Hayashi had always been sensitive when it came to discerning kindness from malice.
From the tone and words of the enemy shinobi around him, he could already tell—this so-called village was nothing more than a den of murderers who thrived on cruelty and evil.
In his past life, he might have simply stayed far away from such things. But in the world of shinobi, killing was as natural as breathing. This was a reality he could not escape.
Konoha was peaceful, yes, but the shinobi world itself was not. If he wanted to protect himself, if he wanted to shield the people dear to him, then he needed strength. And that strength would demand blood.
The day he resolved to become a shinobi, he reminded himself over and over again: killing is simple.
Yet, when the moment finally came—when the edge of his kunai cut through flesh and the warm spray of blood struck his face—Hayashi felt something far from simple.
The rogue ninja before him made no move. A heartbeat later, blood spurted upward, splashing across Hayashi's cheeks and into his eyes like a crimson fountain.
"I… I killed someone…"
The thought struck him like a hammer. His head buzzed, his vision swam. His heart pounded like a wild stallion, and his body trembled against his will. The metallic stench of blood filled his nose, twisting his stomach.
"Damn it…"
Hayashi gritted his teeth, forcing down the rising nausea. Even so, his hand holding the kunai moved frantically, stabbing again and again at the dying enemy before him.
The wounded ninja wasn't completely dead. He clutched his own throat, gurgling, bubbles of blood frothing at his lips. The sound was grotesque—almost absurd—but in the thick reek of death, nothing was laughable.
Desperate, the man drew another kunai and slashed weakly toward Hayashi. But even in confusion, years of training had ingrained reflex into Hayashi's body. He twisted aside, the blade whistling past him.
His mind snapped into focus. There was no time to panic. If he faltered, he would die. Stay calm, deal with what's in front of you, don't hesitate…
Like a striking serpent, Hayashi lunged. His hands clamped around the man's head and, with a sharp crack, twisted it violently aside. The body went limp.
Still, Hayashi didn't stop. He retrieved his kunai and stabbed the corpse again and again, ensuring no chance of survival.
"Enemy attack! There are intruders!"
The alarm suddenly blared through the village. The skirmishes at the other sentry posts had been noticed, and chaos erupted.
Doors slammed open, torches lit the streets, and shouting villagers poured out, filling the night with noise.
Hayashi forced his breathing to steady. Moving swiftly, he pressed himself against the wall beside a door. As it opened, he struck—his fist crashed into the back of a shinobi's skull, sending the man flying through several walls before he collapsed in a heap.
Shuriken rained toward him immediately. Hayashi slammed his fist into the ground, raising a stone slab and using it as a shield. With a single motion, he flung the debris outward, scattering the attackers and seizing his chance to leap onto a rooftop.
He sprinted across the tiles, kunai in hand, dodging attacks as they came. The uproar behind him was deafening—exactly what he wanted. Every ounce of attention was fixed on him, giving Mikoto time to retreat safely.
By the time he reached the rendezvous point, Nawaki was already waiting, pale-faced and clutching his arm where blood dripped steadily.
"You're injured, Nawaki?" Hayashi frowned.
"It's nothing," Nawaki replied, his face tight. "Just a scratch."
Hayashi nodded, not pressing further. Instead, he inhaled deeply, weaving hand signs.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
He expelled a roaring sphere of flame, its heat washing over the night air.
"Wind Style: Great Breakthrough!"
Nawaki followed, though his elemental affinity wasn't wind. The gust he created lacked true power, but it was enough to magnify the fireball's size, driving it into a monstrous blaze.
The inferno surged toward the village, threatening to engulf it whole. But from within the chaos, a sharp voice rang out.
"Water Style: Water Formation Wall!"
A torrent of water rose, colliding with the flames. Steam exploded into the air, blanketing the battlefield in smoke.
Seizing the cover, Hayashi's hands blurred through signs once more. "Shadow Clone Technique!"
Illusions split from his form. The real Hayashi hoisted Nawaki onto his back and bolted toward the forest.
Behind them, cries of pain echoed—though the flames had been checked, several shinobi were burned. The wailing of villagers spread through the smoke.
But pursuit came quickly. In moments, Hayashi and his clone team were surrounded. Dozens of furious eyes glared at him as if they would devour him whole.
A man in his thirties stepped forward. He had sharp, black hair and a scar slashing across his face. His eyes burned with hostility as he demanded, "Who are you?!"
Hayashi's lips curved into a cold smile. "Art is an explosion."
The ground beneath them erupted as buried explosive tags ignited.
Boom!
The night sky split apart with fire and thunder. Entire houses collapsed, flames swallowing everything in reach. Those too slow to escape were consumed in the blast. Screams and chaos filled the air.
Hayashi and Nawaki stopped briefly, gazing back at the enormous explosion tearing through Windmill Village. For a moment, silence held them—then they both burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! My hands are still shaking!" Nawaki admitted, voice trembling between excitement and fear.
"Our mission should be complete," Hayashi said with a firm nod.
Then a sudden thought struck him. "Wait… where's Mikoto?"
Nawaki's eyes widened. "She should've arrived already."
Hayashi's body tensed. His instincts screamed.
"Are you looking for her?"
The cold voice came from behind.
Turning, Hayashi saw a man step out of the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, his black hair glinting under the moonlight. A cruel scar carved across his face, twisted into a grotesque grin.
And in his hand, a kunai pressed against Mikoto's head.
Her wide eyes met Hayashi's, fear flickering within them.
The scarred man sneered. "Is this who you're looking for?" He ground the kunai harder against her temple, his teeth clenched in fury. "Answer me!"
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