The world narrowed for Sarutobi Yosuke. The cheerful mask was gone, shattered like glass. All that remained was the cold, calculating engine beneath. The lone Iwa shinobi on the bridge smiled, but Yosuke wasn't looking at him. His senses, sharper than any blade, were expanding, reaching out.
He could feel it. The forest on the far side wasn't just trees and birds. It was a nest of venomous chakra signatures, coiled and ready to strike. Twenty. Twenty-five. A mix of chūnin and the heavier, denser chakra pools of multiple jōnin.
But that wasn't all.
A cold dread trickled down his spine as his sensory range swept back, over the village behind them. Hidden in cellars, attics, and behind false walls. More signatures. Not just sympathizers. Shinobi. Twelve smaller, brighter pools—genin. And five larger ones: two jōnin, three chūnin. They were waiting to spring the trap from behind once his team was engaged on the bridge.
They were surrounded.
The math calculated itself in his mind in a split second. A total of forty-two enemy combatants. Against seven of them. Three of whom were children.
"Taichō?" Hisako's voice was tight, her hand already on a kunai pouch. She could feel his shift in mood.
"Shoji," Yosuke's voice was low, a calm command in the brewing storm. "Confirm the village. Tell me what your kikaichū feel."
Shoji didn't question. He held out his hands, and a dark cloud of insects streamed forth, flowing silently into the quiet village. A moment passed, filled only by the sound of the wind. "...Confirmed. Seventeen hostiles within the village. Two jōnin-level chakra signatures detected among them."
"Seventeen? But the bridge has—" Hisako began, her eyes widening in horror as she understood.
"Twenty-five," Yosuke finished for her, his gaze still locked ahead. "It's a pincer move."
Nara Shikadou, who had been leaning against a post looking bored, now stood up straight. The laziness was gone from his eyes, replaced by sharp focus. "Tch. Nasty. This just went from a B-rank to a suicide mission."
"We're not dying today," Yosuke said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He made his decision. It was the only one he could make.
"New orders. All of you, fall back to the village. Now. Secure the civilians and engage the hostiles there. That is your mission."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Taichō, you can't—!" Hisako started, but was cut off.
Uchiha Eiji took a step forward, his Sharingan spinning with a single tomoe. He pointed a thumb at his own chest. "I'll deal with that loudmouth on the bridge. It'll be easy with my—"
He never finished.
Yosuke didn't even turn his head. But a wave of pure, undiluted killing intent crashed over the group. It wasn't anger. It was colder. It was the feeling of a blade against your throat, the certainty of death. It was the focused menace of a predator.
Eiji froze. His blood ran cold. His arrogant smirk vanished, replaced by sheer, primal terror. His single tomoe Sharingan couldn't process it; it could only record the terrifying image of his own imminent death. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
"I said," Yosuke's voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a razor, "move to the village. Now."
Shikadou was suddenly beside Eiji. He grabbed the paralyzed genin by the collar. "You heard the man, kid. Let's go." His voice was grim. He gave Yosuke a single, sharp look—a look that held respect, understanding, and a silent order of its own. Don't die.
There were no more arguments. Hisako's face was pale, but she nodded, her jaw set. Shoji gave a curt nod. Tadashi looked like he wanted to cry, but he clenched his fists and turned. Yuka followed, her body trembling.
They vanished into the village, leaving Yosuke alone at the edge of the bridge.
The lone Iwa shinobi on the bridge chuckled, the sound echoing across the empty space. He started walking forward, slow and confident.
"Well, well, well," the man called out, his voice dripping with sarcastic mockery. "The little Konoha rats ran away. Leaving their leader to face the music? Or... wait a minute." He squinted, then grinned a nasty, toothy grin. "I recognize that face. That's not just any Konoha dog. That's the pup of the great Sarutobi Masanori. The mighty Masanori, who died squealing like a pig on Iwa shinobi blades."
He spat on the wooden planks of the bridge.
"Tell me, boy. Did he tell you about us before he died?"
Yosuke didn't flinch. He didn't rage. He simply stood there, perfectly still. The taunt was a cheap, obvious trick to make him emotional, to make him reckless.
He let out a soft, dismissive sound. "Tch."
The man's smirk faltered for a second, thrown off by the complete lack of reaction.
Yosuke voice, when he finally spoke, was flat and cold. Devoid of all emotion.
"Your intel is outdated," Yosuke said. "And your trap is pathetic."
From the trees behind the Iwa shinobi, figures began to emerge. One, then five, then ten. Soon, twenty-five shinobi stood arrayed against him, blocking the other end of the Tanuki Bridge. Their expressions were a mix of confidence and cruelty.