"How… is this possible?"
The tall boy's gaze dropped to the kunai piercing his chest. His breath rattled, eyes wide with disbelief. The blade was his own weapon—turned against him.
Behind him, Lock gripped the hilt tightly, forcing the point deeper. His voice came out hoarse, exhausted.
"Finally… It's over."
The strike had been clean. No guard, no defense. At this range, with his back turned, there was no surviving it.
"You…"
The boy tried to turn, to glare, to curse him. But instead of resentment, Lock saw something else in his eyes—relief. His lips parted, a final breath escaping him. No words followed. His gaze dimmed, and with a heavy thud, his body collapsed to the ground.
"…Yeah," Lock muttered bitterly, staring down at the corpse. "It's finally over."
His own body wavered with fatigue, chest heaving as he stumbled back and leaned against a tree. His skin was pale, his chakra nearly drained to the bottom.
"Haa… haa…"
The battle had wrung everything out of him. Blink Strike after Blink Strike, illusions layered atop one another, every ounce of cunning wrung from his mind just to survive. Even now, his muscles screamed and his chakra pathways burned.
Too close… far too close.
He had thought Chūnin were within his grasp, that with his stealth and technique, he could bring them down. The reality had nearly killed him. This boy had pushed him to his absolute limits—and even then, Lock had survived only through desperation, illusion, and luck.
"Never… underestimate them again," he told himself.
Had he not eliminated the sensory-nin first, the two would have worked together. If they'd been able to combine detection with brute strength, he'd have been the one lying dead here. The thought made his chest tighten.
One thing was clear: he owed his victory not just to planning, but to Kurenai's guidance. She had drilled him relentlessly on the art of genjutsu, opening her precious notebooks for him to study. Without her teaching, he never could have pulled off the Tree Binding Illusion in time. That opening had been the only reason he was still alive.
It was still surreal that he had managed to grasp the illusion so quickly. Barely a dozen days of training, and yet he could perform a genjutsu many would call intermediate level. Even Kurenai had warned him—most shinobi struggled for years just to produce the simplest illusions.
Lock suspected it was because of his mind. Two lifetimes' worth of experience and a mental focus stronger than most gave him an edge. Still, he knew better than to get arrogant. Compared to the Uchiha clan and their Sharingan, his progress was a drop in the ocean. They were born to rule the world of genjutsu.
Shaking off the thought, Lock dropped to a seated position on the forest floor, resting his head against the bark. His chakra was pitifully low. He needed time to recover—but this place offered none.
His gaze drifted to the fallen boy. Moving sluggishly, Lock forced himself upright and knelt beside the corpse. He pried open the mouth with practiced care, frowning as he spotted the mark etched onto the tongue.
"…Just as I thought."
A Root seal.
So Danzo had made his move.
Lock's face darkened, his stomach twisting. He remembered the man's eyes years ago—how they had burned with greed the moment they landed on him. Danzo had wanted him then. Wanted whatever made him different. The only reason he'd been safe was because Jiraiya's presence shielded him.
Now, with Jiraiya absent, Danzo had sent his dogs. Two fully trained Chūnin—one a sensor, the other a fighter—and even a specially contracted summon. All to eliminate or capture him here in the Forest of Death.
"And still… it wasn't enough," Lock whispered bitterly.
But the thought gave him no comfort. If anything, dread spread deeper through his chest. If Danzo had gone this far once, he would not stop. He would never stop. The man would send stronger operatives. He would wait and strike again. And the next time, Lock might not crawl away alive.
"Everyone is innocent… until they hold something others want," Lock muttered. "Then they're guilty just for existing."
He thought briefly of the Third Hokage. But he dismissed the thought almost as quickly. If Hiruzen truly intended to stop Danzo, he would have done so long ago. Danzo operated in shadows with impunity because Hiruzen allowed it. And besides, what proof did Lock have? None. Nothing but corpses in the forest.
No, the Hokage wouldn't risk political war within Konoha over him. He was on his own.
Lock clenched his fist until his knuckles whitened.
"The only way out of this… is power. Enough power to make Danzo think twice before ever touching me again."
But that kind of strength was far away. It would take years—decades, even—to claw his way up to the heights of the village's monsters. He wasn't a Sannin or a genius like Minato. He couldn't count on shortcuts.
Until then, he would have to endure. To hide. To bide his time.
Lock spat to the side, shaking his head.
"Damn old vulture."
He looked back at the battlefield one last time. Two Root operatives dare ead. Their blood stained the forest floor, their weapons scattered across the leaves.
For all the danger, the fight hadn't been for nothing. He had survived. He had grown. And he had gained something just as valuable as strength—experience. The kind that could not be measured in scrolls or training exercises, but only in life and death.
Standing shakily, Lock sheathed his blade. His body ached, his chakra was low, but his resolve had never burned brighter.
He left the corpses where they lay, swallowed by the silence of the forest.
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