"The nuisance is gone."
Uchiha Sogetsu nudged his glasses, perfectly calm. "Which means the main act should step onto the stage."
Hikari wasn't a worry. If he hadn't cautioned her not to reveal herself in front of Tsunade, those bottom-feeder kidnappers would've been Amaterasu cinders before they got within arm's length. Very few things live through Amaterasu; small fry aren't on that list.
"…Here he comes."
A shadow closed fast.
At roughly ten meters, both sides caught a clear view. Hanzo stopped dead, eyes sweeping the terrain with predatory caution. Only after confirming nothing obvious was amiss did he ask, "What happened? Where is Tsunade?"
"Lady Tsunade's disciple was snatched by those men," Sogetsu answered—while studying Hanzo in turn.
Ten meters: an ambiguous distance.
Retreat—clean. Advance—kill.
Even against a mere Jonin, you stay meticulous.
A lion uses full force even to kill a rabbit. Hanzo embodied that line.
Sogetsu narrowed his eyes. Credit where due: the old fox who survived the Second War still moved like he'd never believed in "easy wins."
"That one of theirs?" Hanzo's gaze slid to the corpse with its neck crushed underfoot. He feigned concern, edging closer as he spoke. "Find anything on him?"
"Yes."
"Oh? What?" Hanzo didn't fear exposure; he knew Root. Step by step he shortened the gap, mouthing ally's courtesies. "Do you know who he was? Why he came to Ame?"
Another half-step and he could flicker in and shear the ANBU's throat. A Sharingan can't save a head that's already rolling.
"He claimed he was Root."
Sogetsu tilted his head, a not-quite smile curving as his gaze locked on Hanzo. "He also said—"
Bang!
Hanzo lunged mid-sentence, the inner edge of his hook-scythe whispering for Sogetsu's throat.
So the plan was blown. Then strike first, finish fast.
Steel rang: Sogetsu had the kunai up already.
"You're the head of Amegakure," Sogetsu said, eyes half-lidded, a faint curl of mockery at the corner of his mouth. "Striking a Leaf junior without a word? If that gets out, your legend crumbles."
"Ninjas don't need legends," Hanzo rasped. "Kill you, and no one knows."
His weapon set was odd: a long-handled scythe in the right hand, chain trailing from the butt; the left gripped a solid iron weight at the chain's far end. Pin with the blade; hurl the weight to shatter bone.
Whummm—!
The weight shrieked through the air.
Hanzo felt serene. He'd outclassed the future Sannin back then. What was one ANBU?
In his mind he pre-ran the bout perfectly:
The Uchiha withdraws and throws a Great Fireball to check me.
I slip aside with a Water Body Flicker, then—while he relaxes—one iai slash takes his head.
Unlucky for him, he was fighting a Spectator.
Sogetsu's Sharingan tightened—tiny vortices spinning in the red.
The Spectator path isn't built to brawl early; among the "twenty-two divine paths," its head-on power ranks near the bottom. In exchange, it gives you something close to mind-reading—the truth under a face, the hormones in a breath, and micro-twitches at the edge of muscle and eye. Thought becomes forecast.
If Hanzo fought on the fifth floor,
Sogetsu was in the stratosphere.
He dipped, set his weight, torqued hip and shoulder, and side-kicked—clean into Hanzo's lower ribs.
Thud!
Hanzo's script shattered. He flew.
The heel had landed flush on the liver. Pain flared like torn wire; cold sweat burst along Hanzo's brow; his jaw knotted and his thoughts went white.
"The 'Salamander' himself… is that all?" Sogetsu didn't even chase. He waited, as if granting the old man time to collect himself. "Even monsters can't beat time."
"Brat…"
The barb found the nerve. Hanzo's eyes thinned to razors. "You'll eat those words."
"Oh? Please, show me."
Sogetsu folded his arms, posture insolent. It stoked Hanzo's temper to a boil.
"Fine." Hanzo bit a thumb and slammed a palm to earth. "I hadn't wanted to make noise. I've changed my mind. Summoning: Salamander — Ibuse!"
Boom!
Smoke geysered. When it tore away on the wind, a mountain of black flesh crouched on four limbs: the giant salamander Ibuse.
"So this is the salamander?" Sogetsu weighed the beast without a flicker of panic. "Show me the trick that made you famous."
"Ibuse—poison mist!"
Hanzo, on the crown of the salamander's head, pointed. Ibuse's belly swelled; a purple fog roared out, braided with Hanzo's chakra. It was so dense that even a Sharingan saw nothing but a blank, and it spread with the wind—swallowing nearly a hundred meters.
"Now your eyes are useless, brat," Hanzo's voice rolled through the haze. "This venom—inhale for thirty seconds, and you'll seize up and die of cardiac arrest."
Hanzo trusted his poison. He'd built half his legend on Ibuse; the rest on the venom that made nations balk.
"Quick note," Sogetsu said mildly from the fog's heart. "Lady Tsunade cracked your salamander toxin years ago. Got anything fresher?"
Silence.
"See the problem, Hanzo?" Sogetsu sighed, palm to brow. "You beat the Sannin, yes—but six years ago. Your proudest card's been antidoted since, and you're still playing it like a trump."
"Shut up!"
A vein stood in Hanzo's temple. "An antidote doesn't beat me!"
The earth shuddered as Ibuse thundered forward, a moving mountain.
"Heh."
Sogetsu's pupils flashed with a faint gold.
Intimidation.
Ibuse froze.
For a heartbeat, the little human became a gray dragon—pale gold pupils like vertical slits, black ocean raging behind them. Pressure hit like a cliff peeled free and fell.
"Begone."
Sogetsu's lips parted on a single word.
The psychic spear struck.
Pop!
Pure fear detonated. Ibuse vanished in a panic of smoke—banished back to its realm.
"…???"
Hanzo stared at the empty air where his partner had stood, mind briefly blank.
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