Chidori

The three of them crept toward the sounds of the fight.

The closer they got, the more intense the commotion became.

Tsunade crouched against a broken wall, peeking out with half her head.

The clearing in the center of the village looked as if it had been turned upside down.

The ground was torn by several deep fissures, two wooden huts were half-collapsed, and broken tiles and splintered 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 blade to his right hand.

A gash on his forehead ran from his hairline to his brow bone, half his face was smeared red, and his left eye was already swollen shut.

The bald man stood opposite him, holding his katana, his breathing barely even ruffled.

He brought his blade down in a heavy, whistling arc.

Murakami Takuya dodged to the side and countered with a backhand strike, only managing to slice the fabric on the man's flank.

The next instant, a knee drove into his abdomen.

He was sent crashing into the collapsed wooden wall, sending a spray of splinters flying.

He propped himself up with his blade, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Tsunade crouched behind the wall, unable to utter a single word.

It wasn't that she hadn't 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 combat.

He was observing—the distance, the angles, the gap in the bald man's recovery after a swing.

And how much chakra he had left.

After that last battle, there wasn't much remaining.

But it seemed he could still use Chidori one more time.

Only once.

The bald man swung again.

Murakami Takuya raised his blade to block; steel clashed against steel, sparks flew, but the force drove him down onto one knee.

The difference in strength was too great.

The bald man suddenly tilted his head, his gaze cutting through the dust and smoke toward the broken wall.

He smiled.

"Still alive, are you, three little mice?"

Tsunade's spine stiffened.

"You've got more grit than your team leader," he said, pressing his blade down another inch. "The trash under your command actually got wiped out by three brats."

Murakami Takuya froze for a moment.

Wiped out?

All sixteen of them?

The corners of his mouth twitched, wanting to smile.

But his mouth was full of blood, and he couldn't.

Then his heart sank—why were these three children still here?

"...What are you doing here?"

The words were squeezed through 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 rush. I'll finish you first, then deal with them. They're just three little brats."

With that, he didn't even glance back toward the broken wall.

Kitahara Kaede took note of that.

From start to finish, this man had never considered them a threat.

That was a good thing.

He needed a window—a moment where the man was facing the captain, side-on to him, and standing still.

A straight, unobstructed path for a sprint.

The window hadn't appeared yet.

He calmly glanced to the side.

At the three o'clock position, a section of a collapsed house could shield his approach.

It was about thirteen meters to the bald man's back, with rubble and broken beams in between; he wouldn't be able to change direction once he started running.

The Chidori he had mastered could not yet handle directional changes.

He needed to be in position beforehand.

Kitahara Kaede's body vanished silently from Tsunade's right side.

Tsunade didn't notice.

She retreated behind the wall, her back against the ruins, a heavy, suffocating feeling in her chest.

"I'm going to help," Jiraiya said, pulling out a kunai, his voice tight.

Tsunade glanced at him.

"Go up? Look closely—the captain can't even hold him off; if you and I go up, we'll just be taking a few more slashes."

Jiraiya gritted his teeth.

"So we just watch? Watch the captain get killed?"

Tsunade didn't answer, lowering her head to stare at her own fists.

Was there any way? Any jutsu, any tactic, anything that could help even a little?

She couldn't think of one.

That man had been playing the whole time, and even with the captain fighting like this, he was barely managing to stay alive.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again.

"...Go."

The word was squeezed from her throat, feeling worse than taking a punch.

"While the captain can still hold him. Go."

She turned her head to look for Kitahara Kaede.

The spot was empty.

Only she and Jiraiya remained behind the broken wall.

Tsunade's mind went blank.

"Kaede?"

No one answered.

She grabbed the edge of the wall to look out, her eyes scanning the battlefield—

And then she heard it.

Everyone heard it.

Zzz—zzzzzz—

It sounded like a thousand birds screaming at once.

Kitahara Kaede was in position.

Using the collapsed house as cover, he had circled to the side of the battlefield, keeping his footsteps light and his breathing shallow the entire time.

He wouldn't tell Tsunade; if he had, she would have stopped him.

He crouched against the ruins, his gaze passing over the broken bricks to watch the battlefield.

Thirteen meters.

A gravel path, a broken beam, a shallow pit.

This route 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 it.

Murakami Takuya looked at his limp left arm, then at the reflective katana in front of him.

He felt strangely calm.

Three children had taken out all sixteen men.

Genin capable of such a feat were worth more alive than he was.

What he had to do now was simple.

Hold him off, for as long as he could.

The bald man raised his katana high.

Murakami Takuya didn't retreat.

He met it with his short blade—not to block, but to trade lives.

He threw his body forward, simultaneously stabbing his short blade into the man's thigh.

The blade sank three inches into flesh.

The bald man grunted, caught off guard by this tactic.

The katana swing went wide, the edge slicing across the captain's shoulder, deep to the bone.

Both men recoiled.

Murakami Takuya fell to his knees.

His right knee supported him, but his left was ruined.

The short blade remained embedded in the man's leg.

The bald man looked down at the blade in his thigh, pulled it out, and tossed it aside.

Blood streamed down his pant leg.

The smile on his face was completely gone.

"You're courting death."

He gripped his katana and walked over, step by step.

Murakami Takuya looked up.

Only one thought remained in his mind—the three brats, had they left yet?

The bald man raised his blade.

Then, the birds began to scream.

The window opened.

Murakami Takuya's strike had pinned the man in place—pulling the blade, throwing it, and closing the distance had locked his attention entirely on the man kneeling before him.

His left leg was bleeding, and his steps were heavy.

He wouldn't notice the flank.

He had never factored the three "little mice" into his calculations.

Kitahara Kaede formed the hand seals.

His body sent a clear warning—his chakra was bottoming out; any more would be an overdraft.

He didn't stop.

Lightning-attribute chakra surged into his right palm.

Arcs of electricity darted between his fingers, growing denser and brighter, and the sound followed—

A thousand birds screaming in his palm.

He kicked off the ground.

All his strength pressed into his right foot, shattering the gravel as his body shot forward.

Thirteen meters.

The bald man heard it.

He didn't turn around.

Just a little mouse.

He brought the katana down—

Nine meters.

Five meters.

Two meters.

Kitahara Kaede thrust his right hand forward.

The moment the ball of lightning in his palm touched the man's back, the resistance vanished.

A hand pierced through his chest.

Lightning-style chakra detonated inside his body, electric arcs leaping from the edges of the wound as a mist of blood hissed and evaporated.

The katana hung suspended in mid-air.

The bald man lowered his head.

A hand had emerged from his chest.

Blue-white electric arcs coiled around the fingertips, flickering on and off.

He tried to turn his head, but after moving an inch, his neck refused to budge any further.

"Little... rat..."

Blood bubbled from the corners of his mouth, and the katana slipped from his grasp.

His entire body pitched forward, hitting the ground with a thud and kicking up dust.

Kitahara Kaede pulled his hand out.

He stood there for two seconds.

His legs went weak, and his vision began to narrow.

He had calculated correctly.

His body collapsed before his consciousness did.

The last sound he heard felt very far away, yet simultaneously right against his ear.

"Kaede--!!"

Tsunade didn't care about anything else as she ran over.

Kitahara Kaede lay face-down beside the corpse, motionless.

She lunged forward to flip his body over and pressed two fingers against his neck.

A pulse.

It was very weak, but it was there.

She rested his head on her lap, placed her hands over him, and a green light flared to life.

She couldn't speak.

She wanted to scold him, to ask why he had charged in alone again, to say so many things.

Not a single word came out.

Kitahara Kaede's breathing was shallow, his face as white as paper.

Two gashes on his left arm were seeping blood, and there was a scrape along his waist.

But the most serious issue wasn't these—it was chakra exhaustion.

He had drained himself dry.

Her eyes stung.

The tears didn't fall.

She wouldn't allow herself to cry at a time like this.

The green light pulsed, casting shadows across her face and his.

Never again.

I won't let you charge to the front alone ever again.

On the other side, Jiraiya was bandaging Murakami Takuya.

He fumbled, wrapping the bandages twice and loosening them once, but he finally managed to plug the largest bleeding wound.

Murakami Takuya's gaze drifted past Jiraiya's shoulder, landing on Tsunade's side.

He remained silent for a long time.

That technique.

From the sound to the piercing strike, it had taken less than three seconds.

Concentrating lightning-attribute chakra into the palm and releasing it as a thrust.

That was not a jutsu a genin should possess.

"Return to Konoha, we leave now." His voice was heavy. "This matter must be reported to the Hokage."

Tsunade looked down at Kitahara Kaede on her lap.

His breathing was steadier than before, and his lips had regained a hint of color.

She stopped the green light, bent down to drape his arm over her shoulder, and gritted her teeth as she hoisted him up.

Kitahara Kaede was half a head taller than her and dead weight.

Her knees buckled for a moment.

Then she straightened them.

"Tsunade, let me—" Jiraiya started.

"Just look after the captain."

She didn't look back.

The four of them—two standing, carrying the two who couldn't—walked back along the path they had come.

Tsunade led the way, Kitahara Kaede unconscious on her back.

His hand hung by her side, swaying with each step.

She suddenly remembered what he had said as a child after bandaging a wound.

"Just a scratch."

Liar.

He always had been.

She bit her lip and quickened her pace.