Kakashi was ice. The sight of Obito Uchiha again failed to make a single ripple. He didn't want words. Didn't need them.
Obito grabbed his arm. The grip was tight. "Kakashi. I heard. About your father…"
Kakashi's voice was flat. "And? What about it?"
Obito's eyes burned. "I know you're hurting. I get it—"
"Stop." Kakashi cut him off. "You don't get anything. Save your pity. We're not close. We have nothing to talk about."
He shook off Obito's hand. Walked away.
Rin watched him go, heart aching. She couldn't understand. Why was he shutting them out? Why this wall?
"Kakashi!" Obito yelled after him. "Aren't we friends?!"
Kakashi stopped. Didn't turn. "Friends?" The word was a sneer. "Don't flatter yourself. I have no friends."
He took another step. And froze.
Minato Namikaze stood before him, blocking his path.
"Kakashi," Minato said, his voice calm, serious. "Lord Sakumo was right. Comrades are important. It's the war. The pressure in the village… it warped things. That's why the tragedy happened."
Kakashi looked up, a cold light in his eye. "So my father was right, but the village was too 'pressured,' so it became wrong? Whose fault is it, then?"
Minato frowned. "The war's. Without the war, this never would have—"
"Heh." A sharp, humorless laugh cut him off. "Sounds just like what Sensei Qianyu would say. Spouting explanations without knowing a damn thing. Like no one's to blame at all."
Kakashi's gaze turned contemptuous. "Save the lecture. In everyone's eyes, my father failed. A shinobi shouldn't have 'comrades.' They're just dead weight."
He pushed past Minato. The words tasted like ash. They made him sick.
Minato's voice followed him, quiet but firm. "Then… do you think he was wrong too?"
Kakashi didn't hesitate. "Yes. He was wrong."
Because… Konoha isn't worth it.
Minato watched Kakashi's retreating back, a heavy weight in his chest. For a fleeting moment, the silhouette blurred. Overlapped with another.
Obito and Rin stood with heads bowed, utterly defeated. Friends? He'd drawn a line. Carved it deep.
Minato walked over to them, placing a gentle hand on each shoulder. "He's still grieving. Still lost. That's when friends need to be there most. To help him find his way back."
Obito, ever the simple optimist, clenched his fists, fire rekindling in his eyes. "Right! I'll bring him back! I swear it!"
Minato smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good. Now, we have a mission."
Qianyu left the outpost and never looked back.
His plan was simple. Brutal.
Every day, he pushed his Observation Haki to its limits, scouring the land. Hunting. Cloud-nin were his prey.
Where he found them, he struck. Alone. Silent. Deadly.
Two months bled by.
For the Cloud, the attrition was a slow, creeping death. A few here. A few there. The numbers added up. It was unacceptable.
Their commander made the call. Enough.
A hunting party assembled. Twenty strong. Eight jonin. Twelve chunin. The best they could spare. Their mission: find the ghost. Kill it.
Qianyu had just finished wiping a small patrol—one chunin, three genin—from the map. It was effortless now. Cleaning up trash.
He slid his ninjato back into its sheath.
There.
His Haki flared. Twenty chakra signatures. Fast. Angry. Heading straight for him.
"Eight jonin…" A cold smile touched his lips. "Coming for me? Good. Killing small fry won't make my name echo across the nations. But twenty of you… that should do it."
His eyes gleamed with pure, undiluted kill-intent.
The Cloud squad arrived at the site of the massacre. Four more of their own, gone. Rage was a tangible heat in the air.
"Fresh kill," the lead jonin snapped. "He's close. Move!"
"No need to chase."
The voice came from above. Calm. Lazy.
Qianyu dropped from a high branch, landing lightly between them. He faced the twenty alone.
Every Cloud ninja's eyes locked onto him, bloodshot with fury. "Blood-Eyed Asura… Qianyu!"
"Yeah? Calling my name won't make me surrender." He drew his blade in one fluid motion. The point aimed at the heart of their formation. "Enough talk. Let's dance."
The leader barked an order. "The technique! Now! Don't give him a chance!"
Five chunin moved as one. Hands flew through seals.
"Lightning Release: Thunder Shackle!"
They slammed their palms to the earth.
CRACKLE-BOOM!
Five stone pillars erupted in a wide circle. Arcs of blue-white lightning lanced between them, weaving a crackling dome—a prison of pure electricity. It trapped them all inside.
Qianyu tensed, muscles coiling for Thunderclap and Flash.
He froze.
A strange pull. The lightning coursing through his own body… it was being tugged. Drawn toward the crackling walls of the cage. His speed would be crippled here.
"I see," he murmured, almost impressed. "You developed a counter for my Thunder Breathing. Clever."
They weren't done. No chances. No risks.
Four jonin blurred—Lightning Body Flicker—appearing at the cardinal points around him. Their hands were already weaving the final seals.
"Lightning Release: Hellfire Storm!"
They raised their hands. Bolts of concentrated devastation shot from their palms, meeting in the air directly above Qianyu.
The energy coalesced. Swelled.
Then it fell.
Not a bolt. A wall. A crushing, omnidirectional cage of annihilating lightning, collapsing inward from all sides to erase him from existence.
The air crackled, burning his lungs. His right eyelid twitched violently—a primal, sixth-sense scream of DANGER. This would kill him. No doubt.
And yet…
Qianyu threw his head back and laughed.
It was a wild, manic sound that cut through the roar of the storm. "HAHAHA! You went to all this trouble? For little old me?" He lowered the hand he'd pressed to his face, his shoulders shaking with mirth.
The laughter died instantly. His voice dropped into something dark. Viscous. "Then by all means… try."
His eyes snapped open.
The swirling tomoe were gone. In their place, a complex, deadly pattern blazed with power.
The Mangekyō Sharingan.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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