Murakami Takuya peered through a crack in the dirt wall, scanning the figures outside. He tapped his fingers three tis against the hilt of his blade.
"Twenty of them. No headbands, but their positioning and weaponry are textbook shinobi. That bald guy in the front isn't simple."
He paused for a beat, then turned to the other three.
"I'm going to tear a hole in their line. The target is the bald guy—he's the command core. If I draw him away, their formation will likely collapse. Use that window to break out toward the southwest. Once you're out, don't stop running."
"But..." Jiraiya started.
"No 'buts'."
His tone wasn't harsh, but it was exactly that kind of steady delivery that made his words impossible to argue with. He wasn't asking for their opinion; he was issuing an order.
Tsunade bit her lip.
She wanted to say, *We can help,* or *Let's go as four,* but the words caught in her throat. She could do the math. Twenty against four, completely surrounded—she and Jiraiya couldn't provide enough support to change the outco.
The captain drawing away the leader to disrupt the formation was already the optimal solution. She knew it was right, but "knowing it was right" and "being able to accept it" were two different things.
"Look after them."
Murakami Takuya's gaze lingered on each of their faces for a second before finally resting on Kitahara Kaede.
Kitahara Kaede nodded.
In the next instant, Murakami Takuya launched himself forward like a spring. The dirt wall exploded outward from the center, sending shards of stone flying to provide a first wave of cover. Before the dust could even settle, he had already breached the periter.
The sound of his short blade leaving its sheath was brief, like a piece of paper being sliced.
The first two n in black reacted—one raised his sword, the other shifted to dodge—but Murakami Takuya was on an entirely different level of speed.
A flash of steel, and the wrist of the man with the raised sword was severed. The other was struck in the side of the neck with the back of the blade, slamming into the ground with a heavy thud.
A third man rushed in, but as soon as his blade clashed with the short sword, he was knocked backward, colliding with his comrades and sending them tumbling.
Three seconds, three n.
The smile on the bald man's face froze.
He took a half-step back, but Murakami Takuya was already in front of him. With a horizontal slash of his short blade, Takuya engaged. The bald man drew a tachi to et the attack, and the two figures blurred together, racing rapidly away from the village, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
The gap in the encirclent lasted only a few seconds before the remaining enemies quickly shifted to fill the void, closing the semi-circle once more.
Kitahara Kaede stood up from behind the ruined dirt wall and scanned the area.
Sixteen people.
Fifteen of them didn't feel like much of a threat. But there was one who was different—standing directly opposite them was a man in his early twenties wearing a deep grey short coat. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed.
While everyone else was tense, he was observing.
He wasn't fodder.
This man was the only remaining variable capable of threatening Tsunade; Kaede had to handle him personally.
"Kaede—" Tsunade's voice ca from behind him. It was tight, but she wasn't panicking. "What's the plan?"
Her hands were 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'll take ten."
Jiraiya nearly bit his tongue. "You'll take... ten?"
"Leave the other six to you two. Avoid the guy in the grey coat; pick off whoever else you want."
Jiraiya opened his mouth to tell him he was crazy, but after seeing the expression on Kitahara Kaede's face, he swallowed the words. There was no bravado or reckless pride in that look.
Tsunade didn't question the number. Since the mont she had t him, every ti he said he "could do it," he had delivered.
There were so many things she wanted to say—*Don't get hurt, don't overdo it, don't use your body to block a blade again.*
In the end, only two words ca out.
"Be careful."
Kitahara Kaede reached out and gently pressed his hand on top of her head. The palm touched her and then pulled away in one natural motion.
Tsunade's breath hitched for a second. His palm was dry and slightly warm, the heat transferring clearly through her hair. It didn't feel like the sensation of being protected; it felt like being trusted.
It was as if he were saying: *You can do this too.*
"You too," he replied.
As soon as he spoke, he moved.
Tsunade stood frozen for less than a second before she gritted her teeth and turned to engage the enemies in her direction.
...
Kitahara Kaede cut into the right wing of the encirclent, choosing the spot where the gap between two enemies was the widest.
The first man swung his sword in a horizontal arc, aiming for Kaede's ribs.
Kaede dropped his center of gravity, letting the blade whistle over his head. He gripped a kunai in a reverse hold and sliced upward across the man's wrist. The sword flew from the man's grip, and Kaede imdiately drove his knee into the man's chest.
The man was sent flying backward, taking his comrade down with him.
Without stopping, Kitahara Kaede began to weave signs.
"Shadow Clone Technique!"
Two clouds of white smoke exploded on either side of him. Two clones surged into the wings of the encirclent to pin down the outer enemies. The original charged straight for the man in the grey coat.
He was well aware of his chakra reserves—after two clones, the original had sixty percent left, and the clones had thirty percent each. He couldn't sustain this for long. He had to deal with the man in grey before the clones vanished.
The man in grey finally pulled his hand from his pocket. He held a narrow-bladed short sword, the edge polished to a mirror sheen. His starting stance was mature and composed.
"Interesting," the man smirked. "You actually dare to use Shadow Clones and split your chakra?"
Kitahara Kaede didn't answer, thrusting his kunai forward.
The first clash revealed the truth—the man in grey was stronger than him. A head-on collision would be a losing battle.
Kaede's counterattack ca almost instantly, riding the montum of the block. The short sword slid along the length of the kunai, the tip aiming for Kaede's wrist.
Kaede flicked his wrist to deflect the blow and simultaneously leaped backward to create distance. The man in grey pursued him with steady steps, clearly intending to use oppressive pressure to shrink Kaede's room to maneuver.
Once he had retreated far enough, Kitahara Kaede stopped and rapidly ford signs.
"Great Fireball Technique!"
Chakra erupted from his throat, and a fireball expanded rapidly—nearly the size of a soccer ball—slamming toward the man in grey.
It was close range and sudden, leaving almost no room to dodge.
The man in grey threw himself to the right. Most of his body cleared the blast, but the edge of the flas swept across his left shoulder. The burn was instantaneous; his clothing charred black, and the sll of scorched flesh filled the air.
He landed and stood up, the smile on his face fading.
"Do you even have enough chakra, kid?"
Kitahara Kaede didn't respond. He switched his kunai from a forward grip to a reverse grip and lowered his stance, shifting from an offensive approach to a tactical skirmish.
The man in grey pressed forward, launching a series of strikes.
The first was a vertical cleave—Kaede stepped aside. The second was a horizontal sweep—he ducked. The third was a downward strike—he stepped back and to the side, letting the blade slam into the mud.
Every strike missed by a fraction of an inch.
It wasn't because Kitahara Kaede was faster, but because he was constantly watching the man's shoulders.
The shoulder moves first; the blade follows. A fraction of a second of anticipation was all he needed.
These were the fundantals taught by Teacher Hiruzen.
The man in grey's patience was wearing thin. His strikes beca faster and more vicious—aiming for the throat, the back of the knees, and other vital points.
But the more desperate he beca, the more openings he left.
Kitahara Kaede was waiting for his chance.
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