Puchi!
The dull yet unmistakable sound of a blade piercing flesh rang out.
A poisoned kunai, driven by brutal force, sank deep into Kazama Ryū’s back.
Puchi!
Searing pain exploded from the wound, racing through every nerve like liquid fire.
It tore through his limbs and bones in an instant.
Paralysis followed, his muscles spasming uncontrollably as darkness flickered across his vision, a thick metallic taste of blood surging up his throat.
But Ryū had no time to focus on his own injury.
Because at that very moment, the situation on the main battlefield took a far more fatal turn.
“Ryū!” Sarutobi Sanaru watched his disciple take the blow while shielding a teammate.
His concentration wavered violently—for a fraction of a second.
Between experts, victory and defeat are decided in an instant.
That opening, lasting less than a tenth of a second, was seized with terrifying precision by the veteran Iwagakure jōnin.
“Looking away in the middle of battle?” the man sneered viciously.
“Trash like you dares call himself a jōnin?!” Earth Release chakra hardened around his elbow like solid rock.
With explosive force, he slammed the blow straight into Sarutobi Sanaru’s chest.
Crack!
The crisp sound of breaking bones echoed.
“Urgh!” Sarutobi Sanaru let out a muffled groan as all strength drained from his body.
He was sent flying like a rag doll, tracing a helpless arc through the air before crashing hard into a massive outcropping of stone, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
The Iwagakure jōnin did not pursue.
From the very beginning, his true target had been that brat—the one who had repeatedly ruined his plans and caused him the most trouble.
After all, a fellow jōnin, if cornered too far, might explode with desperate strength.
Whoosh!
Leaving behind a faint afterimage, the Iwagakure jōnin appeared behind the severely wounded Ryū, his speed far beyond what the naked eye could track.
He looked down at the thin figure struggling to rise, blood pouring from his back.
A cruel smile curved his lips, his eyes gleaming with mockery and the thrill of harvesting prey.
“Brat, you’re interesting,” he said lightly.
“A genius of this generation in Konoha, huh?” “What a pity.
In this world, the thing we have most of… is dead geniuses.
Especially geniuses from other villages.” Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, his fist—fully wrapped in earth-yellow chakra—rose high into the air.
Power capable of shattering stone and splitting mountains condensed upon it.
The punch came crashing down toward Ryū’s exposed back, tearing through the air with a violent whistle.
This blow could pulverize solid granite.
At that moment, time seemed to stretch unbearably.
In everyone’s vision, the massive fist descended in slow motion—clear, inevitable, despairing.
“No—!” Pinned down by the remaining Iwagakure ninja, Sarutobi Sanaru’s eyes split wide as a hoarse, desperate roar tore from his throat.
Hyuga Chidori collapsed to her knees, mouth open, yet unable to make a sound.
Terror crushed her chest, her mind blank.
And Uchiha Naion— Her eyes burned as the scene carved itself into her pupils, frame by frame.
That back.
The back that always issued calm, infuriatingly composed orders.
The back that had not hesitated to shield others with its own body at the most critical moment.
Now, that back was about to be smashed into unrecognizable pulp beneath a mountain-crushing fist.
Why?
Why save that cowardly Hyuga girl?
Aren’t you the one who always weighs gains and losses?
Aren’t you the calmest, most rational one?
Why would you do something so stupid—something that guarantees total loss?
In that instant, Naion’s thoughts completely stopped.
Overwhelming fear.
Unbearable unwillingness.
And an irrational obsession she herself could not understand— He cannot die here.
The three emotions twisted together, colliding violently, then detonating as invisible shackles shattered inside her mind.
A scorching, alien power surged upward like a bursting dam, rushing straight into her eyes.
“Stop—!” A heart-wrenching, distorted scream ripped from her throat.
“Ahhhhh—!” Agony.
Unimaginable agony.
A burning, stabbing pain tore through her eyes, as if her optic nerves were being forcibly twisted and shredded.
Every fiber screamed.
Scalding tears poured uncontrollably down her cheeks as Naion roared in pain.
And yet, within that agony, her vision transformed.
The pitch-black pupils were swallowed entirely by an ominous crimson.
Within that red world, two jet-black tomoe slowly spun—cold, sharp, and all-seeing.
Two-Tomoe Sharingan—Awakened.
The world changed.
Through Naion’s newly awakened crimson eyes, the Iwagakure jōnin’s devastating punch—its trajectory, speed, and flow of power—was broken down into slow-motion fragments, riddled with flaws.
She saw the veins bulging along his arm.
She saw the blanching of his knuckles from excessive force.
She even saw the dust swirling in the air, disturbed by the wind of his strike.
At that moment, instinct surpassed thought.
“Get… away from him!!!” She roared.
With explosive speed she had never known she possessed, Naion lunged forward, seized Ryū by the collar, and violently shoved him aside.
At the same instant, the shuriken prepared in her other hand flew free.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Guided by the terrifying insight of the Sharingan, the shuriken no longer followed simple straight lines.
They carved impossible arcs through the air, precisely sealing off every joint, chakra flow point, and muscle node in the jōnin’s attacking arm.
“What?!” The Iwagakure jōnin’s fist was less than an instant from crushing Ryū—only to be forcibly halted.
Shock flashed across his eyes.
He knew it instantly: forcing the punch through would kill the brat, but his entire right arm would be crippled beyond recovery.
In a heartbeat, he made the rational choice.
Retreat.
He slammed his foot down and leapt backward, pulling away several meters, narrowly avoiding the storm of shuriken.
Steadying himself, he looked at the Uchiha girl who had erupted with terrifying power.
His astonishment quickly faded, replaced by naked greed and fanaticism.
“An Uchiha brat…” he murmured hoarsely, licking his dry lips.
“Awakening the Sharingan here… for this kid.” “It seems today… I’ve made a huge profit.” On the other side, Naion felt the backlash hit her like a tidal wave.
Chakra exhaustion and mental overload sent the world spinning, needle-like pain stabbing through her skull.
Yet she did not fall.
Biting down hard enough to draw blood from her lip, she planted herself firmly in front of Kazama Ryū.
Her slender body stood like a wall.
Those newly awakened crimson eyes—two black tomoe burning within—stared unflinchingly at the enemy before her.
Ryū lay on the ground, poison and pain dragging him toward unconsciousness.
Struggling, he lifted his head.
His vision was blurred, but what he saw was unmistakable— A narrow back, trembling slightly from exhaustion, yet unshakably firm.
And eyes… crimson eyes.
Eyes stained because of him.
Something inside Ryū—long sealed away beneath memories of his past life and the cold brutality of the shinobi world—cracked open.
Through that fissure, a strange warmth quietly seeped in.