Tatsuma was acutely aware of both his current strengths and his glaring weaknesses. His primary advantage lay in his reinforced physical constitution; between the multiple layers of system buffs and the surge of external power, his raw stats had officially plateaued at the Jonin level.
Moreover, thanks to the Nine-Tails' chakra, his actual performance on the field wasn't just a simple "Base Stat x 4" calculation. The sheer potency of the Fox's energy pushed him beyond what a standard arithmetic upgrade would suggest, as evidenced by his brutal efficiency in dismantling that Suna Jonin earlier.
The Nine-Tails' buff was, quite frankly, broken. It served as a stark reminder of why the beast was so feared—and why Hashirama Senju had deemed it necessary to seal the creature away in the first place.
However, even with these stacked buffs, Tatsuma had a fatal flaw: only his physical attributes—strength, speed, durability, and chakra reserves—had scaled. His technical proficiency remained stagnant. His mastery of Ninjutsu, Genjutsu, and Fuingutsu hadn't magically leveled up to match his body. He lacked a decisive, high-impact technique capable of clearing multiple enemies at once.
Even if he tried to force a larger-scale jutsu by pumping in his now-massive chakra reserves, the Suna ninjas wouldn't give him the luxury of time. Under the pressure of a coordinated siege, he didn't have the breathing room to weave complex seals or find the perfect positioning.
Consequently, since re-entering the fray, Tatsuma had relied almost exclusively on his heightened physical prowess to carry the fight.
Except for one specific technique.
Ducking behind a massive boulder once more, Tatsuma took several deep, measured breaths to steady his racing heart. Once his lungs stopped burning, he raised his hands and blurred through a familiar set of seals.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Poof! Poof! Poof! Poof!
Four clouds of smoke erupted and cleared, revealing four identical copies of Tatsuma standing in the cramped space behind the rock. This was actually the first time Tatsuma had ever deployed Shadow Clones in a real combat scenario.
At his usual power level, the technique was simply too inefficient. With only Chunin-level chakra reserves, he usually had to be incredibly frugal with his jutsu; splitting his limited pool among multiple clones just to have them pop in one hit wasn't a tactical use of resources.
Previously, he had reserved the technique for learning and training. He even had a pact with Jiraiya: never more than four clones at a time, and no more than two hours of study per clone per day.
Jiraiya had known that Tatsuma's obsessive nature would lead him to "abuse" the technique if left unchecked. He had used that slightly playful agreement to prevent the boy from accidentally frying his own brain through cumulative mental exhaustion. Tatsuma had honored that promise until now.
In the heat of battle, he had almost forgotten that the Shadow Clone Jutsu was an elite combat support tool. Only today, with an unimaginable ocean of chakra at his disposal, did he finally feel the confidence to unleash it.
I just hope the system doesn't register the clones as "teammates," he thought wryly. Losing my solo-buff because of my own clones would be a hell of a joke.
He shared a look with his four doubles, a strange spark of manic joy flickering through his exhausted mind. Then, as one, the five Tatsumas bolted from behind the boulder and fell upon the surrounding Suna ninjas.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu?!"
Sajin's eyes widened as he saw the clones deliver physical, high-impact strikes. He was stunned—not just that Tatsuma knew the technique, but that he could use it so effectively.
The Shadow Clone Jutsu wasn't some common, bargain-bin technique. It was practically a Konoha trademark. Aside from Leaf shinobi, historical records of other villages using the technique were incredibly rare—in fact, Sajin could only recall whispers of a few specialized Iwa ninjas ever managing to replicate it.
Even within Konoha, it wasn't a jutsu for the masses. Derived from the First Hokage's legendary Wood Clones, the Shadow Clone created a tangible entity capable of independent thought and jutsu casting. More importantly, it returned all accumulated memories and experience to the original upon dispersal—a trait that made it a logistical nightmare for opposing villages.
Seeing a mere Genin—especially one as young as Tatsuma—utilizing such a high-level jutsu was baffling. At nine years old, most "geniuses" were considered impressive if they had mastered the Three Basic Jutsu and standard projectile throwing.
But Tatsuma? During their first encounter, he had unleashed an unknown, puppet-shredding ball of energy. In their second, he had used brilliant tactical traps and elite-tier projectile mastery. Now, in their third meeting, he was showcasing Jonin-level Taijutsu and the Shadow Clone Jutsu.
Worse, Tatsuma's strength had spiked to the point where he was effortlessly killing Jonin. Even if the one he'd just killed wasn't a "Legendary" rank, the man had been a verified elite—a veteran promoted to Tokubetsu Jonin specifically for his peerless Taijutsu. And yet, Tatsuma had dismantled him using nothing but better Taijutsu.
Sajin didn't even notice the cold seed of relief taking root in his heart—relief that he hadn't jumped into the fray personally. He had used the lives of his subordinates and comrades to scout Tatsuma's strength, but the price had been astronomical.
He had sacrificed nearly his entire unit only to discover that Tatsuma could simply... get stronger. For the first time, Sajin truly understood the weight of Tatsuma's earlier accusation. He was indeed a man who desecrated life—and very soon, the life being desecrated would be his own.
One Tatsuma was a nightmare; five were a massacre. Despite being outnumbered dozens to one, the Suna forces were being systematically erased. As the number of viable combatants dwindled, the Sand's resistance became increasingly futile. They weren't fighting a war anymore; they were being harvested.
Finally, the forest went silent.
One by one, the Shadow Clones flickered and vanished into smoke. Tatsuma stood atop a high branch, his legs wobbling slightly before he dropped into a low crouch to steady himself.
Sajin realized then that Tatsuma had saved him for last on purpose. It was a reflection of Sajin's own cruelty—a mirrored vengeance. The goal was the same: total annihilation.
Pant... pant...
Tatsuma's breath came in ragged, heavy heaves. He was covered in a fresh layer of cuts and bruises. The translucent red chakra shroud was beginning to fade, its energy spent on the constant, frantic repair of his battered body.
The crimson glow was now barely a shimmer, almost invisible against the dim light of the trees. But the forest was quiet—dead quiet.
Tatsuma looked down from his perch, his gaze locking onto Sajin's pale, shadowed face.
"Now," Tatsuma rasped, his voice echoing through the clearing of corpses. "It's just you and me."
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