Three shining needles cut through the air on perfectly silent trajectory before chakra even had time to flex.
I twisted smoothly, one hand brushing my belt, and a kunai slapped into my palm.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Each senbon deflected.
Went for heart, neck, and head. I appreciated the directness.
A twitch of irritation in their stance. That pleased me more than I let show. He — she, ahh, fuck — he was confusing the hell out of my instincts.
And shouldn't he be dead by now? With all the shit fuck still going in Kiri, and the Mizukage going on on a wild hunt himself, I figured, the chance of them still alive…..
That thought was sobering.
My eyes narrowed slightly, flicking outward, scanning the edges of the woods and tree branches. Wherever Haku was, Zabuza was never far.
I wouldn't have been this thrown off, had I kept my damn Bingo Book updated.
"Nice reflex," I said coolly as I kept scanning all around. "You picked up on the advice instantly. Shows solid instinct."
Haku said nothing. His mask faced me, frozen porcelain through a curtain of silent, loaded air. Eyes creepy behind slits.
Sakura shifted behind me, glancing from me to Haku and back, clearly out of her depth… and her comfort zone. Still, she tried to act otherwise, bringing a kunai up in a defensive posture.
"But," I went on, "using senbon again right after I mentioned them… bad form."
He didn't seem keen to attack after the initial volley. Stalling for time?
I rotated my kunai lazily in my hand, just for emphasis. Mist was rising all around.
"Responding to suggestions from your enemy—even subconsciously—makes you predictable. A shinobi should be noise in fog, not a pattern you can trace."
He kept his silence long enough to be uncomfortable. Sakura swallowed loudly.
"You assume the purpose is to win," he eventually said, head tilting slightly. "Sometimes the impact lies in design… not outcome."
Now, if an enemy tells you their intention, what to do?
Aah. He really had a talent for getting under my skin. First, with that androgynous, delicate frame and porcelain skin. With Naruto's Sexy Jutsu, I could justify it. Sure, it was technically him, but at least the it came with tits, curves, the whole damn package. This, though…
"Oh, sorry," I cut in. Didn't even give my brain a chance to come up with something witty. "Just, uh… Are you a girl or a boy?"
There was a beat. Even the birds seemed confused.
Sakura's jaw dropped. I felt her twitch behind me. Hard. Like she might throttle me or faint. I couldn't tell which came first.
"You can't ask that!" she shrieked in a mortified whisper, practically climbing up my back.
Haku paused.
I couldn't see his eyes, but I felt them blink.
And then—
A dangerous kind of quiet.
"I am a shinobi."
Sakura stared at me like I'd just blown off my own foot.
I shrugged.
"Hey, identity's important these days. I'm not trying to offend, just… trying to figure out where I'm letting myself get distracted."
Another pause. Another stretch of that loaded, velvet silence.
"I see," Haku murmured.
Sultry little shit.
I don't think I can endure till the end of the mission.
I was getting hard during a standoff with a masked enemy whose gender I couldn't pin, and it was pissing me off.
My eyes flickered to the side, catching Sakura in my peripheral vision. She was gripping a kunai too tightly, chewing her lip, dutifully scared but brave. It was almost sweet.
I'd planned to play the long game with her. Give her time to stew in confusion, dependency, and even guilt—just enough to make her pliable. I didn't want to rush it. Didn't want to burn the meal before it was tender. Manipulation's a dish best served slow, after all. There's a satisfaction in crafting something that beautiful and broken at the same time. Art takes patience.
But this heat curling in my gut is starting to rewrite the schedule.
She's not ready yet. Not fully. Not the way I like.
But I was starting to think patience was kinda overrated. I fantasized about taking her first time before her mother's twistedly encouraging gaze. Yet a clear sky and a bush didn't sound too bad either...
Focus, damn it. I gritted my teeth.
I dragged my mind back into combat-zero territory, parsing words and movements. Haku was stalling. He admitted it in that cryptic koan of his. Classic psychological footwork wrapped in pretty phrasing.
He wasn't here for us. He was giving someone space.
The bandits? Do they work for them? Or the same boss?
The bandits had become irrelevant the moment he arrived, however. I couldn't care less about them. Haku and Zabuza were a much bigger fish.
But then, where—
Oh fuck.
I didn't hesitate.
The plan clicked into my mind in cold clarity, and I moved.
A flicker of muscle.
Then I exploded forward—chakra pulsing through my calves, my left hand flinging one, two, three kunai in controlled bursts.
They arced like deadly teeth, one after the other, sharp and humming. Haku's form blurred, dodging in grace, but it didn't matter. I wasn't trying to kill. I was locking him in place.
I closed the gap.
He shifted to sidestep, but I was already there.
My right arm slipped under his blown sleeve, diverting. His slash came close, but I was already half-pivoting, grounding my foot in the mud.
My heel kissed the dirt with exact pressure while my left elbow drove up under his chin. He recoiled—and I slid forward again. Our chests nearly brushed as I slammed my shin behind his left knee, taking out just enough of his balance to make him falter.
I didn't leave him any room for ninjutsu. He was fast, but his taijutsu was not his forte. Though, to be fair, my taijutsu assessment was a bit skewed; that tends to happen when you train with Might Guy.
Haku countered beautifully—twisting at the waist, wrist flicking toward my side with that damnable senbon—but I read it and welcomed it.
My hand snapped forward, catching his wrist mid-motion, locking it. I rolled into the movement, yanking him with it, redirecting his force. Momentum obeyed. He didn't fall. He spun. Got you. I put my hand on his shoulder and merely pushed him against the tree, which I had subtly directed him to.
And he was face first against the tree bark, delicate arm pinned behind his back, balance wrecked. The mask yanked off at some point.
I pressed up behind, chest to spine, and applied a calculated twist to the shoulder socket. Not enough to break. Just enough to say move again, and I do it harder.
He went perfectlystill.
His hair grazed my jaw.
The scent of frost and flowers and steel blew into my lungs. I'd meant to smell blood. Instead, I found fucking perfume and cool, earthy water.
I fucking hope he's a girl. He sure felt like one.
"I don't want to hurt you," I murmured. Which was… true. Unfortunately. "Don't make me reconsider."
I leaned in against Haku's still form, breath warm at the shell of his ear through the porcelain. "You gonna be good, uh, and tell me who you work for," I murmured, nearly calling him 'good girl.' Which would've been awkward, probably. But hey—he's prettier than half the girls out there, so I feel like the universe owes me a pass.
Haku didn't resist. He didn't answer either.
"I'm just curious," I continued. "Some pretty, uh, formidable and poetic shinobi like you, you work freelance, or are you more of a dearly-kept partner?"
Damn it, I need to get laid.
And that, as expected, got a reaction. Yet his lips were shut.
"So loyal," I said, tone still too pleasant. "He's not here, huh?"
That was the final confirmation. They weren't stalling me so the bandits could escape. They were isolating me.
Baiting the only goddamn jounin in the group—me—away from the client.
Of course. The real attack wasn't here. The real show only happened to the protagonist.
Zabuza, that bloodthirsty freak, wasn't the type to tolerate stillness unless he was preparing a very surgical strike. He was after the client.
Now I couldn't care less about the client, other than some professional pride I learned to ignore. But Naruto. That dumb, reckless, golden idiot would throw himself right into the fire.
I didn't have time for this. Every moment caught between a tempting enemy and a confused teammate was a second I could be too late.
Sakura hovered behind us, hesitant. She took a step forward, anxiety edging her voice. "What should we… d-do? Is that jutsu—are they going to run?"
I offered her a pretty, wolves-in-clover kind of grin.
"See, when I asked him whether he was a girl or a boy, he gave me that vague little 'I am a shinobi' line."
"Wait, huh?" Sakura blinked. "That again?"
"Exactly." I wiggled my eyebrows. "Still ambiguous. Still mysterious. And now I'm curious to find out."
Sakura turned red and brought her hands to her face with the noise of a tea kettle about to burst. "Y-You can't touch people for that!!"
Oh, I expected her to be more outraged than that.
"I absolutely can," I grinned. "For science."
Haku tensed. I lowered my mouth to where his jaw met cheekbone. "Ohhh… so you don't want me to find out?"
Still no word. But his breath faltered.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll check."
"I'm a boy," he said quickly.
I went still. Then slow, wicked grin.
"Oh, then you won't mind if I confirm?" I whispered, moving my hand from his armored shoulder down, dragging fingers with deliberate slowness toward his chest.
These were war-torn times. Sometimes a guy had to adapt. And this… this was data.
Confirming from the chest was safest. If I was wrong, no junk contact. If I was right…
My fingers brushed the edge of the fabric. Just enough...
And then he made something so absurd it made me blink. He raised his single free hand and moved in the shape of hand signs. Hand. Fucking. Signs. With one hand.
"Thousand Needles of Death."
around us—the mist bloomed.
Fine lines of vapor twisted into solid thorns of chakra-condensed ice, suspended like a storm waiting to bite.
Hundreds of needles, floating.
I saw the lines. I was too close to him. I understood the target instantly.
Sakura. Again.
He was repeating the beginning, this time, though, he was targeting her, so I would have to intervene.
"Son of a—"
My body moved before the thought even finished.
I spun free, chakra flooding my body like a violent pulse, hands already flying through seals—
"Fire Style: Mist Blaze Dance!" I spat the most AOE attack fitting the situation.
A dense stream of vapor, not flame. Sakura was too close. Flammable gas thick as hot breath, straight into the heart of the hovering ice needles cluster.
Not to burn. To distort.
The fine gas rippled through the air, warping shadows, tampering with pressure points—flight paths misaligned instantly.
Most of the needles split like water breaking across a boulder.
The rest, I caught with a kunai…. or my flesh.
But not one needle hit Sakura. My breath burst out harshly between teeth.
I caught her stumbling back from the corner of my eye, her breath coming in little hiccups. Those slender legs that looked so good in training shorts nearly gave out beneath her. Top of her academic class, clueless in the field.
Amateur reaction. She'd have been dead twice by now without me, but at least she had the decency to look appropriately horrified at how close it had been.
I swear, I panted, tossing a blood-slicked ice needle onto the ground. Her cunt better be divine for this shit.