The purple hat spiraled down through the settling blood mist like a lazy autumn leaf.
Naruto snatched it out of the air with casual precision, giving it a sharp shake to dislodge the crimson droplets clinging to the fabric. He examined it critically, tilting it this way and that in the morning light streaming through the broken doorway.
"Not bad," he mused. "Actually a pretty decent hat."
He looked up at Inari, still frozen on the stairs, and smiled. With a gentle flick of his wrist, he sent the hat spinning through the air in a perfect arc.
It landed square on Inari's head, settling into place like it had been made for him.
"There you go, Inari. Consider it a gift."
Inari's hands rose slowly to touch the brim, his fingers trembling.
Then Tsunami screamed.
The sound was raw and primal, ripping from her throat with the force of pure terror finally catching up to her brain. Her eyes had been fixed on Naruto, on the impossible sight of a twelve-year-old boy standing calmly in a room painted with human remains, but now her gaze dropped to her own arm.
The headless corpse of Purple Hat was still gripping her wrist.
The dead fingers were locked tight in a final spasm, cold and unyielding. The body stood upright beside her, neck ending in a ragged stump that had stopped bleeding only because there was no heart left to pump.
Tsunami's scream went up an octave.
"Oh." Naruto turned back, noticing the problem. "Sorry about that."
He reached out and gave the corpse a light push, barely more than a tap.
The dead fingers released immediately. The body toppled backward with a wet thump, hitting the floor and lying still.
Tsunami's legs gave out. She collapsed beside the corpse, and a dark stain spread across the floor beneath her. The smell of urine mixed with the copper tang of blood.
Naruto's nose wrinkled. He looked at the headless body, then at Tsunami's horrified face, and made a decision.
"Yeah, that's probably not helping."
He stepped over to the corpse and raised his foot. One sharp stomp, and the vibration force rippled through the dead flesh like a wave through water. The body came apart at the molecular level, transforming into red mist that hung in the air for a brief moment before Naruto waved his hand, creating a gust of wind that blew it all out through the broken door.
The floor was still stained, but at least there wasn't a corpse anymore.
"There," Naruto said, satisfied. "Much better."
He turned to Inari and crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the boy who still sat paralyzed on the stairs.
"So, Inari." His voice was gentle but firm. "You saw all that, right? Do you still think training is useless?"
The question echoed in Inari's head like a bell in an empty temple.
He thought of Naruto's words from the night before, the ones that had stung so badly: If you don't practice, you will never defeat the strong. You won't even have a chance.
What you're doing right now is just incompetent rage.
Incompetent rage.
He'd been so angry at those words, so hurt. But watching Naruto stand between his mother and certain death, watching those two samurai turn to mist with casual ease...
Naruto had been right.
Crying accomplished nothing. Fear accomplished nothing. Only strength—real, tangible, terrifying strength—could protect the people you loved.
Inari's eyes began to shine with something that hadn't been there in months. Hope. Desperate, fragile hope.
He threw himself forward, sliding down the last few stairs to kneel at Naruto's feet. His small hands gripped Naruto's pants leg with white-knuckled intensity.
"Naruto-niisan!" The words burst out of him, loud and fervent. "Please teach me to train! Please teach me to get stronger! I want to be like you! I want to protect my mom! I'll do anything—please!"
Naruto looked down at the boy, at the tears streaming down his face, at the genuine determination finally burning behind his eyes.
Then he shook his head.
"No, Inari." His voice was kind but absolute. "You're not ready yet. You're not worthy of training."
Inari's face crumpled.
"Right now," Naruto continued, standing up and turning toward the door, "you need to take care of your mother. That's your responsibility. When you can do that without being told, when you can stand up without needing someone else to show you how... then maybe we'll talk about training."
He moved toward the broken doorway, then paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Actions first, Inari. Words are cheap."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the forest with that impossible speed, leaving only a faint rustle of leaves in his wake.
Inari stared at the empty doorway, Naruto's words sinking deep into his chest like stones into water.
You're not worthy yet.
The rejection hurt worse than any insult, worse than being called weak or pathetic. Because it was true. He wasn't worthy. Not yet.
But he could be.
He turned to his mother, still sitting on the floor in shock, and felt his resolve harden like steel cooling in water. Naruto had appeared too fast, sure. Inari had been about to rush down, about to do something—or at least, he'd wanted to believe he would have.
But wanting wasn't doing. Thinking about being brave wasn't the same as being brave.
He crossed the room and knelt beside Tsunami, gently taking her bound wrists in his small hands. The rope was tied tight, but he worked at the knots with patient determination.
"Mom," he said softly. "It's okay now. Naruto-niisan dealt with the bad guys. They can't hurt you anymore."
Tsunami blinked slowly, her mind struggling to catch up with reality. She looked at her son—really looked at him—and saw something different in his face. Something that had been missing since Kaiza died.
"Oh," she breathed. "Inari..."
The ropes came loose. Tsunami pulled her hands free and immediately wrapped them around her son, pulling him into a fierce embrace.
They stayed like that for a long moment, mother and son holding each other in the blood-stained house while morning light streamed through the broken door.
Finally, Tsunami pulled back and wiped her eyes. Her gaze fell on the wild boar lying near the entrance, and despite everything, a small laugh bubbled up from her chest.
"Inari," she said, her voice still shaky but growing stronger. "Come help your mother butcher this boar. Naruto's going to want it for lunch when he gets back."
"Yes, Mom!" Inari's response was immediate and enthusiastic.
Together, they stood up and got to work.
Half an hour earlier...
Tazuna led Team Seven down the dirt path toward the bridge, his hard hat tilted at a jaunty angle despite the heavy clouds overhead. The humidity was oppressive, making every breath feel like swallowing warm water.
"Should see the bridge any minute now," Tazuna said proudly. "We're so close to finishing. Just a few more weeks of work and—"
He stopped.
The air felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
Normally at this hour, the bridge would be alive with activity: hammers striking nails, saws cutting wood, workers calling out to each other and cracking jokes to make the hours pass faster.
But there was only silence.
Kakashi's hand rose in a subtle signal. Stop. His visible eye swept the area with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd survived dozens of ambushes.
"Sasuke, Sakura," he said quietly. "Stay alert. Something's wrong."
Sasuke's Sharingan flickered to life, three tomoe spinning lazily as he scanned for threats. His hand drifted to the kunai pouch at his thigh.
Sakura tensed, her earlier excitement about seeing the bridge evaporating into nervous energy. She trusted her teammates' instincts more than her own, and right now both Kakashi and Sasuke looked ready for a fight.
They moved forward slowly, footsteps careful on the wooden planks.
The moment they stepped onto the bridge proper, the scene revealed itself.
Bodies. Dozens of them.
Workers lay scattered across the bridge like discarded dolls, their tools dropped where they'd fallen. Some were sprawled face-down. Others sat slumped against support beams. None of them were moving.
"Ah!" Tazuna made a small, broken sound and started forward, but Kakashi caught his shoulder.
"Don't," the jonin said. "Not yet."
Kakashi raised his voice, projecting it across the bridge with calm authority. "Come out. I can sense your presence. No point in hiding."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a figure materialized from the mist rolling across the water, stepping onto the bridge with casual confidence. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in bandages from neck to ankles, with a massive sword strapped to his back that looked like it weighed as much as a person.
Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist.
Beside him appeared a slimmer figure in a hunter-nin mask, moving with fluid grace.
"Hehehehe." Zabuza's laugh was rough and mocking. "Kakashi, the Copy Ninja of Konoha. We meet again."
Behind the bridge builder, Tazuna's face had gone white as chalk. His legs trembled, barely keeping him upright.
After his encounter with Naruto in the forest, Haku had returned to their hideout and delivered his report. The blonde boy was dangerous, Haku had said. Impossibly perceptive, unfathomably strong, and completely unpredictable. He'd detected Haku's disguise from the start, sensed the attack intent before Haku had even committed to it, and then let him walk away with a casual warning that felt more like a death sentence held in abeyance.
Haku's recommendation had been simple: abandon the mission.
But Zabuza wasn't the kind of man who ran from a challenge. He was the man who'd gone up against the Fourth Mizukage and lived to tell about it. He was one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. He didn't retreat just because some blonde brat had sharp instincts.
Besides, looking at Kakashi's team now, the blonde boy was nowhere to be seen.
Thank the gods for small mercies, Zabuza thought. His heart rate, which had been elevated since stepping onto the bridge, settled down to something approaching normal. Without Naruto, this fight was completely manageable. Hell, with Kakashi's hands bandaged and useless, it might actually be easy.
He still remembered that terrible vibration on his shoulder, the way his nerves had lit up like fireworks, the sudden, horrifying certainty that one wrong move would result in him losing control of his sphincter in front of his student.
But that blonde demon wasn't here now.
This was his chance.
"Zabuza," Kakashi said, his tone almost conversational despite the tension crackling through the air. "You're still skulking around, I see."
"And you still can't use your hands, I see." Zabuza's visible eye crinkled with amusement above his bandages. "Tell you what, Copy Ninja. I'm feeling generous today. My quarrel is only with the old man. Hand him over and you can walk away. You and your students. I have no interest in hurting children."
Tazuna's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Kakashi's back, at the bandaged hands hanging useless at his sides, and felt fear curl cold in his stomach.
Would the ninja really protect him? Or would survival instinct win out?
Kakashi's visible eye curved into what might have been a smile beneath his mask.
"No," he said simply. "I won't hand over my employer. That would ruin my reputation, and I'm rather fond of my reputation."
He shifted his stance slightly, and despite his injured hands, his entire bearing radiated readiness. "Yes, my hands are injured. No, that's not a reason to back down. It just means I'll have to get creative."
Zabuza studied him for a long moment, reading the determination in every line of Kakashi's body. This wasn't a bluff. The Copy Ninja was actually planning to fight with both hands disabled.
Either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Maybe both.
"Fine," Zabuza said with a sigh. He turned to Haku and raised his voice slightly. "Our target is only the old man. Don't kill Kakashi or his students unless you have to. No need to make more enemies than necessary."
He still wanted to avoid that blonde brat if at all possible. Killing his teammates would pretty much guarantee that confrontation.
"Understood," Haku said quietly. He stepped forward, his focus settling on Sasuke. The Uchiha boy would be the biggest threat after Kakashi.
Kakashi moved to intercept, his body language shifting into combat mode despite his handicap. "Sakura, protect Mr. Tazuna. Don't let anyone get near him."
"Yes, sensei!" Sakura positioned herself in front of the bridge builder, kunai drawn, her hands only shaking a little.
"Sasuke," Kakashi continued, "that masked one is yours. Be careful—he's not a pushover."
"Actually, sensei," Sasuke said, stepping forward until he stood between Kakashi and their opponents, "leave both of them to me."
Kakashi blinked. "Sasuke, that's—"
"I've got this." Sasuke's voice was calm, almost casual. His Sharingan spun lazily, taking in every detail of his opponents' stances, their breathing, the minute shifts in weight that telegraphed intent.
Don't treat me like a fresh genin, sensei, Sasuke thought. I know you mean well, but you have no idea what I've been through. Sure, Naruto beats me senseless every three days like clockwork. But that just means I'm stronger than you think.
Much stronger.
Sasuke takes out multiple kunai and began throwing them to both Haku and Zabuza.
"Oh?" Zabuza's amusement was clear in his voice seeing Sasuke simple. "Confident, aren't you, kid? You want to take on both of us at once?" He reached back and unstrapped Kubikiribōchō, and deflect the kunai "That's either courage or stupidity. Let's find out which."
Sasuke's response was to close his eyes.
His kunai now are scatter around Zabuza and Haku.
When they opened again, his Sharingan was blazing, all three tomoe spinning with deadly focus.
Sasuke vanished.
He reappeared directly behind Zabuza, his leg already swinging in a devastating kick that had all his momentum and chakra behind it.
The kick connected with Zabuza's ribs before the missing-nin even registered movement.
Zabuza's body folded around the impact and went flying, his massive sword clattering to the bridge as he tumbled through the air like a rag doll.
Sasuke didn't pause. He vanished again and materialized behind Haku, delivering an identical kick that sent the masked hunter-nin sprawling across the wooden planks.
Both opponents hit the ground hard, sliding several meters before coming to a stop in tangled, groaning heaps.
The entire exchange had taken perhaps two seconds.
Absolute silence fell over the bridge.
Zabuza pushed himself up on shaking arms, his mind reeling. What the hell was that? That speed—I didn't even see him move. Didn't sense the chakra spike. Nothing. Just gone and then—
He touched his ribs gingerly, feeling at least two fractures. That kick had been no joke.
Beside him, Haku slowly pulled himself to his feet, his mask cracked but still in place. His entire body ached from the impact.
"That technique," Zabuza breathed. "That was—"
"Flying Thunder God," Kakashi whispered, his visible eye wide with shock.
He knew that jutsu. Of course he knew it. He'd seen it demonstrated countless times during his youth, had watched his sensei move across battlefields like a golden flash, appearing and disappearing so fast that enemies thought they were fighting ghosts.
The Fourth Hokage's signature technique.
Minato Namikaze's fame-making jutsu.
And Sasuke had just used it.
Kakashi's mind raced, pieces clicking together like a puzzle he'd been too blind to solve: Sasuke's rapid improvement, his chakra reserves that seemed too large for his age, his recent mastery of techniques that should have been beyond him, the way he and Naruto were always together, living together, training together...
Could it be?
The thought was absurd. Impossible. And yet...
Is Sasuke... Minato-sensei's child?
The idea lodged in Kakashi's brain like a kunai between the ribs, refusing to be dislodged. It would explain so much. The hidden talent, the advanced techniques, Hiruzen's unusual interest in both boys...
Of course, it was completely wrong. But standing there on that bridge, watching Sasuke face down two elite opponents with the Fourth Hokage's signature technique, Kakashi couldn't help but wonder.
Sensei, he thought, did you have another son we never knew about?