Title: The Unwritten Act
Timeline: Late Part I (Three months prior to Sasuke's defection)
Location: Border of the Land of Hot Water
The rain did not fall; it merely arrived, heavy and insistent, turning the forest floor into a sludge of decaying pine needles and gray mud. For the squad of four Kiri Hunter-nin, the weather was an advantage. The noise masked their footsteps; the humidity amplified their Mist Release.
For Kurobane Sōma, the rain was simply texture. A backdrop for the performance.
He sat on the thick branch of an ancient cedar, one leg dangling idly, reading a small, damp paperback book. He didn't look up when the first senbon needle hissed through the air, aimed precisely at his carotid artery.
Sōma tilted his head three centimeters to the left. The needle embedded itself in the bark behind him with a dull thwack.
"A solid opening," Sōma said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the downpour. He marked his page and snapped the book shut, slipping it into his flak jacket. "Standard ambush vector. No killing intent until the projectile was already in flight. Textbook."
He looked down. Four silhouettes flickered in the mist below, their chakra signatures tight, disciplined, and utterly boring.
"But that's the problem, isn't it?" Sōma sighed, standing up on the branch. "It's textbook. I know exactly what you're going to do next."
"Target located," a voice rasped from the mist. "S-Rank Missing-nin, Kurobane Sōma. Surrender is not authorized. Erasure is mandatory."
"Erasure," Sōma tasted the word, smiling. "How final. And here I was hoping for a dialogue."
The attack began.
It was a coordinated assault. Two Hunters surged forward with jagged blades, forcing Sōma into the air, while the rear guard wove hand signs with blurring speed. Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet.
The massive liquid serpentine avatar roared into existence, crashing through the canopy to swallow Sōma whole. The trees shattered. The impact cratered the earth.
The Hunters landed, circling the debris. Silence returned to the forest.
"Confirmed hit," the captain signaled. "Check the body."
One of the vanguards stepped forward, his blade drawn. He reached the center of the crater where the mud was churned up. There was no body. There was only a single, pristine kunai sticking out of the ground, a small tag wrapped around the handle.
The tag didn't have an explosive script. It had a single kanji written in elegant calligraphy: Pause.
"Wait—" the captain shouted.
The vanguard took a step back. That step was the trigger.
[Technique Activation: Loaded Earth]
Condition: Pressure release on the marked zone.
Effect: Chakra inversion.
The mud beneath the vanguard's feet didn't explode. Instead, it lurched upward, not as earth, but as a pulse of pure Yin chakra that shot through the soles of his feet and seized his nervous system. The Hunter-nin froze, his muscles locking in a rigid, grotesque pose of retreat.
"One statue," Sōma's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
The remaining three spun around. Sōma was leaning against a tree trunk ten meters away, untouched. He wasn't looking at them; he was looking at the frozen man.
"His stance was wrong," Sōma critiqued, as if lecturing a genin class. "He hesitated before stepping in to confirm the kill. That hesitation is why he's currently a lawn ornament. If he had committed fully, he would have bypassed the trigger threshold."
"Die!" The second vanguard lunged, screaming, abandoning stealth for speed.
Sōma didn't draw a weapon. He simply raised a hand, palm open. The Hunter-nin slashed, his blade cutting through Sōma's vest—deep enough to draw blood.
Contact.
Sōma didn't flinch. He smiled. He allowed the blade to bite into his shoulder, accepting the damage as a transaction cost. As the steel cut skin, Sōma's chakra flooded into the metal of the enemy's sword.
[Technique Activation: Loaded Touch - Iron Clause]
Condition: Metal contact with user's blood.
Effect: Weapon weight amplification (100x).
In mid-swing, the Hunter-nin's sword suddenly weighed half a ton. The momentum shattered the man's wrist instantly, dragging him face-first into the mud with a sickening crack. The sword buried itself deep in the earth, pinning the shinobi down by his own weapon.
"Too emotional," Sōma tutted, stepping back and touching his bleeding shoulder. A green glow began to emanate from his hand as he applied basic medical ninjutsu to himself. "Anger makes you heavy. Literally, in this case."
The captain and the rear guard stood frozen. In thirty seconds, they had lost half their squad to a man who had barely moved.
"You..." The captain's voice trembled, not with fear, but with the jarring realization of the gap between them. "You aren't fighting us. You're... grading us."
Sōma's eyes lit up. The boredom vanished, replaced by a sharp, terrifying focus.
"Correct," Sōma said softly. He took a step toward the captain. "And you, Captain, are the only one passing. You realized the nature of the engagement. You stopped attacking. You're analyzing."
Sōma stopped five paces away. He spread his arms.
"So, show me. What do you do when the script fails? Do you run? Do you die? Or do you rewrite the scene?"
The captain looked at his fallen men—one frozen, one broken. He looked at Sōma. The captain dropped his hands, letting his chakra flare. He reached into his pouch, but instead of a weapon, he pulled out a flare—and crushed it in his hand, burning his own palm to hide the flash, channeling the fire into a condensed, desperate point of heat.
He wasn't signaling for help. He was creating a flash-bang using his own flesh as fuel to bypass the wet environment.
Brilliant, Sōma thought.
The flash blinded the clearing. When the white spots faded from Sōma's vision, the captain and the frozen subordinate were gone. The broken man remained pinned to the ground, unconscious.
Sōma stood alone in the rain again.
"He saved the paralyzed one, sacrificed the broken one, and used self-mutilation to create an exit," Sōma mused, a genuine smile touching his lips. "B-minus. But he has potential. If he survives the infection on that hand, he'll be a menace in three years."
Sōma turned to the unconscious Hunter-nin pinned by the heavy sword. He walked over, knelt, and placed a hand on the man's forehead.
"You, however," Sōma whispered, "are boring. No adaptability. No spark."
He didn't kill the man. He simply tapped the man's temple.
[Technique Primed: Amnesia Loop]
Condition: Waking up.
Effect: Disruption of recent short-term memory.
"Wake up and wonder why you failed," Sōma said, standing up. "Maybe the confusion will make you interesting next time."
"You play with your food," a hoarse, dual-toned voice rasped from the earth itself.
Sōma didn't turn around. He adjusted his collar, wincing slightly at the sting of his shoulder wound.
"I don't eat food that isn't ripe, Zetsu," Sōma replied calmly.
A large, pitcher-plant-like extension rose from the ground near the tree line. The black and white figure of Zetsu materialized.
"Pain is becoming impatient," Black Zetsu growled. "We did not offer you a robe so you could tutor Kiri runaways."
"Pain thinks in absolutes," Sōma countered, turning to face the creature. "He wants to build a world of peace through fear. I'm just ensuring that the people who populate that world are worth frightening."
"There is a mission," White Zetsu chirped, his voice lighter. "Sasori needs an escort in the Wind Country. Someone who can handle... distractions."
Sōma picked up his damp paperback from where he'd dropped it during the flash. He wiped the mud from the cover.
"The Wind Country," Sōma mused. "Sand shinobi. Puppet masters. Fighters who rely on pre-built mechanisms and hidden traps."
He smirked.
"Sounds like a puzzle. I'll take it."
"Try not to kill Sasori," Black Zetsu warned, sinking back into the earth. "He is temperamental."
"I make no promises," Sōma said to the empty air. "If he bores me, he's just firewood."
Sōma turned south, his cloak billowing in the storm, walking away from the carnage with the casual stride of a man leaving a theater before the credits rolled.