A single punch.
One Suna shinobi flew backward like he'd been launched.
Under that terrifying strength, his ribcage collapsed instantly—blood spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.
Hikaru stepped forward lightly.
A long blade, gleaming cold, ca down from behind him—nearly grazing his back.
But in the next instant, a kunai appeared in Hikaru's hand.
He turned with effortless precision, the kunai carrying a pinprick of chakra as it sank into the attacker's chest.
At the sa ti, Hikaru's right hand clamped down on the shinobi's sword arm—and with a smooth, brutal pull, yanked it sideways.
Clang!
A sharp tallic ring cut through the sand.
The shinobi's wrist twisted unnaturally—bones and tendons giving way.
And the sword in his hand, forced along that warped angle, stabbed straight into the chest of another Suna shinobi nearby.
Three down in an instant.
Hikaru didn't pause.
He sprang forward, moving toward the scattered Suna forces.
In mid-tier Sage Mode, with the heightened perception he'd gained from his bloodline boost, the destruction he could unleash now was hard to fathom.
Speed. Reflexes. Strength. Coordination—
Everything clicked into place like a machine built for killing.
And with his sensory field spread out around him, he could read the battlefield clearly. Even without a dōjutsu, he could pre-empt danger and sidestep it before it ford.
Hikaru found himself understanding sothing he'd only half-grasped before.
Why, back then, even with the Mangekyō Sharingan, Uchiha Madara hadn't gained much advantage in close-range exchanges against the Senju.
Why he'd even suffered losses, again and again.
Hashirama's absurd regeneration was one reason, yes.
But perhaps there was another.
Maybe Hashirama had fought in a state like this—
where the broad strokes were equal, and every tiny disadvantage could be erased by recovery.
Madara landing a solid hit, only to have it "fixed" monts later…
while any wound he took stayed with him.
No wonder Madara had called Hashirama's fighting style "unrefined."
It wasn't elegance he was criticizing.
It was frustration.
I hurt you—and you heal.
You hurt —and I don't.
Who wouldn't hate that?
Of course, that lack of "elegance" depended on who you were facing.
Hikaru didn't believe just anyone could injure Hashirama in the first place.
And he felt the sa about himself.
He had no intention of letting people hurt him casually.
He moved through the dozens of shinobi like a blade sliding through cloth—calm, controlled, almost leisurely.
Under his sensory coverage, every attack looked slow.
And the taijutsu boosted by mid-tier Sage Mode—this was where it truly blossod.
In under a minute, nearly ten Suna shinobi were already down.
Hikaru's movent was too fast for them to lock onto him with jutsu.
Fear began spreading through their ranks.
Because what Hikaru was showing wasn't rely "strong."
It was inhuman.
Even worse—
He hadn't used Flying Thunder God once.
They'd been scattered by a single technique, and then slaughtered piece by piece.
How could they not be afraid?
Hikaru kicked one shinobi away, then smoothly drew another kunai.
A blue glow flashed across the kunai's edge.
The chakra sharpness swept across a man's throat in one clean line.
Blood sprayed.
Before it could even hit the sand, Hikaru slapped an explosive tag onto the man's chest.
Then he kicked him again.
The shinobi, clutching his throat and making hoarse, strangled sounds, collapsed beside the earlier one who'd been kicked away.
BOOM!
A violent explosion.
Sand and stone sprayed up stained red, along with torn chunks of flesh.
Two bodies—gone. Reduced to fragnts.
The remaining Suna shinobi shuddered.
By now, they had regrouped—
but they'd also lost more than half their people.
And their enemy?
Not a scratch.
That gap was so enormous it bordered on despair.
But they were shinobi.
They knew they couldn't turn their backs.
Even if so hands were trembling on kunai grips… they still stood their ground.
The masked figure in the distance wasn't moving now.
He simply stood there.
Yet every Suna shinobi felt it—
That man looked like a demon crawling out of hell.
"Afraid?"
Hikaru spoke.
His voice was still gentle, still soft—like he was chatting with an old friend.
"Fear ans you can still be saved. It ans you still want to live."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Don't cling too stubbornly to aningless things. Stepping over ants without killing them… isn't a kind of strength most people can master."
"Stop spouting nonsense!"
The Suna commander barked sharply.
"Yes, you're terrifying. But do you understand what you're facing?"
"We are shinobi of Sunagakure. We do not retreat."
"And even if I die—my village will avenge us!"
"Is that so?" Hikaru slowly drew his blade.
Blue chakra rippled across the steel like cold fla.
"You know… what you call 'belief' isn't confidence in yourself. It's dependence."
His tone remained calm—almost instructional.
"That's a weak person's habit."
"For shinobi—especially in a situation like this—trust like that is pointless."
"You'd be better off trusting yourself."
"You damned lunatic—!" the commander snarled. "You will never escape the Land of Wind!"
"Whether I escape or not…"
Hikaru sighed softly.
"…you won't be around to see it."
He moved.
Slow steps, but with each one, a crushing pressure seed to press down on the Suna shinobi like an invisible weight.
The desert wind still howled, lifting yellow sand—and also snapping Hikaru's cloak behind him, making it billow like a shadow.
"Goodbye."
When he was less than ten ters away, Hikaru spoke again.
"Though we probably won't et again."
Then his figure vanished.
Only screams remained, echoing across the desert.
...
When Hikaru's blade brushed across the commander's neck, blood imdiately splashed down the steel and scattered onto the sand.
The commander clawed at his throat.
He tried to speak—tried to say sothing—
but the blood had already flooded his airway. Only bubbles rose from his mouth as he strained.
Hikaru watched with a blank calm.
He'd seen scenes like this too many tis.
In ANBU, death was routine.
And he'd done the killing often enough himself.
Maybe the gore still disgusted him sotis.
But the childish kind of sympathy had long since been scraped out of his heart.
Perhaps that, too, counted as "growth."
He flicked the blood from his blade.
Then, without looking back at the corpses, he turned and walked forward.
He'd drawn them out for more than one reason.
Yes, he'd wanted to test his strength—adapt to the new power in his body.
But there was another purpose, and it was much simpler:
He wanted this "high-profile breakout" to raise his standing.
He'd thought about it before coming here. He'd been prepared.
What he hadn't expected was that the gains from this trip would exceed even his own estimates—
which only reinforced one conviction:
He couldn't leave quietly.
ANBU leadership selection was heavily influenced by the Hokage's will.
But there was another key factor:
The chosen person needed enough "qualification."
Not only mission count—
but ANBU prestige.
And personal strength.
Hikaru didn't know Murashima Takumi well.
But he'd heard the man's "legendary accomplishnts" more than once.
Yes, Takumi had held his position partly because Sarutobi Hiruzen backed him.
A rigid, machine-like man like that didn't bargain or trade favors to stabilize himself.
But without real rit and strength, even Hiruzen's support would've been useless.
Hikaru wanted the Hokage seat.
To get there, he needed ANBU Commander first.
Only with that position could he climb openly, step by step.
He wasn't Hatake Kakashi.
He didn't have Kakashi's background.
He didn't have Kakashi's luck.
ANBU wasn't sothing you could "quit" just because you felt like it.
Kakashi was the exception, not the path.
Hikaru focused on what suited him—what was realistic.
"…But from here on, it'll get troubleso."
He lifted his eyes.
The trained hawk was still circling, still crying out.
The main force would arrive soon.
And they'd arrive angry.
Cautious.
After all, the first thing Hikaru had done in the Land of Wind was slaughter people right in front of Ebizō—then vanish for days like smoke.
The earlier garrison squad had already proven the scale of Suna's response.
Combined with the intelligence he'd gathered, he knew what was coming:
There wouldn't be only a few enemies.
With a casual one-handed seal, several small lizards appeared before him.
Hikaru crouched and spoke softly to them.
Then, one by one, he placed markings onto their bodies.
Only after that did he stand and continue forward.
His pace remained steady—unhurried.
In his sensory field, more and more chakra signatures were gathering toward him like a tide.
"Here they co…"
He crested another dune.
And then he saw them—
A dense mass of Suna shinobi rushing toward him.
For a brief mont, Hikaru felt a flicker of tension.
He'd grown much stronger, and his chakra was no longer restricted…
but he'd never faced a scene like this before.
In the past, his missions involved small elite groups.
He'd never stood on a real battlefield.
He'd never seen a full formation charge like this.
Still, he'd prepared his retreat options.
He steadied himself quickly.
The enemy count was high—glancing over it, it looked close to a hundred.
And among them, Hikaru could see ANBU silhouettes.
Even so…
Even if he couldn't unleash Wood Release on Hashirama's level—
if these people thought they could capture him easily, they were dreaming.
"Target confird! Repeat—target confird!"
"Capture him if possible. If not, kill him—do not let him escape!"
"Everyone be careful! They say this man has space-ti ninjutsu—watch for ambush!"
The mont they spotted him, the Suna forces locked on.
Under squad leaders' commands, multiple groups surged forward without hesitation.
Hikaru watched them calmly.
For so reason, the scene reminded him of sothing from sixteen years in the future—
Uchiha Madara standing alone against the Allied Shinobi Forces.
But Hikaru wasn't an Uchiha.
And these weren't an alliance.
He drew his blade and walked forward.
The desert wind continued to sweep sand across the land, lifting his cloak and making it dance behind him.
His breathing stayed steady.
With each breath, and each step, the chakra around him beca thicker.
Denser.
Then his pace quickened.
And in the next mont, his breathing pattern changed.
His chakra began to boil.
And strangely—
The charging Suna shinobi began slowing without realizing it.
Faces turned uneasy.
So tightened their grip on kunai, swallowing hard.
There was only one man in front of them.
And yet his aura—his chakra—felt unnaturally close to nature itself.
Every shinobi who brushed against that presence felt pressure—
like a mountain pressing down on their lungs.
"Careful!"
A sudden shout snapped them awake.
And at that exact mont—
Hikaru was already in front of the lead Suna shinobi.
His blade flashed like lightning.
And sliced cleanly across the man's throat.
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