CLANG. SLASH.
Another Cloud commander fell, silenced by a single, brutal strike from Qianyu.
Minato Namikaze saw it all. Every move. His expression was grave.
Qianyu was faster than he'd been back at the academy. And the flaws Minato had once noted in the Thunder Breathing style… they were gone.
Back in the day, Minato had never won a spar. But he'd lasted. He'd held his own for a long time before losing.
Years had passed. Minato had trained under Jiraiya. He'd reached the battlefield first. He'd thought… maybe this time. Maybe he'd closed the gap.
He hadn't.
"A signature jutsu…" Minato's brow furrowed.
His own arsenal was limited. Wind Release, mostly. Jiraiya wasn't a wind specialist, so his guidance there only went so far.
But Qianyu? He had Thunder Breathing. A powerful, unique Taijutsu. Sure, a few other Leaf shinobi used it now. But none like him. None with that fluid, devastating power. Combined with the Sharingan? It was monstrous.
To catch up, to surpass him, Minato needed his own signature. His own trump card.
He remembered Jiraiya's words. The Flying Thunder God Technique. A space-time ninjutsu. Forbidden, recorded in the Scroll of Seals. It had to be powerful. When—if—Jiraiya got permission, Minato would master it. He had to.
Compared to Qianyu's brutal efficiency, Minato's methods felt… mundane. He also targeted commanders, but his process was analytical. He watched their positioning, their slightly distinct uniforms, their gesturing hands pointing units into the fray.
Once identified, he'd flash forward with his fastest Body Flicker. A single kunai to the throat. Then flicker away.
Clean. Surgical.
…
The sounds of battle echoed through the ruined streets of the Hot Water Village. Clashing steel. Screams. Explosions.
The ground grew thick with bodies. Cloud. Hot Water. Leaf.
Qianyu stood, his clothes soaked through with blood, panting lightly. He was surrounded. A dozen Cloud-nin had him circled. The crackling lightning he wielded was a beacon, impossible to ignore. He'd killed too many of their leaders, leaving units leaderless and desperate. Their only order: kill the lightning-user.
They charged.
Qianyu exhaled. A long, steady breath.
"Thunder Breathing. Sixth Form:…"
Lightning erupted from his core.
"…Rumble and Flash."
Countless jagged arcs of pure electricity shot out in every direction. The charging Cloud-nin didn't even have time to scream. They were cut down mid-stride, bodies smoking.
The circle shattered. Qianyu didn't pause. He pulled two soldier pills from his pouch and swallowed them dry. His chakra was holding, but this fight was far from over. He had to be smart.
Another squad spotted him. He led them, a flicker of blue light, toward a water-filled crater in the road. His hands formed a seal, then plunged into the murky water.
"Lightning Release: Thunder Roar."
High-voltage current surged through the pool. The Cloud-nin convulsed, muscles locking, paralyzed. Helpless. Qianyu's blade flashed once, twice—clean, efficient decapitations. No wasted motion. No wasted chakra.
Then he saw another. A commander, barking orders from the back of a formation.
Lightning wrapped around his legs.
Body Flicker. Thunderclap and Flash.
He was a bolt from the blue. The commander died before his next order left his lips.
As Qianyu disengaged, a blast erupted nearby. A Leaf shinobi was thrown through the air, landing in a broken heap at his feet.
The man—one arm and one leg were just… gone. A mangled ruin. Blood bubbled from his lips. His remaining hand scrabbled, clutching desperately at Qianyu's pant leg.
"P-please… save me…" he choked out. "I don't… don't wanna die… My family… in Konoha… Please…"
Qianyu looked down. His eyes were cold. Flat.
"I can't save you," he said, voice devoid of warmth. "If the pain is too much… make your death mean something. It'll hurt less. As for your family… you believe in the Leaf, don't you? So believe. To the end."
He placed a stack of explosive tags in the man's trembling hand. Then he was gone in a flicker of displaced air.
The wounded Leaf-nin—Daigo—stared at the tags, then at the Cloud-nin closing in. Despair twisted his features.
"DAIGO! NO!"
A yellow flash. Minato appeared, hand outstretched to snatch the tags away.
Daigo shoved him back with surprising force. A bitter smile touched his bloody lips. "Minato… he's right. I'm dead weight. Don't… don't waste time on me. The fight… your squad needs you." He struggled, balancing on his one remaining leg. "I believe in you. You'll be Hokage one day… Look after my family. Please."
Before Minato could stop him, Daigo launched himself forward, a broken, hopping leap straight into the heart of the approaching Cloud squad.
The explosion tore through the street.
When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of Daigo. Just scorched earth and two Cloud-nin lying still.
Minato stood frozen. A single tear traced a clean path through the grime on his cheek. Then a fire ignited in his gut. Rage. Grief. Helplessness.
He flashed again.
This time, he appeared right in front of Qianyu. His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Qianyu's blood-stained collar, yanking him close.
"WHY?!" Minato's voice was raw. "Why would you do that?! If you wouldn't save him, fine! But you didn't have to give him those tags! You didn't have to make him… to make him…"
Qianyu's hand came up. A sharp, precise slap knocked Minato's grip away. He calmly straightened his collar.
"So?" Qianyu's voice was a winter wind. "You think I killed him? You come to lecture me? In the middle of a warzone?"
He gestured vaguely toward the fading smoke. "He was missing an arm and a leg. No medics. No supply line. His only future was bleeding out or being finished off by the enemy. I gave him a tool. He took out two Cloud-nin with him. By any tactical measure, that's a net gain for us."
"They're not numbers! They're not tools!" Minato shouted, frustration boiling over. "They're our comrades! Comrades!"
Qianyu's lips curled into a mocking smile. "And? If it were you lying there, a shredded wreck, would you want your 'comrades' to risk their lives for a corpse? To drag your dead weight around and get themselves killed too?"
He took a step closer, his Sharingan glinting with cold light. "We all believe in the Will of Fire, don't we? 'Where the leaves of Konoha dance, the fire of will shall never die.' I made his death have value. I didn't let it be meaningless. I didn't let him become a burden that got others killed. I let his final act contribute to the village. To Konoha."
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Isn't that… exactly the Will of Fire? Was I wrong, Minato? Should I have let him die for nothing? Or maybe I should have tried to carry him, gotten us both surrounded and slaughtered? Which one honors your precious 'comrades' more?"
Minato stood rigid. His teeth ground together so hard he tasted blood. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. A torrent of arguments, of emotions, crashed inside him—and found no outlet. No rebuttal.
The cold, brutal logic of it was a cage. And he was trapped inside, with only his silent, furious grief for company.