The forehead protectors worn by the ninja of the Hot Water Village bore a unique symbol—three rippling lines that flowed like water, forming the kanji for "river" (川). Simple, yet striking. Impossible to mistake.
Uchiha Setsuna's reaction upon spotting the enemy insignia was instantaneous. His voice sliced through the tense silence like tempered steel.
"Flank them. Now."
There was no hesitation. No pause for confirmation. This was the will of a veteran shinobi raised in the crucible of war.
Genin like Hero could only scramble to obey.
He barely had time to reach for his shuriken before a blur of motion tore through the treetops. Setsuna was already moving—his long blade flashing as it was drawn, erupting with searing flames in the same breath.
Then, he fell upon the enemy like a god of fire descending from the heavens.
The three Hot Water-nin didn't even manage a cry. They were sliced down in swift, consecutive arcs, cut clean through like stalks of grain before the scythe.
Hero stood frozen, mouth parted in wordless awe. It was like watching a level-cap player solo a boss dungeon while the rest of the team still struggled through tutorials.
Before the embers of combat had cooled, Setsuna pressed his flaming blade to the throat of the last survivor. His voice rang like the edge of his weapon, cold, sharp.
"Who sent you?"
The captured shinobi trembled. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The words, if he had any, died in his throat.
Setsuna's Sharingan snapped open. The crimson tomoe spun slowly, casting a frosty chill into the air.
A moment passed.
The elder retracted his blade, and without another word—struck.
The silence that followed was as sharp as the execution itself.
Hero, still catching his breath, noticed the subtle tension in Setsuna's jaw. A tremor of unease coiled in his stomach.
Then came the order:
"We move. Now."
"Cross the border under the cover of night."
"Once past the pass, we don't stop. Head straight to Yutakagure. Commander Fugaku is waiting."
"If we're intercepted, don't fight. Disengage and escape immediately."
"…What's happened?" Seijuro asked at last. His voice cracked slightly, his knuckles pale where they clenched around his flak vest.
Setsuna's answer came like a knife to the ribs:
"The Two-Tails jinchuriki has appeared in the Land of Hot Water."
Hero's breath hitched. Even Seijuro seemed to lose strength in his legs.
Setsuna continued, grim and steady:
"They're likely headed for Hell Valley, our defensive outpost. Enemy reinforcements may already be lying in wait ahead."
"The situation… is spiraling out of control."
"We must reach Yutakagure and rendezvous with the Ninneko Clan's liaison. Our intel has to reach the clan, at all costs."
"Wha—what did you say?!" Seijuro paled as if struck.
A jinchuriki—especially one from Kumogakure—wasn't a mere shinobi.
They were living disasters. Sentient calamities. Weapons of war.
And Hell Valley... had no elite commander present.
If the Two-Tails reached them, it wouldn't be a skirmish, it would be a massacre.
And this wasn't even the war. Not yet.
Kumogakure had unleashed a tailed beast before the official declaration of conflict?
From the side, Hero's heart thudded—but not with dread. With exhilaration.
The Two-Tails…
Even with the most refined shurikenjutsu, what use was that against a walking apocalypse?
Yet still—he remembered his spar with Seijuro.
He'd stood against a Chunin with dual tomoe Sharingan and hadn't crumbled. He had countered, pressed, and survived.
And that meant something.
He wasn't just a Genin anymore. Not in truth.
At least in one field—his—he had already reached the standard of a Chunin.
Perhaps even a Tokubetsu Jonin.
All his dreams of dying early, cashing in on a few low-risk missions and sliding into obscurity… were over.
To finish his journey with dignity, to die with meaning, he would have to keep climbing. Keep fighting.
And now?
Now the battlefield had spawned a final boss just for him.
Tears welled up in Hero's eyes—but not from fear. From sheer, uncontainable joy.
He could feel it. His lips quivered.
Yes. This was it. His blood was boiling.
Setsuna turned to speak, perhaps to offer a word of encouragement, but faltered as his gaze landed on Seijuro.
The boy looked like a turtle mid-retreat, head down, body trembling, gaze flitting like a leaf caught in wind.
A perfectly reasonable response. This was no ordinary threat. This was a walking apocalypse.
But then…
Setsuna's eyes shifted to Hero.
And froze.
The boy's eyes sparkled. His lips trembled with excitement. His expression was rapturous.
He was…
grinning?
And murmuring, over and over again:
"Tatakai… Tatakai… Tatakai…"
He looked ready to carve "I WANT TO FIGHT" into his own forehead.
Setsuna's brow twitched. His heart lurched.
What kind of madman had he brought along?
He bit back his speech, exhaled through his nose, and wordlessly pointed his blade toward the blackened trees ahead.
"Move out."
***
The mountains stood draped in velvet darkness, like ancient beasts slumbering beneath the sky. The silence was suffocating—absolute.
Setsuna's swift and lethal action had cleared their path. The border crossing was made without resistance.
But elsewhere—
The clouds shifted, unveiling a silver slash of moonlight across a shadowed valley.
A shinobi stirred.
Ramii, jonin of Kumogakure, opened his eyes. He had been resting with his sword in his lap, but now his gaze was sharp, alert.
"…Too quiet," he muttered.
He turned to his comrade. "Moroi. Any word from the Hot Water scouts?"
"Nothing," Moroi replied while casually polishing his blade. "Been over half an hour."
Ramii's frown deepened. "Reach out to the border informants. Something's wrong."
Before the words finished leaving his mouth, the wind stirred.
A messenger dove descended through the mist.
Moroi caught the scroll. His pupils shrank.
"The Uchiha squad has entered the Land of Hot Water," he said slowly. "They've changed course, heading toward Yutakagure."
"They've figured us out."
Ramii rose to his feet in a single fluid motion. "Wake Tsuchidai. We move. Now!"
***
By then, Uchiha Setsuna's team had been running for what felt like an eternity.
Their legs felt like lead. Their lungs burned with every breath.
Hero was soaked in sweat. His vision blurred. His steps faltered.
Then—salvation.
An abandoned village, swallowed by time and vines, emerged in the distance like a whisper of hope.
Seijuro groaned. "I can't take another step…"
Setsuna said nothing for a moment, then nodded.
"Here."
He immediately began securing the perimeter—hanging bells, placing explosive tags, weaving seals. Seijuro cleared debris for camp.
Hero, stubborn even in exhaustion, tried to help, only for Setsuna to knock him out with a single flat-handed strike.
He collapsed without a sound.
After dispatching a summoning crow to keep watch, Setsuna addressed Seijuro without turning:
"We're half a day from Yutakagure. We rest for two hours. No more."
Then, without preamble, he lay back—and began to snore thunderously.
Seijuro dropped beside him seconds later, unconscious before his head hit the ground.
Just for a while, the world held its breath.
None of them noticed the pursuers inching closer with each heartbeat.