BANG!!
The door slammed shut with such force that the entire frame shuddered. Koharu Utatane visibly flinched.
Hiruzen Sarutobi exhaled slowly, watching the door as it trembled in its hinges. Beside him, Homura Mitokado sighed.
"So, Danzo is still firmly under your thumb, huh…" Homura murmured with a shake of his head, lips pulled in a tight line.
He continued in a lower voice, "Hopefully, that little 'lesson' you gave him today will keep him in line for a while…"
"Speaking of which, Hiruzen," he added suddenly, frowning as if remembering something unpleasant. "With the village's forces already stretched thin, is it really wise to let Jiraiya wander around outside?"
The mention of Jiraiya's name made Hiruzen's heart sink. He had claimed the Toad Sage was out tracking Orochimaru—a noble mission, on paper. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure where his old student had run off to this time.
"He'll return when the time is right," Hiruzen replied calmly, though his voice carried the weight of uncertainty.
Homura and Koharu exchanged a brief glance, understanding they wouldn't get anything more from the old Hokage. They rose and took their leave with polite bows.
Click.
The door closed gently behind them. The room fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft wheeze of Hiruzen's breathing. He stood, stiffly, like an old man rising from too many burdens, and walked to the window.
Outside, Konoha glistened with the after-rain sheen of renewal. Droplets still clung to the rooftops, like crystal beads strung across the village. Reflections shimmered on leaf-slicked tiles, streetlamps, and ceramic walls. The world looked clean, polished—even beautiful.
Hiruzen gazed at the peaceful scenery, his eyes clouded with more than just age.
He thought of the fragile peace the village now enjoyed.
He thought of the threats festering beneath its surface.
He thought of Orochimaru, gone rogue. Of Jiraiya, chasing ghosts. Of Tsunade, numbing her grief in the glow of gambling dens. Of the child left behind by Minato and Kushina—an orphan with a heavy legacy.
And he thought of that Hyūga child, the one who looked at him with such wide-eyed admiration…
A deep breath pulled into his lungs, bitter and earthy like old tobacco.
Fwoosh.
The flame in his pipe flared briefly, igniting a glowing ember. All the old man's worries were pressed down, buried under years of willpower and smoke.
"It's alright," he whispered hoarsely to himself. "No matter the cost… we must protect what we've built here in Konoha."
Meanwhile…
At the edge of Konoha, deep within Training Ground 44—also known as the Forest of Death—sunlight filtered through the thick canopy. Gold flecks danced across two figures, painting their shoulders in a gentle shimmer.
"Senior, remember—generate power from the ground, drive it up through the spine, and balance softness with force…"
"HYAAAH!"
CRACK.
Two training dummies were reduced to splinters. One appeared to have imploded from within; the other had clearly been brutalized into pieces by blunt trauma.
Hyūga Unkawa blinked at the carnage, a twitch forming in the corner of his eye as he looked at Might Guy's handiwork.
To call it "technique" was generous. It was closer to a landslide made of fists.
Unkawa had been patiently teaching all morning, but now, even his ever-calm smile was starting to tremble.
"Whew…" Guy wiped sweat from his brow, panting like he'd just raced around the entire village on one foot. "Unkawa, your improved Gentle Fist is… seriously tough to learn."
"Well, to be fair," Unkawa said with a small shake of his head, "you've spent over a decade perfecting your Iron Fist style. Rewiring your muscle memory isn't going to be a walk in the park."
He turned, brushing dust from his robe. "Let's call it a day for now."
Back during the second stage of the Chūnin Exams, Guy and Lee had explained the basic classifications of taijutsu: Iron Fist, focused on external injury—breaking bones, bruising muscles. Gentle Fist, the Hyūga clan's style, attacked internal pathways—disrupting chakra flow and damaging organs. Then there was Nintaijutsu, a hybrid that combined raw strength with ninjutsu, famously used by Tsunade and the Fourth Raikage.
Unkawa's goal? Fuse the precision of Gentle Fist with the power of Iron Fist and build an entirely new fighting system—one that could work with the Eight Gates. A style truly his own.
"Well, alright then—"
Guy had just begun to reply when Unkawa's body froze.
A chill surged down his spine.
His instincts screamed. Every muscle tightened. The veins around his Byakugan pulsed outward like white-hot lightning.
Nothing.
There was nothing visible.
"…No," Unkawa muttered, his voice grave. "The blind spot."
Byakugan granted nearly 360-degree vision—but there was one flaw, a single point of vulnerability: a one-degree angle behind the cervical vertebrae, caused by the Caged Bird Seal.
At close range, it was a minor nuisance.
But at long distance?
That one degree became a massive blind spot.
Fwip.
A faint sound sliced through the silence. A whisper of displaced air.
Assassination.
It was an assassination attempt.
A perfectly timed, perfectly aimed strike.
No time to turn. No time to react.
Unkawa's eyes, dark and stormy, suddenly calmed.
He let his eyes close.
"If I can't see it…"
"…then I won't try."
He took a step—not with his body, but with his mind.
A wave spread outward from his being, an unseen pulse. The world grew silent. No birds. No wind. Not even the sound of his own heartbeat.
It was like the universe itself held its breath.
And in that frozen void…
He saw.
Behind him, a kunai glinted in slow motion, cloaked in razor-sharp wind chakra.
Wind Release: Vacuum Blade.
An advanced A-Rank jutsu that fused shape and elemental transformations—impossibly fast, impossibly deadly.
Even Guy, a master of taijutsu, hadn't sensed it coming.
But within this meditative stillness, Unkawa could trace its path. It was no longer a blur—it was a thread, a line through time, inching toward him.
He didn't turn.
He simply reached back, fingers spreading like the wings of a crane, worn knuckles glinting in the sunlight.
His hand closed around the kunai.
Wind chakra sliced his palm—but stopped.
The blade halted midair.
Unkawa opened his eyes.
Their calm reflected Guy's stunned face, and the mottled canopy of the forest beyond.
"No matter who you are…" he murmured, voice low.
"…returning the favor is basic courtesy."
He spun.
The motion was fluid, almost effortless. Leaves fluttered around him, his robes catching the wind. Muscles along his back drew taut like a bowstring.
FWOOSH.
He hurled the kunai with a single, devastating motion.
It screamed through the air.
Leaves shredded under its passage. Dust exploded in every direction. Even Guy had to duck as the air itself seemed to crack from the pressure.
Thud.
A distant, wet crunch echoed from deep within the woods.
"Bullseye."