Deep in the forest, two figures jumped down from the trees and blocked Ringo's path.
Sakon stood in front. Ukon grew out of his back, half his body protruding over Sakon's shoulder, his head tilted and a smile on his lips. It was not a smile—it was contempt. Contempt for a genin daring to stop them alone.
"Alone?" Sakon licked his lips, his tongue sliding across the corner of his mouth, wet in the moonlight. "Are Konoha's genin all this fearless of death?"
"It isn't that I'm not afraid of dying." Steam rose from Ringo's right hand, pale green and glowing in the dark forest. It was not the glow of a weapon—it was the glow of plants. The color of the underside of leaves beneath moonlight, like the faint gleam of roots drinking water underground. "Your technique just happens to be countered by mine."
Sakon pushed off the ground, his body shooting forward like a cannonball. At the same time, Ukon extended a hand from Sakon's back, not to attack, but to assist. Their movements were perfectly synchronized. Sakon threw a punch while Ukon sealed off Ringo's retreat. It was not teamwork—it was one brain controlling two bodies. Dual-Soul Connection: shared senses. What the left one saw, the right one sensed. What the left one struck, the right one felt. They were not two people—they were one person in two bodies.
Ringo stepped back half a pace. Steam burst from beneath his feet, not for propulsion, but cushioning. His body tilted three degrees to the left, narrowly avoiding Sakon's fist. The wind from Sakon's punch grazed his temple. It was not hot—it was cold. Curse Mark chakra was cold, like snake scales, like Orochimaru's fingers. Ukon's hand reached from behind him, fingers spread, nails lengthening. They were no longer