danzō's gaze fell on Ryo like a vulture sizing up dying prey. Once he confirmed the state of both bodies, something flickered behind his eye, part analysis, part calculation, and something colder still.

"How did they get back?" he asked at last, his tone dark and heavy.

The corner of Orochimaru's mouth curved faintly, a near-mockery.

"Space-time ninjutsu," he said. His golden eyes cut toward the unconscious boy, as if weighing him on a scale. "He broke through Iwa's spatial interference." His pupils narrowed. "No doubt. The Flying Thunder God Technique."

"Space…?" Danzō's breath caught. His single eye trembled with shock, disbelief, and fury before he forced it all down.

The Flying Thunder God.

An S-rank forbidden art from the Scroll of Seals. A legend, untouched for decades.

Hiruzen actually allowed that monster to learn it. And the boy had succeeded, in the middle of death itself, at his age.

A colder rage than the Iwa ambush seized Danzō's chest like iron claws.

At Konoha's command post, reinforcement units were mustering. The slaughter on Ridge B-7 had everyone on edge. Headquarters was already boiling over. Yet,

"Stand down."

Danzō's voice cut through the chaos.

"Recall the reinforcements. Hold position." The order fell heavy and final.

Several staffers froze, stunned.

Danzō's gaze stayed fixed on Orochimaru. "Transmit immediately. Cancel reinforcements. Hold position," he repeated, his tone sharp and fraying. "They're already back."

"But, Danzō-sama! Jiraiya-sama and Tsunade-sama," a staffer began, panicked.

"I said recall! Execute now!" Danzō's voice was like an ice pick driven through the man's spine. The ninja shuddered and ran to obey.

Silence fell again, broken only by the hum of chakra and Tsunade's ragged breathing.

Danzō's chest rose and fell as he fought to suppress his anger. His dark gaze shifted back to Orochimaru. "A complete report. To me. To Hiruzen." His tone made it clear it was an order, not a request.

"…As you wish." Orochimaru straightened, a cold glint flickering in his eyes before fading. He knew this report would shake Konoha's very foundations. His gaze lingered on the unconscious Ryo and then returned to Danzō, his unease deepening.

Without another word, he slipped out through the tent flaps and into the pounding rain.

Danzō stood alone, the scent of blood and antiseptic thick around him.

His eyes returned to the stretcher, to the boy lying there pale and unmoving.

Severe wounds, coma, dying. Such a fragile state. One small accident, one slight delay in treatment would be enough.

A cold light flickered in his eyes. He drew a slow breath, heavy and deliberate, then turned away.

"Keep this place under watch," he said to a Root ninja hidden in the shadows. "Any anomaly, report immediately." With that, he vanished into the deeper dark of the command tent.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 91: Ryo Is Rewarded

Land of Earth, Iwagakure, Tsuchikage's office.

The air was as solid as a boulder.

"Trash! All of you are trash!!!" Ōnoki's roar, rage and heartache compressed to the limit, boomed like buried thunder, making the windowpanes buzz.

His small body floated in midair. The old face, furrowed like craggy rock, flushed a dark purple from pain and humiliation. The chin strap of the Tsuchikage hat dug into his jaw, leaving him short of breath, half from fury, half from poverty.

In his fist, he crushed a rain-soaked urgent scroll just delivered from Ame, his knuckles blanching gray-white from the pressure.

It was not that he did not want to smash something to vent. He looked at the bare floor, with only a few old planks still half clean, then at the few intact clay teacups on the shelf.

The Land of Earth was broke enough to ring hollow. Ōnoki had served as Tsuchikage for decades. Pinching every coin was the only way to keep the village's veneer of dignity. How could he bear to break anything valuable? Break it and you have to buy a new one. With what? The money saved could buy how many explosive tags?

"Thirteen hundred elites!" Ōnoki's voice shook with pure heartache. "Two battalions! Three top-tier sealing teams! Sent to crush three half-dead Konoha remnants trapped in Ame!"

The more he spoke, the angrier he got, spittle flying. "And the result? Beaten by a single red-haired brat barely into his teens, alone!" He slashed the scroll through the air like a spear. "He tore open my line? He butchered that idiot Akagan? He even wrecked the core sealing barrier? And in the end, he took them and ran?"

He did not throw a cup, but his free hand clawed at empty air, as if he could seize the invisible loss and shove it back where it came from.

"He ran!" he howled again, voice going hoarse, like a poor householder staring down a bill from hell. "You pack of useless pastries! Do you have any idea how many years it took to train thirteen hundred elites? How much grain they ate?" He choked, despairing. "Now they are dead, and my Land of Earth's treasury mice are starving!"

The jōnin couriers wanted to sink through the floorboards. Running a poor village was hard. They shared their Tsuchikage's pain, and feared being burned to ash by his wrath.

Ōnoki panted, his small frame trembling. He glared at the characters on the scroll. Each word stabbed his emaciated wallet. The cold descriptions exploded in his mind:

Battle-hardened elite jōnin decapitated before they could even scream. Every thread led back to the bolded name, Ryo, Kamiyama Ryo, the red-haired monster who appeared from nowhere and single-handedly shredded his encirclement plan.

"Monster." Ōnoki squeezed the word through his teeth, the weight of loss and the prospect of medical and pension expenses grinding his heart to paste.

"Konoha… really are blessed… Thirteen-year-old monster, one man against a thousand, and he could still ferry people out with the Flying Thunder God." He let out a few dry wheezes, like a broken bellows, a grim, self-mocking sound. "Flying Thunder God… damned expensive… space-time ninjutsu you can only run on money."

He sagged back into the old wooden chair that symbolized the Will of Stone. Anger ebbed, replaced by the tidal weight of economic loss and debts to come.

Konoha was a factory for prodigies. And Iwa? The next generation, any reliable sprouts? The jinchūriki? Still in cultivation, with terrifyingly low success rates. No money meant everything was hard. A cold, heavy anxiety cinched his chest.

"Listen up." Ōnoki's tone recovered a Tsuchikage's chill, more frugal steel than fury. "Notify all frontline units. From now on…" He paused, as if the order to come scalded his tongue. "Upon encountering that red-haired devil, Kamiyama Ryo, within mission parameters…" He ground his molars, each word clinking like coins on stone. "Authorize strategic retreat. Avoid meaningless casualties. Preserve combat power. Do not record mission failure." Finished, he slumped like a bellows gone flat.

"Strat… egic retreat?" one jōnin blurted before he could stop himself. How was that different from allowing them to run? When had proud Iwagakure stooped so low?

"Yes, run!" Ōnoki slapped the desk. Dust sifted down. "But this is not over!" His eye flared with venom. "If I cannot outspend him on shinobi, I will outspend him on bounties. Let every gutter rat in the underworld grind him down."

He raised one desiccated finger. His voice hammered the number that would set the shadow world boiling. "Issue a top-level wanted order to all exchange houses. Target, Konoha genin, Kamiyama Ryo, alias Red-Haired Devil. Bounty—"

The office seemed to be sucked dry of air.

"One hundred million ryō, dead or alive!" Ōnoki shouted the figure, his heart bleeding. "One hundred million. Make sure every hungry wolf in the shinobi world knows his name, and his price!"

A poor man gone ruthless, weaponizing the underworld's greed to drown the red-haired beast that had cost Iwa a fortune. Save every coin you can, claw back every coin you can.

"O… one hundred million?" The jōnin finally lost composure. Their minds blanked. That sum would drive the entire underworld mad.

Ōnoki waved a pained hand, shooing them like flies. "Yes, a hundred million. Move. Do not waste time. The faster it spreads, the better." Inwardly, he was already calculating. Move fast, maybe he could shave the intermediaries' fees.


---

Land of Fire border, Konoha forward camp, Command Pavilion.

Smoke hung thick. The air was heavy as water.

Hiruzen held a report whose ink was barely dry. He had forgotten to draw on his pipe. The ember pulsed and dimmed. Beneath his usually gentle, farmer-like face ran lines of bleakness and unwilling awe.

The report came from Orochimaru, concise to the bone, each word like a blood-stained blade.

[Ryo broke a thousand with one rider.
Frontally crushed an Iwa elite regiment, approximately 1,000, including 13 elite jōnin.
Killed the commander Akaiwa.
Shattered composite defensive ninjutsu and the core barrier, suspected S-rank area slash.
While mortally wounded, left shoulder through-and-through, thigh laceration to near bone, massive blood loss, compounded with Iwa neurotoxin, forcibly triggered an incompletely mastered Flying Thunder God Technique and precisely extracted three critically wounded comrades, Tsunade, Orochimaru, Jiraiya.]

Every word strained the ceiling of Hiruzen's definition of genius.

"Thir… teen…" He finally took a deep pull. The bite in his lungs could not quell the cold creeping over his heart. This was not genius. This was demonic. A monster howling amid battlefield ruins.

This report alone could rip the thin veneer of balance among the Five Great Nations and pin Konoha at the center.

He closed his eyes. A memory from months ago rose, clear as glass, the red-haired boy calmly transcribing the Flying Thunder God scroll before him. His mood then? Satisfied with the exchange price. Pleased that Tsunade had taken a promising pupil. A lofty, cautionary regret at a boy overreaching for a forbidden art, warning him the Flying Thunder God was deadly to practice, that he should consider…

Now, that warning, in the face of this blood-inked dispatch, seemed ridiculous, pathetically feeble. The kid hid too deep. Deep enough to chill the bone.

"This boy…"

Such power, at thirteen. If he grows. If he goes out of control. If he harbors resentment… would he become the next Uchiha Madara? The next catastrophe threatening Konoha and the shinobi world's balance?

His eyes snapped open, hawk-sharp. He crushed the dark thought under iron will.

No. He must not think that way. He is Tsunade's disciple. And who is Tsunade? His own direct disciple, Konoha's princess.

Which means, he is my disciple's disciple. Ties of lineage. Chains of tutelage.

He risked his life to save Konoha's three main pillars, Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade.

This power, in the end, is Konoha's power. He must stabilize it, soothe it, bind it close.

His gaze slid to the last line, mortally wounded, still comatose. A subtle, tangled note flickered in his heart. Was it pain, or a guilty breath of relief? He could not tell. Perhaps both. These wounds, this coma, briefly tamped down the primal fear his political instincts felt toward such monstrous power, and bought him time.

"No more hesitation." Hiruzen's eyes hardened. The Hokage's decisive chill snapped into place. With power like this, how could he remain a mere genin? A glorious victory would be tainted by the insult of a hero with too low a rank.

He slapped the desk. Ash leapt. His words cut fast as drawn steel. "My order. Urgent dispatch. Immediately to the Ame front."

An ANBU appeared, dropping to one knee.

"Konoha genin, Kamiyama Ryo." Hiruzen's voice was iron, beyond dispute. "While executing a top-secret mission on the Ame front, he encountered a large-scale, premeditated Iwa ambush. Our core strength was encircled. At that critical instant, Ryo took charge, slew the enemy commander, shattered their line, and broke a thousand with one blade. With peerless valor and resolve, he rescued Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, the village's top assets. His merit is unparalleled and shines upon Konoha, worthy of a star that expands our borders."

He drew a breath, already seeing shocked elders, but his tone did not waver. "On the basis of his unmatched strength and the indelible, tide-turning service rendered to the village, all procedures are waived. All precedent is set aside. The chūnin exams are dispensed with. Effective immediately, Ryo is promoted to Konoha chūnin. The order takes effect at once. Publish to all of Konoha and announce to our allies."

Chūnin was only the first step, the bare minimum to preserve the faces of Konoha and the Hokage. A thirteen-year-old monster genin was a joke. Next, and quickly, he would need undeniable battlefield justifications to push this boy to jōnin, rightfully and publicly. That was the key.

The inked command became a black streak in the sky, borne by a hawk toward the smoke-wreathed front.

Silence returned. Only the tiny crackle of burning tobacco remained.

Hiruzen lifted the report again, still warm with blood. His muddied eyes fell once more on the name that punched through paper, Ryo.

Power is a double-edged sword. When its shine grows too blinding, can the hand that grips it still be at peace? Hiruzen's fingers tightened, just a hair, on the pipe.


---

Konoha forward camp, battlefield medical zone, private ward.

The thick scent of medicine braided with blood. The white tent walled off the outside clamor, leaving only the hush after survival.

On the simple cot lay a figure wrapped in layer upon layer of bandages. A thin spear of sunlight slipped through the canvas seams to fall on his striking red hair, lending him a hint of life. His face was as pale as fresh snow. His lips were cracked. Only the faintest rise and fall proved life still clung to him.

Kamiyama Ryo. The Red-Haired Devil. Konoha's newly minted chūnin.

He had been unconscious for three full days.

At his bedside, a figure in a purple shinobi uniform, stained with a little blood and dust, kept silent watch.

Uchiha Mikoto.

Right now, all her focus was on that young face, too quickly covered in scars.

Three days.

Mikoto's black eyes were veined with red. Her cheeks had grown a touch hollow, marked by worry and sleepless fatigue. In her slender, steady hands, a warm cloth, nearly cooled to dryness, moved with care, avoiding the terrifying punctures and jagged rents, gently wiping the clammy sweat from Ryo's brow.

Every accidental brush of her fingertip brought a tiny tremor. She dampened the cloth again and moistened his cracked lips. Her motions were feather-soft, as if she feared to disturb his sleep, or to worsen wounds that even Tsunade-sama had needed her full strength to stabilize.

Across the camp, the legend of the Red-Haired Devil already boiled over, and his chūnin promotion stirred waves among the high ranks. But for Mikoto, keeping vigil here, those identities and honors meant nothing.

The cloth paused at his neck. There, a shallow line, grazed by a rock blade, faintly showed beneath the bandage. Mikoto's fingertips flinched, then did not touch it. She only smoothed the last bit of moisture with the hem of her sleeve.

Her gaze rested on his sleeping face, worry, guilt, an unspoken ache, and the tiniest, secret thread of joy. For this moment, Ryo belonged to her, however briefly, and not to her best friend Kushina alone.

The wire in her heart eased a fraction in the quiet, medicinal air.

In the ward, only two breaths whispered.

Motes of dust drifted through the bar of light.

Suddenly, Ryo's lashes quivered. His pale lips stirred.

Mikoto held her breath and leaned in.

(To be continued.)