In the quiet grove,
a colossal gear manifested before Duan. Ancient and heavy, it seemed to carry the vicissitudes of countless ages, revolving with an unyielding and merciless rhythm.
Never stopping.
Phew.
Duan's heart stirred. His Stand's power shot forth like a stream of light, a fine needle slipping precisely into the gear's groove.
Time's gears screeched to a halt.
The world dulled into gray, drained of color and sound, locked in eerie stillness.
One second. Two seconds.
Three. Four.
At the fifth second, a sharp click rang out. The needle snapped, and the great gear lurched back into motion. Time surged forward once more.
Finally.
Duan could freeze time for five full seconds.
Compared to the mere two he once managed, the difference was overwhelming. In battle, even a fraction of a second meant the difference between victory and death.
Now, even before foes like Obito or Danzō—men who relied on the invincible Kamui or the deceptive Izanagi—Duan could strike within that window. He could pluck a Sharingan from its socket and end the fight with a single blow.
Imagine it—five seconds, the Stand's strength and his taijutsu unleashed at full force. Who in the shinobi world could resist it?
Tick… tick.
Raindrops pattered against his bamboo hat.
He raised his eyes. The sky was dark, torrents falling in silver threads that merged into lines, weaving a net that poured down like a waterfall.
Time to return to Konoha.
Duan walked into the forest, footsteps steady along the muddy trail as the storm raged.
The Land of Fire's ancient woods bent beneath the rain.
A woman ran through the storm, trench coat clinging to her form, high heels splashing into puddles.
Snap!
Mud splattered onto pale skin, staining toes painted with crimson lacquer.
Tsunade didn't care.
Two days ago, she had nearly been strangled unconscious. Only through chakra control and medical expertise had she restored herself. Now, she was hunting.
Before, during their clash, she had secretly dusted her opponent with a colorless tracking powder of her own design—undetectable to anyone but her. That was her key.
But the storm threatened to wash her trail away. She had to move fast.
Suddenly—
Tsunade froze.
There, in the clearing ahead, a towering figure stood, back turned, unmoving beneath the rain.
Nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked, hat shadowing his face. He radiated pressure like a mountain.
It was him.
Rain plastered Tsunade's golden hair to her skin, soaking her coat until it clung tightly. She looked disheveled, yet her eyes burned.
But the man…
Not a single drop touched him.
Her gaze sharpened—chakra flowed from his skin in a fine membrane, repelling each raindrop. The cloak, the hat, even his hair shed water like lotus leaves, remaining clean and untouched.
A lotus leaf body. Untainted.
Tsunade's chest tightened. His chakra control wasn't mere technique—it was habit, integrated into every moment of existence. Training, even in the rain. No wonder those muscles could defy reason.
Uchiha Duan.
In the storm, his voice broke the silence.
"As expected of Tsunade of the Sannin. You left a mark on me… without my noticing."
He did not turn around.
Tsunade's fists tightened. "Just a trick. Nothing worth praising."
But her eyes hardened. "Are you… Konoha's shinobi?"
"No."
The reply was firm. He was Uchiha by blood, yes—but he had never been a shinobi. He hadn't even graduated the first year of the Academy.
Tsunade's brows furrowed. His answer only deepened the riddle.
She pressed further. "Then who are you? You wield the Uchiha's Sharingan… and even the Akimichi's multiplication technique. What are you?"
"Araki. A bounty hunter."
She caught the falsehood instantly. That name was no more than a mask.
But she didn't care. If answers wouldn't come by words, she'd draw them out with her fists.
She strode forward, the water beneath her splashing, her killing intent rising.
Duan sighed quietly. "I don't wish to fight. Turn back."
"And if I refuse?" Her fists gleamed with chakra, her eyes burning hotter than the storm around them.
She had never bowed in battle. Not to Hanzo, not to Orochimaru, not to anyone. Yet two days ago, she had been humbled, choked into defeat. That memory festered like poison.
Now she would reclaim her pride.
Her fighting spirit surged, undeniable.
Duan's eyes lowered. He would warn her only once.
Smash—Varudo.
The world froze.
Raindrops hardened into glassy beads, suspended in midair. Trees, earth, and storm all lost their flow.
Duan turned.
Five meters away, Tsunade stood with fist raised, eyes aflame, frozen in defiance.
He moved.
A stride shattered the curtain of rain. His arm hooked around her waist, hoisting her effortlessly. He sprinted twenty meters through the suspended storm.
He set her down gently.
Then sprinted back—resuming his stance, untouched, unmoved.
Five seconds.
Time returned.
"Take this!"
Tsunade roared, her punch driving forward—only to halt.
In an instant, the man who had been right before her now stood twenty meters away.
Her breath hitched.
Not possible.
It wasn't her who advanced—it was her who had been displaced.
Illusion?
She gritted her teeth, shaking her head to clear it, advancing once more. Ten meters. Eight. Five.
And again—her body blinked back, deposited twenty meters away.
Duan's back loomed ahead, untouchable, unreachable, as if fate itself denied her fists.