Yoru did not stop.
The instant Asuma saw those gold-plated kunai, his mental defenses collapsed entirely.
What kind of student carries solid-gold kunai around like it’s nothing?!
Just how rich IS this Uchiha?!
How twisted?!
Asuma abandoned every last shred of dignity.
Tears and snot streaming down his face, he pressed his palms together frantically before his chest and bowed to Yoru over and over.
Then he slammed his forehead to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Don’t come any closer! Brother! I’ll call you brother! My dear brother!”
“I was wrong! I was really wrong! It was my big mouth that started the whole thing on the playground!”
“Please, put the brick down! Put the kunai away, Yoru! Spare me! I’ll never do it again!”
Yoru stopped and tilted his head.
He looked down at Asuma from above, listening to that heart-rending cry of “dear brother.”
“Brother?”
He chuckled softly.
“Bit early for that.”
If the kid wasn’t running anymore, that meant there was nothing left to squeeze out through the chase.
Yoru wasted no words.
He answered Asuma’s plea with action.
Knees bending slightly, he shot into the air without warning!
Mid-flight, he executed a stylish 360-degree spin.
Left hand tucking the red brick behind his back, he used the violent torque of his waist to whip his right arm forward!
“AH!!!”
Asuma covered his head with both hands, squeezed his eyes shut, and wailed.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Four crisp, rhythmic sounds of metal biting into wood and stone exploded in Asuma’s ears.
The expected agony never came.
Trembling, Asuma opened his eyes and swallowed a dry lump.
Four kunai — placed as if by the hand of the greatest shurikenjutsu master alive.
They had perfectly traced Asuma’s outline against the wall.
One was buried in the dirt between his legs, half an inch from his most vital of vitals.
One had skimmed the outside of his arm and sunk deep into the wooden crate behind him.
One was pinned tight against the side of his neck, driven firmly into the wall.
The last hovered just above his head, having sliced a corner off his hairline.
Not one had touched his skin.
But every one was close enough that he could feel the chill of the metal.
Perfectly precise.
Perfectly symmetrical.
That required not only terrifying throwing skill, but a truly vicious disposition!
Asuma froze solid for a full two seconds.
Then his pupils dilated, his brain crashed completely, and this display wiped out even his capacity for thought.
His head lolled to the side, eyes rolling back, white foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
His whole body went slack as mud, and he slid down the wall in a dead faint.
The system’s voice rang out one final time.
Ding!
［Emotional Damage Points from Asuma Sarutobi, +0.01.］
Yoru stared at the number in silence for three seconds.
Zero.
Point.
Zero one.
Is this thing actually out of juice?
He looked down at the unconscious Asuma, then back at the panel, and sighed deeply.
The honorable son of the Hokage — squeezed down into the decimals.
“Useless. This leek’s done for the day.”
Yoru gazed at the lonely “0.01” on the panel and sighed helplessly.
Harvested clean into a shutdown.
He stepped forward and deftly pulled the kunai out of the wall and the ground one by one.
With a thought, they dissolved into motes of light and vanished into his palm, safely returned to system storage.
Then he crouched down and gave Asuma’s face two light, measured slaps.
“Wake up. Quit playing dead.”
Asuma’s body jerked, and he slowly came to.
The moment his eyes focused, he saw that face before him, framed against the setting sun.
“AAAH!!!”
He shot off the ground as if electrocuted, scrambling on all fours, back pressed flat against the rough brick wall — until his head cracked against the corner with a bang and there was nowhere left to retreat.
He clutched his skull with both hands, curled his entire body into a ball, and screamed with hysterical, absolute despair.
“Don’t come any closer! I surrender! I mean it!”
Yoru didn’t move.
Watching Asuma quiver like a startled bird, he slowly put away the unsettling smile from before.
The transition was so seamless it could have been a textbook demonstration of face-changing.
He lowered his voice and arranged his features into deep, peaceful sincerity.
His tone was as gentle as if he were soothing a frightened little animal.
“Relax, Asuma. Today’s sparring ends here.”
He paused, then spread his hands palms-up, showing they were empty.
“I absolutely will not attack you again.”
Asuma stiffened.
He warily parted his hands just a crack, staring hard at Yoru.
His voice still shook.
“You… you mean it?”
Yoru nodded firmly, a bright, cheerful smile spreading across his face.
A smile as clean as a sunny April day in Konoha.
Not a trace of killing intent — as if the person who had chased him across half the village with a brick had never existed.
Asuma’s nerves, stretched to their absolute limit, finally snapped loose.
He let out a long, ragged breath, and his whole body wilted as if deboned, sliding down the wall.
Only now did he register that his shoes had flown off somewhere along the way.
The blistered soles of his feet burned.
With difficulty, Asuma raised his head and looked Yoru up and down.
And made a shocking discovery.
After all that high-intensity pursuit and precision throwing, the Uchiha standing before him hadn’t shed a single drop of sweat.
Not so much as a wrinkle out of place on his clothes.
Asuma smiled bitterly inside.
It’s over.
Completely over.
This is an opponent on an entirely different level.
From start to finish, I was just a dog being taken for a walk.
The last shred of resistance evaporated.
Yoru generously extended his right hand and hauled the mud-limp Asuma up off the ground.
He considerately brushed the dirt and gravel from Asuma’s jacket.
His movements were natural, his touch just right.
It was only that his hands very precisely avoided the region of Asuma’s crotch, which was noticeably darker than the surrounding fabric.
Yoru declared, with a perfectly straight face: “Well — I’d say we’ve become friends through combat.”
Asuma opened his mouth, wanting to say something, and found he had no idea what.
His state of mind right now was extremely complicated.
Hatred?
Oh yes.
Fear?
Scared half to death.
But looking at Yoru’s excessively sincere face, what he mostly felt was the powerlessness of a man utterly conquered.
He swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.
All he wanted was to go home and wash his pants.
Ding!
［Emotional Damage Points from Asuma Sarutobi, +0.01!］
Yoru’s expression didn’t flicker.
Fine.
Even a mosquito’s leg is still meat.
Into this eerie silence burst a flurry of hurried footsteps from the alley mouth.
“WHAT MAGNIFICENT FRIENDSHIP!!!”
A heaven-shaking roar exploded at the entrance.
Might Guy charged in, drenched in sweat, the round eyes beneath those thick brows fixed on the touching scene of enemies-turned-friends before him.
Yoru was gently dusting Asuma off; Asuma, though disheveled, bore no visible injuries.
Guy’s eyes instantly gushed hot tears.
He raised both fists to the heavens and bellowed.
“A bond forged in the trials of life and death! A dialogue of fists exchanging souls! THIS is youth in its purest form!”
“Yoru! With your fists you made Asuma acknowledge your strength — and with your magnanimity you embraced a former foe!”
“This friendship where cruelty and gentleness coexist — it makes my blood, Might Guy’s blood, BOIL!”
Asuma’s eye began to twitch violently, his lips trembling.
He nearly cracked my skull open with a brick just now!
He nearly confiscated the family jewels with a kunai!
You blind, single-celled paramecium!
Deep inside, Asuma let out a shrill scream: Keep this lethal brand of youth to yourselves from now on!
I am OUT!