Just as the Sakura Country Ambassador, Ibe Tarō, was inwardly reveling in the success of his sinister scheme—
A cold voice suddenly rang out, sharp as a blade slicing through his illusion.
"What are you smiling about? Don't tell me you actually believed we wouldn't notice your pathetic little trick."
The words struck Ibe Tarō like a thunderclap.
Startled, he turned toward the voice—only to see Zhang Zhiwei standing calmly with a group of young shinobi.
And in their hands—
They were holding the very poison gas bombs he had so carefully smuggled in.
These were the trump cards he'd intended to use against the Lu Clan, and now they were firmly in the enemy's grasp.
Ibe Tarō's pupils contracted violently. A storm of panic surged through him.
The plan had failed.
He spun back toward one of his hidden ninja, only to see the man drenched in cold sweat, trembling with dread.
Clearly, the bad news had been confirmed.
"Bakana!!"
Ibe Tarō roared furiously, slapping the ninja across the face.
Meanwhile, Zhang Zhiwei was inwardly relieved.
Earlier, when the Sakura group entered the Lu estate, Hikaru Uchiha had discreetly sent him a telepathic warning. Thanks to Hikaru's quick thinking—and Zhang Zhiwei's swift action—the enemy's plan had been intercepted before it could take effect.
He glanced toward Hikaru with gratitude.
But there he was—Hikaru, casually sipping fine sake and playfully chatting with a woman at his side, as though the tense atmosphere didn't concern him at all.
Zhang Zhiwei nearly lost it on the spot.
Yet when he remembered just how mysterious and unfathomably powerful Hikaru was, he swallowed the complaint.
Hikaru seemed to sense Zhang's gaze. He tilted his head slightly, flashed a lazy, devil-may-care grin, and raised his cup in salute.
Zhang Zhiwei sighed and returned the gesture with a wry, bitter smile.
As for Ibe Tarō—he was now caught between rage and despair.
With his trump card gone, his forces vastly outnumbered, and their ambush laid bare, he had become nothing more than a lamb on the chopping block.
And yet—his eyes flashed with sudden malice.
In one smooth motion, he pulled a flare gun from his robes, aimed it skyward, and fired.
Seeing this, Zhang Jingqing's face changed drastically. A sense of dread hit him like a wave.
"NO! Stop him!!" he shouted.
But it was already too late.
Even though he and Zuo Ruotong instantly lunged forward, knocking Ibe Tarō to the ground and restraining him, the flare had already pierced the clouds and vanished into the heavens.
Lying prone, Ibe Tarō laughed maniacally.
"HAHAHAHA! It's too late now! Taking all these Huaguo elites down with me—what an honor! I, Ibe Tarō, have no regrets—AAAAARGH!!"
His words were cut short as Zuo Ruotong expressionlessly snapped his arm, drawing a sharp, agonized scream.
"Speak," Zuo said coldly. "What was that signal for?"
Ibe Tarō clutched his mangled arm, drenched in sweat, but still tried to posture:
"Hmph… We of Sakura do not fear mere pain. I will never—"
But the moment he saw Zuo Roaring Lion Step forward again, his courage crumbled.
"W-wait! I'll talk!"
His defiance collapsed completely. The truth spilled out.
Sakura had come prepared with two plans.
Plan one: assassinate everyone with poison gas bombs. If it worked—excellent.
But if it failed… then there was Plan two.
The flare was the trigger.
Its launch signaled the total failure of the mission—meaning they were all expected to die.
Because Plan two… was artillery bombardment.
A full-scale, indiscriminate strike would soon reduce the entire area to ash.
The goal wasn't just murder—it was political theater.
They knew this move would provoke international outrage. So they needed a scapegoat.
And the scapegoats were none other than Ibe Tarō's own team.
Their deaths would serve as a convenient excuse, allowing Sakura to spin the tragedy and escape blame.
Ibe Tarō grinned wickedly as he finished his explanation.
"It's too late now. I've been stalling this whole time—waiting for the artillery to arrive. You can all accompany me… to hell."
His final word had barely left his lips when—
WHOOOOOSH!
A terrifying whistling sound echoed from the distant sky.
Panic exploded across the compound.
Each shriek of the incoming shells felt like death's own whisper.
Zhang Jingqing and Zuo Ruotong paled. The situation had completely spiraled out of their control.
"Everyone, take cover!!" Zhang bellowed, dragging Zuo toward the nearest structure.
People scattered like frightened birds, scrambling in all directions, searching for anything that could shield them from the coming barrage.
But the open courtyard offered almost no cover. It felt like a field of death, primed for slaughter.
And just when despair took hold—
The whistling stopped.
The world fell utterly, eerily silent.
From beneath a flipped banquet table, the chubby boy Wang Ai poked his head out, eyes wide with confusion.
Then he looked up—
And his jaw dropped.
All who looked skyward wore the same expression: a mix of awe and disbelief.
There, hovering mid-air—
Hikaru Uchiha.
Bathed in sunlight, his form shimmered like a deity descending to earth.
And before him—
All the incoming artillery shells were frozen midair, suspended in place as if time itself had stopped.
The world held its breath.
Hikaru stood at the center of it all—
the eye of the storm, the axis of the world.