Breathing to Survive

The man lunged again, confident. Too confident.

He had already seen the limits of the child. A few clever parries, some decent footwork, but nothing that posed real danger.

He moved in to end it.

One clean strike to the heart.

He anticipated a desperate block, maybe a sloppy dodge.

What he didn't expect was speed.

Aizen moved.

Too fast.

The man's eyes widened. What?

Before the thought could finish forming, he felt it.

A sharp pain in his neck. A warmth spreading.

Blood.

His vision flickered. He looked sideways, sluggishly. A kunai was embedded deep into the bark of a nearby tree.

Fresh blood dripped down its edge.

When?

That was all he could manage.

No chakra buildup. No obvious motion. Just speed. Pure, precise, and deadly.

His knees buckled.

I should have gone all out.

That was his final thought. A regret.

Even in his final move, he'd held back, deeming the boy unworthy of full effort. A child. A prodigy maybe, but still just a Genin.

He hadn't known.

He couldn't have.

In that single moment, Aizen's body had surged. His strength, reflexes, agility—all flaring beyond the natural limits of his small frame.

It had only lasted a few seconds.

But that was all he needed.

It's been five months since I got my first template, Aizen thought, breath steadying. And the Assimilation has deepened more than ever.

The Mist Hashira—his first draw from the Gacha.

The merge was slow at first. His child body resisted it, limited it. But with time, training, and patience… it grew.

He hadn't unlocked everything.

But he had unlocked this.

Total Concentration Breathing.

He couldn't sustain it all day.

Not yet.

But a few seconds?

A few critical seconds?

He was ready.

The man collapsed, his blade slipping from limp fingers.

Aizen didn't watch him fall.

He didn't need to.

The moment the kunai struck true, he had already moved, turning, scanning the clearing, eyes searching for Miyuki, for Kaito, for anyone else who might still be fighting.

But his vision swam.

His balance wavered.

The air around him felt thicker. He couldn't feel his legs.

And before he could fully understand why, he dropped.

His small body hit the dirt with a dull thud.

Unconscious.

His fingers twitched slightly against the grass, but he didn't rise.

He was ready. But he wasn't built for it yet.

The breathing technique he'd used—Total Concentration Breathing—was powerful.

But not gentle.

Not kind to a child's frame.

It pulled strength from places still underdeveloped. It forced every cell in his body to operate at peak efficiency, and the moment it ended, the recoil hit like a hammer.

Muscle fatigue. Oxygen crash. Neural strain.

Unlocking the ability didn't mean mastering it.

And mastering it didn't mean he could ignore the cost.

A shadow shifted near the treeline.

The clone appeared beside Aizen's unconscious body with a light poof, crouching down beside him, checking his pulse. Still alive. Just collapsed.

Kaito's voice came low, thoughtful.

"So… he couldn't handle his first kill after all. Guess he really is still a child."

But the words weren't cruel.

They were quiet. Reflective.

The clone glanced at the fallen enemy, now lying in a pool of spreading blood. The kill had been clean. Precise. No wasted motion.

Aizen had executed the strike like a shinobi far older than five.

And yet, here he was. Passed out cold.

"I was ready to jump in the moment it got out of hand," the clone muttered to no one.

Kaito made him to keep an eye on Aizen specifically while he handled the jonin himself.

This wasn't a matter of trust.

It was a matter of responsibility.

He was in charge of a prodigy.

And he was still just a boy.

If Aizen had died here, if the genius of the Uchiha had been cut down under his command, the fallout would've shaken the village to its roots.

Kaito's shadow clone exhaled slowly, glancing up at the dull, overcast sky.

He moved with care, gently lifting Aizen onto his back, adjusting his posture so the boy wouldn't be jostled too much. Despite everything, the child still breathed steadily.

The clone turned.

His eyes immediately found the real Kaito standing farther ahead. His kunai drawn, blood on the blade, his posture calm but alert. The enemy jonin had already fallen at his feet, motionless. Kaito didn't even spare the corpse a glance. His focus had shifted to the remaining enemy, still engaged with Nozomi and Miyuki.

He wasn't worried.

They would finish it. Eventually.

Beyond them, the caravan hadn't moved an inch.

The merchants were still rooted in place, pale-faced and stiff, barely breathing. One man clutched the reins of his horse with white knuckles, while another held a shaking hand over his mouth.

A few of the hired workers were still armed, but none had dared move past the wagons.

And near his legs, lying sprawled and lifeless, was the enemy who'd made the fatal mistake of underestimating a five-year-old shinobi.

The clone gave him one last look.

"Looks like the mission's complete," he muttered.

************

The action may be less but I don't want it be too flashy also ninja fight is more about surprise and speed.