Even though he had already guessed the truth,
Hyūga Akira still raised his bronze blade and pointed it at the man before him—
even knowing full well that this was an opponent he stood no chance against.
"Who are you?"
"Rain Village jōnin, Murakami Hana."
The moment the words left his mouth, Murakami vanished.
Akira barely caught a trace of his movement before the man appeared behind him. A powerful hand seized Akira's arm and wrenched it backward. Akira was forced to drop his center of gravity, instinctively trying to reduce the damage—
Crack.
A crisp sound echoed through the room.
White-hot pain exploded through his arm. The bone was broken.
Yet Akira's expression barely changed.
Endorphins surged, dulling the pain to a distant sensation. He lay half-prone on the ground, eyes calm, already searching for his next move.
The gap between them was simply too vast.
A jōnin was not something Akira could contend with right now.
"Remember this," Murakami Hana said softly by Akira's ear.
"In the Rain Village, you show respect to those stronger than you."
Only then did he release his grip.
Akira rolled forward, twisted around, and landed in a crouch facing Murakami. His injured arm hung limply at his side. The bronze blade vanished from his right hand, which instead pressed against the broken limb.
Crack. Crack.
With two sharp adjustments, the bone snapped back into place.
He clenched his fist experimentally—still usable, though barely.
At that moment, another figure leapt in through the shattered window. A severed head was tossed casually to Akira's feet.
It was one of the two genin who had escaped earlier.
Then another head followed.
Both still wore expressions of pure terror.
"Tsk, picking on rookies again, senpai?"
A slightly overweight man stepped in beside Murakami. His face was hidden behind a respirator mask, and his small eyes gleamed with something unpleasant.
Murakami smiled faintly.
"If he's going to work for Lord Hanzō in the future, he needs to learn the rules early."
Akira remained silent at the mention of Hanzō's name, carefully listening.
"Then leave him to me, senpai."
"Go ahead."
Murakami raised no objection, watching with interest as the fat man approached Akira.
"Hey, brat."
The man's voice dripped with malice as he lifted his foot, intending to stomp down on Akira.
But the next instant—
His foot met nothing.
Akira had already moved.
The moment the foot lifted, Akira slipped sideways through the man's blind spot, his figure blurring as he appeared behind him. The bronze blade flashed into existence, slashing toward the man's back.
The fat man reacted instantly, spinning around and bringing up a kunai.
"I'm not like those useless trash—"
Clang—hiss.
The kunai didn't just break.
It melted.
The bronze blade glowed red-hot, flames licking along its edge. The extreme heat sliced cleanly through the metal.
The man's face changed instantly. He kicked off the ground and leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the follow-up slash.
"You bastard!! You made a fool out of me!!"
He had meant to humiliate Akira.
Instead, he'd nearly lost his life.
Akira lifted his head.
His grin stretched unnaturally wide, exposing stark white teeth—
like a predator that had finally found worthy prey.
The fat man took an involuntary step back.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Akira stomped forward, his body launching like an arrow. He spun midair, completing a full rotation before his heel crashed into the man's face.
Boom!
The respirator shattered. Fat rippled violently as the man slammed into the wall.
Akira didn't hesitate.
He pushed off the ground again, blade raised high, intent on finishing it—
Bang!
Akira was sent flying instead.
His body smashed into the opposite wall and slid down slowly.
Murakami Hana now stood in front of the fat man, still smiling.
"Killing him would make things very hard for me to explain."
Akira clutched his chest, eyes burning as he stared at Murakami.
The power gap was overwhelming.
This wasn't a boss he could farm yet.
But someday…
Murakami's smile stiffened slightly under Akira's gaze.
This kid was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
"Ahem." Murakami cleared his throat.
"He's here to replace you. You'll be coming with me to meet Lord Hanzō."
Akira glanced regretfully at the fat man, who had just managed to stand again.
No kill. No experience.
What a shame.
Still, Murakami's words confirmed it—
His gamble had paid off.
Hanzō had extended an olive branch.
And these two hadn't arrived today. They'd clearly been here for a while.
Akira didn't voice the thought. He simply asked calmly,
"When do we leave?"
Murakami's fox-like smile faded as he considered it.
"The day after tomorrow. You'll have two days to finish handing things over."
They had been here for two days already, quietly gathering information on "Muyū."
After all, anyone brought before Hanzō had to be thoroughly vetted. No one knew if he might be one of Shōzō's people.
The current leader of the Rain Village had been desperately searching for Hanzō's location.
If Hanzō died, Shōzō would become the undisputed ruler.
As long as Hanzō lived, the village would remain on the brink of schism.
Muyū's background checked out. Not native to the Rain, but absorbed from within the country due to his talent. Trained for several years, then assigned under Kusen's command.
No surviving connections.
The only notable contact was a civilian boy named Nagato.
No links to Shōzō.
As for his true combat strength?
Unknown.
Normally, Murakami would have continued observing.
But these genin had crossed a line.
Assassinating a superior—temporary or not—was an unforgivable taboo.
So Murakami and his partner had intervened, executing the fleeing traitors on the spot.
What truly intrigued Murakami was this:
Just how badly had Muyū pushed them, for them to choose assassination over obedience?
Akira ignored that curiosity entirely.
He simply shot a provocative glance at the fat man standing behind Murakami.
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