CHAPTER 15

"Damn brat, go to hell."

Kawaki Aoba understood the hatred in the man's eyes.

The ninja before him had lost a kidney—torn out during a past skirmish—and Aoba could empathize. He didn't deny the man's hatred; it was only natural to want revenge.

But understanding didn't mean he would stand still and wait for it.

With a sudden stomp, Kawaki Aoba vanished from the Sand ninja's sight, his figure flickering like a ghost.

It was Soru, also known as Shave—one of the Navy's Rokushiki techniques from another world. A high-speed movement technique that allowed the user to disappear and reappear in an instant, requiring immense physical conditioning.

This wasn't the first time Kawaki Aoba had resorted to abilities from beyond the Shinobi world.

Earlier, during his sneak attack, he had used another trump card—Shigan, the Finger Pistol. A brutal technique that could pierce flesh with nothing but a high-speed jab of the finger. Not a product of Ninjutsu or chakra control, but pure, honed physical prowess from the world of pirates.

After landing his strike, he didn't linger. Hit and run. Textbook execution.

A glance behind confirmed it—the Sand Jonin wasn't chasing.

Then—

"Pffft—!"

Blood splattered from Aoba's lips. His body trembled slightly, and he gritted his teeth.

He was injured.

Unlike the pirate world, where monsters in human skin roam the seas—beings like Admirals, Yonko, or even CP9 operatives—the Shinobi world was built differently. Chakra users were powerful, yes, but often physically frail in comparison.

Kawaki Aoba was no Uzumaki, no Senju, not a Kaguya blessed with monstrous bodies and self-recovery. Using Soru without the necessary conditioning strained his muscles and joints. Using Shigan without the proper reinforcement? A surefire way to fracture a finger.

If not for Chakra—his one cheat code in this world—he'd be collapsed by now. Even so, his body screamed. Muscle strains, torn ligaments, and a fractured right index finger. But the worst damage was internal—hence the blood.

This was why he treated these abilities as trump cards. Powerful tools meant to turn the tide—but not meant to be spammed without consequence.

If a move costs you nothing, it's not a trump card. It's just another trick.

Aoba smirked bitterly to himself.

"White Lightning: Are you polite?"

He recalled an old taunt, a mocking phrase from a past rival. He had no time for polite words now.

Grimacing, he retrieved two vials—one red, one blue—from his belt pouch. Without hesitation, he downed them.

The red potion surged through his veins, dulling the pain. The blue one replenished his dwindling Chakra reserves.

He exhaled slowly. The battle wasn't over. But he was still standing.

And for now, that was enough.

At just ten years old, the amount of chakra he could extract was limited—probably not even enough to fill half a chakra card. The moment he unleashed a single technique, his chakra reserves were wiped clean. How miserable was that?

Well, thankfully, there was a blue chakra recovery pill. That helped.

Chakra truly was a mysterious energy. If used merely for running or physical exertion, it could last a full day or more. But once ninjutsu was involved, it could be depleted in minutes.

On Kawaki Aoba's side, with one red (stamina) and one blue (chakra) recovery pill, his condition was mostly restored. The same couldn't be said for the Sand shinobi.

His kidney was severely damaged. He hated Kawaki Aoba to the core, but the strange speed and that earlier "One-Finger Thrust" technique had thrown him off. He gave up on chasing Aoba and instead turned his attention to the two remaining children.

"Run. I'll hold him off."

Kawaki Aoba stepped forward, blocking the Sand ninja's path.

But when he turned back, he saw that his two companions had already taken off without hesitation, leaving him behind.

Damn it.

So this is the fate of a Shadow Clone, he thought bitterly.

Kawaki Aoba was covered in black lines of frustration. Although he was just a Shadow Clone sent out by the real body, watching his so-called teammates abandon him like cannon fodder was still insulting.

Fine then—he'd vent his fury on this Sand ninja.

"Way of Destruction No. 4: White Lightning!"

He couldn't land a solid hit on a Jonin in perfect health, but surely a seriously injured Jonin was fair game?

Hadn't those two Hyuga Chunin been worn down and defeated through attrition?

Even as a Shadow Clone, he could exert the main body's full normal combat strength—aside from the fact that he would dissipate in a single blow and only had half the chakra.

So, as long as the chakra lasted, he could hold the enemy here for a while.

Kawaki Aoba clashed head-on with the Sand ninja.

Huh? Even with a crushed kidney, the enemy could still dodge White Lightning? This wasn't going to be easy.

The two closed in. A kunai sliced through the air toward Kawaki Aoba's neck.

With a sharp pop, the clone burst into white mist.

From a distance, the corner of the real Kawaki Aoba's mouth twitched.

Tch. Is this my strength without plot armor? That's way too weak.

The Sand ninja who had just taken out the Shadow Clone had the same thought.

Was this really the same kid from earlier? He went down in one hit. Didn't even use that weird technique again. And what's more—he didn't counter with any ninjutsu?

Whatever. No time to dwell. He needed a hostage.

Clutching the bleeding wound in his waist with one hand, he hurled a kunai at one of the fleeing kids, aiming for the thigh.

In his current condition, continued high-speed movement would make him bleed out faster.

But just as he reached for a shuriken from his pouch—his hand froze.

What... did I just see?

The kunai had landed a direct hit—only for the target to vanish in a puff of smoke.

A Shadow Clone? Again?

Is Konoha really raising monsters now? Random kids mastering such advanced ninjutsu?

Two out of the three children had turned out to be Shadow Clones. That left only one real target...

The last one standing was Asuma.

He'd seen Kurenai Yuhi—or rather, her clone—disappear beside him in a burst of smoke. That only made him run harder. Without even being trained, he was instinctively using a zig-zag pattern—serpentine movement to avoid attacks.

But mid-sprint, Asuma glanced back.

Why isn't that guy chasing me?

He slowed down. Then, for some reason, he stopped.

The Sand ninja stared at him in confusion. Their eyes met. The world fell into silence.

No one could tell what Asuma was thinking. But after a few seconds of stillness—almost as if in a trance—he turned around.

And then, inexplicably... he charged.

Straight at the elite Jonin, who had lost all his puppets and was bleeding heavily from a grievous wound.

Forming hand seals in front of his chest, Asuma Sarutobi, like Qingyu Kawaki before him, wanted to gauge his strength against this opponent.

Swish, swish…

Two shuriken spun through the air—hurled by the Sand shinobi with precision and speed, headed straight for Asuma. But Asuma didn't flinch.

What a joke… mere shuriken? Back at the Ninja Academy, no shuriken had ever landed a hit on him. So what if a seasoned Jōnin had thrown them?

They were all the same to him. He was, after all, Asu—

Bang!

The shuriken struck too fast. Asuma didn't dodge in time—and with a puff of smoke, his body vanished.

Across from him, the Sand ninja exhaled deeply. He had hoped—however faintly—that the attack had struck true. But seeing the smoke, his last hope vanished. It was just another Shadow Clone.

"Konoha shinobi… are you even treating me like a human?" he muttered bitterly, turning around with an eerily calm expression.

Sure enough, behind him stood Yūhi Kurenai, having already dealt with his final two puppets. Beside her were the three annoying brats from earlier—he couldn't be sure if they were real or Shadow Clones.

Shadow Clones... Damn those Shadow Clones.

That was how he fell today.

This entire Konoha squad was twisted. From the team leader Jōnin down to the seemingly weakest kunoichi, they all used Shadow Clones.

Didn't Konoha's Shadow Clone Technique divide chakra between the clones? Just how much chakra did these people have?

It was over. He wouldn't escape now. But if he had to die, he would die as a shinobi of the Hidden Sand—honorably.

"You despicable, shameless Konoha shinobi… I lost this time. But don't be too proud. My comrades in the Sand will avenge me. On the battlefield, you so-called 'geniuses' will meet your end."

He only said this to give his death a shred of dignity. It was better than accepting defeat in silence.

Kurenai looked at his battered form and felt a twinge of emotion.

He was an elite Jōnin—among the most respected in any village. They even had influence in village affairs. And yet… here he was, reduced to this.

First, one of his teammates was killed by his own puppet clone.

Then he was caught in a paper bomb trap—crippling his primary weaponry.

Next, his last two teammates were picked off by his own disciple hiding in the shadows.

Finally, his strongest disciple had betrayed and gravely wounded him.

And in the end, he was toyed with by three genin.

An elite Jōnin… played to death.

Kurenai's gaze shifted to Aoba Kawaki—the true orchestrator behind the operation.

If Aoba hadn't sensed the enemy's chakra from seven kilometers away using sensory ninjutsu, she wouldn't have had the time to set up the traps.

Not to mention the taijutsu and speed Aoba had demonstrated earlier—it had startled even her.

Especially in the final moment, when that kid nearly fled the scene, Kurenai's heart had leapt into her throat. Luckily, Qingyu moved fast and landed a crippling blow.

It was… remarkable.

Now, Kurenai wasn't thinking about how to kill the Sand shinobi—she was thinking about whether she could capture him alive.

An elite Jōnin was more than a fighter—they were repositories of intel. And with the Sand making bold moves lately, he might know a great deal.

"You intend to take me alive?" the Sand ninja said coldly, recognizing the intent in her eyes. "Don't get cocky, Konoha."

Sasori of the Red Sand.

He steeled himself. If escape was impossible, then death was preferable to capture.

He pulled a kunai and pressed it against his throat, ready to end his life.

Seeing this, Kurenai's expression tightened. If he fought back, she might've subdued him. But if he was resolute in dying…

Forget it. If she couldn't bring him back alive, then returning with his head would have to suffice.