Thick-ass storm clouds ate the last scraps of starlight, turning the world into a suffocating black void. Way off, Kirigakure's scattered lights bled into the fog like weak, blurry halos.
Barely outlining the twisty-ass town hugging the village—like some giant beast hunkered down in the dark.
Air reeked of that signature Kiri salt-stank mixed with cold, wet night. Heavy enough to choke on. A couple distant dog barks ripped the silence, just amping the kill-vibe.
Two shadows hauling ass through the narrow alleys. Front one's a pint-sized blur, dodging the maze like lightning on steroids—only a streaky afterimage left behind.
Trailing? Pure night camouflage. Silent steps, ghosting hard, locked on at a fixed distance.
Uchiha Makoto's hawk-eyes pinned the electric figure ahead, lips curling into a grin. Came out to grab clothes with Yakushi Nono and scored this kinda bonus? Jackpot.
A cloud drifts, spilling thin moonlight. Lights up the chick ninja.
Short—maybe 4'3". Standard Kiri gear swallowing her frame like a kid raiding dad's closet.
But that baggy shit can't hide the wild energy. Brownish-red hair tied in a funky upright braid, whipping like it's alive with every burst of speed.
Neck wrapped in fluffy bandages, and strapped to her back? A ninja blade that screams trouble even sheathed. Not the future legendary Thunder Blades "Fang," but chakra-conducting metal on the hilt's popping tiny arcs like it's itching to fry someone.
Moon hits her side-glance: eyes sharp as a raptor in the dark, wild gleam, lips cracked showing two cute but vicious tiger fangs. Playful danger dialed to eleven.
One quick peek and Makoto's got her pegged—Ringo Yuri.
Kirigakure's once-in-a-century lightning freak. Future sole chick in the second-gen Seven Ninja Swordsmen. The one who cranks "Fang" to god-tier.
A prodigy who, in the old timeline, croaked young from some incurable bullshit. Right now? Bursting with life and straight-up lethal juice.
Per Makoto's past-life Naruto manga knowledge, Yuri on a mission? Lock-on means game over. Talent and skill off the charts.
His eyes flash deep respect. This girl's affinity for lightning release is nightmare fuel. Snag her under my banner? Instant power-up for the squad.
First drop on 101kan.com—clean chapters, no jumbled BS.
Yuri slams brakes in front of some random low-roof shack—no warning.
Hands blur through seals, smooth as butter, fingertips sparking heart-stopping blue arcs.
"Lightning Release: Falling Thunder!"
Crisp, ice-cold shout slices the night.
CRACK—!
Blinding bolt materializes outta nowhere—god's own spear—slams the roof dead-center.
BOOM! Ears ringing, beams snap, tiles and dust explode everywhere. Roof blown open like a crater, dark guts exposed.
"Enemy attack!"
"Kiri hunters?"
"Just one?!"
Three figures scramble out the hole—panicked but drilled. Back-to-back in a rock-solid defense triangle.
Iwa ninja gear, forehead protectors flashing the rock symbol. Faces pissed and pissed their op got cockblocked.
Leader's a grizzled middle-aged badass, deep scar on his temple screaming veteran.
Eyes sweep, lock on lone Yuri—calm AF. Barks: "Kiri scum, you alone and suicidal?" Hands already creeping to his tool pouch.
"You Iwa trash?" Yuri grins, tiger fangs glinting in the leftover lightning. "One of me's more than enough, bitches."
"Cocky little—!" Leader's eyes ice over, murder mode.
No more talk. Flicks wrist—six shuriken rip the air, high-mid-low, sealing every dodge like a pro sadist.
His two goons sync perfect. Shunshin—no hesitation.
Split left-right, triangle lockdown. Left kid (young hotshot) seals fast. Right tank stomps the ground—here we go.
Leader slams palms down: "Earth Release: Earth Flow Wall!"
RRRUMBLE! Thick-ass wall erupts, way beefier than standard—cuts Yuri's best escape like a boss. Chakra control? Chef's kiss.
Same beat—left kid puffs chest: "Earth Release: Rock Iron Cannon!"
Compressed stone bullets—hard as steel, punch through tanks—rain down with screeching death whistles.
Right tank roars, muscles balloon, skin turns rocky: "Earth Release: Rock Fist Jutsu!"
Fist explodes into a boulder sledgehammer, swinging to pulverize from the side. Last escape? Gone.
Lockdown. Trap. Execute.
Classic Iwa squad tactics—fluid, brutal, veteran blood on their hands.
But dead-center in the killbox? Yuri's eyes light up—pure predator glee. Finally, worthy prey.
Her blade's out—long, silver, wrapped in howling lightning chakra. Blue thunder paints her cute, bloodthirsty face stark white, carving deadly neon trails in the dark.
"Lightning Release: Thunder Fang!"
Crane-sharp yell. Blade screams, horizontal-vertical slashes—lightning arcs shred every bullet and shuriken. Explosions like firecrackers, rock shards and sparks flying, smoke thick with burnt-ozone stink.
"There's your opening!"
Left kid sees it—micro-gap after she blocks, old force spent. Ghost-rushes low, blind spot, poison-gleaming kunai thrust for her waist. Sneaky. Perfect ninja.
But Yuri? Eyes in the back of her head. Body twists at an impossible angle—wrist flips, lightning blade parries lazy-fast.
CLANG!
Metal sings, current zaps his arm numb—kunai nearly flies. Before he recovers, Yuri's tiny leg whips—wind-thunder crack—boots his gut.
"GAAHH—!"
Kid's eyes bug, blood-acid spray, launched like a cannonball. SMASH into the earth wall—crunch—slides down limp. Lights out.
"Earth Release: Fissure Palm!"
Leader's face twists—rage and shock—but vet instincts kick in. Seals blur, slams ground.
CRACK-CRACK! Earth screams, jagged chasms snake toward Yuri—ground quakes hard enough to topple normies. Swallow her whole.
Yuri snorts. Toes spark, leaps light as a feather. Mid-air flip—blade points down: "Lightning Release: Explosive Thunder!"
Condensed blue-white death beam lances from the tip—hits the wall-fissure junction.
BOOM! Dirt explodes sky-high. Wall crumbles.
Smoke everywhere—she lands running, streaks through the haze like teleporting thunder. Pops up in Leader's face—too fast for nerves.
"WHAT—?!"
Leader's scalp explodes. Death's shadow drops. Instinct only—backpedal wild, arms cross-block.
Too late.
Speed = power. Blade roars—unstoppable—smashes through his guard with the flat. Thunder force surges through his chest.
Cells scream, body seizes, foam at the mouth—thud. Out cold, ragdoll.
Last guy—the tank—watches two solid teammates get folded in seconds. Morale? Obliterated. Face drains white.
He bolts—full sprint, no look back. Get me the fuck away from this tiny thunder goddess.
Yuri flicks lingering arcs off her blade, chuckles—mocking, playful. Cat with a mouse.
Casual one-hand seal. Complex. Smooth.
"Lightning Release: Natural Thunder!"
Blade skyward—condensed chakra resonates with the storm clouds. Weird harmony.
CRAAAAACK—!
Bucket-thick natural bolt summons—rips the sky, lights the alley daytime-bright. Slams the ground one meter ahead of the runner.
BOOM! Crater. Shockwave flips him ass-over-teakettle, face-plants in scorched dirt. Legs lock—can't move. Ozone and burnt earth choke the air.
"Did I say you could leave?"
Yuri's voice—sweet, cold. Grim reaper whisper.
Tank freezes solid. Turns slow—like rusted gears—pupils shrunk to pinpricks from terror.
Sees her: sly, deadly grin. Blade raised again, death-sparks dancing. Lightning paints his twisted fear-face ghost-white.
Whole fight? Two, three minutes tops. Blink-and-miss carnage.
Yuri's moves—clean, ferocious, graceful. No waste. Every strike precise, efficient, lethal as fuck.Chapter 147: Kirigakure's Lightning Prodigy—She Done Fucked Up and Showed Her Weak Spot! (Sub Up, Degens)
Thick-ass storm clouds ate the last scraps of starlight, turning the world into a suffocating black void. Way off, Kirigakure's scattered lights bled into the fog like weak, blurry halos.
Barely outlining the twisty-ass town hugging the village—like some giant beast hunkered down in the dark.
Air reeked of that signature Kiri salt-stank mixed with cold, wet night. Heavy enough to choke on. A couple distant dog barks ripped the silence, just amping the kill-vibe.
Two shadows hauling ass through the narrow alleys. Front one's a pint-sized blur, dodging the maze like lightning on steroids—only a streaky afterimage left behind.
Trailing? Pure night camouflage. Silent steps, ghosting hard, locked on at a fixed distance.
Uchiha Makoto's hawk-eyes pinned the electric figure ahead, lips curling into a grin. Came out to grab clothes with Yakushi Nono and scored this kinda bonus? Jackpot.
A cloud drifts, spilling thin moonlight. Lights up the chick ninja.
Short—maybe 4'3". Standard Kiri gear swallowing her frame like a kid raiding dad's closet.
But that baggy shit can't hide the wild energy. Brownish-red hair tied in a funky upright braid, whipping like it's alive with every burst of speed.
Neck wrapped in fluffy bandages, and strapped to her back? A ninja blade that screams trouble even sheathed. Not the future legendary Thunder Blades "Fang," but chakra-conducting metal on the hilt's popping tiny arcs like it's itching to fry someone.
Moon hits her side-glance: eyes sharp as a raptor in the dark, wild gleam, lips cracked showing two cute but vicious tiger fangs. Playful danger dialed to eleven.
One quick peek and Makoto's got her pegged—Ringo Yuri.
Kirigakure's once-in-a-century lightning freak. Future sole chick in the second-gen Seven Ninja Swordsmen. The one who cranks "Fang" to god-tier.
A prodigy who, in the old timeline, croaked young from some incurable bullshit. Right now? Bursting with life and straight-up lethal juice.
Per Makoto's past-life Naruto manga knowledge, Yuri on a mission? Lock-on means game over. Talent and skill off the charts.
His eyes flash deep respect. This girl's affinity for lightning release is nightmare fuel. Snag her under my banner? Instant power-up for the squad.
First drop on 101kan.com—clean chapters, no jumbled BS.
Yuri slams brakes in front of some random low-roof shack—no warning.
Hands blur through seals, smooth as butter, fingertips sparking heart-stopping blue arcs.
"Lightning Release: Falling Thunder!"
Crisp, ice-cold shout slices the night.
CRACK—!
Blinding bolt materializes outta nowhere—god's own spear—slams the roof dead-center.
BOOM! Ears ringing, beams snap, tiles and dust explode everywhere. Roof blown open like a crater, dark guts exposed.
"Enemy attack!"
"Kiri hunters?"
"Just one?!"
Three figures scramble out the hole—panicked but drilled. Back-to-back in a rock-solid defense triangle.
Iwa ninja gear, forehead protectors flashing the rock symbol. Faces pissed and pissed their op got cockblocked.
Leader's a grizzled middle-aged badass, deep scar on his temple screaming veteran.
Eyes sweep, lock on lone Yuri—calm AF. Barks: "Kiri scum, you alone and suicidal?" Hands already creeping to his tool pouch.
"You Iwa trash?" Yuri grins, tiger fangs glinting in the leftover lightning. "One of me's more than enough, bitches."
"Cocky little—!" Leader's eyes ice over, murder mode.
No more talk. Flicks wrist—six shuriken rip the air, high-mid-low, sealing every dodge like a pro sadist.
His two goons sync perfect. Shunshin—no hesitation.
Split left-right, triangle lockdown. Left kid (young hotshot) seals fast. Right tank stomps the ground—here we go.
Leader slams palms down: "Earth Release: Earth Flow Wall!"
RRRUMBLE! Thick-ass wall erupts, way beefier than standard—cuts Yuri's best escape like a boss. Chakra control? Chef's kiss.
Same beat—left kid puffs chest: "Earth Release: Rock Iron Cannon!"
Compressed stone bullets—hard as steel, punch through tanks—rain down with screeching death whistles.
Right tank roars, muscles balloon, skin turns rocky: "Earth Release: Rock Fist Jutsu!"
Fist explodes into a boulder sledgehammer, swinging to pulverize from the side. Last escape? Gone.
Lockdown. Trap. Execute.
Classic Iwa squad tactics—fluid, brutal, veteran blood on their hands.
But dead-center in the killbox? Yuri's eyes light up—pure predator glee. Finally, worthy prey.
Her blade's out—long, silver, wrapped in howling lightning chakra. Blue thunder paints her cute, bloodthirsty face stark white, carving deadly neon trails in the dark.
"Lightning Release: Thunder Fang!"
Crane-sharp yell. Blade screams, horizontal-vertical slashes—lightning arcs shred every bullet and shuriken. Explosions like firecrackers, rock shards and sparks flying, smoke thick with burnt-ozone stink.
"There's your opening!"
Left kid sees it—micro-gap after she blocks, old force spent. Ghost-rushes low, blind spot, poison-gleaming kunai thrust for her waist. Sneaky. Perfect ninja.
But Yuri? Eyes in the back of her head. Body twists at an impossible angle—wrist flips, lightning blade parries lazy-fast.
CLANG!
Metal sings, current zaps his arm numb—kunai nearly flies. Before he recovers, Yuri's tiny leg whips—wind-thunder crack—boots his gut.
"GAAHH—!"
Kid's eyes bug, blood-acid spray, launched like a cannonball. SMASH into the earth wall—crunch—slides down limp. Lights out.
"Earth Release: Fissure Palm!"
Leader's face twists—rage and shock—but vet instincts kick in. Seals blur, slams ground.
CRACK-CRACK! Earth screams, jagged chasms snake toward Yuri—ground quakes hard enough to topple normies. Swallow her whole.
Yuri snorts. Toes spark, leaps light as a feather. Mid-air flip—blade points down: "Lightning Release: Explosive Thunder!"
Condensed blue-white death beam lances from the tip—hits the wall-fissure junction.
BOOM! Dirt explodes sky-high. Wall crumbles.
Smoke everywhere—she lands running, streaks through the haze like teleporting thunder. Pops up in Leader's face—too fast for nerves.
"WHAT—?!"
Leader's scalp explodes. Death's shadow drops. Instinct only—backpedal wild, arms cross-block.
Too late.
Speed = power. Blade roars—unstoppable—smashes through his guard with the flat. Thunder force surges through his chest.
Cells scream, body seizes, foam at the mouth—thud. Out cold, ragdoll.
Last guy—the tank—watches two solid teammates get folded in seconds. Morale? Obliterated. Face drains white.
He bolts—full sprint, no look back. Get me the fuck away from this tiny thunder goddess.
Yuri flicks lingering arcs off her blade, chuckles—mocking, playful. Cat with a mouse.
Casual one-hand seal. Complex. Smooth.
"Lightning Release: Natural Thunder!"
Blade skyward—condensed chakra resonates with the storm clouds. Weird harmony.
CRAAAAACK—!
Bucket-thick natural bolt summons—rips the sky, lights the alley daytime-bright. Slams the ground one meter ahead of the runner.
BOOM! Crater. Shockwave flips him ass-over-teakettle, face-plants in scorched dirt. Legs lock—can't move. Ozone and burnt earth choke the air.
"Did I say you could leave?"
Yuri's voice—sweet, cold. Grim reaper whisper.
Tank freezes solid. Turns slow—like rusted gears—pupils shrunk to pinpricks from terror.
Sees her: sly, deadly grin. Blade raised again, death-sparks dancing. Lightning paints his twisted fear-face ghost-white.
Whole fight? Two, three minutes tops. Blink-and-miss carnage.
Yuri's moves—clean, ferocious, graceful. No waste. Every strike precise, efficient, lethal as fuck.