The Kumo jonin stood beside the rough bark of an old oak, his eyes tracking the movements of the clone tending to the injured genin's wounds. Behind them, the Uchiha girl had taken up a defensive stance, her eyes scanning him and the treeline for threats. Shohei had served Kumogakure for twelve long years, rising through the ranks on skill and experience alone, but what he was seeing now went against everything he thought he knew about combat.
Two shadow clones. That was it. Just a pair of replicas created by some Konoha kid who couldn't be older than thirteen, and somehow they had managed to cut through his entire chunin squad like they were fresh academy graduates. The bodies of his men lay scattered among the fallen leaves, and each one told the same impossible story.
'This doesn't make sense,' Shohei thought, his calloused fingers finding the familiar comfort of his sword's wrapped handle. Every shinobi worth their headband knew that shadow clones were nothing more than chakra constructs, fragile things that would dissolve the moment they took any real damage. They were useful for reconnaissance, maybe some basic distraction work, but in actual combat? Against experienced chunin? It should have been a massacre in the other direction.
But then again, he'd had that same nagging doubt when his ambush on the weird genin had somehow failed. Most chunin would have died from that kind of surprise attack, yet here the kid was, still breathing and being patched up by his clone.
He launched himself in a flash, the sun glinting off his blade as he ate up the distance between them. Forty meters disappeared in less than a second, most people wouldn't even register the movement until he was already there. The first clone spun to meet him, tanto raised, but Shohei could already see the opening. The thing was protecting the injured original, which meant limited movement options.
His sword crashed into the tanto with a sharp ring. The clone's eyes went wide, probably hadn't expected the sheer force behind the strike. Shohei twisted his wrist, using his superior strength to lock the tanto's guard, then drove his knee toward the clone's ribs.
The clone twisted away, but not fast enough. Shohei's knee caught him in the side, lifting him clean off the ground. Before the clone could recover, Shohei spun and brought his sword around in a horizontal slash that should have cut the thing in half.
The blade met air. The clone had somehow twisted mid-flight, using the momentum from the knee strike to flip over the sword. It landed in a crouch three feet away, tanto still in hand, and had the gall to grin.
"Not bad for an old timer," the clone said. "You've got some speed on you."
Shohei's eye twitched. Old timer?
The second clone came at him from the left. Shohei shifted his stance, letting his body flow into the defensive pattern that decades of experience had drilled into him. He caught the clone's tanto on the edge of his sword, redirected the force downward, and immediately countered with an elbow strike aimed at the clone's temple.
The clone ducked under his elbow and came up with an uppercut that would have shattered his jaw if he hadn't jerked his head back. But that left him open for the first clone, who had somehow closed the distance again and was driving a tanto toward his spine.
Shohei spun away from the tanto, his sword coming around in a wide arc that forced both clones to retreat.
"Fast enough to be annoying," he muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension. "But you're still just clones."
He'd been taking it easy on them, trying to get a feel for what they could actually do. But standing around and playing defense wasn't going to win this fight. Time to remind them why the original was lying over there bleeding instead of standing up here with them.
Chakra surged through his body, and he clenched his legs as he picked his targets. The first clone was slightly off-balance from dodging his last attack. Perfect.
Shohei moved.
He crossed the distance in a blur, his sword aimed directly at the clone's neck. At this speed, with this much force behind it, there was no way the clone could—
His blade passed through empty air, again. The clone had somehow read his attack and shifted to avoid decapitation. But Shohei was already adjusting, bringing his sword back in a reverse cut that caught the clone across the chest.
The blade punched through the clone's chest with a wet sound. For a split second, Shohei felt satisfaction—finally, one down.
But that was when Shohei noticed something that made his blood run cold. Off to his left, near a cluster of boulders, two more clones had appeared. They hadn't been there a moment ago, he would have sensed them. But now they stood watching the fight with the same unsettling grins as the others.
'New clones…' he thought frantically. 'How is this possible?'
His mind worked through the possibilities. Either this genin was some kind of prodigy, the next big Konoha name, or something deeply messed up was going on here.
His instincts didn't waste time on theory. They answered with action.
"Raiton: Rainawa no Jutsu!"
Lightning burst from his palm, snaking out into a seething whip of raw current. He cracked it once—snap—and it sheared clean through a tree trunk, the wood exploding in a shower of splinters.
One clone ducked the strike and came up throwing a tight spread of shuriken. Shohei swept his whip through the air, the lightning snaring the projectiles and scattering them like ash. But the attack had done its job. The remaining clones had used that moment to reposition, now they were circling, cutting off angles, classic pincer setup.
'Time to thin the herd.'
He zeroed in on the one with the worst footing, a slight lean in the stance, too much weight on the front leg. Shohei blitzed in, whip coiled, then lashed it straight at the clone's center mass.
The target barely managed to dodge his whip, but the clone next to it wasn't so fortunate. The lightning whip sliced clean across its torso. The shock hit first, body locking up mid-motion, then the whole thing burst in a puff of smoke, the cooked air still crackling with static.
But before he could savor the small victory, he caught the sound that made his stomach drop, the whisper-quiet footfalls of approaching shinobi. He whipped around and felt his heart sink at the sight of not one, not two, but three new clones emerging from behind different trees, moving like they hadn't just watched their buddy get fried.
Five clones. Five active clones, and when he glanced back toward where the original had been receiving medical attention, the space behind the moss-covered boulders was empty.
"Where—" he scanned the area frantically. Both the injured genin and the Uchiha girl had disappeared.
Creating new clones should have put the kid flat on his back, not given him enough strength to relocate while spawning more shadow clones like some kind of factory.
"What's wrong, old man? You look a little pale," one of the newcomers said, and Shohei could hear the amusement in its voice. "Don't worry, we're not going anywhere."
"What the hell are you?" Shohei tightened his grip on his sword. Twenty years of fights, twenty years of thinking he'd seen everything the shinobi world had to throw at him, and this genin was making him feel like a chunin all over again.
"Your worst day at the office," another clone replied, hands already moving through familiar seals. "Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!"
A roar. Then fire—searing, all-consuming, the size of a wagon wheel and just as fast. Shohei dove behind the boulder a half-second before it hit, the shockwave rattling the trees around him, the heat so intense it blistered the bark off the trees.
When the fire cleared, he took a glance.
Six.
Six clones now, spaced in a loose formation, surrounding his position like a kill box.
While he was dodging the fireball, another one had seemingly appeared out of nowhere!
'I need to get out of here,' he realized with growing alarm.
This wasn't a fight he could win, hell, it wasn't even a fight anymore. It was about to become a massacre, and he was going to be on the wrong end of it.
But when he heard the soft crunch of leaves under multiple sets of feet, he knew running might not even be an option. He turned his head and saw all six clones closing in from different angles, moving like they'd rehearsed this plan a hundred times before. They weren't rushing, weren't making any noise, just stalking him like a pack of predators who knew their prey had nowhere left to go.
And then more shapes started separating themselves from the shadows between the trees.
Shohei's mouth went completely dry as he did a quick headcount. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten clones, all wearing that same infuriating smile, all walking toward his little boulder like they had all the time in the world.
The smart play, the only play, was already clear in his mind.
He bolted.
…
Shohei pushed himself harder than he had in years, the forest becoming little more than a green blur as he moved at speeds that would leave most shinobi in the dust. Branches and roots that might trip up a chunin were nothing to him, his body flowed around every obstacle without conscious thought, decades of experience allowing him to navigate the terrain like he'd been born to it. The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between him and that monster in a genin's skin.
He'd been running for maybe three minutes when his danger sense screamed a warning. He threw himself sideways just as a trio of explosive tags detonated where he'd been a split second before. The shockwave sent him tumbling, but he rolled with it and kept his legs moving before he'd even fully regained his balance.
More tags were scattered through the trees ahead of him, plastered to trunks and hanging from branches like some kind of festival decoration. There had to be dozens of them, maybe more, turning the entire path into a minefield. His experience told him most were probably fakes, basic clone copies with no substance. But some would be real, and he didn't have the luxury of stopping to figure out which was which. He could either slow down and pick his way through like he was defusing a bomb, or keep running and hope he got lucky.
Instead, he cut hard to the left toward what looked like cleaner ground. But after another minute of running, he ran into the exact same thing, more tags, more death traps, same impossible choice.
Every direction he tried, every potential escape route, led to the same outcome. The entire forest had been turned into one massive killing ground.
"Shit! Is this the original's doing?" he panted, changing direction again.
That's when he heard them, multiple sets of footsteps moving through the trees behind him, getting closer with each passing second. The clones were gaining ground, and why wouldn't they be? He'd been forced to zigzag through the forest like a rabbit in a snare, changing direction every few minutes when another wall of explosive tags blocked his path. Meanwhile, they could probably run straight toward wherever they'd planned to corner him.
He couldn't help himself, he looked back over his shoulder and felt his blood turn cold. Twelve clones were flowing through the forest after him, some of them actually grinning like this was the most fun they'd had all week.
Twelve. He'd seen several of them get destroyed during their fight, watched them explode into smoke with his own eyes. But somehow their numbers just kept growing, like he was fighting some kind of nightmare that got worse every time he thought he'd made progress. The only way this made sense was if there were multiple shinobi coordinating with shadow clones and transformation techniques, but who the hell would go to that much trouble for a single target?
Unless...
"Jinchuriki," he muttered under his breath, the pieces finally clicking into place. "Has to be. Is this kid the new Nine-Tails host?"
It was the only explanation that fit. The massive chakra reserves, the seemingly endless stream of clones. If Konoha had been hiding a new jinchuriki, it would explain everything.
The ground started rising beneath his feet as he entered more mountainous terrain. Maybe he could find some kind of defensive position up here.
The trees thinned out ahead of him, and he skidded to a stop at the cliff's edge as he stared into empty air, a sheer drop that fell away into a gorge so deep he couldn't see the bottom.
He'd been herded. Like a damn animal, they'd driven him exactly where they wanted him to go.
Shohei turned to face his pursuers. Behind him was a hundred-foot drop onto jagged rocks. In front of him, sixteen shadow clones emerged from the forest.
"End of the line," one of them said, casually spinning a kunai on his finger. "Gotta admit, though, you gave us a decent workout."
"Speak for yourself," another clone replied. "I barely broke a sweat."
"That's because you've been hanging back and letting the rest of us do all the work," a third accused.
"Hey, I'm providing support," the clone protested. "Someone had to help Mikoto set up the tags."
"Yeah, and this whole trap wouldn't have worked without us," another added, puffing his chest like he expected a medal.
They were bantering. Not taunting, not posturing, but bantering. Like this was a damn spar. Like he didn't matter.
Shohei swallowed the spike of fury.
He raised both hands.
A string of seals flashed. Lightning burst from his left palm, snapping into a crackling whip of blue plasma. At the same moment, his blade cleared the sheath with a sharp shing.
The clones stopped their bickering and looked at him with what seemed like genuine appreciation.
"Oh, now that's nice," one of them said, nodding toward the lightning whip. "Very flashy. I like the way it sparks."
"Can we keep him?" another asked, like Shohei was some kind of stray dog they'd found. "I promise I'll take good care of him."
"Only if you're willing to clean up after him when he makes a mess," came the reply.
Shohei charged like a man possessed.
His lightning whip cracked through the air, slicing toward the center of the clone formation as he drove in with his sword in a vicious arc.
The first clone met him head-on, puffing out its chest—Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!
A fireball the size of a wagon erupted from its mouth, trying to overpower the whip. Bad move. The crackling whip sliced straight through the flames, then ripped the clone in half just as easily. The thing barely had time to look surprised before it went up in smoke.
The whip kept going, slamming into the second clone who tried to block it with his tanto. The blade popped as the lightning met fake steel, and then kept going. The clone screamed as the whip struck his chest. Another puff of smoke.
Two down.
A third clone learned fast. It dipped back, letting the whip sail past, then retaliated, six shuriken, three in each hand, flicked in a tight spread toward Shohei's back.
He spun and brought his sword up just in time to catch another clone's blade, the two weapons ringing against each other. Without breaking the blade lock, he lashed his lightning backward in a wide arc, the crackling whip catching four of the incoming shuriken and popping them into charred smoke. The remaining two he caught on his sword's guard as he pushed the clone back, and they too vanished in puffs of dark smoke.
The clone was good, but Shohei had twenty years of experience on his side. He twisted his grip and drove his sword through the clone's guard in a backhand cut that split the thing from shoulder to hip.
Another burst of smoke.
Shohei's eyes swept the clearing, breath hitching in his throat. Three down in as many seconds, but the numbers weren't moving in his favor. If anything, they felt like they were mocking him.
Thirteen left.
Still.
Already, he could feel his chakra burning off like dry leaves in a bonfire. The lightning whip was brutal, visually terrifying, but keeping that much raw voltage writhing in one shape was draining him faster than he could adjust. Every second it stayed active was another second shaved off his lifespan in this fight.
And the clones weren't making the same mistakes twice. They were learning from each exchange, getting better at reading his movements, finding the gaps in his defense that he didn't even know were there.
A tanto scraped across his thigh, drawing a line of blood through his pants. Another blade caught his cheek, leaving a stinging cut that he felt more than saw.
Nothing serious, but the small wounds were piling up, and his body was starting to feel the accumulation of a dozen minor injuries.
Worse, every time he put one of them down, it seemed like another clone stepped out from behind a tree to take its place.
After what felt like half the day but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, his lightning whip finally gave out. The crackling sputtered once, twice, then died completely, leaving him holding nothing but air. His chakra was nearly empty, and his legs felt like jelly, with black spots creeping in at the edges of his vision. Just staying on his feet was taking everything he had left.
The remaining clones had spread out around him in a loose circle, and when he did a quick count his heart sank. He'd taken out a dozen of them in his last desperate push, but somehow there were still sixteen of the damn things staring back at him.
Yes sixteen.
Still sixteen.
He'd killed a dozen.
He knew he had.
But somehow, impossibly, they were still looking at him with identical eyes, like the effort hadn't mattered. Like none of this had meant anything at all.
And for the first time in the entire fight, Shohei felt it.
That cold, bitter edge of doom curling in his gut, whispering that this was it. He wasn't getting out. Not this time.
"Nice," one of the clones said, hands on his hips like a coach at the end of practice. "I knew he'd last more than five minutes."
"Tch," another muttered, pulling a rice ball out of a pouch and tossing it across the clearing. "I thought he'd fold after the sixth. That lightning whip was totally cheating."
The clone caught the onigiri and took a huge bite. "Mmm. Salmon filling. Not my fault you lowballed the guy."
"Next jonin we fight, I'm betting on ten minutes," the grumbling clone snapped. "And I'm bringing two rice balls."
Shohei was clenching his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth starting to ache, but before he could tell these clones to go fu*k themselves, the sound of footsteps made him look up. Two more figures stepped out from between the trees, the original kid and the Uchiha girl, both looking like they'd just finished a pleasant stroll through the park instead of orchestrating an elaborate manhunt.
"So, what gen did we reach this time?" Shinji said, surveying the circle of clones with interest. "Third? Fourth? And more importantly, do any of you have the sudden urge to, I don't know, stab me in the back or take over the world? If so, raise your hands now."
The clones exchanged glances, a few of them actually pausing to consider the question seriously.
"I'm third gen," one of them said, raising his hand partway. "And honestly? I do have this weird urge to put salt in your coffee instead of sugar."
"Same here, third gen," another chimed in. "Mostly I just want to tell everyone back in the village about that time you cried watching a movie."
"That was ONE TIME," Shinji protested.
"Still counts," the clone grinned.
Shohei stared at them, his mouth hanging open. "What... what the hell are you people talking about?" he gasped, looking back and forth between the original and his copies. "Generations? Take over the world? Are you completely insane?!"
"Oh right," Shinji said, glancing at the battered jonin like he'd forgotten he was there. "Sorry about that. Bit of internal quality control. Don't worry about it."
"So what do we do with this guy?" one of the clones asked, jerking his thumb at Shohei. "Pick up where we left off with his buddy?"
"Shame about the sensor," another clone said, shaking his head. "Guy's heart gave out way too early. We barely got started."
"This one looks tougher though," a third clone said, sizing up Shohei. "Bet he can handle more than his friend did."
"Yeah, definitely. The sensor was kind of a letdown." The first clone shrugged. "Died before we could really test our theories."
Shohei's face had gone dead white. He kept looking between the clones and the cliff edge, his breathing getting faster.
"Hey, don't look so worried," one of the clones said, noticing his panic. "We learned a lot from your buddy's... feedback. We'll take better care of you. Keep you alive longer."
Shohei stared at the eager faces surrounding him, then at the long drop behind him, then back at the clones.
He made his choice.
He didn't shout. Didn't curse. Just turned and threw himself off the ledge.
The wind rushed past his ears as he fell, and for a brief moment he felt something like peace. At least this way, his death would be quick and clean. No torture, no interrogation, no slow dismemberment at the hands of those grinning abominations.
Just a quick stop at the bottom and then nothing.
Behind him, growing fainter with distance, he heard someone laugh.
…..
"Well," Mikoto leaned over the cliff edge, watching the jonin's body disappear into the rocks below. "Can't say I didn't see that coming."
I was already letting all the clones except the first gen disperse, no point keeping them around when they were starting to get weird ideas about messing with my coffee.
"Guy had some balls, I'll give him that. Most people just curl up in a ball or go out in a blaze of glory when they realize how screwed they are."
"You're awful," she chuckled.
"Hey, I didn't push him. That was completely his call."
"Shinji, you had eighteen copies of yourself surrounding him, all grinning like psychopaths and talking about torture experiments." She shook her head. "Poor bastard probably thought he'd walked into hell."
"Mikoto!" I gasped in horror. "Such language! Where did a proper Uchiha lady learn to talk like that?"
"From you, obviously," She didn't even blink. "I've been hanging around you too long. You're corrupting my vocabulary."
"Me? I'm a perfect gentleman with impeccable manners."
"You just drove a man to suicide by threatening to torture him."
"That's totally different. That was psychological warfare. Completely separate from my charming personality." I grinned at her. "Besides, you said 'bastard' with real conviction there. I'm proud."
She rolled her eyes. "We probably could have caught him alive, but I get why you didn't try. Never know what tricks a jonin's got up his sleeve."
"A dying jonin," I pointed out.
"Still a jonin."
"Yeah, I figured he'd either surrender or try to take us all down with him." I shrugged. "Didn't expect the cliff diving."
"Well, he probably would have fought if he wasn't staring down an army of the same smiling psychopath."
"Fair point."
She gave me and the remaining clones a curious look. "So what's the deal with your shadow clones? Are you trying out some kind of new jutsu?"
I found myself studying the clones still hanging around, thinking about their casual answers from before. Were they actually being honest about those harmless little urges, or were they smart enough to hide the darker stuff? Grandma Mito had warned me that clones beyond the third generation started getting unpredictable, maybe even hostile with each successive generation. But so far, none of them had shown any signs of that kind of degradation.
Then again, the clones weren't stupid. If I knew about the potential problems, they definitely knew too. They might just be doing their best to act like everything was perfectly normal.
Hard to tell if they were being straight with me or just really good at pretending
"It's complicated," I rubbed the back of my neck. Since I couldn't keep this from her forever anyway, might as well give her something. "I've got something kind of like what a jinchuriki has."
She blinked. "A jinchuriki?"
"Uh, think of it as something sealed inside me that gives me massive chakra reserves. It's like having an extra chakra source that never runs dry."
Her eyes went wide. "Something sealed inside you? What kind of something?"
"I'll explain it properly when we're somewhere more private," I said, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring look. "Just keep this between us for now, alright? It's not exactly the kind of thing Konoha wants people talking about."
"You're seriously going to leave me hanging?" Her expression shifted into a pout that was probably more effective than any interrogation technique. "Great, now you're starting to sound like the Uchiha elders with all their secrets."
"Hey, I'm still young! How can you compare me to a bunch of cranky old—"
That's when something large and white dropped out of the tree like the world's most unwelcome surprise delivery. The moment I saw that all-too-familiar wild white hair, my hand moved, three shuriken whistling through the air toward the legendary pervert.
Jiraiya deflected them casually with a kunai, the projectiles spinning off harmlessly into the underbrush.
"Whoa, easy there!" He raised his free hand. "Fellow Leaf shinobi here. Same team, same village. No need to keep throwing sharp objects at me."
"Oops!" I said, slapping on my most apologetic expression. "Sorry about that, Shinobi-san. Thought you might be another enemy. You know how it is, can't be too careful in hostile territory."
Jiraiya straightened up from his crouch, blinking at me with a completely baffled expression. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at me like I'd just told him the moon was actually made of cheese.
"Uh," he said, then stopped. Then tried again. "Right. That's... that happens, I guess?"
He scratched the back of his head, clearly at a loss for how to respond to his secret son who'd just casually tried to turn him into a pincushion and was now smiling like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Mikoto glanced between us, her eyebrows raised. "Do you two... know each other?"
"Never met him before in my life," I said cheerfully, still wearing that innocent smile.
"Uh-huh." She gave us both a long look, clearly not buying it but apparently deciding it wasn't worth the headache. "Right. Well..." She turned to Jiraiya. "Are you here about the caravan escort mission?"
"That's right!" Jiraiya straightened up, suddenly looking more professional. "Jiraiya, jonin of Konohagakure. You must be Team 7."
"Mikoto Uchiha," she replied with a small bow. "It's good to meet you, Jiraiya-san."
"Please, just call me Jiraiya-niisan," he said with a wave of his hand. "Or senpai if you prefer. No need for all that formal stuff."
"Niisan?" I snorted. "What are you, eighteen? You're way too old to be anyone's big brother. More like decrepit uncle at this point."
His eye twitched. "I'm not that old."
"You've got gray hair."
"It's platinum silver, and women love it."
"It's gray and it makes you look like someone's grandfather."
Mikoto looked between us with growing bewilderment. "Are you two sure you've never met before?"
"Never seen him before in my life," I replied with a serious face.
Jiraiya's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied my face. 'Does he know?' he thought, searching for any sign of recognition. 'Did sensei tell him...? No, the old man said he was keeping it secret. So why does this brat act like I kicked his dog?'
The silence stretched uncomfortably before Mikoto cleared her throat.
"Well then," she said, gesturing toward the forest path, "shall we head back to the caravan? The others also got attacked by some bandits, so we should hurry."
"Actually," Jiraiya said, raising a hand to stop her, "there's something more important I need to take care of first." His eyes shifted to me. "Shinji, I'm going to need you to take off your shirt."
I took a step back, eyeing him warily. "I knew it, hearing your vulgar voice, I knew right away that you were a pervert, but I never thought you'd be aiming for my body. What's next, asking me to call you daddy?"
SMACK.
"Ow!" I rubbed the back of my head where he'd whacked me. "What was that for?"
"It's for an examination, you little smartass," Jiraiya said, though I caught a slight wince at my 'daddy' comment. "Hokage's orders. Now strip."
"An examination?" Mikoto looked confused. "Is Shinji injured? I didn't see him take any serious hits during the fight."
"It's... medical stuff," Jiraiya said vaguely. "Routine checkup."
I grumbled but started unbuttoning my jacket. "This better be actually medical and not some weird old man thing."
"Trust me, kid, you're not my type."
Once I'd stripped down to the waist, Jiraiya stepped closer and placed his fingers on my stomach. The moment his chakra made contact, dark markings began to spread across my skin like ink seeping through paper, a complex seal array centered around my navel.
Mikoto gasped softly. "Shinji, is that?"
"Remember when I told you I had some kind of something sealed inside me?" I said. "This is what keeps it contained."
Jiraiya studied the markings for a long moment, his expression serious. Finally, he nodded and stepped back, letting the marks fade.
"Everything looks normal," he said, then muttered under his breath, "Damn old man and his cryptic letters. 'Immediate assessment required,' my ass. Thing's barely even active."
"So I'm not dying?" I asked, tugging my shirt back on.
"Not today," Jiraiya said, but his tone had turned serious. "Just... don't get too reliant on that thing, alright? I know it's tempting when you've got that kind of power at your fingertips, but there are consequences, always consequences. Just rely on your own power."
I met his eyes and nodded. "I know. Don't worry about it."
"Good." Jiraiya's expression softened slightly, then he turned to Mikoto. "And I hope I don't need to mention that what you just saw is classified Konoha intelligence. S-rank secret. The fewer people who know about this, the better."
Mikoto straightened up and nodded seriously. "Of course, Jiraiya-san. I won't tell anyone."
"Smart girl." Jiraiya turned back to me. "Oh, and heads up, you'll probably need to make a trip to the Land of Demons sometime in the next year or so."
"Land of Demons?" Mikoto looked even more confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"The seal needs periodic maintenance," I explained. "And apparently my mother's family are the only ones who know how to do it properly."
Jiraiya's expression grew more serious as he looked at me. "Listen, kid, I need you to understand something. What you pulled back there with that jonin, the psychological warfare, driving him to the point where he'd rather jump off a cliff than face you, that might seem clever right now, but you're walking a dangerous line."
"It was effective," I said with a shrug. "Mission accomplished, enemy neutralized, no unnecessary casualties on our side."
"This time, sure. But you keep playing with your enemy like that, and eventually you're going to run into someone who doesn't break so easily. Someone who'll turn that sadistic streak of yours against you." His voice had an edge to it. "There are shinobi out there who've been through hell and back, veterans who'll exploit your need to show off and gut you while you're busy being clever."
I considered his words for a moment. "Fair enough. Though I'd say there's a difference between playing it smart and just being cocky."
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, it looked like you were having a little too much fun with it." He stepped closer. "Listen, kid, the second you start thinking you're hot shit is the second someone reminds you that you're not. And in this line of work, that reminder usually comes with a body bag."
The silence stretched between us for a moment before Jiraiya straightened up and turned to Mikoto.
"Alright, enough lecturing for one day. Think you could show me where this caravan is? We should move before any stragglers decide to take their frustrations out on your team."
"Right, of course." she nodded. "It's five minutes from here. We're camped near the main road."
"Lead the way then." he gestured for her to go ahead.
…
When we reached the caravan clearing, the first thing I noticed was that the merchants were clustered together near their wagons, looking shaken but unharmed. The second thing I noticed was the blood.
Two of Miyabi's teammates were down, one propped against a tree while my clone worked over her with glowing green hands, the other lying flat while Tsume and Miyabi pressed cloth bandages against what looked like a nasty gash across his shoulder.
"—keep pressure on it, don't you dare let go—"
"It hurts like hell—"
"I don't care if it hurts, you're not bleeding out on my watch—"
Miyabi's head snapped up when she saw us. "Shinji! Are you okay? We heard explosions and—" Her eyes flicked to Jiraiya, then back to me. "What happened out there?"
"Kumo-nin," I said, already moving toward the wounded genin. "But they're dealt with now." I knelt beside Noboru and placed my hands on the kid's torso. He'd taken what looked like a slash to the shoulder, nasty burns and some internal damage from the look of it.
"How long has he been like this?" I asked my clone without looking up.
"About fifteen minutes?" My clone looked up. "Had to stabilize the worst of it first, but he's lost a lot of blood."
I nodded and increased my chakra output, watching as the burned tissue began to knit itself back together. "This is going to suck, but try not to move."
"Thanks," Noboru managed weakly. "Thought I was done for there."
Mikoto glanced around the clearing, taking in the scattered bodies. "There were chunin mixed in with the bandits?"
"Yes, at first it was just genins that came at us," Miyabi explained. "But then some chunin showed up as reinforcements. If we hadn't had Tsume and Shinji's clone with us, I don't know what would have happened. Thanks to them we managed to drive some of the chunin off, but not before they got Noboru and Yua."
"Wait, they retreated?" I looked up from healing Noboru. "They just left?"
"More like they figured out something was wrong when their communications went dead and none of their people came to back them up," Miyabi said. "After your clone took down one of their chunin, the other two grabbed their wounded and ran for it."
I felt the worst of Noboru's internal damage seal under my hands. "Alright, he's stable. Needs rest and food, but he'll live."
"What about Yua?" Miyabi finally looked toward the other injured genin.
My clone wiped sweat from his forehead. "She's fine. Gonna have some nasty scars, but nothing life-threatening."
Miyabi's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you. Both of you." She looked directly at me. "I mean it. If you hadn't left your clone with us..."
"Don't mention it." I stood up, brushing dirt off my hands. "Besides, can't have you dying on my watch. Would look bad on my record."
Despite everything, Miyabi actually smiled at that. "Still a smartass, even when you're being helpful."
"Hey, I just saved your teammate's life. That earns me at least three more days of smartass privileges."