Uchiha Tatsumi had a keen sense for discerning goodwill from malice.
The bandits' drunken boasts confirmed their brutality—a village of murderers who thrived on bloodshed. In another life, Tatsumi would've steered clear. But in the ninja world, killing was as routine as eating.
It was a rite of passage for growth.
Konoha's peace was a veneer; the ninja world churned with chaos. To protect himself and those he cherished, Tatsumi needed power—and that meant killing.
He'd steeled himself for this since choosing the ninja path, repeating: Killing is easy.
Yet, despite his resolve, the sensation of his kunai slicing flesh moments ago lingered, unsettling him. The act felt alien, raw.
The older bandit at the outpost hadn't resisted. A swift cut, and blood sprayed like a fountain, splattering Tatsumi's face. It stung his eyes, blurring his vision, making the moment surreal.
I killed someone.
An irrational jolt surged through his brain. His head spun, disoriented.
Where am I? What am I doing?
His heartbeat thundered like a wild stallion. His body trembled. The metallic stench of blood on his face twisted his stomach into knots.
Anxiety and confusion clawed at him, maddening in their lack of clarity.
"Damn it!" Tatsumi gritted his teeth, forcing calm through sheer will. But his hand, gripped tight around the kunai, stabbed the corpse frantically, as if to anchor himself.
The younger bandit, still alive, gurgled through a slashed throat, bubbles forming comically. Yet the blood's reek stifled any humor.
He lunged, thrusting a kunai at Tatsumi, who was still hunched over the body.
Years of training kicked in. Even in chaos, Tatsumi's body dodged instinctively, a conditioned reflex.
Snapping back to focus, he silenced his doubts. No time to think. Solve the problem. Stay calm.
Tatsumi sidestepped the kunai, closing in like a viper. His hands clamped around the bandit's neck.
Crack. The head twisted unnaturally.
Tatsumi grabbed his kunai and drove it into the body repeatedly, ensuring the kill.
A blaring alarm shattered the night. "Enemies! We're under attack!"
The fight at three outposts had alerted the fourth.
Windmill Village erupted. Lights flared, illuminating the streets. Bandits poured from their homes, weapons in hand.
Tatsumi forced his nerves down, creeping to a nearby door, kunai ready. He pressed himself against the wall, out of sight.
Footsteps neared. The door swung open. As a bandit stepped out, Tatsumi's fist crashed into his skull. The man's body smashed through several walls before collapsing.
A hail of shuriken followed, aimed at Tatsumi.
He slammed his fist into the ground, upheaving a stone slab as a shield. With a flick, he hurled it at the attackers, forcing them to scatter.
Seizing the gap, Tatsumi leaped to a rooftop, sprinting toward the rendezvous point. Bandits tried to intercept, but his speed—honed by Orochimaru's grueling training—outpaced them.
The village buzzed like a kicked hive, chasing Tatsumi. His brazen attack was deliberate, drawing attention to give Mikoto time to retreat.
At the rendezvous, Rope Tree sat slumped, pale, blood dripping from his arm.
"You hurt, Rope Tree?" Tatsumi asked, frowning.
"It's nothing. Just a scratch," Rope Tree said, voice shaky.
Tatsumi nodded, saying no more.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!" Tatsumi inhaled, channeling chakra into a blazing orb.
"Wind Release: Breakthrough!" Rope Tree formed seals, unleashing a gust.
Lacking a wind chakra nature, Rope Tree's jutsu was weak, but it sufficed to amplify Tatsumi's fireball, sending a massive blaze toward the village.
A voice boomed from the village center. "Water Release: Water Wall!"
A torrent rose, clashing with the fireball in a hiss of steam and smoke.
Under the cover of the haze, Tatsumi summoned a shadow clone. His real body hoisted Rope Tree onto his back and bolted into the forest.
Though the water jutsu doused the flames, stray embers ignited parts of the village. Wails of pain echoed.
Tatsumi's clone lingered, drawing the mob. Bandits swarmed, eyes wild with rage.
A black-haired man in his thirties, face scarred and fierce, stepped from the crowd. "Who are you—"
"Art is an explosion!" Tatsumi's clone grinned.
Boom!
Dozens of buried explosive tags detonated, a cataclysmic blast rocking the village. Bandits fled, some too slow, consumed by flames.
In the forest, Tatsumi and Rope Tree, racing to Mikoto's position, paused. They gawked at the distant explosion, then exchanged glances and burst into shaky laughter.
"My hands are still trembling," Rope Tree said, grinning.
"Mission's done, right?" Tatsumi asked.
Rope Tree nodded, eyeing the inferno. "Yeah."
"Where's Mikoto?" Tatsumi said, suddenly alert. "She should've been here."
A cold voice cut through the dark. "Looking for her?"
A scarred man—the same from the village—emerged, his kunai pressed to Mikoto's temple. His face twisted with fury.
The boys' blood-streaked faces, deceptively youthful, met his glare.
"You want her?" he roared, raising the kunai.
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