Under the moonlight, the four faced off in a tense standoff.
Scarman, deputy leader of Windmill Village, had celebrated a major heist with heavy drinking, collapsing into bed late. The village's alarm jolted him awake. Rushing to his courtyard, he spotted a blood-soaked girl in a ninja outfit—Mikoto—fleeing into the forest after killing one of his men.
Without hesitation, he pursued, intent on capturing her and her accomplices. Mikoto paused in the woods, waiting for her team. Scarman ambushed her, and though her skills impressed, he overpowered her quickly.
Then an explosion rocked the village.
Rage and fear consumed Scarman. He wanted to kill the girl in his grasp, but vengeance demanded answers: Who were they? How would he face his leader's wrath?
He knew the leader's terrifying power all too well.
Scarman glared at the three young ninjas, his eyes feral. "Don't talk. Don't move, or she dies!"
He pressed his kunai to Mikoto's forehead, one hand releasing her mouth to tighten around her neck.
Tatsumi halted Rope Tree's impulsive lunge. Scarman's mental state was volatile—one wrong move could doom Mikoto.
Genjutsu was Tatsumi's best option, but what if Scarman resisted, as Orochimaru had? Even if it landed, a jonin-level ninja might break it in a second—too brief to save Mikoto. A failed attempt could cost her life.
Tatsumi didn't dare gamble.
He forced himself to stay calm, analyzing the situation. Scarman's hesitation suggested fear. Despite their lack of forehead protectors, their strength at such a young age marked them as no ordinary ninjas—likely Konoha's. A jonin leader, probably Orochimaru, might be lurking nearby. With a hostage, Scarman held leverage against this unseen threat.
"What do you want?" Tatsumi asked, voice steady.
Mikoto's face contorted in pain, Scarman's grip tightening. "What do I want?" he snarled. "You tell me!"
"I clawed my way from nothing, slaving like a dog to get here. All I wanted was power—to protect my people, give them a good life. No one would dare touch them. I'd earn enough to get them out of this hellhole."
"But you ruined it all in one night! The leader will kill me! I just need to catch you."
Scarman's voice broke, his emotions erratic.
Tatsumi studied him, a nagging sense of familiarity growing. Where have I seen him?
Scarman's expression twisted, a low, manic laugh escaping as he squeezed Mikoto's neck harder. She gasped, struggling to breathe, her eyes locked on Tatsumi's, filled with pain.
"No… don't…" she rasped. "Leave me…"
Tatsumi had never felt so powerless. He knew Scarman wouldn't kill Mikoto outright—she was his bargaining chip. But her suffering tore at him.
He stepped forward.
Scarman's eyes snapped to him. "What are you doing? Want to die?"
"Nothing," Tatsumi said, raising empty hands with a forced smile. "I killed your men. I set the explosive tags. Hate me, not her."
"She's my closest comrade. Want a hostage? Take me instead."
Scarman laughed, a crazed edge to it. "What's this? A ninja with comrades? Ninjas skulk alone in the dark—that's our fate!"
"You're naive. A real man, huh? Ha!" Scarman's laughter grew unhinged.
Mikoto shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Tatsumi, don't… just go…"
Scarman dangled his kunai mockingly. "You think I'll listen? You're all dead! It's just a matter of who goes first."
"I'm terrified of you brats," he spat. "Kids with this kind of power. Why wasn't I born in a place like yours?"
"What's your plan? Distract me with talk, then hit me with genjutsu or some jutsu?"
He tossed a kunai at Tatsumi's feet. "Pick it up."
Tatsumi froze. Rope Tree grabbed his arm. "Tatsumi, don't!"
"Hurry up!" Scarman roared. "She's your precious comrade, right? Don't you care if she lives?"
Tatsumi knew the trap. A ninja's hands were their lifeline—disable one, and most jutsu became impossible, neutering their threat.
He bent down, grasping the kunai. Mikoto thrashed, choking out, "No… no… no…"
Gritting his teeth, Tatsumi drove the kunai through his right hand, pinning it to the ground. Blood gushed, his face contorting in agony.
"Is… this enough?" he gasped, head bowed.
Scarman gaped, stunned by Tatsumi's ruthlessness. He hadn't expected such decisiveness. His grip on Mikoto's neck loosened slightly.
Scarman's vigilance wavered, but he reconsidered killing Tatsumi first—this boy was too dangerous.
"Hey!" Tatsumi snapped, raising his head, blood dripping. "That couple in Rogue Town's hotel—know them?"
Scarman faltered. "What… what are you talking about?"
Tatsumi's voice carried a subtle genjutsu, a guiding illusion weaving into Scarman's mind. The image of the hotel couple surfaced, vivid and haunting.
Scarman's kunai hand trembled, his focus slipping.
"They were killed by my teacher," Tatsumi pressed, voice strained. "I saw it myself."
Scarman's face drained of color. Visions of the couple's gruesome deaths flooded his mind, their lifeless eyes accusing: Why didn't you save us?
Tatsumi's chakra and mental stamina teetered on empty. This advanced genjutsu, manipulating memories to evoke trauma, was nearly beyond his skill, especially against a jonin-level foe.
He exhaled, sweat beading on his brow. Mikoto slipped from Scarman's loosened grasp.
But as Tatsumi relaxed, Scarman's eyes snapped open. With a roar, he hurled his kunai.
Tatsumi tried to dodge, but the blade pierced his left chest. He collapsed, blood blooming across his shirt.
Mikoto's eyes flared crimson, her Sharingan awakening in a scream. "No!"
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