Once the shadow guard finally arrived, the outcome was never in doubt.
Strip away the unpredictable dual-personality body-swap gimmick, and Diavolo's actual combat ability sat at around special jounin level. And he was the assassination-specialist variety at that, meaning his head-on fighting power had never been his strong suit.
On top of that, his left foot was already dead weight, cutting his agility in half. And his opponent just happened to be a full-blooded Hyuuga jounin with complete mastery of the Byakugan.
Against someone who could see through mist, through walls, through the human body itself, all those Kirigakure-style silent killing techniques and hidden mist assassination tricks were about as threatening as a clown act. No wonder Diavolo's face looked like he'd swallowed something foul.
Thirty seconds later, Diavolo hit the ground frothing at the mouth. Not a scratch on the outside. But his internal organs had been systematically shredded by Juuken. He had one breath left in him. Maybe.
"Miyuki-sama, should I finish him? Or..."
The shadow guard grabbed a fistful of Diavolo's hair and hauled him upright with one hand. The other hand rested lightly on the man's throat. One squeeze and it was over.
"He's a rogue ninja with a bounty, right? Can we still collect if he's dead?"
"Yes. Most rogue bounties are dead or alive."
"Then kill him and bring the body to my father. Have him send someone to cash it in."
Miyuki didn't hesitate. Diavolo got his death sentence delivered in the same tone someone might use to order lunch. There was no universe in which Miyuki was letting this man walk.
And he certainly wasn't handing the body over to Konoha's administration. This was his catch. His shadow guard had assisted, sure, but Miyuki had been the one fighting the man in a back alley for the better part of ten minutes. The bounty belonged to the Hyuuga. Why would he donate it to the village treasury?
CRACK. The instant Miyuki finished speaking, the shadow guard's hand tightened. Diavolo's throat collapsed like wet paper. A-rank rogue ninja, status: permanently retired.
That was clean. Miyuki watched the guard work with quiet fascination. The killing technique was practiced to the point of being casual. And beyond that, the man's physical capabilities, his massive chakra reserves, his seamless integration of the Byakugan and Juuken... this was what a real jounin looked like.
During that thirty-second fight, Diavolo had been dominated from start to finish. He'd barely gotten a twitch of resistance in before being hammered into the dirt. The gap between this shadow guard and Miyuki's current level was at least tenfold. Probably more.
The guard produced a storage scroll and began sealing Diavolo's corpse for transport. Miyuki watched his back as he worked.
The man's presence was like a mountain. Immovable. Overwhelming. At least from where Miyuki stood right now, this Hyuuga jounin was that kind of existence.
"No need to be envious, Miyuki-sama. With your talent, you'll surpass me before long."
The guard must have felt the weight of Miyuki's gaze. After sealing the body, he turned and offered a smile.
"Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"It's not flattery. You might not know this, but Hiashi-sama speaks extremely highly of you to others. He believes your talent rivals that of our ancestors, and that you'll stand at the pinnacle of the shinobi world someday."
The old man says that about me? To other people? Miyuki blinked in genuine surprise.
It was true. Over the past two years, Hiashi had barely offered Miyuki a compliment to his face. But behind closed doors, especially in conversations with the clan elders, he'd apparently been singing his genius heir's praises nonstop.
By now, virtually everyone in the Hyuuga clan knew that the next generation's leader was something special. The effect on internal morale and cohesion had been significant.
"Hmph. Let's go. We'll report to Father first."
In that moment, Miyuki felt something heavy settle onto his shoulders. The weight of expectation. An entire clan looking toward the future and seeing his face. Believing he'd be the one to lead them somewhere greater.
Pressure like that could crush a person. But handled right, it could also be fuel. And after today, after his first real brush with death, Miyuki understood combat and training on a level he hadn't before. Whatever came next, he'd be better prepared for it.
As the two Hyuuga figures disappeared from the alley, silence returned. Prosciutto and Pesci had been hauled away too, destined for a holding cell somewhere in Konoha's jurisdiction. The alley was empty now.
Completely empty.
Nobody left at all.
...Right?
Huh. Did I forget something? It wasn't until Miyuki was back inside the Hyuuga compound that a nagging feeling surfaced. He'd definitely overlooked something. But what?
"Uuugh... so hungry... can I come out yet?"
As the midday sun blazed overhead, a loud, miserable growling sound echoed from inside a certain trash can in a certain back alley.
Someone was very hungry. But the trash can lid was pinned down by a heavy bag of non-burnable garbage, and a five-year-old's strength wasn't nearly enough to push it off from the inside.
"La la la, garbage pickup time, let's see what we've got today... AAAAHHH! THERE'S A DEAD BODY IN HERE!"
An indeterminate amount of time later, a sanitation worker finally moved the garbage bag and popped the lid. Inside, she found a yellow-haired, whisker-cheeked boy drooling from hunger, looking like a half-starved fox kit that had crawled into the wrong container.
While Naruto was being rescued from his garbage prison, Miyuki was across the village enjoying a lavish lunch with both parents. Though "enjoying" was a strong word, since Hiashi spent the entire meal lecturing him between bites.
"You. Next time, let's see if you dare sneak out alone again. Ditching your shadow guard? Your nerve is getting out of control."
Hiashi watched his son shovel food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his expression radiating pure displeasure.
When he'd been briefed on the full sequence of events, Hiashi had physically flinched. His face had gone from stern to thunderous in about half a second.
The investigation had been swift. The Hyuuga's intelligence network quickly identified the dead man Miyuki had brought home.
A-rank rogue ninja. The phantom assassin, Diavolo. And his idiot firstborn son had engaged this man in a one-on-one death match. In a back alley. At age five.
A five-year-old against a rogue with hundreds of kills to his name. This wasn't "a calf too young to fear the tiger." This was straight-up suicidal.
"Mmpf wuhhn't muh fawlt."
With his mouth stuffed to bursting, Miyuki could only offer a garbled defense.
"You little..."
"Wait, Father. Before you blow up, look at this."
Sensing that Hiashi's eruption was approximately two seconds away, Miyuki flashed a disarming smile and focused his attention on his own eyes.
Within moments, those pale irises, the ones that already looked like advanced cataracts on a normal day, blazed with a brighter, more intense light. And around both eyes, a web of veins rose to the surface of his skin.
"Oh! Your Byakugan has finally awakened! Excellent!"
Hiashi knew that particular set of symptoms better than anyone alive. The instant he saw the telltale vein patterns around his son's eyes, every ounce of anger evaporated. Replaced entirely by elation.
The Byakugan's activation process was simpler than the Sharingan's, sure. But it still wasn't easy. The average Hyuuga awakened their eyes somewhere between eight and fourteen years old. Miyuki was five. That was outstanding by any measure.
"Heh, it wasn't that hard. Once you figure out the trick, it's pretty straightforward."
Having successfully neutralized his father's wrath, Miyuki wore a satisfied smirk as he went back to demolishing his rice bowl.
And it was true. For Miyuki, activating the Byakugan really had been simpler than expected. Because Kaguya-hime had already awakened it first. Once his Stand had blazed the trail, all Miyuki had to do was follow the path she'd already mapped. Learning to flip the switch in his own eyes after that was practically effortless.