STIN: Chapter 46/47

Chapter 46: Casual Toss

Snap!

A cold, hard sensation, like an iron clamp seizing his wrist, shot through him. Excruciating pain flared.

Ryo's hand, the same one that had just crushed the kunai and lightning, had at some unknown point, like a ghost, already wrapped around from behind him, moving faster than Minato's nerves could react.

Precise. Ruthless. It locked onto the pulse point of his outstretched wrist.

Five fingers tightened.

Immovable, as if welded shut.

Minato felt his entire arm, half his body, instantly locked by an unimaginable, irresistible force. He had become a matchstick cast into a ten-thousand-ton steel ingot.

Ryo did not even bother to fully turn his head.

He merely tilted his face slightly, almost dismissively, as if shooing a fly, glancing back with his peripheral vision.

Then, the hand gripping Minato's wrist, it was not a technique.

He simply, contemptuously, threw it downward, like tossing a bag of trash.

"Ugh!" A terrifying, unreasonable force, like a bursting celestial river, surged through Minato's body.

"Wah!" Agonizing pain exploded in his chest and abdomen. His bones felt instantly crushed. His strength drained in an instant. He truly felt like a broken sack.

Whoosh, boom.

Crack. Clang.

His body flew like a cannonball, slamming into a solid wooden stake as thick as a bowl, used to reinforce the training ground. The stake burst apart with a resounding crack, splinters shooting like shrapnel.

He then smashed into the hard ground without mercy.

Bang.

Dust billowed like a small sandstorm. A shallow pit was gouged out of the earth.

"Cough, cough… pfft…" Minato curled at the bottom of the pit, as disheveled as a dying wild dog, coughing continuously. Blood foam mixed with sweat. Dirt and blood from a cut on his forehead smeared half his once-handsome face.

Everything hurt. His bones groaned. His internal organs felt displaced. A despair, cold to the marrow, spread through his body like poison.

Again, defeated.

No suspense. No dignity. A crushing defeat, trampled underfoot.

Two years of desperate training, day and night sweat and conviction, looked so pathetic, so ridiculous under that casual throw.

The humiliating images of his past dozen failures flashed uncontrollably through his mind like a tide.

Each time Ryo's "clone" looked at him with that indifferen gaze, like at a roadside pebble or dust. Each time he fell, the whispers or mocking chuckles, real or imagined, in his ears.

All that unwillingness, all that accumulation, collapsed under this cold reality, almost grinding his will into dust.

In front of Ryo, he was always a clown, a prancing clown.

Especially in front of her, in front of Kushina.

Hiruzen's pipe paused at his lips.

Wreaths of blue smoke hung for a moment.

His worldly, wise eyes stared solemnly at the red-haired Ryo standing in the center, who had ended the battle with an understatement. Then his gaze swept to Minato coughing blood in the pit, a miserable sight.

Terrifying. A brutish, unreasonable physique, a terrifying chakra reserve, the most basic absolute defense, yet showing the most fundamental power. No hand seals, effortless. Ryo, your talent is inhuman. You are a monster. Minato losing to you is not unfair at all. It is just that the gap is too despairing. I hope it does not shatter the little resilience Minato still has.

As Hokage, a deeper worry settled in Hiruzen's heart, for Minato's state of mind, and even more for the profound potential Ryo displayed, bringing changes even he could not foresee.

"Waaah!"

Just then, a clear cry, filled with explosive joy, like a sharp blade, instantly cut through the dead-silent training ground.

Kushina jumped up from her seat.

Like a lit powder keg, her iconic fiery red hair danced wildly.

Her bright blue eyes shone with extreme excitement and pride that could melt ice.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted with all her strength at Ryo standing like a god in the center.

"See?! I told you Ryo is the strongest! Minato's flashy, sissy tricks are useless! They can't even touch a single hair on Ryo! Ahhh! Ryo! Strongest!"

Her cheeks flushed with excitement, as if she herself had won.

She grabbed Mikoto's arm and shook her madly like a girl who had received her favorite candy, eager to share her joy. "Mikoto! Mikoto, look! I told you Ryo would be fine, didn't I?! Isn't he handsome?! He just went snap like that! He smacked that big fireball and big wind blade and blew them apart! Minato tried a sneak attack? Tsk tsk, he bounced around like a flea and did not even scratch Ryo's skin!"

Mikoto's body tensed the moment Kushina grabbed her.

As if struck by a faint current, then instantly suppressed.

On her fair, beautiful face, the next second, a brilliant smile bloomed, full of "sisterly affection" and surprise, like switching on a perfect mask, enough to intoxicate anyone. "Mhm mhm! I saw it, I saw it! Kushina is absolutely right! Ryo… he is unbelievably strong! Not a normal person at all! Minato-kun… sigh, he really tried his very, very best, and his tactics were perfectly planned… but Ryo… he did not even look serious. The difference is too great."

Her voice was as melodious as a spring, filled with joy and pride for her good friend's beloved.

She even naturally stretched out an arm and embraced Kushina's trembling shoulders, beaming, fully supportive of her good sister.

However.

No one noticed.

In the depths of her obsidian eyes, when her gaze brushed over Ryo's tall, mountain-like figure in the center, a flash of ardent adoration flickered deep within.

"Cough, cough, cough… pfft… cough…" From the shallow pit came harsher, heart-wrenching coughing, filled with pain and the despair of something breaking.

Minato used his only movable elbow to push his upper body from the muddy ground with extreme difficulty and humiliation.

Sweat mixed with blood and mud flowed into his stinging eyes. His vision was a blurry red.

Through the tears and swirling dust, he clearly saw, at the side of the field, that fiery red figure who haunted his dreams now had her back to him.

All her passion, all her excitement, all her dazzling light, was devoted to shaking Uchiha Mikoto, cheering with fanatic joy for the person who had trampled him into the dust and plunged him into the mud.

Cheering for his failure, for his pathetic state, for his bottomless abyss, with unrestrained shouts.

That piercing sound, that posture of cheering, was like a giant chisel smashing through the last wall of his dignity, casting him into an eternal, dark ice prison.

It is over. Everything is over.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 47: Forest Split

The training ground was dead silent.

The air solidified, even the noisiest cicadas went silent.

Everyone, teachers, students, onlookers with snacks, their eyes were fixed on the middle of the field.

Fixed on the thing curled up in that mud pit.

Namikaze Minato.

Sweat, blood, and mud smeared his face. His eyes were swollen to slits, everything he saw tinged with red.

A cough made his throat feel torn from the inside. Every breath was a cramp of bone-deep pain.

"Ugh… cough… pfft…" Bloody foam mixed with mud sprayed out.

He propped himself up on his elbows. His fingernails dug into his palms. Veins throbbed like earthworms under the mud and blood.

Pain? His whole body falling apart?

That was nothing.

What truly burned his heart was humiliation. Two years. Over ten defeats.

That monster, Ryo, did not even bother to lift an eyelid, just casually waved his palm.

"Cough… cough…" Minato stared through the blood-smeared slits at that figure.

That mountain. That nightmare.

Kamiyama Ryo.

Damn it.

He had not even broken a sweat from start to finish.

This was too much.

Hands in his pockets, the same lazy expression as always.

But around him, an invisible pressure. Heavy, cold, making everyone's breathing tight.

"Minato-kun! Give up! Don't, don't force yourself!"

Kimura Shū's voice was sharp and urgent, like a spark.

In an instant, it ignited that barrel of humiliation in Minato's chest that had been suppressed for two years, almost spontaneously combusting.

Force himself? Again, force himself?

I am not a dead last barely scraping by.

"Get out!"

A roar.

A self-destructive, all-consuming fire erupted from his bones. It burned away the pain, burned away reason.

Crack. Clang.

That muddy body was forced upright by a beast-like will. He stood.

"I can fight!"

Bang.

His palms slammed into the bloody mud, exploding it.

Using the force, his muddy body sprang out of the pit in a twisted posture. Like a broken rag doll, swaying, but nailed to the ground. Sweat mixed with blood spattered into the dirt, sizzling.

Those beautiful blue eyes, like the sky, were now blood red. Burning with madness, burning with recklessness. From the look of it, he intended to burn the entire world, along with that monster named Ryo, to ashes.

"Ryo!"

Golden hair flared, burning.

Minato himself became a scorching golden branding iron, shooting out like lightning.

Chakra? He squeezed it out with his life. Veins throbbed, blue sparks hissed under his skin. Retreat? No. Technique? Speed? Defense? All discarded. Just one word, charge.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Every step was a giant stomp. Rocks and dirt burst and rolled. Heavy footsteps beat war drums. Dust billowed, obscuring the sky.

Just a mad bull. Eyes bloodshot, only one thought in his mind, kill him. Even if his body shattered, he would charge.

"Damn it! Minato's gone crazy." Onlooker A was terrified.

"This aura… is he trying to die?!" Onlooker B's voice trembled.

Kushina's faint smile froze harder than ice, a chill rising from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. Even Mikoto had her smile frozen, shock in her eyes impossible to hide.

On the high platform, Hiruzen, puffed on his pipe, brows knotted tight.

At the center of the storm, the one called the monster, Ryo, finally reacted.

Barely perceptibly.

The hand in his right pants pocket did not move.

His left hand rested casually on the Kusanagi at his waist.

Slow.

Extremely slow.

And extremely casual.

That hand, knuckles distinct, seemingly containing endless power, slowly raised the scabbard.

The motion was light and airy, carrying an air of "this is really troublesome."

His eyelids finally opened a sliver.

In the depths of his narrow, empty eyes, a slight ripple appeared.

Like a sesame-sized pebble dropped into a stagnant pool.

His thin lips parted slightly.

The words were few, just three.

"Stubborn and unyielding."

Before the words had even finished, the killing blow arrived.

Minato, burning his life, charged. Five meters. The hot, bloody aura almost sprayed onto Ryo's perpetually calm face.

Ryo's hand on the sheath moved.

Buzz.

Not a slash.

Just a casual, light, even lazy and impatient forward swing at the air.

The blade did not even leave the sheath.

The tip of the sheath sliced out.

Tear.

The air visibly distorted, instantly drained, compressed, and torn by a terrifying force.

Blood light exploded.

A massive crimson slash, condensed like molten magma, appeared out of thin air, erupting from the sheath tip.

Crimson, violent, obscuring the sky.

A terrifying crescent several stories high. The moment it appeared, a tsunami of deathly aura swept out.

Its edges were sharp enough to cut space, to distort light.

Screech.

Silent?

No, it was a shriek so sharp it tore at the soul, flooding everyone's minds. Only the burning red crescent remained on their retinas.

"Holy crap! What was that?!" someone screamed, voice cracking.

"A slash?! No hand seals?! He did not even draw the sword?!" Kimura Shū's eyes almost popped out, his worldview shattered.

That crimson crescent did not cut Minato. It grazed the scalp of the charging Minato.

Boom.

An indescribable, irresistible shockwave, like an invisible giant palm, slammed into Minato.

Condensed power, will, burning life, snapped. Shattered.

All the momentum of his charge went to zero, crushed to powder. His bones groaned. His will collapsed.

"Puff!" A great mouthful of foul blood mixed with fragments of organs sprayed into the sky like a fountain.

His body, like a crushed empty can, flew sideways ten times faster than he had charged.

And his so-called golden lightning, ignited by burning his life, was like a candle in a hurricane before the faint ripples of the crimson crescent, snuffed out with a puff, gone.

No suspense.

Absolute crushing.

As for that crimson crescent that deliberately avoided Minato?

Its target was not Minato at all.

It was purely to make the weak see the chasm-like gap.

Its target was the edge of the training ground, the dense, unsuspecting forest.

Rumble, rumble.

The earth groaned and burst.

The crimson giant blade slashed into the ground.

Sizzle.

There was no crashing sound.

Like a hot knife cutting through hot butter. Silent, yet even more terrifying.

The incredibly solid, ninjutsu-reinforced training ground floor, like paper, was instantly torn into a bottomless, dark gully. Over a meter wide. Its length spanned the entire field.

This was just the beginning.

The soil and rocks on both sides of the gully, the reinforced wooden stakes, vanished the moment the crimson crescent passed. Not even dust remained.

Lingering power?

A destructive hurricane, an unleashed dragon, wildly rampaging, crushing everything in its path.

It spanned out, tearing through the training ground wall, plunging into the primeval forest outside.

Boom. Crash, crash, snap, snap.

A hundred meters away, entire swathes of ancient trees.

Thick, with tangled roots, centuries of growth?

At this moment, they were bundles of fragile wheat stalks, reaped by an invisible scythe.

Devastating. Irresistible.

Where the crimson path passed, trees exploded and shattered, boulders vanished, soil rolled and vaporized.

A shocking corridor of destruction, hundreds of meters long and astonishingly wide, was carved into the earth, like a scar left by a giant's casual strike, deep enough to see bone.

At the end of sight, the once lush green mountains disappeared, replaced by scorched earth, broken trunks, exposed roots, and a massive dust cloud rising like an apocalyptic column.

Buzz.

A destructive backdraft storm rolled from the forest back into the training ground.

Dust mixed with leaves and wood chips covered everything, slamming down.

Whoosh. Bang, bang, bang.

It hit the remaining walls, the stunned faces of the onlookers.

The wind brushed Ryo's clothes.

His left hand still gently held the sheath, as if nothing had happened.

His right hand stayed in his pants pocket.

His eyes returned to their usual indifference.

As if the strike that tore the earth and felled the forest had been a casual flick of dust.

He even frowned slightly, as if the dust blowing back was a nuisance to his peace.

The training ground was dead silent.

A silence more terrifying than before.

Heartbeats pounded in eardrums. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Only the wind sounded, wailing through the massive scar of the flattened forest.

At the edge of the gully, mud tumbled down.

At the side of the field, Namikaze Minato was embedded like rotten wood in a pile of collapsed wall bricks, unconscious and motionless.

In the center of the field, that tall figure still stood.

That terrifying gully that cut across the field and extended to scorched earth, the residual crack in the air still visible in the sunlight, the wailing wind in the dead silence.

(To be continued.)