The three of them crept along, following the sounds of fighting.
The closer they got, the louder the commotion became.
Tsunade crouched against a broken wall and peeked out.
The open space in the center of the village looked like it had been turned upside down.
Several cracks had exploded open on the ground, two wooden houses had collapsed halfway, and broken tiles and wood were scattered everywhere.
Murakami Takuya was still fighting.
His left arm hung limp, his sleeve soaked in blood, and he had switched his short sword to his right hand.
A gash ran from his hairline to his brow bone, half his face was smeared with red, and he could no longer open his left eye.
The bald man stood opposite him, holding his katana, his breathing barely disturbed.
He slashed down with his blade, the sound of the wind heavy.
Murakami Takuya dodged to the side and countered with his blade, but only managed to slice the clothing on the opponent’s ribs.
The next instant, a knee drove into his abdomen.
His whole body smashed into the collapsed wooden wall, sending a spray of wood splinters flying.
He braced himself with his sword and stood up, blood hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Tsunade crouched behind the wall, unable to say a word.
It was not that she had never seen a fight before.
But she had never seen someone who was already at their limit still forcing themselves to hold on.
Kitahara Kaede crouched to her right, silent.
His gaze was not fixed on the brutality of the fight.
He was observing—the distance, the angle, and the gap in the bald man’s guard after his strikes.
And how much Chakra he had left.
After the previous battle, there was not much left.
But it seemed he could still use Chidori one more time.
Only once.
The bald man slashed again.
Murakami Takuya raised his sword to block; steel clashed against steel, sparks flew, but he was forced down onto one knee.
The difference in strength was too great.
The bald man suddenly turned his head, his gaze piercing through the dust and smoke toward the broken wall.
He laughed.
“Still alive, you three little mice.”
Tsunade’s spine stiffened.
“More capable than you, the one leading them.” He pressed his sword down an inch.
“The trash under my command were actually all taken out by three little brats.”
Murakami Takuya was stunned for a moment.
Taken out?
All sixteen of them?
His mouth twitched, wanting to smile.
But his mouth was full of blood, and he could not.
Then his heart sank—why were these three children still here?
“…What are you doing here?”
The voice was squeezed out between his teeth, hoarse and burning.
“I told you to run!”
No one responded.
The bald man shook the blood off his katana and laughed loudly.
“Don’t be in such a hurry.
I’ll finish you off first, then deal with them slowly.
They are just three little brats.”
Having said that, he did not even glance toward the broken wall again.
Kitahara Kaede took note.
From beginning to end, this man had never considered them a threat.
This was a good thing.
What he needed was a window—the moment the opponent faced the captain, turned sideways to him, and stood still.
A straight, unobstructed sprinting distance.
The window had not appeared yet.
He calmly glanced to the side.
At the three o’clock position, a section of collapsed building could shield his approach route.
It was about thirteen meters to the bald man’s back, with rubble and broken beams in between; he would not be able to change direction while running.
The Chidori he currently mastered could not yet change direction.
He needed to get into position early.
Kitahara Kaede’s body silently disappeared from Tsunade’s right side.
Tsunade did not notice.
She pulled back behind the wall, her back against the broken wall, her chest feeling tight.
“I am going up to help.” Jiraiya drew a Kunai, his voice tight.
Tsunade glanced at him.
“Go up?
Look closely—the captain cannot even hold him off; if you and I go up, we will just be taking two more stabs.”
Jiraiya gritted his teeth.
“Then we just watch?
Watch the captain get killed?”
Tsunade did not answer, staring down at her own fists.
Was there any way?
Any Ninjutsu, any fighting style, even if it helped just a little?
She could not think of any.
That man was playing around from start to finish, and the captain was barely managing to stay alive despite fighting like this.
“…Go.”
The word was squeezed out of her throat, feeling worse than taking a punch.
“While the captain can still hold him off.
Go.”
She turned to look at Kitahara Kaede.
That spot was empty.
Only she and Jiraiya were left behind the broken wall.
Tsunade’s mind went blank.
“Kaede?”
No one answered.
She grabbed the edge of the wall to look out, her gaze sweeping back and forth across the battlefield—
Then she heard it.
Everyone heard it.
Zzz—zzzzz—
Like a thousand birds chirping at once.
…
Kitahara Kaede was already in position.
Using the collapsed building for cover, he circled to the side of the battlefield, keeping his footsteps suppressed and his breathing shallow the entire way.
He would not tell Tsunade; if he did, she would stop him.
He crouched against the ruins, his gaze looking over the broken bricks toward the battlefield.
Thirteen meters.
A gravel road, a broken beam, a shallow pit.
This path would only work if the opponent was stationary and facing forward.
Wait.
The captain took another slash.
Blood sprayed from his shoulder.
Kitahara Kaede’s fingers twitched.
Not yet.
He was still moving.
Hold on.
…
Murakami Takuya glanced at his left arm, which he could not lift, then at the reflective katana in front of him.
His heart was surprisingly calm.
Three children had taken out all sixteen people.
A Genin capable of doing something like this had more value in surviving than he did.
What he needed to do now was simple.
Hold him off, for as long as he could.
The bald man raised his katana high.
Murakami Takuya did not retreat.
He met it with his short sword—not to block, but a move to trade lives.
He threw his body forward while stabbing his short sword into the opponent’s thigh.
The blade sank three inches into flesh.
The bald man grunted, not expecting this fighting style.
The katana strike went wide, the blade slicing across the captain’s shoulder, deep enough to see the bone.
Both retreated at the same time.
Murakami Takuya knelt down.
Right knee supporting him on the ground, his left knee was already useless.
The short sword remained in the opponent’s leg.
The bald man looked down at the sword in his thigh, pulled it out, and tossed it away.
Blood streamed down his pant leg.
The smile on his face was completely gone.
“You do not know when to die.”
He carried his katana and walked over, step by step.
Murakami Takuya raised his head.
Only one thought remained in his mind—the three kids, had they left yet?
The bald man raised his sword.
Then the birds chirped.
…
The window opened.
Murakami Takuya’s strike had pinned the bald man in place—pulling the sword, throwing it, closing in; his attention was locked entirely on the person kneeling before him.
His left leg was bleeding, his steps were heavy.
He would not notice the side.
He had never included the three “little mice” in his calculations.
Kitahara Kaede formed hand signs.
His body sent a clear warning—Chakra was hitting bottom; drawing any more would mean overdrawing.
He did not stop.
Lightning Release Chakra surged into his right palm.
Arcs of electricity darted from between his fingers, becoming denser and brighter, and the sound followed—
A thousand birds screaming in his palm.
He pushed off the ground.
All his strength pressed into his right foot, gravel shattered, and his body shot forward.
Thirteen meters.
He did not turn around.
Just little mice.
The katana slashed down—
Nine meters.
Five meters.
Two meters.
Kitahara Kaede thrust his right hand straight out.
The moment the lightning sphere in his palm touched the back, the resistance vanished.
His hand pierced through the chest.
Lightning Release Chakra exploded inside the body, arcs of electricity darting from the edges of the wound, blood mist rising, sizzling.
The katana stopped in mid-air.
The bald man lowered his head.
A hand had pierced out from his chest.
Blue-white electric arcs coiled around the fingertips, flickering.
He wanted to turn his head; his neck turned an inch, then could not move any further.
“Little…
mice…”
Blood foamed from the corner of his mouth, the katana slipped from his hand.
His whole body fell straight forward, kicking up dust.
Kitahara Kaede pulled his hand out.
He stood for two seconds.
His legs went weak, his vision narrowing.
He had calculated correctly.
His body collapsed before his consciousness.
The last sound he heard was very far away, yet it felt like it was right next to his ear.
“Kaede—!!”
…
When Tsunade ran over, she did not care about anything else.
Kitahara Kaede lay face down next to the corpse, motionless.
She lunged over and flipped his body, pressing two fingers to his neck.
The pulse was beating.
Very weak, but beating.
She rested his head on her lap, placed her hands over him, and a green light shone.
She could not speak.
She wanted to scold him, wanted to ask why he had charged in alone again, wanted to say so many things.
She could not say a single word.
Kitahara Kaede’s breathing was very shallow, his face as white as paper.
Two gashes on his left arm were oozing blood, and there was a graze on his side.
But the most serious thing was not these—it was the Chakra overdraw.
He had drained himself dry.
Her eyes stung.
Tears did not fall.
She would not allow herself to cry at a time like this.
The green light flickered, reflecting on her face, reflecting on his face.
Never again.
I will not let you charge to the front alone again.
…
Jiraiya was on the other side bandaging Murakami Takuya.
He scrambled to wrap it, winding it twice and loosening it once, but the largest bleeding wound was finally stopped.
Murakami Takuya’s gaze passed over Jiraiya’s shoulder and landed on Tsunade’s side.
He remained silent for a long time.
That move.
From the sound to the piercing, it took less than three seconds.
Lightning Release Chakra concentrated in the palm, released as a piercing strike.
That was not a jutsu a Genin should possess.
“Return to Konoha, leave now.” His voice was heavy.
“This matter must be reported to Hokage-sama.”
Tsunade looked down at Kitahara Kaede on her lap.
His breathing was steadier than before, his lips had a bit of color.
She stopped the green light, bent down to drape his arm over her shoulder, and gritted her teeth as she hoisted him onto her back.
Kitahara Kaede was half a head taller than her, dead weight.
Her knees buckled for a moment.
Then she straightened them.
“Tsunade, let me—” Jiraiya started.
“You help the captain.”
She did not look back.
The four of them—two standing, carrying the two who could not—walked back along the path they had come.
Tsunade walked in the lead, Kitahara Kaede unconscious on her back.
His hand hung by her side, swaying with her steps.
She suddenly remembered what he had said when he finished bandaging a wound when they were children.
“Just a scratch.”
Liar.
Always has been.
She bit her lip and quickened her pace.