I Can Take Ten

Murakami Takuya swept his gaze through the cracks in the earthen wall at the figures outside, tapping his fingers against his sword hilt three times.

"Twenty. No headbands, but their positioning and weaponry are ninja-style. The bald one in the front isn't simple."

He paused for a beat, then turned to look at the three of them.

"I'll tear a hole in their line. The target is the bald guy—he's the command core. If I draw him away, their formation might break. You three take the window to break out toward the southwest, and don't stop once you're out."

"But..." Jiraiya started.

"No buts."

His tone wasn't heavy, but that very lack of weight made it impossible to argue with, more so than any direct order.

He wasn't asking for opinions; he was issuing a command.

Tsunade bit her lip.

She wanted to say "we can help," wanted to say "the four of us together," but the words stuck in her throat.

Because she could do the math.

Twenty against four, surrounded—she and Jiraiya combined couldn't shoulder much of the burden.

The captain drawing the leader away alone to disrupt the formation was already the optimal solution.

She knew he was right.

But "knowing it's right" and "being able to accept it" were two different things.

"Keep an eye on them."

Murakami Takuya let his gaze rest on each of their three faces for a second, finally landing on Kitahara Kaede.

Kitahara Kaede nodded.

The next instant, Murakami Takuya launched himself outward.

The earthen wall exploded from the center, sending gravel flying to serve as the first wave of cover.

Before the dust had even settled, he had already passed through.

The sound of his short blade leaving its sheath was sharp and brief, like tearing through a sheet of paper.

The two black-clad men in the front—one raised his blade, the other side-stepped—but Murakami Takuya was a level faster.

A flash of steel, and the wrist of the one holding the blade was severed; the one who side-stepped was struck on the side of the neck by the back of the blade, bouncing once as he hit the ground.

The third one rushed up, but his blade was sent flying the moment it touched the short sword, and he collided with his companion behind him, knocking them both over.

Three seconds, three men down.

The smile on the bald man's face froze completely.

He retreated half a step, but Murakami Takuya was already in front of him.

The short sword slashed horizontally, and the bald man drew his katana to meet it. Their figures locked together, rapidly pulling away in the direction of the village, further and further into the distance.

The gap in the encirclement lasted only a few seconds before the remaining men quickly filled the void, closing the semicircle once more.

Kitahara Kaede stood up from behind the ruined earthen wall, his gaze sweeping the area.

Sixteen men.

Fifteen of them didn't put much pressure on him.

Only one was different—directly opposite him, wearing a dark gray jacket, in his early twenties, hands in his pockets, standing very loosely.

While others were tense, he was observing.

Not cannon fodder.

This person was the only variable among the rest who could threaten Tsunade, so he had to handle him himself.

"Kaede—" Tsunade's voice came from behind him, tight but not panicked. "What do we do?"

Her hands were already clenched into fists, her stance as steady as if she were nailed to the ground.

Kitahara Kaede turned his gaze back to the front.

"I can take ten."

Jiraiya nearly bit his tongue. "You're taking... ten?"

"Leave the other six to you. Avoid the guy in the gray jacket in front; pick anyone else."

Jiraiya opened his mouth, wanting to say "you're crazy," but swallowed the words after seeing Kitahara Kaede's expression.

There was no sign of bravado on that face.

Tsunade didn't question the number.

From the time she had known him until now, there hadn't been a single thing he said he "could do" that he hadn't accomplished.

There were many things she wanted to say—don't get hurt, don't push yourself, don't use your body to block blades again.

In the end, only three words remained.

"Be careful."

Kitahara Kaede reached out and pressed lightly on the top of her head.

His palm rested there and then pulled away, the movement natural.

Tsunade's breathing hitched for half a beat.

His palm was dry and slightly warm, the temperature transmitted through her hair very clear—it wasn't the feeling of being protected, but of being trusted.

As if he were saying: you can do it, too.

"You too."

After he finished speaking, he was already in motion.

Tsunade froze for less than a second, bit her lip hard, and turned toward her own direction.

Kitahara Kaede cut into the right flank of the encirclement, choosing the spot with the widest gap between two men.

The first man swung his blade horizontally, aiming for his waist and ribs.

Kitahara Kaede dropped his body low, the blade sweeping over his head.

He gripped his kunai in reverse, slashing upward across the opponent's sword-wielding wrist. The blade slipped from the man's hand, and a knee followed immediately, driving into his chest.

The man flew backward, knocking over the companion behind him, and both tumbled away.

Kitahara Kaede didn't stop; he began to weave hand signs.

"Shadow Clone Technique."

Two puffs of white smoke exploded on either side of his body, and two clones cut into the flanks of the encirclement to pin down the outer enemies.

The original body headed straight for the man in the gray jacket.

He was very clear about his chakra levels—after two shadow clones, the original body had sixty percent left, and each clone had thirty percent; they wouldn't last long.

He had to take down the man in the gray jacket before the clones dissipated.

The man in the gray jacket finally pulled his hands from his pockets.

He held a narrow-bladed short sword, the edge polished to a bright sheen, his opening stance mature and steady.

"Interesting." He grinned. "You still dare to use Shadow Clones to split your chakra?"

Kitahara Kaede didn't reply, thrusting his kunai forward.

The first clash revealed it—the man in the gray jacket had more strength than him; he would be at a disadvantage in a direct confrontation.

The counterattack came almost immediately, riding the momentum of the block. The short sword slid along the body of the kunai, aiming for his wrist.

Kitahara Kaede flipped his wrist to block, simultaneously retreating to open up the distance.

The man in the gray jacket pursued, his steps steady, clearly intending to use an oppressive advance to compress his room to maneuver.

Once Kitahara Kaede had retreated far enough, he stopped and quickly wove hand signs.

"Great Fireball Technique."

Chakra erupted from his throat, the fireball expanding rapidly to nearly the size of a soccer ball, smashing toward the front of the man in the gray jacket.

At close range, sudden, with no sufficient space to dodge.

The man in the gray jacket rolled to the right, avoiding the bulk of it, but his left shoulder was still grazed by the edge of the flames—the skin burned instantly, his clothes charred, and a smell of scorched flesh drifted into the air.

He landed and stood up, the smile on his face fading slightly.

"Do you have enough chakra, brat?"

Kitahara Kaede didn't respond, switching his kunai from a forward grip to a reverse grip, lowering his stance, and shifting from offense to skirmishing.

The man in the gray jacket pursued, striking repeatedly—

The first strike was a chop, which Kitahara Kaede side-stepped; the second was a horizontal sweep, which he dodged by crouching; the third was a downward slash, which he stepped back diagonally to avoid, the blade smashing into the mud.

Every strike missed by a hair.

It wasn't because Kitahara Kaede was faster, but because he was watching the opponent's shoulders the entire time.

The shoulder moves first, the blade moves second.

Being a fraction of a second early was enough.

The fundamentals taught by Hiruzen.

The patience of the man in the gray jacket was being worn down, his strikes becoming faster and more vicious—aiming for the neck, the back of the knees, all vital points.

But the more anxious he became, the more openings he revealed.

Kitahara Kaede was waiting for an opportunity.