Tanzaku Town had never seen silence like this.
The street was full of lantern smoke and fear, gamblers stumbling into alleys, mothers clutching children, drunks sobering instantly at the sight of serpents sliding across cobblestones. Yet in the middle of the chaos, a circle remained — drawn not by chalk or rope but by the sheer gravity of those who stood inside it.
Lelouch watched it all as one watches a board. Pieces. Positions. Habits.
Orochimaru. His arms hung bandaged and lifeless — gifts of the Shinigami, punishment carved into nerve and marrow by Hiruzen Sarutobi. He should have looked crippled. He did not. His body writhed with serpents as if his sleeves themselves were nests, tongues tasting the air. His golden eyes glowed with a hunger that could not be faked. Even with no hands for seals, the sannin was still a threat that made the air curdle.
Kabuto. Calm, clinical, exact. He had the posture of a surgeon preparing to cut open the world. Chakra scalpels flickered pale green-blue at his fingertips, every movement small and efficient, designed to cripple, not waste. His smile was faint, his eyes unreadable — but his calculations already moved two moves ahead of his body.
Jiraiya. Taller than he had any right to be in a place so small, broad-shouldered, robes gaudy enough to mock, eyes sharp enough to dismiss the joke. His mane was loose, his chakra thick, but Lelouch saw the fatigue in his stance — the way the alcohol in his system slowed the transition between thought and motion. Still, his presence anchored the circle like an old rook on a board: scarred, chipped, but immovable.
Naruto. The boy burned. His fists were clenched, his teeth bared, clones popping into existence with smoke and defiance. Reckless, loud, bleeding already from Kabuto's first taste. But in every shout, every swing, Lelouch read the same truth: he would move again and again, even broken, until the board itself stopped him.
And at the center —
Tsunade. The broken queen.
Her shoulders were set, but her hands betrayed her. A tremor. Small. Growing. Lelouch marked it the way one marks a clock about to strike. He knew the script: hemophobia. He'd seen men with it before — medics who froze at the smell, soldiers who collapsed at the sight. To them, blood wasn't liquid; it was memory, weaponized.
She stared at Naruto's side as Kabuto's scalpel opened a shallow red line across his ribs. Blood welled, bright under the lanterns.
Her breath snapped. Her knees weakened.
And Lelouch saw the pattern unfold: Orochimaru's words, Naruto's scream, Jiraiya's loyalty — all noise. None of them could cut the script.
So he would.
"Pathetic," he said.
The word was soft, but it detonated. Orochimaru's serpents paused mid-hiss. Jiraiya blinked. Kabuto tilted his head, curious. Naruto froze mid-roar.
Lelouch stepped forward, eyes gleaming violet. "A snake tempts you with corpses. A child screams about dreams. A drunk repeats slogans. And you—" he fixed Tsunade with his gaze "—you drown at dice tables because dice can't bleed. You want to honor them? Stop running. Stand."
Her dice cup slipped from her fingers. It hit the dirt and rolled. Two sixes stared back at her.
Her hands shook harder.
Kabuto did not wait. He blurred forward, scalpel aimed clean for her throat.
And Lelouch moved his piece.
The air cracked.
Concentric rings of silver light bloomed behind him, etched in symbols that were not chakra but something older, alien. They expanded like a pupil swallowing lantern-light, bending the street inward. The air itself irised wide, black at the core.
The crowd screamed. Snakes recoiled. Even Jiraiya froze, eyes wide.
And through the portal stepped iron.
Black and gold, plates locking with finality, limbs unfolding with inevitability. A glass slit lit red across its face. The ground trembled as each step landed with a hum that belonged to no beast, no summon, no chakra-born jutsu.
Shinkirō.
The street went silent in awe and terror.
Naruto's jaw fell open. "Wh-what the hell is that?!"
Jiraiya muttered, voice hoarse. "…That's not alive. That's not a summon."
Kabuto's eyes widened, glasses glinting. "No chakra signature. No hand seals. No summoning blood. It's a tool."
For the first time, Orochimaru's smile flickered. His golden eyes narrowed, his hunger edged with caution. "…Interesting."
Tsunade simply stared. Her breath locked. It was wrong. Alien. Not jutsu, not life. A fortress walking where men bled. And yet — it stood without trembling. She could not look away.
The machine lowered its head. Panels unfolded in fractal geometry.
Kabuto's strike met a prism. Light shrieked, redirected, slammed his scalpel into stone.
The prisms bloomed, honeycomb patterns flashing, dissolving, reappearing faster than eyes could track. Snakes lunged, fangs cracking on invisible walls. Kunai spun back into walls. The street gasped.
"Not glass," Lelouch's voice carried through Shinkirō, calm and mechanical. "A decision."
Jiraiya swore under his breath. Orochimaru's tongue curled back. Naruto's eyes widened in awe.
And Lelouch began to play.
Naruto surged forward, reckless. Shinkirō opened a prism window exactly the width of a boy. Naruto ducked through and drove a fist into Kabuto's ribs. Kabuto twisted, absorbed, smiled through pain.
"Obvious," Kabuto murmured, and slashed again.
A prism caught his cut, redirected it, and Naruto's counter landed harder than it should have. Kabuto skidded, glasses cracking.
Orochimaru hissed, his mouth splitting wide, Kusanagi sliding from his throat with a wet shriek. He struck for Jiraiya — and Shinkirō turned the blade into cobbles, sparks flying.
Orochimaru's smile thinned.
And Tsunade froze harder.
Naruto bled, clutching his side, blood seeping through his jacket. Her breath caught. Her eyes blurred red. Nawaki. Dan. They were dead. Naruto was dying. She couldn't move.
Her knees buckled.
Not again. Not again.
Shizune screamed. "Lady Tsunade!"
Naruto, staggering, shouted through the blood in his teeth. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare run from this! The old man died for us! Dan and Nawaki — they'd want you to fight!"
Her chest locked. Her hands shook.
Lelouch's voice cut colder than steel. "Fear is habit. Not truth. Break it. Now."
Naruto roared, raw. "Even if you're scared, Hokage still stand! So stand with us!"
The words slammed together, different angles of truth.
Tsunade's fists clenched. Her teeth ground.
She dropped to her knees beside Naruto.
Her palms pressed to his wound. Blood smeared her hands. She gagged — but chakra still lit her palms gold. The cut closed. The blood stayed.
Her shoulders trembled. Then steadied.
Naruto grinned through the pain, stupid and fearless. "Knew you could do it, Granny."
"Idiot boy," she muttered, her voice breaking into something steadier.
Lelouch saw the shift. A queen was moving again.
Kabuto didn't falter for long. He rose from the rubble Naruto had punched him into, one lens shattered, blood at his lip, still smiling faintly. "Interesting," he muttered, eyes darting not at Naruto now, but at Shinkirō. "Not alive… yet it moves. If I can map the timing of those barriers—"
"You won't," Lelouch said, his voice calm through Shinkirō's vox.
Kabuto lunged again. His scalpels slashed faster, sharper, cutting at odd angles designed to force failure. His fingers skimmed against the prisms with surgeon's precision. Sparks snapped. Force bent sideways into stone. Every rhythm he tested was denied.
Naruto came back again and again, bruised and bleeding, reckless and furious. His fists smashed through gaps Lelouch opened for him, wide enough for a boy, narrow enough to keep Kabuto from slipping in. Each strike landed heavier than Kabuto expected, because inevitability had written it so.
Jiraiya battled Orochimaru across the street. Serpents lashed, their bodies splitting into dozens of smaller snakes when severed, tongues snapping, fangs dripping. Orochimaru's tongue darted with grotesque length, snapping Kusanagi into play again and again. His bandaged arms dangled, useless, trembling faintly with agony he refused to show.
Jiraiya spat oil, a toad tongue slammed down, his mane bristled into steel to guard against strikes. He was slower than in his prime, slowed by alcohol and age, but he anchored the board like a wall refusing to crumble.
Lelouch read it all: Naruto's defiance, Kabuto's precision, Jiraiya's grit, Orochimaru's serpentine hunger, and Tsunade — frozen no longer, her eyes locked, her hands still bloody but no longer shaking.
This was the pivot.
Kabuto darted low, faster than Naruto could dodge. His scalpel angled for Naruto's tendon, a strike that would end the fight.
Lelouch's left eye flared crimson.
Drop the strike.
Kabuto's wrist spasmed. The blade faltered. His own body betrayed him, his precision broken. His eyes widened behind shattered glass. "What—"