A flash of cold light cut through the mist.
Hyuga Satoru, who had been several meters away, moved the instant Biwa Juzo turned his head. Even without using the Flying Thunder God Technique, his body flickered with astonishing speed. In a single motion he closed the distance, sprang lightly, and brought his short blade down toward Juzo's head.
Years spent walking the line between life and death had honed Juzo's senses to a terrifying edge. That battlefield instinct—the hallmark of an elite jonin—saved his life. He twisted aside, whipping Kubikiribocho into a horizontal guard. The massive iron blade swept up, smashing against the incoming short sword.
CLANG!
The shock roared through the steel. It was Satoru's first time seriously fighting with a blade, and his grip was too rigid; the violent recoil numbed his palm and knocked the weapon free.
A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes—but instead of retreating, Satoru lunged in. Ducking low, skimming under the Executioner's Blade, he slipped inside Juzo's guard and stabbed two chakra-charged fingertips toward the man's armpit.
At the same time, his left hand dipped into his pouch and flicked a kunai past Juzo's boots.
This brat… Juzo's pupils tightened. The kid was suddenly right in his face. He tensed—then dismissed the "stray" kunai as harmless and did the only thing that made sense: release the greatsword. Kubikiribocho crashed into the soil as Juzo brought both forearms up, angling the plated bracers to intercept the Gentle Fist.
He'd reviewed Hyuga counters the instant he'd seen those pale eyes. Gentle Fist relied on precise chakra rather than brute force; solid armor could blunt even a deadly tenketsu strike. With enough toughness and strength, a fighter could bully through a Hyuga.
That was the plan—until Satoru vanished.
A heartbeat later, agony detonated in Juzo's abdomen.
Lightning-natured chakra coated Satoru's fingertips, boring through the abdominal plates and into flesh. Raw current flooded the tenketsu, locking his chakra flow.
"Ghh—!"
Air tore from Juzo's lungs. Before he could track the movement, Satoru was already in front of him again, palm blooming against his sternum—Gentle Fist.
His body seized. He stumbled, then crashed to one knee, gasping, face twisted with pain.
What… what just happened?!
He hadn't even seen the boy move. In that sliver of time, his network had been sealed. Even wanting to fight back, he could muster only scraps of power.
Still unwilling to accept it, Juzo snatched at Kubikiribocho and heaved in a desperate uppercut.
Satoru was already expecting it. A light toe-tap carried him out of the arc. He didn't chase. He raised his right hand and thrust.
"Eight Trigrams: Vacuum Palm!"
The invisible blast smashed Juzo's jaw and hurled him backward.
BOOM!
He cratered into the sodden ground. The Executioner's Blade clattered aside.
Hyuga guards closed in at once, wary of a cornered beast. They pinned Juzo, wrenching his arms behind him and binding him with steel wire. Hyuga Hizashi stepped forward, hauled the Mist swordsman up by the collar, and shoved him to his knees before Satoru.
Around them, six Mist-nin lay scattered. Five were dead—clean kills in the fog. The last—Biwa Juzo, captain of the unit—was now a prisoner.
From Satoru's first strike to the end took mere moments. Ordinary ninja couldn't even last a heartbeat against the Flying Thunder God; even elite shinobi couldn't survive ten clean exchanges once he set the rhythm.
It wasn't that Juzo lacked strength—he lacked information. Had he known the boy also wielded the Flying Thunder God, he might have respected that "stray" kunai. Had he known Satoru infused elemental chakra into Gentle Fist, he wouldn't have tried to stonewall with armor.
Now, kneeling in the mud, Juzo still looked dazed, refusing to accept that someone like him could be routed so utterly. He'd expected to at least drag a victim down with him—not be wrapped up in a handful of moves.
Satoru stood over him, arms folded, gaze cool. There was a pinch of dissatisfaction—being disarmed mid-fight was unsightly—but the outcome was what he wanted. The Flying Thunder God had proven itself under live fire; the armour-piercing Gentle Fist worked.
Biwa Juzo… One of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. Even a monster with an iron slab couldn't track the flash. Perhaps Satoru still wasn't as fast as Namikaze Minato—but against most foes, it didn't matter.
The Hyuga ringed their prisoner, silent and wide-eyed. Many had only heard of Satoru's duel with Danzo; now, seeing him take an infamous Swordsman, they understood why some whispered "Konoha's next Golden Flash."
After a long beat, Satoru spoke.
"Ao. Your Mist has a man named Ao. Where is he?"
"If your answer is accurate, you leave this forest breathing."
He didn't expect much. In Satoru's memory, Biwa Juzo would block a Tailed Beast Bomb for a comrade; he hadn't expected the man to throw subordinates away tonight. Still, information had value—and so did a hostage.
"Ao…?!" Juzo's eyelid twitched.
In an instant he understood why the border swarmed with Hyuga: they weren't here for him—they were here to reclaim a Byakugan. He'd simply drawn the short straw and run into the devil's hand. Ao had trapped Hyuga Hiashi; of course the clan would answer with a strike force far beyond what the Mist expected.
Juzo swallowed, throat dry. He lifted his eyes to the boy and managed a thin, bitter smile.
"You're hunting a ghost," he rasped. "But I can tell you where the bait will be."
Satoru's eyes narrowed, the forest holding its breath. Somewhere beyond the fog, waves thundered against the shoals—steady as a war drum.
If Juzo was telling the truth… then Ao was already setting the board.
And the next move belonged to the Hyuga.
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