Chapter 29

I left the compound early the next morning, taking to the rooftops before most of the village was awake. The air was cool and the streets below were mostly empty, just a few shopkeepers setting up their stalls and a pair of Chunin on patrol duty.

I landed on the roof of the building adjacent to the Hokage Tower and dropped down to the main entrance. The receptionist at the front desk looked up as I approached. She was a younger woman, probably mid-twenties, with neat brown hair pinned back from her face. Different from the one who had been stationed here when I'd stormed in to reveal my Nature Release all those months ago. I hoped that woman hadn't been let go over the incident. She'd been doing her job correctly, and I was the one who'd caused a scene.

"Good morning," I said politely. "I was hoping to speak with the Hokage. Is he available?"

She checked her schedule and shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Senju-san. Hokage-sama is currently in a private meeting. If you'd like to wait, I can—"

She didn't get to finish. An ANBU operative appeared beside the desk silently, their presence so sudden that the receptionist flinched. The masked figure, a hawk mask this time, turned to me.

"Senju-san, Hokage-sama will see you now," the ANBU said flatly. "Please follow me."

The receptionist blinked, looking between me and the operative with mild confusion, but said nothing. I gave her a small, apologetic nod and followed the ANBU through the heavy wooden doors.

Hiruzen was seated behind his desk, pipe in hand. Tsunade stood in front of the desk facing him, her arms crossed. She turned at the sound of the door and raised an eyebrow when she saw me.

I hadn't expected her to be here.

"Ah, Yuuki-kun," Hiruzen greeted warmly, gesturing for me to come forward. "Come in. We were just discussing you."

"That's reassuring," I said dryly, walking up to stand beside Tsunade.

She glanced sideways at me, then turned back to Hiruzen. "Might as well do this now while he's here," she said briskly.

"Do what?" I asked, looking between the two of them.

Tsunade turned to face me directly. Her posture shifted into something more formal, though her expression kept its usual edge. "I'll cut straight to it. I've spoken with Hiruzen, the elders, and the remaining members of the clan. I want to officially name you as my successor as head of the Senju Clan."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. I just stood there, trying to process what she'd said. The silence stretched out, long enough that Tsunade's eyebrow ticked upward.

"Well?" she prompted.

The feeling that settled into my stomach was discomfort, the same kind I'd felt when I first moved into the compound, when the blood test came back positive, when the Elder had pressed his forehead against the tree I'd grown and cried. A persistent sense that I was standing somewhere I hadn't earned the right to stand.

"Tsunade, I appreciate it," I started slowly, choosing my words carefully. "But I've been part of the clan for barely a month. I'm not sure the others would accept me as the heir. The people in the compound, the elders, the widows, they've been carrying the Senju name through years of loss. I walked in just recently."

Tsunade shook her head. "That's exactly what I want to talk to you about."

"There are three reasons I'm doing this," Tsunade said, holding up fingers as she counted. "First, you have the Wood Release. That isn't a small thing. That is the defining legacy of our clan, the technique that built this village. You are the only Senju alive who carries it."

She raised a second finger. "Second, you're already doing the job without realising it. Last week, I held a meeting with the remaining clan members. Kenjiro, the widows, the older blood relatives." Her voice shifted, losing the sharp edge. "Do you know what they told me?"

I shook my head.

"They said the compound feels different since you arrived. The widows mentioned that the children are happier, that having someone there who trains with them, who teaches them, who actually pays attention to them, is helping them move past losing their parents. One of the older women said her daughter hasn't had nightmares since you started the afternoon lessons where you were encouraging." She looked at me steadily. "The adults see it too. They respect you, Yuuki. Not just because of your bloodline, but because you showed and tried to help."

I hadn't known any of that. I'd just been teaching some kids how to throw a punch because it seemed like the right thing to do during my downtime.

"And third," Tsunade continued, raising the last finger, "this is your legacy as much as it is ours. The Senju are nearly gone. Seven by blood. If someone doesn't step up and lead what's left, there won't be a clan to lead in another generation. I'm not doing this to dump a burden on you. I'm doing this because I genuinely believe you're the right person."

Hiruzen spoke up from behind his desk, his voice calm and measured. "I can offer some additional perspective, if it helps." He set his pipe aside and folded his hands. "There are people still in this village, myself included, who are old enough to remember Hashirama-sensei. I was a boy when I watched him raise the walls that surround Konoha with his own hands. I trained on the grounds he created. I lived in a house he grew from the earth." His expression was distant for a moment, touched by old memories. "When he was alive, the village felt alive. People felt safe there, not just the Senju, but everyone. He made it a place where children could grow up without fear."

He looked at me. "I'm not saying you need to be Hashirama. No one could be. But the people in that compound are looking for someone to make it feel like home again, and from what Tsunade tells me, you've already started."

I stared at the floorboards for a long time. The discomfort hadn't gone away entirely, but something in what they'd said had loosened it. The compound feeling different. The kids being happier.

"I'm not going to pretend I feel ready for this," I said quietly, looking up at Tsunade.

"Nobody's asking you to feel ready," she replied with a shrug. "Just say yes and figure the rest out as you go. It's not like I'm retiring straight away either, brat."

I exhaled slowly. There was clearly no winning this argument, and the more I thought about it, the less I actually wanted to. The Senju were practically extinct. Seven people by blood. If I walked away from the responsibility, what happened to them?

"Alright," I said. "I accept."

"Good," Tsunade replied, looking fiercely satisfied. It was the same expression she'd worn when I'd agreed to move into the compound.

Hiruzen picked up his pipe with a small, knowing smile and relit it. "The formal announcement can wait until after the war. For now, the internal acknowledgment from the clan members is sufficient."

I nodded, then turned to Tsunade before the moment could pass. "While I have you here, I have a favour to ask."

She raised an eyebrow. "Already?" she remarked, though there was amusement behind it.

"I recruited a shinobi for my team yesterday. Maito Dai," I said. "He's been developing a technique that involves forcing open the body's internal chakra limiters. He's been doing it nightly for roughly twenty years, and I'm fairly certain the cumulative damage is extensive. I'd like you to give him a full examination and treat whatever you can."

Tsunade frowned, her expression shifting to professional interest. "Forcing open the chakra limiters repeatedly for twenty years? That would do a lot of damage," she said simply. "I'll look at him. Have him meet me at the hospital at three this afternoon."

"Thank you," I said genuinely.

"Just make sure he shows up," she replied, giving Hiruzen a nod. "I'll leave the mission talk to you two."

She headed for the door. It clicked shut behind her, and Hiruzen and I sat in the comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke.

"Now then," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Your team selections. I assume you have your list?"

I let out a breath. "That's actually what I came here to discuss. I chose Dai, and I stand by that choice. But the rest of the files you gave me..." I paused, choosing my words. "They're all competent. Solid records, good mission completion rates. But none of them really stood out to me."

Hiruzen regarded me over his pipe, a thin trail of smoke curling upward. He didn't look surprised. "I suspected as much," he admitted, a faint smile touching his lips. "The moment you selected a Genin who wasn't even in the folder over a dozen capable Chunin, I had a feeling the rest of the roster wouldn't satisfy you."

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a bit sheepish. "I don't mean to be difficult. They're perfectly capable shinobi on their own. It just..." I felt like a brat, I winced.

"You don't need to explain," Hiruzen said, raising a hand. "I understand. Which is why I've already prepared an alternative arrangement." He set his pipe in its holder and straightened up. "Rather than assigning you a fixed squad, you will operate on a rotating roster with the current clan heads and senior Jonin. Shikaku Nara, Choza Akimichi, Inoichi Yamanaka, Tsume Inuzuka, Shibi Aburame, Hiashi Hyuga, Fugaku Uchiha, and others as availability allows."

I looked at him, caught off guard. "The clan heads?"

"They are being deployed on missions regardless," Hiruzen explained. "And frankly, given the level of attention your bloodline attracts, I would prefer you always have at least one experienced Jonin on hand. You are a vital asset to this village, Yuuki-kun, and I intend to protect that asset accordingly while still letting you grow."

That made sense. Practically, it meant I'd always have someone seasoned watching my back while I focused on the objective. It also meant learning from some of the best tactical minds in Konoha through firsthand experience rather than secondhand instruction.

"Dai remains your constant," Hiruzen added. "He goes where you go. The Jonin will rotate around you both based on mission requirements and availability."

"That works," I said, nodding. It was more than I'd hoped for.

"I'll give you a few days to settle into the arrangement and get Dai up to speed," Hiruzen said, picking up his pen to signal the end of the meeting. "After that, missions resume. Dismissed, Yuuki-kun."

I stood, bowed, and headed for the door.

"One more thing," Hiruzen called after me.

I paused, hand on the doorframe.

"Congratulations," he said, and for a moment the tired wartime general was gone, replaced by something warmer. "Hashirama would be proud."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded and walked out.

When I was finally outside the building, I decided to go find Dai in order to inform him.

I found Dai in the market district, standing in a narrow alley between a tea shop and a tailor's. He had the Daimyo's wife's cat pinned against his chest with both arms, the fat orange creature squirming and hissing as it tried to claw its way free. His sleeves were already shredded from the effort.

"Dai," I called out, landing softly at the mouth of the alley.

He looked up, surprise crossing his face before it settled into a wide smile. "Yuuki-san! Good morning!" he greeted, adjusting his grip on the furious cat. "Forgive the state of me, this little one put up quite the chase today."

"I can see that," I said, eyeing the scratches running up his forearms. "I wanted to let you know, Lady Tsunade has agreed to examine you. Meet her at the hospital at three this afternoon. Don't be late."

The smile faded into something quieter. He looked at me for a moment, and I could see him working through what that meant. A Sannin, one of the greatest medical minds in history, was going to personally look at the damage he'd been carrying for two decades.

"Thank you, Yuuki-san," he said softly, his voice sincere. 

Then the grin came back, wide and blinding. He hoisted the cat up triumphantly. "Well then! I must return this fearsome beast to its owner before it takes my other sleeve! A shinobi never leaves a mission unfinished!"

He took off down the street at a brisk jog, cat yowling under his arm, leaving a trail of orange fur in his wake.

I watched him go and shook my head.

A few days had passed since my meeting in the Hokage's office. I spent most of that time training, working through the Hashirama scrolls in the mornings and dedicating a bit more of my afternoons to the clan's children. Their stances were getting better, and the youngest girl had finally stopped flinching when she threw a punch. Small progress, but it meant something.

I was summoned to the Hokage Tower early that morning, before the sun had fully risen. The village was still waking up when I took to the rooftops, the streets below quiet except for the occasional ANBU patrol, and made my way to the main entrance.

Two people were already standing in the Hokage's office when I arrived.

Dai was the first I noticed, standing at attention near the wall in his green jumpsuit, looking healthier than I'd seen him. His posture was straighter, the subtle compensations in his stance less pronounced. Tsunade's examination and treatment had clearly done him good. He gave me a bright smile and a small wave when I walked in.

The second figure stood closer to Hiruzen's desk. He was tall, with sharp, angular features and dark eyes that held a hard look even at rest. His black hair was pulled into a short ponytail, and he wore the standard Konoha Jonin uniform with the Uchiha clan crest displayed prominently on the back. His expression was controlled, giving away nothing, the kind of face that had been trained from birth to conceal every thought behind it.

I recognised him immediately. Fugaku Uchiha, head of the Uchiha clan, leader of the Konoha Military Police Force, and one of the most feared shinobi to come out of this war. Enemy nations had a name for him: Wicked Eye Fugaku.

"Yuuki-kun, good, you're here," Hiruzen greeted from behind his desk, gesturing me forward. "I believe you've already met Dai. Allow me to introduce Fugaku Uchiha, he will be your Jonin partner for this mission."

Fugaku turned his gaze to me. It was measured and appraising, the look of a man who evaluated everything and everyone he encountered. After a moment, he gave a short, formal nod. "Senju," he acknowledged, his voice low and even.

"Uchiha-san, it's good to meet you," I returned with a respectful nod of my own.

He didn't offer anything further. Clearly not one for small talk, which was fine by me. I preferred working with people who saved their words for when they mattered.

"Before we discuss the mission," Hiruzen said, folding his hands on his desk, "Fugaku has agreed to brief you both on certain capabilities he possesses. Given the nature of what you'll be facing, full transparency between team members is essential."

Fugaku's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Whatever he was about to share, it wasn't something he enjoyed disclosing. He turned to face Dai and me directly.

"What I'm about to tell you is classified and does not leave this room or this team," he said, his tone flat and serious.

Dai straightened up further, his expression sobering. I gave a firm nod.

"The Sharingan has a next stage of evolution that is not publicly known, called the Mangekyo Sharingan," Fugaku began. "I possess it, and it grants me three abilities. The first is a chakra armor that I can manifest around my body, which provides significant defensive and offensive capability but drains my reserves rapidly. I can sustain it for a few minutes at most before I'm completely spent."

Susanoo. I kept my face neutral, but internally the recognition was immediate. He was describing the spectral warrior construct that Itachi and Sasuke would one day wield.

"The second is a set of extremely powerful black flames that I can generate from my left eye," he continued. "They burn at an extreme temperature and cannot be extinguished by conventional means. Water, smothering, nothing works. They burn until the target is consumed or until I dismiss them."

Amaterasu. The black flames. Both of his sons would inherit the ability. It made sense that it originated with their father.

"The third is a Genjutsu cast from my right eye that allows me to manipulate the five senses of an individual," he said. "Sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, all of them can be altered or overridden."

That one I didn't recognise from anything I remembered. It wasn't Tsukuyomi, and it wasn't anything Sasuke or Itachi had used. It must have been unique to Fugaku.

"These abilities come at an immense cost," Fugaku finished, his voice hardening. "Using any one of them strains my eyes severely, and I will only deploy them in the most dire of circumstances. Do not plan around them."

"Understood," I said seriously. Dai echoed me with a firm nod.

Fugaku stepped back, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Sharing that had clearly cost him something beyond just operational security. The Mangekyo Sharingan was his most guarded secret, hidden even from his own clan as far as I remembered. Telling two people he'd just met, even mission partners, must have grated.

Hiruzen cleared his throat and drew our attention back to the desk, motioning to the ANBU standing silently by the door, who stepped forward and unrolled a detailed map across the surface.

I recognised it immediately. The Land of Fire sat at the center, bordered by the Land of Wind to the southwest, the Land of Earth to the northwest, and the Land of Lightning to the northeast. Hiruzen placed a finger on the northwestern section of Fire Country, near where it bordered a small territory marked with the symbol of a waterfall.

"Over the past three weeks, we have lost contact with multiple patrol squads stationed along the northwestern border, here," Hiruzen explained, tracing a line along the boundary between Fire Country and the Land of Waterfalls. "Initially, we attributed the losses to Iwa incursions, but our intelligence division has since confirmed that these are not enemy military operations."

He looked up at us. "We have been in contact with Takigakure, and they have confirmed that the attacks are not originating from their side. They have no knowledge of who is responsible. Whoever is doing this is operating independently."

"How many have we lost?" Fugaku asked, his eyes locked on the map.

"Three Chunin squads and two Jonin who were sent specifically to investigate," Hiruzen replied grimly. "Eleven shinobi total. The Jonin were experienced operatives sent after the Chunin teams failed to report back. They didn't return either."

The room went quiet. Eleven dead, including two Jonin sent specifically to handle the problem. Whatever was out there was not a bandit or a rogue Chunin looking for easy kills.

"Your task is straightforward," Hiruzen continued. "Proceed to the border region, locate whoever is responsible, and eliminate them. Given the strength of the opposition, this is classified as an A-Rank mission at minimum."

He turned to Dai, his expression softening slightly. "Dai, given the scope of this mission, I want to give you the option to decline. There is no shame in it."

Dai looked at the Hokage steadily. The usual theatrics were gone from his posture, replaced by something solid and grounded.

"Hokage-sama," he said, his voice firm but respectful. "Lady Tsunade has treated my injuries, and Yuuki-san has provided me with plenty of Restoration Pills. My body is in the best condition it has been in years." The serious expression cracked, and the familiar grin broke through. "I am certain that I can handle anything that comes our way with the Power of Youth!"

Hiruzen studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."

I stared at the map while the others finalised the last details. The Land of Waterfalls. An independent operator killing Konoha shinobi near that specific border, strong enough to take down experienced Jonin without leaving a trace.

I had a suspicion about who this might be, and if I was right, this mission was going to be a lot harder than the classification suggested.

I kept my face neutral and said nothing.

We left through the village gates at first light. I took point, setting the pace through the canopy. The northwestern border was roughly two days of steady travel through dense forest, and I wanted to arrive fresh rather than exhausted.

The [On Foot] perk made the long-distance movement almost effortless on my end. My stamina held steady even after hours of sustained travel, and the terrain seemed to cooperate in small ways, branches appearing exactly where I needed a foothold, gaps in the canopy opening up just as I needed to change direction. I had to consciously hold myself back to keep pace with Fugaku and Dai rather than pulling ahead.

Fugaku moved through the trees with quiet efficiency, and Dai kept up well considering the distance. The first day passed without incident. We stopped twice for water and once to check our bearing against the map, but otherwise kept moving.

By evening, we'd covered about two-thirds of the distance. I called the halt at a small clearing on a ridge that gave us decent sightlines in three directions. We set up camp quickly.

"I'll take first watch," I said, dropping my pack. "Fugaku-san, you take second. Dai, you get the longest sleep since you'll need the most energy tomorrow."

Fugaku gave a short nod of acknowledgment and laid out his bedroll. Dai started to protest about wanting a watch shift, but I shut that down with a look.

Fugaku was efficient about settling in. He cleared his space, set up, and sat against a tree trunk with his arms folded. He didn't start a fire, didn't make conversation, and didn't seem interested in either. I got the distinct impression he wasn't thrilled about this assignment. A man of his stature, the head of the Uchiha clan, paired with a ten-year-old Special Jonin and a Genin who wore a green jumpsuit. He probably thought he was babysitting.

Dai, on the other hand, was restless. He finished his bedroll in under a minute and immediately began stretching, clearly itching to move.

"Dai, come here for a second," I said, moving to the edge of the clearing. "I want to show you some things before you turn in."

Dai jogged over eagerly. Before I could start, Fugaku spoke from his spot against the tree.

"Conserve your energy," he said, his tone flat. "Sparring on a mission is careless. If we're ambushed tonight, you'll want everything you have."

I paused. He wasn't wrong, and the advice came from someone with far more field experience than me. "You're right, I appreciate that," I said. "But I'm not going to spar him. Dai just needs to see some forms. Technique work, nothing strenuous."

Fugaku didn't respond. He just closed his eyes.

I turned back to Dai. "No Gates," I said firmly. "Not tonight. We don't know what's waiting for us, and I need you at full capacity."

"Understood!" he agreed readily.

I'd been thinking about this for a while. Dai's fundamentals were flawless, but his style was purely textbook. There was nothing wrong with that, but it wasn't optimized for what the Eight Gates could do. The Gates multiplied physical output to extreme levels. A fighting style built to channel that kind of force would be far more effective than standard Academy Taijutsu amped up to higher speeds.

I started shadowboxing slowly, working through an idea I'd been turning over in my head. The concept was straightforward: instead of striking at a target and stopping on contact, every technique would drive through the target. Maximum force transfer into the opponent's body. Breaking bones, tearing muscle, damaging the internals rather than just pushing someone back.

I threw a few experimental punches, adjusting my stance lower, widening the base for more stability, driving my hips into each strike with exaggerated follow-through. It felt right. The mechanics were sound. [Martial Arts Prodigy] confirmed the physics of it as I moved, feeding me corrections in real time.

"Watch this," I said to Dai, settling into the low stance. I threw a straight punch, but instead of stopping where the target would be, I drove my fist forward an extra six inches past that point. "Standard technique stops at contact. This goes through. At higher Gate levels, the difference between a solid hit and a crippling one is going to come down to how much force you can actually transfer."

Dai watched with intense focus, then mirrored the punch slowly.

"Lower," I corrected. "The power comes from the legs and hips, not the arms. Lock your back foot, rotate through the hip, and let the arm follow."

He adjusted. Better.

"Now, there are two problems with this approach," I continued, demonstrating a follow-up kick with the same deep follow-through. "First, it requires real strength to work. If you're not strong enough to actually stagger the opponent with the hit, you've just overextended for nothing. That's where the Gates come in, they give you the power to make it work."

I threw the kick again, this time letting the follow-through carry me past my centre of gravity. I was off-balance for a clear half-second before I recovered. "See that? That's the second problem. Driving through a target leaves you open. Your recovery time is longer than a standard strike. If the opponent isn't hurt enough to be stunned by the hit, they can exploit that gap before you reset."

Dai's brow furrowed as he processed it. "So you need to be strong enough that the hit keeps them from reacting during the recovery," he said slowly.

"Exactly. Strength isn't just part of the style, it's a requirement for it to work safely. Without enough force behind the strike, you're just leaving openings for free."

We worked through the basic applications for about twenty minutes. Just forms, no contact, no speed. Dai absorbed the corrections quickly. His body already knew how to punch. I was just showing him a different philosophy behind it.

When we finished, Dai bowed deeply. "This feels like it was made for my technique," he said quietly, his voice carrying something close to wonder.

"That's the idea," I replied. "Get some rest."

He settled into his bedroll, and I took my position on the ridge for first watch.

The second day of travel was quieter. We moved faster, covering the remaining distance by mid-afternoon. The forest thinned as we approached the northwestern border, the dense canopy giving way to sparser, older growth. The terrain became rockier, with exposed stone formations breaking through the soil. The trees grew more gnarled and wind-bent the closer we got, their bark darker and rougher. The air held a faint mineral tang.

I slowed our pace as we entered the zone where the patrol squads had gone missing. Fugaku activated his Sharingan without a word, the three tomoe spinning slowly as he scanned the surroundings. Even Dai dropped his usual cheer, his posture tightening into something more alert.

"This is the area," I confirmed, checking the map. "The last team was found roughly half a kilometre north. Intelligence recovered the bodies and noted signs of heavy combat. Craters, displaced earth, scorched vegetation."

We moved in a spread formation, keeping twenty meters between each of us. The forest was unnervingly quiet. No birdsong, no rustling in the underbrush. The wildlife had cleared out, which told me something had been active here recently.

We found the clearing ten minutes later. The aftermath of the previous battle was still visible. Two craters, maybe three meters wide each, were gouged into the earth. Several trees at the edge of the clearing had been sheared in half. Scorch marks blackened the stumps and the surrounding soil. It could have been explosive tags, or some kind of fire or earth jutsu, or a strength-enhancing technique taken to an extreme. Whatever had happened here, it was thorough.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the clearing.

All three of us snapped toward the sound. A figure stepped out from behind the treeline at the far edge, emerging from the shadows between two gnarled oaks.

He was tall. Taller than almost anyone I'd seen, with a heavy, broad frame that moved with an unhurried, deliberate confidence. He wore a loose, dark robe that hung open at the chest, revealing tan skin crossed with visible stitch marks that ran along his arms and torso in unnatural geometric patterns. A cloth mask covered his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes visible. Green irises. Red sclera.

"Well," the man said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, still clapping slowly. "They actually sent you. I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to kill a few more before Konoha took the bait."

My suspicion crystallized into certainty. I'd been right.

"Bait," I said evenly.

He stopped clapping. "I'm older than I look, boy. Much older. I was around when the First Hokage still walked this earth." His eyes locked onto me, and the casual amusement drained from his voice. "I was sent to kill him. The best my village had to offer, and they sent me. I fought him, and I lost."

He paused, letting that settle.

"My village punished me for failing," he continued, his tone hardening into something cold and bitter. "Imprisoned me. Cast me aside like a broken tool. Everything I'd given them, every year of loyalty, and they threw me away because I couldn't do the impossible."

He took a step forward. The ground cracked slightly under his foot.

"And now, decades later, there's a new one. A child walking around with the Senju name stitched to his back, carrying the same power that ruined my life." His eyes narrowed. "I set all of this up for you. Every dead shinobi, every missing patrol, all of it was to get you out of that village and in front of me. Forty-five million ryo is just the bonus. I've killed for far less."

His gaze shifted to Fugaku. "And you brought an Uchiha worth twenty-five million. This might be the most profitable day of my life."

Five figures dropped from the canopy behind him, landing in a loose spread. They were rough-looking shinobi, worn armour, scratched-through hitai-ate from different villages, the kind of rogue operatives who sold their services to whoever paid. They were tense, shifting on their feet, but they held formation.

The tall man snapped his fingers at them without looking. "Separate the other two," he ordered. "Keep them busy. The Senju is mine."

The rogues moved immediately, fanning out to cut off Fugaku and Dai from me. Fugaku's Sharingan was already tracking all five, his body shifting into a ready stance. Dai's expression hardened, the cheerful exterior replaced by something focused.

I looked at both of them. "Handle them, then come find me," I said, keeping my voice low and serious. "I'll hold him until you're done."

Fugaku gave a curt nod. Dai's jaw set.

I turned back to the tall man. He was standing in the center of the ruined clearing, watching me with those unsettling red-and-green eyes.

"Just us now, Senju," he said.

I didn't waste time with words. I slammed my palms together and sent six thick roots tearing out of the earth between us, driving straight for his torso.

He responded in kind. Black threads erupted from his forearms, dozens of them, lashing forward to intercept. They met my roots in the middle of the clearing with a crash of splintering wood and snapping fibers.

It wasn't even close. My roots, dense with chakra, tore through his threads like they were made of paper. I pumped more energy into the constructs and they surged forward, smashing past his defenses and slamming into his midsection. He skidded back several meters, his feet carving trenches into the dirt, but the threads reformed around the point of impact almost instantly, knitting his torso back together before the damage could settle.

So that was how it worked. The threads held him together and repaired damage on the fly. Conventional hits to his body were meaningless. I already knew what I needed to target. The hearts. And I needed to see where they were.

I dropped the roots and switched to Swift.

The world softened at the edges as my speed spiked. I closed the distance between us in two steps and opened with a Striking Serpent jab aimed at his jaw. He blocked it with his forearm and countered with a heavy right cross that I read before his shoulder even started rotating. I ducked under it, pivoted on my heel, and drove an Unbreakable Fist hook into his floating ribs.

The hit landed clean. He grunted, his body folding slightly around the impact point. Heavy. He was heavier than he looked, the threads giving his frame a density that absorbed force well. But it still hurt him. He stepped back and threw a knee at my midsection that I caught on my forearm in Guard, the added density letting me absorb the blow without giving ground.

His strikes were strong, and he was faster than a man his size had any right to be. Decades of combat experience showed in the way he transitioned between attacks, never falling into a pattern, always adjusting. Any other opponent would have found him difficult to read.

But [Martial Arts Prodigy] didn't care about experience. It read bodies, not habits. Every shift of weight, every micro-tension in his shoulders, every pivot of his heel told me exactly where the next strike was going before he'd committed to it. I saw his left hook coming from the way his hip loaded, sidestepped it, and punished the opening with a sharp elbow to his jaw in Might that snapped his head sideways.

He snarled and lashed out with threads from both arms, trying to bind me. I was already gone, switching back to Swift, circling to his left and throwing a palm strike that caught him across the ear. He stumbled. I closed in again, flowing from Striking Serpent into Unbreakable Fist seamlessly, a fluid jab combination that backed him up three steps before transitioning into a crushing low kick to his lead knee in Might that buckled his stance.

He was getting frustrated. His threads were lashing out more aggressively, whipping at me from multiple angles, but I could hear each one coming through [Train the Slayer] before they arrived. I wove between them, ducking one that aimed for my neck, stepping over another that swept at my ankles, and drove a straight right into his sternum that folded him forward.

I needed the robe off. I could see the fabric shifting across his back where the masks were hidden, but I couldn't pinpoint their exact positions through the dark material. I needed them exposed.

I switched my approach. The next time he threw a wide right hook, I didn't dodge away from it. I stepped into it, caught his wrist with my left hand, and dropped my hips low. His weight shifted forward with the momentum of the missed punch, and I used it. I grabbed the collar of his robe with my right hand, torqued my whole body into a spinning pivot, and hurled him over my hip in a tight arc, ripping the robe clean off his torso as he went.

Killer B's throw. The fabric tore away in my grip as Kakuzu sailed through the air and crashed through a tree trunk, splintering it on impact before catching himself with threads that anchored to the surrounding trees.

I tossed the shredded robe aside and looked at what I'd exposed.

Four masks were sewn directly onto his back, each one shaped like a different animal face. They pulsed faintly with chakra, each carrying a distinct signature. Four hearts. Four extra lives. Plus his original, sitting in his chest. Five total, exactly as I remembered.

Kakuzu straightened up from where he'd landed, rolling his neck. He looked down at his bare torso, then at the torn fabric in the dirt, then back at me.

Then he laughed. A low, rumbling sound that built into something genuinely amused.

"Ha! I was planning to show you this later," he said, spreading his arms wide so the masks on his back were fully visible. 

"Wanted to see the look on your face as you were dying, realizing that nothing you'd done had mattered. But since you've gone and ripped my clothes off, allow me to show you a power that even the First Hokage would have struggled against."

I snorted internally at that. Struggled. Right.

 He reached a hand over his shoulder and pressed it against one of the masks. "This body is held together by threads. They are my muscles, my skin, my bones. Every part of me can extend, detach, and reform. And these," he tapped the mask beneath his fingers, "are hearts I've collected over the decades. Each one grants me a different elemental nature. Each one is a weapon unto itself."

The masks began to separate from his back.

It was grotesque. The thread-bodies formed one at a time, pulling away from Kakuzu's torso with wet, tearing sounds as masses of dark threads wove themselves into independent shapes. The fire mask took the form of a hunched, demonic tiger. The wind mask became a strange, four-legged creature with thin wings. The lightning mask twisted into a horned shape that crackled with static. The water mask stretched into a beaked, bipedal thing that dripped dark fluid.

Four mask creatures, plus Kakuzu himself. Five opponents.

The creatures fanned out around the clearing, each one radiating a distinct and deeply unpleasant chakra signature. They moved independently, circling, flanking, cutting off angles.

I looked at the five of them surrounding me. Then I let out a slow breath.

This was going to require everything I had.

I reached for the place inside me where the transformation lived. The rage came in a flood, white-hot and consuming, filling every corner of my mind. I felt my body change. My frame stretched, bones lengthening, muscles thickening. Two feet of height packed onto me. My skin flushed red. My nails darkened, my canines lengthened into fangs. My chakra signature quadrupled.

(Wo)man on Mission threaded its lifeline through the storm, keeping me anchored. I could think. I was angry, furious even, but I could think.

Kakuzu's eyes widened. For the first time since this fight had started, genuine surprise crossed his face. "What the hell is that?" he demanded, taking an involuntary half-step back.

I didn't answer him. I formed the hand seals for the Wood Clone Jutsu. Five figures separated from my body, peeling away from my torso and sides, each one a perfect copy. The chakra cost was staggering, five clones in Stage 1 carved a massive hole in my reserves, but the transformation's quadrupled output absorbed the blow.

Six of me. Four creatures and the man who made them.

I rolled my shoulders and locked eyes with the original across the clearing. "You wanted the Wood Release user," I said, my voice deeper and rougher than it should have been. "Here I am."

AN: I know, I know. I'm an asshole. Look, I didn't think the setup would be this long, and frankly, if I want to give YOU lot the best fight that I can, I need more time. The chapter is already at 6.5k words, and I don't want it to reach 12k. Either way, Yuuki has now officially become the next Senju clan leader after Tsunade retires. We will get to know Fugaku a bit more either during the fight or after it, when they're heading back home. I have made his character purposefully bland so far for a reason.

Some people pointed out how much I underestimate the Martial Arts Prodigy perk from Garou, so I decided to have Yuuki basically body Kakuzu in terms of Taijutsu, even though Kakuzu was shown to be relatively good at it in canon.

Also, Kakuzu is 100% the type of villain who would monologue about his abilities in order to brag in front of his enemy. You need to remember he is also doing this out of sheer fucking spite for Yuuki and his ability.

Fugaku's Mangekyo ability was something mentioned in the anime filler. I gave him Amaterasu because both of his sons have it. The sense-controlling ability is from the anime filler as well, just as his Mangekyo is. He was not mentioned as having a Mangekyo in the manga, as far as I know.

I decided that I just would not be able to write original characters for Yuuki's team, so I went with the Jonin replacement instead. Hopefully the explanation I gave makes sense to you. I just really did not want to write original characters that I knew would probably fall flat.

If you enjoyed this, please leave a like and comment!

I'll see you all next week with Celestial Star!