STIN: Chapter 48/50

Chapter 48: At Twelve?!

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Heartbeats stopped. Eyes bulged in unison.

Every onlooker felt their blood freeze, a chill crawling up their spines, coiling around their hearts, constricting their throats.

Thump! Kimura Shū swallowed with difficulty, his face as pale as a death shroud. His lips trembled so much he couldn't utter a single word, his entire body shaking like a sieve.

Kushina's hand-over-mouth pose froze in place, her palms icy cold.

That excited blush she had just moments ago while watching the fight?

Gone. Replaced by boundless terror and a complete blankness.

The eyes that always lit up when following Ryo?

Now filled with unshakable horror. For the first time, she felt what it meant to face an "insurmountable chasm"—an absolute crushing of power levels.

Just one look at that corridor of destruction extending from Ryo's feet into the depths of the forest, and her legs turned to jelly.

Mikoto's noble and aloof facade?

Shattered in an instant.

Her gaze? Never in her life had she been so shaken.

On the high platform, a crisp clack!

Hiruzen's treasured pipe slipped straight out of his agape mouth.

Carrying a few wisps of smoke, it fell onto the cold stone bricks, sparks scattering, tobacco spilling everywhere.

This old man, known as "The Professor," who had crawled his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, who always kept a steady face? He couldn't hold it anymore.

He stared fixedly at the training ground—at that terrifying gash.

It started just a meter in front of Ryo's feet, wide and bottomless, tearing through the earth, plowing across the entire training field, and savagely plunging into the distant forest.

Just looking at that savage maw, one could almost smell the aura of everything being cut.

The sound of the pipe dropping was jarring in the silence, but it couldn't suppress the thunderclap resounding in Hiruzen's heart.

"Unbelievable…" His throat was dry, and he forced out words heavy as stones. "…The sword wasn't even unsheathed? Just with the scabbard… he unleashed something so condensed? No. That was normal chakra. There's no chakra signature at all!"

He swept his gaze toward the devastated forest edge, his heart pounding, the destructive aftermath making his body tremble.

"…This kid…" Hiruzen's voice was low and deep, carrying a thousand-pound weight and a hint of hidden fear. "…Just this one attack's destructive power and that level of control… Even ordinary Jōnin can't reach this. It's already Kage-level."

Hiruzen's mind exploded instantly.

Whoosh—As the dust settled slightly, the sight at the end of the gash made everyone's hearts almost leap out of their chests.

Minato. He wasn't dead yet.

He hadn't even been directly hit by that crimson crescent.

But his state? A million times worse than death.

He had been flung by the terrifying shockwave from the side of the slash, smashing into the edge of the gash like a cannonball. His internal organs were so shaken they were almost falling apart.

Worst of all was his right arm, broken.

It hung limply at a grotesque angle, not severed only by sheer luck.

This proved one thing—Ryo had intentionally aimed off.

But Minato's boasted speed and strength?

In front of that crimson, dazzling crescent that was as fast as teleportation, they were less than nothing.

Just being grazed by the impact, his entire body felt like it had been stuffed into countless invisible meat grinders.

His clothes were in tatters, his body covered in dense cuts. In some places, bones were visible.

Blood, like spilled water, stained the scorched earth by the gash. His twisted, broken right arm and the deep gash on his left shoulder bled nonstop, bone visible beneath torn flesh.

Curled up there, the intense pain and blood loss made his body shake like a broken bellows, spraying blood foam with every tremor.

He struggled to lift his head, his face smeared with bloody mud. Only a pair of bloodshot, crimson eyes stubbornly, fixedly stared.

His gaze was hollow, leaving only despair, fixed on the origin point of the gash—Ryo, who stood with his hands in his pockets, his clothes barely wrinkled.

This damned monster.

He lost. A complete and utter loss. Not because his technique was inferior. Not because of exhaustion. It was a comprehensive, crushing defeat from spirit to will, from strength to soul, in every dimension, leaving not even a speck of dust.

Minato tried to open his mouth, but only tore the already bitten-through wound on his lower lip, blood foam mixed with dirt dripping from the corners.

His throat made "hnn… hnn…" sounds, like a broken bellows leaking air, wanting to roar, wanting to say something…

Finally.

A voice so faint it was almost inaudible, mixed with a strong scent of blood, as if scraped from the shattered remnants of his soul, trembling with collapse, tore through the silent air: "I…"

His voice caught. He desperately gathered his last bit of strength, his facial muscles twisted from pain, his voice as light as a mosquito's hum, yet weighing on everyone's hearts: "...lost..."

The two broken words left his mouth, draining the last strength supporting his head.

On the side, Kushina slowly lowered her icy hands, her large eyes misty.

Looking at Ryo again, her gaze was complex, filled with incomprehensible bewilderment. This was the first time she had seen even a fragment of his power.

Hiruzen stiffly bent his old back and picked up the cold pipe from the ground. The embers had long since died out, ashes utterly dead, like his mood at this moment.

He gripped the pipe tightly, his knuckles white.

No one spoke. Silence.

Only the wind, carrying the mixed scent of fresh earth, grass, and thick blood, swirled around the edge of the massive gash.

That gash, traversing the entire training ground and splitting deep into the forest, like a savage wound torn open by a monster's claws, stood like a silent tombstone, a cold and cruel pronouncement carved into Konoha.

It announced the arrival of a monstrous existence.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 49: The Meeting

The end-of-school bell droned like the cry of a dying insect.

The training grounds of Konoha's Ninja Academy had long since lost their usual bustle and the steamy tang of sweat. All that remained was deathly silence, and saturating the air, the thick, metallic reek of blood mixed with the raw scent of freshly torn earth and splintered wood.

That vast chasm that cut across the field, rending the ground, cleaving the forest, bottomless to the eye, was like a purging scar, seared not only onto the retinas of every witness, but onto the depths of their souls.

It felt as if the chill, rending aftershock left by that crimson slash still lingered in the air, pressing down so hard that it stole the breath from one's lungs.

At the edge of the grounds, beside a tacky pool of blood, medics were carefully tending to Minato's wounds.

Minato's eyes were empty. Blood and dirt had clotted on his face, his blond hair stuck damply to his forehead. His lips trembled, but he couldn't form a single complete syllable, only a senseless rasp bubbled up from his throat.

A sigh.

The students who had been watching had long since scattered. The few who remained huddled in the corners, barely daring to breathe.

"Minato… sigh…" Kimura Shū's lips quivered. He wanted to say something comforting and official-sounding, but in the end it collapsed into a powerless exhale. He looked toward the source of the ravine.

Near the beginning of the chasm, a figure stood motionless.

Kamiyama Ryo.

Dressed in a white training uniform, he bore only a few specks of dust, an arresting contrast to the devastation around him.

His right hand slid back into his pocket. His left rested casually on the Kusanagi sword at his waist.

The scabbard was plain, giving no hint that moments ago a lazy flick had seemed to shear through the very fabric of space.

On that perpetually unchanged face of his, tinged with a languid, world-weary look, there wasn't the slightest ripple.

Beneath his messy crimson bangs, those long, narrow eyes half-lidded, his indifferent gaze swept over Minato's sorry state, skimmed past Kimura Shū's panic, and finally came to rest on a red-haired figure not far away, Uzumaki Kushina.

Kushina still held a hand over her mouth, her petite body trembling.

The big eyes that always shone bright and chased Ryo's silhouette were at this moment crammed full of horror. She had seen Ryo fight. She had seen him "rule" the Academy. But those had all been little scuffles. This… what the hell, was that even human?

One strike. A casual swing. It split the earth. It hewed through the forest. It swatted the Academy's prodigy like a fly and left him a heap of scrap.

The terror brought on by such a colossal gulf in power seized her heart more viscerally than ever before. And yet, buried deep beneath that fear, even she could sense a shamefaced relief. The smugness she had felt about her little shows of temper and teasings? What a joke.

"Let's go, Kushina." Ryo's impatient voice snapped her rigid body awake.

"C-coming! What are you, the god of deadlines?!" That all-too-familiar tone yanked Kushina straight up out of the ice pit and shoved her back into explode-at-a-touch little chili pepper mode.

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled like overturned orange-red paint, brazenly brushing the rooftops and streets of Konoha after school. The day's heat still steamed up, and the din of earlier crowds faded into a warm hush.

Chirp, chirp.

Ryo walked the road toward the old Senju residence. Kushina bounced at his side, her red hair skipping in the evening breeze, chattering nonstop.

The earth-shattering sword stroke from earlier had long since been tossed to the back of her mind. For her, as long as Ryo was still Ryo, who cared if the sky fell?

He had just seen Kushina to the deep, old-fashioned Senju compound, a place soaked in history, and waved her goodbye as she hopped through the heavy gate.

The last trace of human warmth faded from Ryo's face, leaving only habitual detachment.

He had barely taken a few steps from the weathered courtyard gate when the air tightened.

A shadow appeared three meters in front of him as silently as a ghost.

The newcomer wore a white animal mask that left only the jawline visible, the standard garb of Konoha's ANBU, with a short blade strapped diagonally across his back.

He dropped to one knee, posture textbook-perfect and deferential, bowing so low it nearly scraped the ground.

His voice was low, tinged with unmistakable respect, and a thread of barely concealed fear. "Sir."

Ryo stopped. He did not pull his hands from his pockets, his eyes stayed lazy, only now with a faint annoyance at being interrupted. "Say what you came to say. Do not block my path."

The ANBU stiffened almost imperceptibly, but the memory of the horror at the training ground made his bow sink lower still. "By order of the Third Hokage, we request your presence. The Hokage awaits upon the Hokage Rock."

Ryo's brow twitched.

The Third? Hiruzen Sarutobi, that old lech who is always clutching his crystal ball?

What does he want?

Trouble.

In his head, the likely script flashed by, the Will of Fire, bonds, responsibility, for the sake of the village, a pile of empty platitudes.

Listening to a monkey perform was not worth as much as going home to lie down.

He tilted his head slightly. Rather than falling first upon the ANBU bowed into the dust, his gaze slid past and landed on the giant faces carved in the Hokage Rock in the sunset, the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, the Second, Tobirama Senju, and the silhouette now standing atop the cliff, the one who had summoned him, Hiruzen.

Ryo's eyes dropped to the ANBU's slightly trembling shoulder guards.

Annoying as it was, he knew that in Konoha, where the Third's power drowned the village like smoke, and especially right after the slightly serious scene they had just witnessed from him, some surface politeness was necessary.

"Lead the way."

"Yes. This way, sir." The ANBU, as if granted amnesty, rose at once. His body blurred into motion, careful to keep just half a body-length ahead of Ryo, heart thudding.

No way was he going to actually leap roofs and vault walls with this man behind him. He kept the pace to a brisk walk.

Hokage Rock, the landmark and symbol of Konoha.

The massive stone faces of the First, Second, and Third Hokage looked down upon the prosperous village nestled like a jewel in the embrace of the forest.

The sunset gilded Konoha in warm light. Cooking smoke curled upward, voices of the people rose and fell, the academy's clamor seemed far away. Peace, on full display.

Hiruzen Sarutobi stood below the Third Hokage's stone face, at the edge of the cliff.

He wore the iconic Hokage cloak, light armor beneath. A pipe hung, as usual, from his mouth, but the ember had long since died, leaving only cold ash. Hands clasped behind his back, his posture was straight as a spear, eyes deep as he gazed at the lights blossoming below.

The wind ruffled his graying sideburns and set his cloak to snapping.

For a moment, he truly looked like a king surveying the fruits of his rule, tinged with satisfaction and weighed down by responsibility.

Led by the ANBU, Ryo stepped onto the platform atop the Rock. The ANBU bowed again, then slipped away as if dissolving into shadow.

Only two remained on the platform.

Chapter 50: Will of Fire Meets a Brick Wall

One was the Hokage, overlooking his village. The other, a twelve-year-old boy with both hands in his pockets and no expression on his face.

The Third did not immediately turn. He seemed to steep himself in some deep emotion, and in a world-worn, earnest tone he spoke slowly into the empty air before him:

"Ryo, do you know…"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to Ryo's ears. It had a peculiar cadence to it, trying to conjure gravity and nostalgia.

"Back when I took this burden from the Second Hokage, I looked upon the scarred Konoha left by war, the children who had lost their families, crying for food, the defenses shot through with a thousand holes. Every step felt like treading thin ice."

He exhaled lightly, as if even the smoke from his pipe had grown heavy.

"I was afraid. Afraid I lacked the ability, that I would fail Tobirama-sama's trust. Afraid that with one misstep I would drag the village built by Hashirama-sama back into the darkness of war, that I would force the villagers who trust us to once again wander homeless, families shattered."

He paused, as if falling into a memory both heavy and shining. The performance was masterful, enough to make any hot-blooded youth's heart tremble.

Unfortunately, the one standing behind him was Ryo.

Hands in his pockets, crimson bangs tousled by the wind, Ryo's face did not move. Those long, narrow eyes of his were flat as ever, bereft even of cursory sympathy.

Oh? And then what? You came here to brag about your great achievements? To intimidate me?

What does any of that have to do with me?

Ryo rolled his eyes inwardly.

Hiruzen seemed to have worked himself to the right pitch. His tone suddenly swelled, ringing with pride:

"However, look, look at all of this!"

He finally turned, a reserved, seasoned smile on his face. His eyes burned as he looked at Ryo, and his arm swept grandly toward the village below, bathed in the sunset.

"This prosperity. That rising cooking smoke. Children laughing and playing in the streets. Elders basking peacefully in the sun at their doors. Ninja returning from training, their steps in unison. Every lamp that is lit, every face at ease, all of it declares that our efforts were not in vain."

His voice was persuasive, trying to share this hard-won peace with Ryo, to tie that towering sense of accomplishment to the boy before him.

"Together with everyone in the village, I rose early and worked late, governing with all my strength, and at last restored Konoha's former glory. This harmony, this calm, is the finest embodiment of our village's Will of Fire. Where the leaves dance, the fire is ever-burning. The guardianship of the old has bought fertile soil for the young to grow strong. I, Hiruzen, have not betrayed our forebears' hopes."

By the end, his voice quavered with emotion, his eyes moistened, as if he had poured out decades of toil from the bottom of his heart, offering a new vow to the heavens.

He fixed his gaze on Ryo, full of expectation, waiting for this boundlessly gifted boy to be moved by his confession, to pledge himself to the defense of this beautiful everything for life.

Silence pooled on the platform.

Only the wind keened across the Rock, and from below drifted the faint, busy noises of peace.

Ryo stood there, unmoved.

His crimson bangs swayed gently in the breeze.

The expected blood-stirring, tear-choking vow of fealty, none of it came.

Hiruzen's proud, waiting-for-empathy expression froze in the air for a full ten seconds.

He blinked, forcibly swallowing the flash of surprise and awkwardness rising in his chest.

What is going on?

This is not how the script goes.

Faced with such a grand Will of Fire in practice, faced with the personal account of a Kage-level powerhouse, with the village head himself speaking so earnestly, even a cold-tempered kid should say something, shouldn't he?

A single "Mm" would do.

Silence.

Ryo only looked at him quietly. That gaze was overly calm, the kind of calm one has watching an off-key street performer grind through an old routine no one wants to hear anymore.

An invisible pressure spread, not chakra, but the hollowness born of utter inner indifference and rejection.

Hiruzen even felt as if his rousing declaration had made him look like a fool.

This old monkey really thinks he has bared his heart?

Konoha? My life's work? The words echoed in Ryo's mind, and a spike of irony shot straight up his spine.

Konoha? To him it was nothing more than a comfortable perch where there was food to eat and a relatively stable environment.

Nothing more.

What did any of that have to do with him?

He thought of Mito's protection, of Tsunade's hit-or-miss teaching, and of Kushina, that troublesome girl.

But fighting and bleeding for unknown villagers below? It never crossed his mind.

Bonds?

The ones Ryo knew and needed to care about, he could count on his fingers.

As for the Hokage, that is just the headman of a village, isn't it?

Hashirama Senju, a dreamer so naive, even death couldn't end hatred. Tobirama Senju, a sharp mind who used systems to forge order, and still died to a scheme.

And this ninja hero before him?

A man living under towering shadows, coasting on ancestral shade, a mediocrity. In Ryo's eyes, not even worth a sturdy kunai.

Tooting your own horn, are we?

But Hiruzen was a political veteran. He pivoted instantly.

He coughed, and the soaring tone softened into a kindly elder's smile. He changed tack to the personal. "Ahem. To be frank, Kamiyama Ryo, I have wanted to meet you for a long time, to talk in depth."

"I still remember the year you enrolled. Because of that striking head of red hair, I personally visited Mito-sama and begged her to take a look, see if you had awakened any special Uzumaki bloodline traits."

He dredged up the past, his voice warm with an I have been quietly watching over you intimacy.

In Ryo's ears, it was just another layer of varnish.

Watching over, my ass. If I hadn't clawed my way up on my own years ago…

"But, as it turns out, Mito-sama and the rest of us all misjudged you." Hiruzen's tone turned, regret shading into admiration. His gaze shone with undisguised appreciation, as if he were beholding a long-hidden treasure newly uncovered.

"You aren't chakra-poor at all. Your gifts, your terrifying strength, are unprecedented. A true prodigy. In his day, even Tobirama-sama was hardly more than this."

He tried to close the distance with extravagant praise, deliberately invoking Tobirama to hint at Ryo's Senju lineage and emphasize a bond between them.

"That earth-shattering strike today." Hiruzen even took a small step forward, voice rising. "No draw of the blade. No hand seals. Pure physical might and the convergence of intent. Such terrifying power, such exquisite technique, such precise control. It absolutely possesses destructive force to threaten even a Kage."

His voice trembled with excitement and awe, as if the memory still sent a thrill through him. "Twelve. You are only twelve, and already you have combat strength rivaling a Kage. Ryo, do you know what this means? It means you are Konoha's truest, undisputed greatest prodigy since its founding. Your brilliance will illuminate, and protect, our shared home."

Hiruzen's voice rang like a bell, full of rhetorical fire.

He had hoisted Ryo onto the pedestal of the greatest genius in Konoha's history, painting him as the village's sole hope and guardian of the future.

A massive halo, and a crushing responsibility, lashed together.

(To be continued.)