The big Suna-nin smiled like he'd just found his favorite toy, and I had the sinking feeling I was about to become his personal stress ball.
"You know," I said, backing up a step, "I was really hoping we could talk this through like civilized people. Maybe over some tea?"
He cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking branches. "I don't drink tea with dead men."
"Well, that's unfortunate. I make excellent tea."
He lunged.
Holy shit, he was fast for someone that size. The punch came at me like a cannonball, and I barely got my arms up in time to block. The impact hit my crossed forearms like a sledgehammer, and even though I'd absorbed most of the force properly, the sheer size advantage still sent me stumbling backward several steps.
'Okay,' I thought, shaking out my arms, 'that's going to leave bruises.'
He didn't give me time to recover. The giant rushed forward, throwing a combination that would've made a boxer weep—jab, cross, hook, all flowing together with surprising speed like he'd done it a thousand times. I slipped the jab, ducked the cross, but the hook slammed into my forearms before I could get out of the way. It rattled straight through the bones.
I countered with a quick uppercut aimed at his chin, but he leaned back just enough to slip it. His knee shot up, gunning for my ribs—I twisted, let it graze past, then drove a sharp elbow at the side of his head.
He snatched my arm mid-swing—his hand swallowed my elbow whole—and yanked me straight into a brutal right hook. I barely got my free hand up, but even the glancing blow rattled my teeth.
While he was committed to the punch, I twisted my trapped arm and drove my knee straight up into his wrist. His grip loosened just enough for me to yank free and stumble backward, putting some distance between us.
We separated, circling each other for a split second before diving back in. He threw a straight punch that I redirected with my palm, sending it past my shoulder. I stepped inside his guard, hammering short punches into his ribs. Solid hits. But it felt like punching a tire filled with bricks.
"Wow," I said, shaking out my knuckles. "What do you eat for breakfast? Gravel and disappointment?"
"Konoha genin, mostly," he rumbled, that ugly grin spreading wider. "You're about to become lunch."
His backhand came around in a wide arc. I ducked low, swept at his ankle—missed—then had to roll backward as his boot stomped down where my head had been.
I came up in a crouch just as he spun into a full-powered roundhouse kick aimed at my torso. The thing was coming at me like a battering ram, and there was no way to dodge it in time.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, bracing for impact.
The kick hit my guard like a freight train. Even with my arms absorbing the blow, the sheer force lifted me off my feet and launched me backward. I sailed through the air in a perfect arc—right through the wooden wall of someone's workshop. Planks exploded around me in a shower of splinters and dust, and I hit the ground hard, rolling across the floor until I slammed into a workbench.
I spat out a mouthful of sawdust and groaned. 'Yeah... blocking his kicks is an even worse idea than blocking his punches.'
I planted my right hand on the ground and vaulted to my feet, creating distance between us as he stepped through the hole I'd just made in the wall. The guy looked even bigger framed by the jagged wood, like some kind of nightmare stepping out of a broken picture frame.
"You know what?" I said, dusting off my vest, "I just remembered I have somewhere else to be. Maybe we could reschedule this for never?"
I bolted.
Behind me, the big bastard let out a laugh that sounded like boulders grinding together. "Running already, little genin? The fun's just getting started!"
I sprinted between buildings, using every trick I knew to create distance. Vaulting over low walls, sliding under hanging laundry, bouncing off rooftops—anything to stay ahead of the big guy chasing me.
But the bastard was persistent. And fast. Every time I thought I'd lost him, he'd come crashing around a corner, tearing through whatever was in his way like it was paper. A market stall disappeared under his feet. A fence exploded into kindling when he punched through it instead of going around.
'This is not going according to plan,' I thought as I leaped over a water barrel. 'Mainly because I don't have a plan.'
He caught up to me in the courtyard near the medical building, appearing around the corner just as I was checking for another escape route. No more running—the space was too open, and he was closing the distance too fast.
The punch came at my head this time. I ducked low, feeling the wind from his fist ruffle my hair, and drove my shoulder into his midsection. It was like hitting a brick wall wrapped in muscle.
His knee came up toward my face. I jerked my head aside, the blow whistling past my ear, and hammered my elbow toward his ribs. He twisted, taking the hit on his shoulder instead, then grabbed for my arm.
I slipped the grapple, spun away, and immediately had to duck another haymaker that would've taken my head off. His backhand caught me across the shoulder, and even that glancing blow sent me stumbling.
He feinted left, then drove straight forward, covering the distance in two massive strides. I sidestepped, but his follow-up elbow clipped my ribs, lifting me off my feet and sending me skidding across the courtyard stones.
I rolled with the momentum, came up in a crouch, and immediately had to throw myself sideways as his boot smashed into the ground where my head had been. The stone cracked under the impact.
'This is getting stupid,' I thought, chest heaving. 'I'm getting stomped by the Hulk's angry cousin.'
But then I heard something that made me forget about the big guy—the sound of steel clashing with steel, followed by a pained shout. Across the courtyard, past the burning remains of what used to be someone's shop, I spotted movement about fifty meters away.
Another Suna-nin had just finished with his own opponent and was scanning the battlefield. His eyes locked onto me, taking in the situation—one genin being chased by his massive teammate. A predatory smile spread across his face.
'Oh, come on,' I thought as he started jogging in my direction. 'Wasn't one oversized psychopath enough?'
I tried to put more distance between myself and the big guy, weaving between chunks of debris and the scattered remains of market stalls. But the new arrival was cutting off my escape routes, forcing me toward a dead end between two collapsed buildings.
The second Suna-nin reached us just as I ran out of room to retreat. He came at me from the side, kunai gleaming in the firelight. I barely got my own kunai up in time to parry his thrust.
"Having trouble with a kid?" the newcomer called out, a smirk in his voice as he moved to flank me.
The giant's face darkened. "Shut up. Little bastard's slippery."
"Right. A genin's giving you problems. I'll be sure to mention that in my report."
I could feel them positioning themselves—one massive brute in front, one newcomer to my left, and a wall of rubble behind me. No escape routes. No backup coming.
'Perfect,' I thought, settling into a defensive stance. 'Just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse.'
Then everything broke loose. The giant and the newcomer charged me at once, coordinating their attack like they'd done this dance before. No warning—just violence.
The big guy's fist came straight for my head like a piledriver. At the same time, the Suna-nin swept in low with a kunai, aiming to gut me. I twisted sideways. The punch grazed my shoulder—enough to spin me—and the kunai hissed past my ribs, so close it sliced the edge of my shirt.
I barely had time to breathe before they were on me again.
The Suna-nin lunged with his kunai, aiming for my throat, while the giant's knee rocketed up like a battering ram. I knocked the blade aside with my forearm and threw myself backward—just barely slipping past the knee.
But I was boxed in.
The giant's backhand came swinging hard, wide and fast. His partner ghosted around to my flank, tightening the trap.
I ducked under the swing, only to snap my guard up as the Suna-nin drove an elbow toward my ribs.
I caught it on crossed forearms. The hit still rocked me, knocking me a step back.
The giant was already there—stepping in with a brutal uppercut.
I twisted just in time. Felt the wind skim my jaw, way too close.
The Suna-nin didn't give me a second; his blade came down in a tight arc. I met it with mine—steel slammed against steel, the clash hard enough to sting my hand as I tried to create space.
They weren't giving me any. Every time I dodged one attack, the other was already there with a counter. The giant's stomp shattered stone where I'd been standing, and as I rolled away, the Suna-nin's kick came at my ribs which I caught it on my forearm.
I glanced around fast, hoping for backup. Thirty meters out, two Konoha chunin were locked in their own desperate scraps. One was bleeding down his arm like a popped water balloon, barely holding a kunai. The other looked like he was fighting gravity more than his opponent—wobbling on his feet, pale as a ghost, and probably seeing three enemies instead of one.
Yeah. No help coming from that direction.
Fantastic, I thought, ducking another swipe. It's just me, the walking mountain, and his stab-happy little sidekick. Great odds. Really feeling the team spirit here.
The big guy swung another wrecking-ball right, just as the Suna-nin slashed for my throat. I ducked under the punch, knocked the blade off-line, and spotted my opening.
The smaller one was still resetting his stance when I drove my knee toward his ribs. He twisted, but not fast enough—my knee slammed into his side, drawing a sharp grunt.
The giant came in again with a kick that forced me to spring back, but I didn't give them room to breathe. I surged forward, faking a punch at the Suna-nin's face. He flinched and brought up his guard—too high. I dropped low and buried a shot into his exposed ribs. He doubled over slightly, breath hitching.
I let loose—jab, cross, hook—hammering him with fast, tight strikes. He stumbled backward, hands up, more focused on keeping me off than actually fighting back. The giant lunged in from behind, reaching to grab me, but I shifted left, keeping the smaller Suna-nin between us as a shield.
My next punch slipped clean through his guard and caught him on the jaw—his head snapped sideways, blood flicking from his lip. He threw a counter, wild and desperate, but I was already gone, ducking under it and driving a fist into his kidney like I was trying to punch straight through him.
That one landed solid. He choked on air and stumbled forward, his defense sagging.
The giant came in swinging again—a massive haymaker, the kind that turned ribs into powder. Meanwhile, the Suna-nin, still wheezing from the kidney shot, lunged with his kunai in a desperate thrust.
I caught his wrist mid-stab. His strength was shot—gone from the beating I'd given him—and when he tried to twist away, I hammered two quick punches into the same side. He gasped. Then I yanked hard, followed by a kick to the knee, spinning us both around. His eyes widened as he realized what I was doing, but it was too late.
The giant's punch—already mid-motion—crashed into his teammate's spine with a sound like a tree snapping in half. A wet crack echoed through the courtyard, followed by a spray of blood from the Suna-nin's mouth as his body folded around the blow. He collapsed in a heap, legs twitching once before going still—like someone had yanked the batteries out of a puppet.
"Shit!" the big guy snarled, staring down at his accidentally murdered teammate. "You little—"
I followed his gaze to the corpse, then looked back up at his twisted face. Blood dripped from my split lip as I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
"You know what?" I said, catching my breath. "I think you two work better as a team when one of you isn't breathing. Really brings out that teamwork dynamic."
His face turned an interesting shade of purple. "I'm going to tear your fucking head off!"
"Promises, promises," I said, already backing toward the nearest building. "But first, you'll have to catch me. And judging by your cardio so far..." I shrugged. "Well, let's just say I'm not worried."
That did it. He charged like a bull seeing red.
I bolted.
Behind me, his roar of fury could've woken the dead. Probably did, considering how many bodies were scattered around this place. But as I sprinted between buildings, dodging debris and jumping over fallen beams, my mind wasn't on the psychopath chasing me.
I was taking inventory.
The outpost was getting torn apart, but it wasn't hopeless. Most of the damage was surface-level—broken walls, scattered supplies, a few collapsed roofs. The core infrastructure was still intact. The medical building was untouched. The command center looked secure. Even the armory seemed to be holding.
'This isn't an all-out invasion,' I realized, vaulting over a overturned cart. 'It's a raid. They're hitting specific targets, not trying to level the place.'
The pattern was becoming clear. They'd hit the patrols first, then struck the outpost while our forces were scattered. Classic disruption tactics—cripple our ability to coordinate, grab what intelligence they could, and disappear before reinforcements arrived. Suna was trying to blind us and slow down whatever they thought we were planning.
Which meant...
A massive crash behind me cut off my train of thought. I glanced back to see the big guy had just punched straight through a wooden fence instead of going around it. Efficiency clearly wasn't his strong suit.
Suddenly, the air behind me crackled with chakra. I threw myself sideways just as a blast of compressed air slammed into the ground where I'd been running, gouging a crater in the dirt and sending rocks flying like shrapnel.
"Come back here, you little shit!" he bellowed, splinters and dust raining from his knuckles as he charged through the hole he'd made.
"Counter-offer!" I called back, sliding under a low-hanging tarp. "How about you go find someone your own size? I hear there's a nice mountain range about fifty miles east!"
I kept scanning as I ran. Konoha forces were holding their own in most sectors. The enemy had numbers, but they were spread thin trying to hit everything at once. A few coordinated counter-attacks could turn this around.
But first, I needed to find my team.
'Where the hell are Mikoto and Tsume?'
No sign of them in the immediate area. Hopefully they were with Tsunade, wherever she'd ended up. That was the smart play—stick with the jonin, let her handle the heavy lifting.
The big guy's footsteps were getting closer. Time to make a choice—keep running and let him chase me in circles, or deal with him and help my team.
'Not much of a choice, really.'
I spotted what I needed ahead—the construction area where they'd been expanding the outpost. Scaffolding, loose beams, half-finished walls, and a massive pile of cut stone blocks waiting to be placed.
Perfect.
I sprinted toward the construction zone, the giant moving behind me with surprising speed of a trained shinobi. Despite his size, he was keeping pace easily—all that muscle didn't slow him down one bit. If anything, it just made him more dangerous when he caught up.
The scaffolding rose three stories high, a maze of wooden beams and metal brackets. I leaped onto the first level, using my hands to swing up to the second. The whole structure creaked under the sudden movement.
"Get down here!" The big guy grabbed the bottom of the scaffold and started climbing. Each step made the entire thing groan like it was in pain.
He snarled and lunged upward, trying to grab my ankle. I pulled my foot back just in time, his fingers scraping against my boot.
I dropped from the scaffolding, pulling a kunai from my pouch as I rolled to avoid the big guy's boot smashing into the ground where I'd landed. Stone chips exploded in all directions.
"Finally decided to fight like a man?" he sneered, bending down to grab something from the rubble—a thick steel rebar, probably torn loose from the concrete before everything went to hell. The thing looked like it could cave in a skull with one swing.
"Man? Please." I spun my kunai around my fingers, the blade dancing between my knuckles before I caught it and flipped it across my palm. "I'm still just a kid. But a very dangerous kid with pointy objects."
He swung the iron bar in a wide arc. I ducked under it, feeling the wind from the strike ruffle my hair, and slashed with the kunai. But he was already moving, shifting his weight to avoid the blade. I caught nothing but air.
He countered immediately, driving an elbow toward my face like a seasoned fighter. I jerked back, the blow missing by inches, then feinted high with the kunai before dropping low to slash at his leg. He read the fake easily, stepping back just far enough to avoid the real attack.
'Shit. He's good.'
I tried a different approach—lunging forward as if going for his center mass, then pivoting at the last second to slash at his weapon arm. The kunai scraped against his forearm, barely parting the skin, but he was already pivoting away from the worst of it.
His iron bar came around in a tight arc. I had to throw myself backward to avoid getting my ribs caved in, nearly losing my balance on the uneven ground.
We circled each other, both looking for an opening. He feinted with the bar, testing my reactions, while I made a few lazy slashes to gauge his footwork.
'Time to get creative.'
I faked high with the kunai, dragging his eyes up. That split-second was all I needed—I scooped a fistful of dirt and flung it at his face. He started reacting to the kunai, then caught the real threat too late. The dirt splattered across his eyes, and he blinked hard, flinching. His guard dipped just enough—I drove the kunai in low, aiming for his ribs. But even half-blinded, his combat instincts kicked in—he caught my wrist in his massive hand, fingers clamping down like a vise.
"Cute trick," he said, grinning through the grit in his eyes. "But I've seen that one before."
Then came the iron bar—swinging at my head like a wrecking ball.
I twisted hard, using our tangled arms as a hinge, and barely avoided getting my skull cracked open. The bar whistled past my ear and slammed into a wooden support beam with a sound like a gunshot.
While he was committed to the swing, I drove my knee into his elbow, right at the joint. The impact made him grunt and his grip loosened just enough for me to rip free, but he was already adapting, switching the bar to his other hand.
I backpedaled, kunai up, watching him roll his shoulder and test the joint. The hit landed—no doubt about that. It was bruised, maybe even strained. But still usable. He just grinned wider.
"You think that's going to slow me down?" He hefted the iron bar one-handed, adjusting his grip. "I've fought with worse."
"Yeah?" I started circling toward the stack of stone blocks. "But have you fought with better?"
He came at me again, but this time he was more cautious. Quick jabs with the bar instead of wild swings, keeping his center of gravity low, watching for my counters. I tried to slip inside his guard twice, but both times he managed to angle away from my blade while forcing me back with those tight, punishing swings.
The third time, I switched it up.
I feinted left with the kunai—he didn't bite. Feinted right—he stayed centered, ready. Then I dropped low like I was going for his legs, and that's when he went for it. The rebar came down hard, meant to crush me flat. But I rolled hard to the side instead, came up behind him while he was overextended, and dragged the blade across his back from shoulder blade to spine.
The kunai bit deep, opening a gash that sprayed blood in a wide arc. This time he did stumble, catching himself against one of the stone blocks.
When he turned back to me, his face was twisted with pain and rage, but his eyes were still sharp. Still dangerous.
"You're dead," he snarled, hefting a chunk of stone in his good hand. "Dead!"
The rock came at me like a cannonball. I dove aside, hearing it crash into the scaffolding behind me with enough force to snap a support beam. The whole structure shuddered and started to lean.
That gives me an idea.
I sprinted back toward the scaffolding, the big guy limping after me with murder in his eyes. Blood was starting to drip down his arm, making him look even more menacing. The iron bar in his good hand gleamed with crimson drops.
"Running again?" he taunted. "Thought you were done with that!"
"What can I say?" I replied, leaping onto the scaffolding's first level. "I'm a creature of habit. Plus, you smell like a wet dog that's been rolling in garbage."
The damaged structure groaned under my weight, leaning even further.
He followed, the wooden beams creaking ominously as his massive frame hit the scaffold. Up close, I could see the structure was barely holding together—the support beam he'd broken with the rock had compromised the whole thing.
"Nowhere to run now, little genin!" He swung the bar at my head.
I ducked, but he was ready for it—his knee shot up fast, aiming for my face. I twisted away, feeling it graze my cheek, then grabbed a loose bracket on the beam beside me. He saw the movement and instinctively shifted to protect his wounded arm, bringing the iron bar around in a tight defensive arc.
I faked high with the bracket, aiming near his hurt elbow—he flinched. That was the opening. I snapped it down toward his ribs instead.
Too slow.
His free hand clamped around my wrist like a bear trap. I felt the pressure spike instantly—bones grinding, nerves screaming.
"Nice try," he growled, and slammed his forehead into my face.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My nose broke with a sickening crunch, and the world spun.
I stumbled back, barely catching my balance on the beam. The bracket slipped from my numb fingers and clattered to the ground below.
He pressed his advantage, swinging the iron bar in a vicious overhead strike. I dove sideways. The beam behind me exploded as the bar slammed into it, wood splintering like kindling. The whole structure groaned under the force.
While he was pulling the bar free from the embedded wood, I lunged in close and drove my elbow straight into the gash I'd carved earlier—not the joint, but deep into the raw, bleeding muscle.
He screamed. Loud, guttural.
His grip faltered for half a second—and that was enough.
I slapped the bar out of his hands. It slipped from his grasp and tumbled through the scaffolding, crashing and clanging against the beams as it dropped out of sight.
That's when I made my move.
I grabbed a loose rope hanging from the scaffolding—part of the pulley system they'd been using to move materials—and swung out wide. The big guy tracked my movement, reading the obvious attack. He was already shifting his weight to dodge when I swung back toward him.
But instead of kicking, I released the rope early and dropped below his guard line. He'd been expecting the aerial attack and started to duck—exactly the wrong move. I landed in a crouch and immediately spring-loaded upward, driving both fists into his solar plexus with every ounce of momentum from the swing.
The impact folded him in half, driving the air from his lungs in a sharp wheeze. While he was stunned and gasping, I grabbed another rope and used it to yank myself up to his level.
I swung at him feet-first, but even winded, his combat instincts kicked in. He managed to get his good arm up, catching my boots against his forearm. The impact still staggered him, but he'd absorbed most of the force.
I pushed off his arm and swung back for another pass. This time I came in from a different angle, but he was ready—he shifted his stance and deflected my kick with his shoulder, the glancing blow spinning me off to the side.
'Third time's the charm,' I thought, using the momentum to swing wide before coming back. But this time, instead of aiming for his torso, I waited until the last second and adjusted my trajectory upward, driving both feet into his jaw.
His head snapped back with a wet crack. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he stumbled backward, no longer able to keep his footing on the narrow beam. He crashed into the damaged support beam. Wood splintered. Metal brackets snapped. The entire scaffolding structure let out a groan like a dying animal.
Then gravity took over.
Three stories of wooden beams, metal brackets, and construction materials came down like an avalanche. The big guy's eyes went wide as he realized what was happening, but there was nowhere to go.
The collapse hit him like a wooden tsunami. Beams crashed down on his head and shoulders. Metal brackets sliced into his flesh. His right arm got caught between two falling timbers and twisted until something snapped with a sound like breaking celery.
Blood sprayed as jagged wood punched through his torso in three different places. One beam caught him across the throat, crushing his windpipe with a wet crunch. Another slammed into his back hard enough to crack it open like an egg.
When the dust settled, he was pinned under a mountain of debris, blood pooling beneath the wreckage. His mangled arm hung at an impossible angle, bone poking through torn skin. Dark holes in his chest leaked slowly, soaking the wooden beams.
I dropped from the rope, landing in a crouch at the edge of the wreckage, lungs burning, heart still hammering in my ears.
"And that," I said, breathing hard, "is why kids shouldn't play in construction sites."
The big guy wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. Just lying there like a broken toy, blood and splinters painting an abstract masterpiece around his corpse.
I allowed myself a moment to catch my breath. 'Finally. Now I can go find—'
The pile of debris exploded.
Wooden beams flew through the air like missiles. The big guy rose from the wreckage like some kind of undead monster, blood streaming from a dozen wounds but still very much alive. His right arm hung useless, shredded meat barely attached to bone, but his left was working just fine.
And it was holding a piece of broken scaffolding like a spear.
"You think a little wood can kill me?" he roared, spitting blood. "I'm going to tear you apart piece by piece!"
"Oh, come ON!" I snarled, grabbing my kunai from where I'd dropped it. "What are you, part cockroach? Just fucking die already!"
He charged, moving like a wounded bull. The makeshift spear aimed straight at my chest.
I sidestepped at the last second, feeling the broken wood scrape against my jacket, and drove the kunai up under his chin. The blade punched through soft flesh and into his brain with a wet squelch.
His eyes rolled back, showing only white. Blood poured from his mouth in a dark stream.
But his momentum carried him forward, and his good hand closed around my throat.
'You've got to be kidding me...'
Black spots danced in my vision as his grip tightened. Even dying, the bastard was strong enough to crush my windpipe. I twisted the kunai, scrambling his brain like eggs, but he just squeezed harder.
Before I could think of another solution—or pass out from lack of oxygen—something that smelled like jasmine slammed into the big guy from the side.
His head snapped around with a crack like breaking lumber. His grip on my throat vanished as he went flying, spinning through the air like a twisted top before crashing into the stone blocks hard enough to crack them.
I hit the ground gasping, clutching my throat and trying to remember how breathing worked.
"About time you showed up," I wheezed, looking up at my savior.
Tsunade stood over me, lowering her fist from the punch that had just launched the big guy into orbit. Behind her, Mikoto and Tsume emerged from the smoke, both looking like they'd been through their own private wars.
"Thought you might need a hand," Tsunade said, smirking at me. "Or were you planning to let him strangle you to death for fun?"
I glanced at the big guy, who was now definitely, absolutely, completely dead. His head was facing the wrong direction, and several important-looking bits of him were leaking onto the stones.
"Hey, I had it handled," I wheezed, rubbing my throat. "I was just... letting him get comfortable before I made my move. You know, lull him into a false sense of security."
"Uh-huh. And the part where you were turning blue?"
"Dramatic effect. Really sells the whole 'helpless victim' routine." I grinned despite my hoarse voice. "Though I'll admit, your timing was pretty good. A few more seconds and I might've had to actually try."
Mikoto knelt beside me, her butterfly hairclip somehow still perfectly in place despite the chaos. "Are you hurt?"
"Just my pride," I said, letting her help me to my feet. "And possibly my throat. But I'll live."
Tsume was poking at the dead giant with a stick, Kuromaru sniffing around the edges of the carnage. "This guy was huge. And he just kept getting back up. What is he, part monster?"
"Right?" I said, stretching my sore shoulders. "I thought I killed him three times. Guy had more lives than a cat."
Tsunade was already moving, her hands glowing green as she checked my throat for damage. Her eyes flicked over some fading scars on my neck and shoulders—souvenirs from my encounter with those Kumo spies in the forest. Her expression shifted slightly, a mix of professional assessment and dawning realization. I could practically see the pieces clicking together in her head.
Shit.
"You're lucky he didn't crush your windpipe, a few more seconds and you'd be having this conversation with the Shinigami instead of me." Her fingers traced one of the older marks. "And these injuries... they're not from training accidents, are they?"
I tried for my most innocent expression. "What, those old things? Probably just ran into a tree branch or something. You know how clumsy I can be."
Her amber eyes met mine, and I knew the casual deflection hadn't worked. Not even close.
"Anyway," I shifted slightly under her gaze, "how'd you find me?"
"Easy," she said, letting out a small sigh as she decided to drop it for now. "That annoying face of yours stands out like a sore thumb. Even with all the chaos, spotting your particular brand of irritating smugness wasn't exactly difficult."
"Hey," I said, straightening my jacket. "This face is a work of art. Not my fault it's so memorable."
Mikoto's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "I'm glad you're okay. When we couldn't find you..."
"I told you I'd be fine," I said, squeezing back. "Takes more than one oversized psychopath to ruin my day."
"How about two?" Tsume asked, pointing behind us.
I turned to see another group of Suna operatives rounding the corner, weapons drawn and looking very unfriendly.
"Well," I sighed, hefting my kunai. "At least this time I have backup."
Tsunade stood up, her eyes flicking to the approaching enemies before settling back on me. "Still," she said, dusting off her hands, "not bad, kid. Holding your own against a jonin like that." She glanced at the big guy's crumpled form. "Most genin would've been paste on the wall after the first minute."
Mikoto and Tsume both whipped around to stare at her, then at me.
"Jonin?" Mikoto's voice cracked slightly. "You're joking, right?"
Tsume's mouth fell open. "That guy was jonin-level? We thought he was just some chunin muscle."
"Tokubetsu jonin, technically," Tsunade clarified, glancing at the giant's corpse sprawled several feet away. "Look at him—took that much punishment before going down. That kind of durability doesn't come from regular training. His raw physical strength is what earned him the rank." She crossed her arms. "Tokubetsu jonin are specialists—they don't have all-around jonin skills like regular jonin, but they excel in one specific area. This one's specialty was obviously being a human battering ram."
They both looked at me like I'd grown a second head. I could practically see the gears turning in their minds, recalculating everything they thought they knew about my abilities.
"You fought a tokubetsu jonin," Mikoto said slowly, "by yourself. And survived."
"Barely," I muttered, but Tsunade snorted.
"Don't get cocky, kid. You should've run and found help instead of trying to take on an enemy you could barely handle. Just because you won doesn't mean it was smart."
The approaching Suna operatives were getting closer, and I could hear more footsteps echoing from other directions. We were about to be surrounded.
Tsunade cracked her knuckles. "Questions later, ladies. Right now, let's go kick some ass."
The three of them moved into formation around me, and despite everything, I couldn't help but grin.
...
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