The world erupted into a symphony of violence, but for Renjiro, it was a symphony he had learned to conduct by ear alone. In the span between one heartbeat and the next, his sensory net flared outwards like a supernova.
He didn't see the five Kiri shinobi materialising from the mist-shrouded trees; he felt them. He felt the aggressive shift in the air as one formed hand seals, the gathering density of water chakra coalescing into a dragon's maw.
He felt the minute vibrations in the earth as two others charged, their kunai hands trembling with a frantic energy that was at odds with their lethal purpose. He felt the killing intent—a cold, oily stain in the air—rolling off them in waves.
His voice, when it came, was a low, calm counterpoint to the chaos, each word a precise instrument of command.
"Formation Gamma. Now."
There was no hesitation in his squad, a hand-picked unit trained to operate in the absolute darkness of his world.
"Arata, Kenji, flanks. Hold the line, don't let them encircle. Yuma, elevated support, watch for projectiles and genjutsu triggers."
Like a machine whose gears had been meticulously oiled, they moved.
"Shunshin-swish!"
Two figures blurred to his left and right, their chakra flaring defensively. A third flickered up into the canopy above, the rustle of leaves marking his ascent. The last, the medic, fell back several paces, her chakra already glowing with the green, life-giving hue of a healing technique held at the ready.
The first water dragon surged toward them, a roaring torrent of chakra-shaped liquid and malice. A blind man should have been obliterated. Renjiro simply took a single, sliding step to his left, his head tilted as if listening to a faint melody. The dragon's maw passed so close to his right shoulder that the residual moisture soaked into his flak jacket. As it passed, his hand snapped out, fingers brushing against the watery form. "Plink."
A single, concentrated pulse of his chakra, a needle of disruptive energy, shot into the construct's core. The dragon wavered, its form destabilising, and crashed harmlessly into the trees behind them in a splash of spent chakra and water.
"Kunai, high arc from the north-east, explosive tags," Renjiro stated, his voice devoid of inflexion. Yuma, in the trees, didn't question.
"Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!" Three of his own senbon intercepted the cluster of kunai in mid-air, the sharp clink of metal on metal preceding the crump of the premature detonation that showered the area in harmless, burning paper.
The two flanking attackers closed in, their movements erratic. Renjiro didn't wait for them. He moved into them, his style a chilling spectacle of efficiency. He didn't block the first kunai thrust; he flowed around it, his palm slapping the attacker's wrist with a sharp crack, redirecting the blade into the path of the second shinobi.
A gurgled cry, the wet sound of steel finding flesh, and one foe was down. The second, wide-eyed, tried to form a seal for a Water Clone. Renjiro's foot swept out, not at the man, but at a specific, loose stone on the ground. Tick. The stone flew, striking the shinobi's hands just as they were about to clasp together, disrupting the flow.
A moment of stunned immobility was all Renjiro needed. A single, chakra-infused finger jabbed into the man's sternum. There was no loud sound, just a soft thump and the cessation of the Kiri-nin's chakra flow as he collapsed, paralysed.
Amidst the flawless execution, Renjiro's mind was racing, collating data that didn't fit.
'Kiri is Konoha's ally. A shaky, temporary one, but an ally nonetheless.'
The history he knew, from the Anime, was clear: their hostility would come later, a gradual souring that culminated in the Bloody Mist era and the attempted kidnapping of Rin Nohara to place the Three-Tails in her. This… this was too soon, too blatant, too suicidal.
'This isn't Kiri acting. The Mizukage, for all his faults, wouldn't sanction this strategically incoherent rampage. This is someone forcing Kiri's hand.'
Another wave of chakra signatures registered on the far edge of his field, approaching fast.
'This has Madara's stench all over it… starting early, shifting the future.'
His internal monologue was a frantic scroll unfurling. 'Why? Why now?' The war ended too fast. The timeline compressed. Obito survived, the perfect pawn was never acquired.
The confrontation between the Kage at the border… it must have disrupted the flow he'd been counting on. Madara's grand design had been threatened by an unforeseen peace. So he was adapting, accelerating, creating chaos to fish in troubled waters.
A soft, almost inaudible mutter escaped Renjiro's lips, lost in the din of the final clashes. "He's adjusting the board again…"
The last of the Kiri attackers fell, Kenji, one of his new subordinates, standing over a prisoner he had efficiently subdued with a binding jutsu. Another was being stabilised, albeit reluctantly, by Haru. The clearing fell into a sudden, uneasy quiet, broken only by the heavy breathing of the Konoha shinobi and the soft moans of the captives. The air was thick with the smells of ozone, blood, and damp earth.
One of the younger genin, Aki, her hands still trembling, looked from the prisoners in their Kiri headbands to her blind captain. "Captain... has... has Kiri betrayed the alliance? Have they declared war?"
Renjiro turned his unfocused silver eyes toward her voice, his face an unreadable mask. He didn't offer reassurance or patriotic fury. He offered only a cold, hard truth. "Something bigger is happening."
=====
The scene shifted from the intimate chaos of the forest clearing to the strained order of the Second Division's command tent, nestled in a fortified valley deeper within the Land of Fire.
Nara Shiba, his face looking more gaunt and shadowed than ever, leaned over a large strategic map spread across a central table. Wooden blocks representing Konoha units were scattered across it, many now looking dangerously isolated.
The tent flap rustled violently as a chunin messenger burst in, his face ashen. "Commander! Confirmed attack on the Seventh Squad in the Hoki Pass! Heavy casualties! They're requesting immediate support!"
Before Shiba could respond, another officer rushed to the table, slapping a new missive down. "Flash report from the Yamanaka network, sir. Kiri forces ambushed a medical convoy near the eastern coast. The supply route is compromised."
A third voice, from a sensor-nin monitoring a crystal ball, added, "I'm reading multiple, small-scale chakra clashes erupting along our entire retreat corridor. The pattern is… it's indiscriminate."
With each report, Shiba's expression grew darker, the lines on his face deepening into canyons of stress. He didn't speak, his brilliant mind processing the catastrophic data, seeing the larger, horrifying picture forming: not a single betrayal, but a systemic, coordinated collapse of the peace.
The Yamanaka operative standing silently in the corner of the tent suddenly stiffened, her eyes glazing over milky white. "Commander Shiba," she intoned, her voice hollow. "Hokage-sama is requesting a direct link."
Shiba didn't look surprised. He merely sighed, a weary exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of the entire war, and raised two fingers to his temple. He closed his eyes, the chaotic noise of the tent fading as the crisp, calm, and ice-cold voice of Hiruzen Sarutobi filled his mind.
He didn't wait for formalities. There was no time. With the grim certainty of a man who had just watched his worst-case scenario unfold in real time, Shiba thought the words directly down the psychic connection. "It already happened."
There was a pause on the other end, a moment of shared, silent grief for the peace that had died at dawn. When Hiruzen's mental voice returned, it was just as cold, just as final. "I know. I've already assigned Minato to secure the situation."
=====
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