Two minutes later, the raft was as stable as it was going to get.
Yuta stood at the edge, looking down at the unconscious survivors. Fifty-seven people were huddled on his makeshift raft. They were shivering, their skin turning a pale, sickly grey. Some weren't even moving at all.
He couldn't tell which was which anymore—his Sharingan was deactivated to conserve chakra, and his hands were shaking too badly to check pulses properly. Worse still ... The clouds were beginning to darken.
The shadow clone came to Yuta, a frown on its face.
"What happens now?"
"Now? Yuta took a look at the changing weather and mirrored the frown. "I need to go get help."
The answer was as clear as day. He needed to leave. Yuta was clear that all his previous actions were nothing more than giving these people a fighting chance. From saving them from the train, to building the raft, all of it would be for nought if they couldn't get out of the ocean in time.
It was unknown how far away from land they were, but it was definitely not close. Hauling the passengers for God knows how long across the ocean wasn't possible.
In such a scenario, he would die of chakra exhaustion before they died from the cold.
No food, no water, no shelter, no way to signal for help and a limited timeframe to find it. The very definition of the term, Nightmare Mode. Unless he could unleash the Susanoo right here and now, there was no dramatic comeback waiting around the corner.
Their only hope, was to find help. A large enough fishing boat, an operational oil rig, or even a coast guard. Preferably in the next three to four hours.
'There's no other way. If I stay, they die.' The thought felt bitter. The last remaining clone nodded, then moved to a corner and slumped against a piece of debris to conserve its energy.
'The clone can't hold much longer. Maybe three more hours before it dissipates on its own.'
His eyes swept the horizon one more time. Still nothing.
'I need to move. Now.'
"Hey me." Yuta called.
It looked up.
"You're staying with them. Keep them on the raft. If anyone wakes up, keep them calm." He paused. "If you spot a ship or plane, signal them however you can."
The clone nodded slowly. "And you?"
"I'm finding help. Or land. Whichever comes first."
"... if you don't make it back..."
"Then you do what you can until you run out of chakra."
It was all he could do. All anyone could do actually.
Yuta took one last look at the raft and the people he'd pulled from the water, at the makeshift construction that might keep them alive for a few more hours if they were lucky.
Then he turned east and started running.
His feet touched the water in perfect rhythm, each step sending ripples across the endless blue. The Sharingan activated again despite the chakra cost—he needed it to navigate, to spot any signs of rescue, to keep moving in a straight line.
Behind him, the raft grew smaller. Smaller.
Until finally, it was gone.
He was alone now.
Just him, the ocean and 600+ corpses he couldn't save.
'I'm sorry.'
He didn't know if he was apologizing for dying or for what he was about to do. Both, probably.
He kept running.
---
[6 HOURS LATER – PACIFIC OCEAN – 9:47 PM]
Yuta's legs were lead.
His chakra was nigh empty and the Sharingan had deactivated an hour ago. He was running on Uzumaki stamina alone now, and even that had limits.
The sun had long set at this point. The ocean was black, with clouds covering the night sky. The cold air had condensed into frigid mist. Result? He couldn't see anything beyond ten meters.
'How far have I gone?'
One hundred kilometers? Two hundred? He had no idea. There were no landmarks or reference points, nor had he come across a single ship during his run. All that followed was darkness, water and the sound of his own breathing.
'How long has it been?' His chest heaved rapidly. 'Five? Six maybe. The clone dispersed four hours ago.'
The unwelcome memory had hit him mid-run.
The raft slowly taking on water as the makeshift bindings loosened. The temperature dropping as the sun set. The survivors—those still breathing—shivering uncontrollably, their lips turning blue.
Then one by one, they'd stopped moving.
The clone had tried. Had checked pulses. Had attempted to keep them warm by huddling bodies together. Had screamed uselessly at the empty sky.
By the time its chakra ran out, there were twelve still breathing. Twelve out of fifty-seven. 'And that was four hours ago.'
Yuta's jaw clenched.
They were without a doubt dead now. All of them.
The Hypothermia wouldn't wait.
Twelve survivors who'd lasted just long enough to give him hope, then died alone on a raft in the middle of nowhere. Six hundred ninety-seven dead.
That was the new count.
'I tried. I did everything I could.'
The words rang hollow even in his own mind as he moved forward.
His running had reduced to walking. 'It wasn't enough. It's never enough.'
Each step felt heavy to take forward.
His foot caught, chakra control slipping for a split second, and he stumbled, nearly face-planting into the water before catching himself.
'Damn useless chakra capacity! Dammit!' He had two months. Two months since he got his powers, and this was the best he could do. He had barely developed his Jutsu, hardly trained, and had only gotten into one mess after another and attended classes for studying hero laws. At the end of the day, it was all useless when it mattered the most. Because of him, hundreds had died.
And he could do nothing but attempt to save them and fail miserably while at it.
First overhaul, then the Hassaikai, now the league .. 'If only I had more time ...' His teeth gnashed with hatred. He hated the villains more than he hated himself right now.
The exhaustion seeped into his bones, but he forced himself to keep moving. His thoughts were simple. 'If I stop, I drown. If I drown, this was all for nothing.'
But even as he forced his legs to keep moving, a darker thought crept in.
'Was it for nothing anyway? Fifty-seven people on that raft. Probably all dead now. Would it have been different if I'd stayed? Or would I have just died with them?'
He didn't know, nor did he want to.
Just then ... Thunder crackled across the sky.
Yuta's head snapped up.
The clouds above, already dark and oppressive, had turned into something worse.
'No. No, you can't be serious.'
The answer from the sky was another crack of thunder loud enough to make his ears ring.
Then a single, cold drop hit his forehead. Then another. Then, as if a dam had burst in the heavens, the sky opened up.
Within seconds, the drizzle became a downpour as rain hammered down like bullets. The ocean surface, already choppy, transformed into a churning mess of waves.
Visibility dropped from ten meters to barely three.
Yuta stood there, soaked to the bone, staring up at the sky with something between disbelief and raw fury.
"You've got to be kidding me," he rasped.
The rain intensified, as if in response.
His clothes, already waterlogged from six hours of running on the ocean, became impossibly heavier.
His hair plastered to his skull. Water streamed down his face.
What had been gentle swells of seawater became highly aggressive. A particularly large wave hit him from the side, nearly knocking him off balance.
His chakra control, teetering due to his limited Chakra supply finally showed the first crack. His foot sank below the surface before he caught himself, forced more chakra to his feet, and resumed his stumbling walk.
'Of course. Of course this happens now.'
He thought, finding the energy to pick up the pace. If he fell here, no one would find his body. No one would even know he tried.
The next few minutes were filled with hopelessness and despair as the water turned against him in every direction.
He had to maneuver multiple times to avoid getting submerged under the rampant waves. However, nothing could last forever as his chakra finally gave out.
Finally, he was hit by a wave larger than the last and submerged into the ocean. 'Fuck You Nature!'
_
[JAPAN – COORDINATED SEARCH OPERATIONS – DAY 1]
[PACIFIC OCEAN – 200KM EAST OF TOKYO – 2:37 PM]
Hawks soared above the churning ocean, hundreds of feathers spread out in a search grid pattern that covered nearly five square kilometers.
His eyes, enhanced by years of training, scanned the water below for any sign of wreckage, survivors, bodies—anything.
"Hawks to command," he spoke into his headset. "Sector Seven-Delta clear. No visual contacts. Moving to Seven-Echo."
"Copy that, Hawks. Be advised, weather system moving in from the east. ETA forty minutes."
"Acknowledged."
He banked left, feathers adjusting formation automatically, and continued the search.
Below him, the ocean stretched endlessly. Beautiful. Deadly. Indifferent.
'716 people. Just... gone. How the hell do you make a train disappear?'
__
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