"The feel of fire… huh." Sasuke frowned. He was trying to follow the sensation of a fire technique, then force a lightning nature transformation into the chakra he'd already released.
But it wasn't easy.
When using fire-style jutsu you can let chakra flow into your throat naturally; to project chakra outward and then graft a lightning nature onto it was far harder. The crux was that he'd only ever studied fire—he'd never touched lightning nature before.
What could he do?
If this kept up he'd be completely outpaced by Naruto—the giant idiot. And—
Sasuke glanced faintly toward Sakura hammering at the tree. Her training looked ridiculous, but it was going smoothly. That meant he was the only one in Team 7 hitting a wall.
If this went on, he would become the weakest in Team 7.
"Should I go ask Ayato?" Sasuke's brows tightened as he looked at Ayato lounging on the couch, casually leafing through Icha Icha Paradise.
No way he could bring himself to go ask Ayato for pointers! He could already imagine Ayato's sneering face, the mockery and derision.
"Hmph." Sasuke stood, hesitated, then sat back down again.
Even if it took five days to break through, even if he couldn't stand up to the Mist shinobi, even if he became the weakest in Team 7—he would never, ever go beg Ayato for help.
Sasuke's pride would not let him.
And yet while he told himself that, his feet had already carried him to Ayato's side.
"Don't be shy. Lots of women act like that—say no with their mouths, but their bodies are honest," Ayato muttered without looking up. He'd noticed Sasuke hovering, hesitating and wrestling with himself.
Sasuke cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. "How do I inject a nature transformation?"
Ayato yawned, flipped a page, and said nonchalantly, "I told you before—tsundere's out of fashion. Men playing tsundere is just silly. If you were a pretty girl it might be cute, though."
Sasuke shoved his hands into his pockets, too embarrassed to retort. Then, coldly: "You know a shortcut, right?"
"How odd." Ayato sat up, pinched his chin and looked at Sasuke with a mocking smile. "A genius of the Uchiha needing shortcuts—who'd have thought? I honestly expected you to be the fastest improver in Team 7."
Ayato pretended to be proud. "Is Chidori that hard? I learned it in three minutes. Of course, you don't have to learn it in three minutes—you're not me."
He'd learned Rasengan in three minutes; Chidori had been the same. Because Ayato already had mastery over both shape and nature transformations, techniques were trivial to pick up.
Sasuke's face darkened. He ground his teeth, knowing he'd be roasted by Ayato's teasing. Three minutes? Who would believe that?
"There's no real shortcut," Ayato continued, flipping the book. "If shortcuts existed, why bother working? Wanting a shortcut is itself a kind of obstacle—something that stops you from getting stronger."
Sasuke paused and thought. Ayato's words landed differently than his attitude suggested. Maybe there was substance beneath the swagger.
Ayato shrugged and said lazily, "I only said all that because it sounded cool. It's mostly for ordinary shinobi; I was just showing off."
A shortcut? Of course there were shortcuts—Transmigration Eyes, the master–disciple system—lots of ways to get an edge. But real strength also required work. Still… there was value in what Ayato had said.
Sasuke swallowed and, before he could overthink it, he blurted, "Ayato, demonstrate Chidori—please, show me once."
Close call. He'd almost been walked out on for good.
"Ugh, so troublesome. You want a demo without paying tuition?" Ayato complained.
"When the Uchiha district is unsealed and the houses are sold, I'll pay you back," Sasuke said flatly, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes. The once-proud Uchiha had become a forbidden area in the village; he'd lost family, title, and means—yet property would revert when the old guard passed. He was, in his own way, still the clan's heir.
Ayato's brow lifted. He'd almost forgotten Sasuke's background—still a young lord of an abandoned domain. Profitable prospects, indeed. "One day I'll be rich off that real estate," Ayato mused inwardly. "You call me teacher, I'll call you my ward. Deal."
"All right—watch closely." Ayato raised his palm; pale-blue chakra coalesced and crackled into electric current. The lightning took form, becoming a blade-like tachi of crackling energy.
Chakra nature transformation… Sasuke's Sharingan drilled into the motion, seeing the minute changes.
Ayato continued, shaping the lightning into a different form—two lightning tigers materialized, snarling with raw energy. Then, with a subtle gesture, the two tigers merged and reshaped into the outline of a woman—no detail, just a silhouette formed of electricity.
"This is the Chidori's shape transformation," Ayato explained. "If your chakra reserve is enough and you can precisely control it, you can change Chidori's form at will."
"Even into... that?" Sasuke asked, embarrassed and amazed.
"It's a versatile move," Ayato said, extinguishing the lightning. The glow faded and the currents died away. "You don't need to mess with form changes yet. I just showed you because it looks cool."
Sasuke folded the Sharingan away, hands in his pockets. He already understood where he'd gone wrong: his approach to grafting lightning onto outward-flowing chakra. Seeing Ayato's flow clarified the timing and the micro-adjustments needed.
"Thanks," Sasuke muttered, and walked back to the training ground. He'd watched, learned, and now knew the error to fix.
"You tsundere brat," Ayato muttered, flopping back onto the couch and covering his face with the book. "But he's sharp—promise material."
Honestly—Sasuke had potential. Maybe in three days the match with the Mist shinobi would go smoothly. Even if Zabuza was a jōnin, without his Executioner's Blade anymore he'd been weakened. Team 7 might be able to win; if things went south, Naruto could always erupt and make things interesting—tail-out or not, the side-quest would still net the reward.
Ayato closed his eyes. A few minutes later—
"Is it here?" A graceful, slender figure in white kimono approached the couch. Pale skin, black hair flowing—beautiful, delicate, and yet undeniably male. He was Mizunotsuki Bai.
"Mizunotsuki Bai," Ayato said softly as the man crouched beside the couch and inspected his face with a composed smile. Rumors painted Ayato as a cold, remorseless tyrant who trampled the weak; everywhere he went he left chaos—so a disaster-ninja, the stories said.
Bai chuckled softly. The Ayato he found now seemed less like the towering menace from before; his impression softened. Memories of their clash rushed back—Bai blushed remembering one particular humiliating move. The "millennium kill" — he still remembered it.
Disaster ninja? No—pervert ninja, Bai thought with a flush.
He reached toward Ayato's neck—if he could finish Ayato here, Zabuza would be pleased, and there'd be no need to meet Team 7 in three days; the seal on him would vanish and Zabuza would earn a tidy sum. But seeing the three kids training in the distance, Bai hesitated. Were they important to Ayato? Maybe. He softened.
He pulled a blanket over Ayato.
"Good judgment—you were one step from death," Ayato said, opening one eye and meeting Bai's gaze. He'd been faking sleep to see what Bai would do.
Actually, via the Resonant Thunder ability Ayato had spread an electromagnetic field across the mountain and sensed movement when Bai stepped into it. So he'd been awake all along.
"The weather is cold; be careful you don't catch a cold sleeping outside," Bai said with a gentle smile—refined, composed.
"Refined and dutiful," Ayato deadpanned, looking at the blanket. "You really are a proper… man in white."
"Are you all right back there?" Ayato teased, motioning at Bai's posterior. "You survived that last move—your butt okay?"
"You—pervert!" Bai recoiled, clutching the kimono that covered him, cheeks flushing with anger and embarrassment. He half-expected Ayato to pull another 'millennium' trick.
"Honestly, give up being a shinobi," Ayato said casually. "Compared to cold-blooded fighters, you'd be better suited to running an orphanage and being a saint."
"You gave up a chance just now," Ayato added. "Softness is the start of failure."
Ayato had never softened; in the past he'd toyed with beautiful foes and solved problems with ruthless amusement. Enemies were to be dealt with, without pity. Many shinobi lacked hatred; they held only positions. To be a shinobi was to be decisive.
Bai laughed lightly. "You're a strange one, Mister Pervert—lecturing an enemy."
"I have no enemies unless they're equal to me in strength," Ayato said. "Someone weak like you isn't really an enemy."
Bai cocked his head, then smiled warmly. "I have someone important. I'd give everything for him. In a snowy night he became my salvation—my only refuge."
"Even if I'm treated as a tool, I'd be happy. Even if I die, it's worth it." Bai's voice was calm, sincere.
Ayato smirked. "That includes your backside, too, you little perv."
Bai's face flamed again and he shot Ayato an indignant glare—half anger, half fondness. He whispered, "If it's for him, I'd give my life."
Ayato's eyes softened for just an instant. Tools, enemies, devotion—people bent into shapes by what they loved. For some, being someone's tool was the only meaning they needed.
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