Jonin were the elite. Masters of the shinobi arts. Each one an expert in their chosen discipline—veterans and grandmasters.
Chunin stood just beneath them. Journeymen of the craft, no longer in need of constant tutelage, already carving their own paths. They were shinobi who had begun the walk toward mastery.
I remember once thinking Lee could wipe the floor with a Chunin.
I was wrong.
Almost faster than my eyes could follow, Mizuki's free hand flashed into a half-Tiger seal. His body disappeared in a blur of chakra-enhanced speed.
Not knowing what was coming, I trusted my instincts. Figured he'd go for the head. I ducked.
The whistle of steel slicing the air above me confirmed I was right.
Then his knee collided with my face.
My nose shattered with a crunch, blood spraying as I was sent flying. I crashed down hard, head spinning, but I scrambled upright anyway—knowing the next wave of attacks was coming.
But it didn't.
"…That's it?" Mizuki said, voice sharp with disappointment. "A prodigy? Wanted by a Sannin? And that's the best you've got?"
I staggered upright, blood pounding in my ears, vision swimming red.
Whatever footing I found vanished with the next kick. It struck my gut like a sledgehammer, lifting me off my feet. Blood pooled in my mouth as I crashed down the road.
"Disappointing." Mizuki sighed. "Well, I don't have all day, and your minder might show up soon. Best get on with it."
I gasped for air, elbows scraping in the dirt, searching for stable ground. Everything spun.
"…But first," he said casually, "let's take care of the witnesses."
My stomach dropped.
Then I heard it—Kuro's scream. Pained. Real.
"No—" I gasped, panic overwhelming me.
"Sorry, girly. Orders are orders."
He was hurting her. He was going to kill her. And I was helpless.
No.
I had to focus.
I forced my breath to steady, the way I'd done a thousand times before for meditation—and like a drowning man, I was pulled under again.
Back into the sea of my self.
The mindscape.
I'd suspected it before. Now I knew. This was my mental realm—my identity, my memory, my will.
Interesting? Sure. But Kuro might be dying.
I couldn't let that happen.
Fueled by what felt like inhuman resolve, I yanked myself upright, onto the chaotic waves of my mind. A maelstrom raged around me, a typhoon of thought and fear.
If this was my mind, then the message was clear: I was in chaos.
I needed clarity.
I remembered an exercise from a favorite book—The Flame and the Void.
But my mind wasn't fire and emptiness. It was water.
Still, the inspiration worked.
At my will, a cyclone formed deep within the ocean of my mind. A singularity of focus. Currents bent to its pull, and the wild surface stilled.
The chaos faded. The surface became still—glasslike. It didn't reflect my face. It reflected reality.
Suddenly, I was back—mind and body synchronized.
I inhaled through my broken nose. Pain flared but felt distant, muted.
My vision stayed blurred, but with perfect clarity I cast out my chakra sense—and found Mizuki. He had Kuro by the throat. Not a blade. Strangulation. Slower. Crueler.
He was going to pay.
I launched forward, a burst of chakra from my left heel catapulting me across the dirt. My right leg dragged to the side, killing friction. I skated toward him, aiming a blow right for his groin.
He saw me. His leg lashed out, still holding Kuro.
I adapted. Slipping under the blow.
In this state, hesitation didn't exist.
My strike continued. He had to let go to dodge.
I snatched one of his weapon pouches as he disengaged.
"There he is!" Mizuki barked, laughing. "I was wondering what all the fuss was about."
Then he blurred forward again, fists raised.
"Still. Getting serious doesn't mean you'll win."
He unleashed a whirlwind of taijutsu.
And I dodged.
Every strike.
He was stronger. More experienced. His chakra-enhanced blows were masterful. But now, his greatest strength was a weakness.
I felt his chakra patterns. The buildup, the release, the direction. I read each movement as it formed.
Not easy.
My heart thundered. Breath came ragged. My body lagged behind my awareness.
If this went on, I'd lose.
But I had a plan.
Mage Armor. A jutsu of my own creation. I'd been cycling through the hand signs in my head the whole time.
Failure after failure but I kept casting it.
And now—it worked.
Still, not full armor yet. More like Mage Gauntlets. But good enough.
My fists smashed forward, cracking bone.
Mizuki grunted, adjusted—but he kept dodging.
Ignoring the pain.
With the gauntlets absorbing backlash, I could enhance each strike further. But chakra loss was stacking up. I wouldn't last.
I needed something new. A game-changer.
The tools in my storage seals were useless. Snacks. Fuinjutsu gear.
I had his pouch—but using it meant creating distance. No way he'd let me.
I was out of options.
So I made one.
Mid-fight, I shaped chakra, working hand signs internally. I kept it simple. Low risk.
Then I slipped a punch, fired the jutsu—and closed my eyes.
Flash Bang.
Light exploded from my arm, blinding the world.
Mizuki hissed.
I didn't wait.
I drew a shuriken and flung it at his head. He twisted, barely dodging.
But he was off-balance.
I drove my fist into his gut, sending him sliding.
But.
He.
Got.
Back.
Up.
My window was closing.
Then—
Whoosh.
A giant Fuma Shuriken spun through the air—the one Mizuki had thrown at the start of the fight. Kuro had recovered.
Her hair was loose, face red and wild. One eye covered by her messy bangs. The other—
Red.
And spinning.
A tomoe.
Mizuki dodged it—toward me. Counting on me dodging too.
I didn't.
Not with my Mage Gauntlets.
I caught the shuriken by its blades, pivoted with it, and struck.
I slammed it into his dodge path with chakra-enhanced might.
The clearing bathed in red.
Mizuki fell—split at the belly. Dead before he hit the ground.
I stood over him.
No joy. No horror. Just calm. Cold and apathetic.
The blood pooled at my feet.
Then I heard it.
A soft giggle.
Like a child seeing a kitten.
I turned.
And there she was.
Kneeling in the dirt. Hands covered in Mizuki's blood. Letting it run through her fingers. Watching it drip like it was stardust.
One eye glowed crimson, the tomoe spinning.
And that smile—
That disconcerting, cute yet unnervingly wide smile.
"Kuro…?" I whispered.
She looked up, tilting her head.
And smiled brighter.
"Ku-kun~" she said breathing roughly. "It's all red… it's so pretty!"
Oh, boy.
He pushed his circular lenses up the bridge of his nose, holding them in place with a touch of chakra. It was more a nervous tick than anything else. Like all aspects of his constructed persona, he could discard the habit at a moment's notice if necessary. But as part of the mask that was 'Kabuto,' it served its purpose well.
He moved swiftly across the rooftops, retreating from the scene of the test—between the expendable pawn Mizuki and his Mistress's latest curiosity.
That boy… he truly was an interesting specimen. Such effortless mastery of sealless jutsu at such a young age—unheard of, unprecedented. If even a fraction of it was genetic, it could be isolated, studied, replicated.
And then there was the girl.
An Uchiha, seemingly escaped from the massacre. No—more likely an illegitimate child. Regardless, she was still an extra pair of Sharingan and a genetically viable Uchiha. More intriguingly, one who shared a gender with the Mistress, unlike every other candidate before her.
For that alone, Kabuto had been tempted to take her on the spot. But their Minder had been close—seconds away at most—and the boy still had a bit of fight left in him.
Besides, his value as a mole remained too useful to jeopardize. No, tonight was never meant to be a kidnapping. It was a test. A reconnaissance mission. And the subject had performed admirably—better than expected, even drawing another subject of interest into the light.
Izuku Hanama.
He would be one to watch.
Time to report to the Mistress.