Jin stared at the boy. The sun felt cold now. He saw the bodies under the tarps. He saw the chain on the tree. He saw the dead eyes of the last Hatake.
He knew that look. It was the look of a person who had nothing left to lose.
"Alright," Jin said, his voice rough. "But you will not like it."
He led Tsuruji away from the house. They did not bury the family yet. There was no time for tears. The work had to start now.
They walked into the deep woods behind the compound. Jin stopped in a small clearing.
"This is not a normal style," Jin said. He stood straight, and for a moment, he looked like the warrior he once was. "It does not use the air. It uses you. Your own blood."
He held out his arm. He focused. A small cut opened on his palm. It was not deep. But instead of just bleeding, the blood seemed to twist in the air. It wrapped around his hand like a red glove, sharp and hard.
"This is Blood Breathing," Jin said. "First Form: Crimson Lotus."
He swung his hand. The blood-blade sliced through a thick branch nearby. It cut clean through.
"The power comes from you. Your life. Use too much, and you will have nothing left. It is a dangerous path."
He looked at Tsuruji. "Your turn. Do not try to make the blade. Just try to feel your blood. Call it to your hand."
Tsuruji held out his own hand. He focused. He thought of nothing. Not his family. Not the demon. Just the task.
Nothing happened.
His hand stayed empty. No blood came.
Jin watched him. The boy's face showed no frustration. No anger. Just empty focus.
"Again," Jin said.
Tsuruji tried again. And again. For hours, under the sun, he stood in the clearing, trying to make his own blood listen.
He did not get tired. He did not complain. His body ached, but the ache was far away. He was a machine, repeating a task.
As the sun began to set, a single drop of blood welled on his fingertip. It trembled, but did not move.
It was a start. A small, red start.
"Enough," Jin said. "We go back now. We bury your family."
Tsuruji lowered his hand. He looked at the drop of blood on his finger. He felt nothing about it. It was just a step. The first step on a dark road.
He nodded. "Okay."
They walked back to the broken house in the fading light. The hard work was just beginning.