Kakashi broke the silence first. "We should return to the training."
The words were directed at Renjiro, but their target was clear. He wanted distance from Guy.
Wanted to retreat back into the focused, punishing simplicity of the water balloon and the board. Wanted to stop being an observer and become a participant again.
Guy, predictably, lit up again.
"Training! Yes! I will join!" He had already begun to move toward the board, his enthusiasm undimmed by his earlier defeat.
"What could be more youthful than training together? What could be more—"
"The training is Sharingan-specific."
Kakashi's voice was flat, dismissive. He wanted to be clearer this time. Guy paused, his momentum arrested, his grin faltering for just a moment.
"Ah." He processed this, the implications settling.
But the pause was brief.
"Then I will watch! And learn! And when you have mastered your Sharingan, we will compete again!"
He dropped into a seated position at the edge of the clearing, his legs crossed, his hands on his knees, the picture of focused attention.
Kakashi's eye twitched. He had wanted distance. He had not wanted an audience.
Renjiro watched the exchange with the detached interest of a scientist observing an experiment.
'Maybe I can use them to test that.'
The thought surfaced fully formed, a shift in his internal calculus that was almost imperceptible from the outside. His hand moved to his pouch, fingers finding the small storage seals he had prepared weeks ago, waiting for the right moment.
He pulled them out—two small, unremarkable squares of paper, their surfaces covered in dense, precise kanji.
"I have something you can help test."
Both Kakashi and Guy reacted immediately. Guy leaned forward, his curiosity visible. Kakashi's eye narrowed, suspicion and interest warring behind it.
"What is it?" Guy asked, his voice carrying the eagerness of someone who had never met a new technique he didn't want to try.
Renjiro held up the seals, "The concept originated during the war."
His voice was calm, clinical. "I've only recently had time to complete the work." He paused, letting the weight of that settle.
"It's a practical tool. Something shinobi could use on missions."
He looked at them—at Kakashi, who had already begun to calculate the implications; at Guy, who was already preparing to volunteer.
"It needs testing. Real shinobi. Not simulations."
Guy was on his feet before the words finished leaving Renjiro's mouth.
"I will do it!" His voice was a declaration, a battle cry.
"Youth embraces challenge! Youth embraces risk! Whatever this test requires, I am ready!"
He thrust out his hand, palm up, waiting for the seal.
Kakashi did not move. His hand remained at his side, his eye fixed on the small square of paper in Renjiro's palm. His mind was a storm of calculation—of risk assessment, of pattern recognition, of the memory of the genjutsu that had carved itself into his consciousness only hours ago.
'Red flags,' he thought. 'Everything about this is red flags.'
But beneath the caution, another voice was speaking. The board. The water balloon. The training that had already pushed him further in hours than years of independent practice. Renjiro's methods were brutal, but they worked. His inventions were functional, tested, and refined.
'This could benefit me. Could benefit others. Could be something that saves lives in the field.'
The logic was sound. The instinct was screaming.
Renjiro watched the hesitation, the calculation behind Kakashi's visible eye. He understood it. The genjutsu had left its mark, had shifted the balance between them in ways that would take time to settle. But he also saw the opportunity.
'Kakashi and Guy,' he thought, 'Best available test subjects. Skilled enough to survive complications. Trusted enough to provide useful feedback.'
He waited.
Kakashi finally spoke, his voice careful, measured.
"What does the seal do?" A pause. "What are the risks?"
The question was reasonable. The tone was not quite accusatory, but close. He had not forgotten the genjutsu. He was not about to walk into another trap without understanding its dimensions.
Guy, predictably, could not let the moment pass.
"Risks are part of growth!" He slapped Kakashi on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stagger. "Without risk, there is no challenge! Without challenge, there is no improvement! You cannot become stronger by playing it safe, my rival!"
Kakashi's jaw tightened. The words were meant to be encouraging. They landed like pressure.
Renjiro added his own weight to the scale, his voice calm, almost casual.
"You are a jōnin, Kakashi. You should know better than most that hesitation in the field gets people killed." He held up the seal.
"This is a tool. Nothing more. The question is whether you have the discipline to test it properly, or whether you will let fear of the unknown hold you back."
The words were manipulation, and they both knew it. But that did not make them less effective.
Kakashi's voice was tight when he responded.
"You used genjutsu on me. I woke up in my boxers."
The words were almost an accusation, almost a plea for acknowledgement. Renjiro's expression did not change.
"Point still stands."
He let the words hang, then added the final piece of leverage.
"Consider this repayment. For the time. For the energy. For the resources I've already invested in your training."
The words were a trap and an escape at the same time. An exit option was presented, but one that carried the weight of obligation. Kakashi could refuse. But the cost of refusal would be measured in more than training.
He reached out and took the seal.
Renjiro watched him, a flicker of something almost like amusement passing behind his eyes.
'Didn't know peer pressure was this powerful,' he thought. The dynamic between Kakashi and Guy was useful. He would remember that.
Guy had already pressed his seal to his own palm, holding it flat, waiting for activation.
"How does it work?" he asked, his voice carrying the same eagerness he brought to everything.
Renjiro reached into his pouch again, his fingers finding the second set of seals.
"The test requires two phases. First, the seals activate. Then, we measure the response."
He placed the additional seals on the back of each of their hands, the paper adhering to skin with a soft hiss of chakra. Guy watched with fascination. Kakashi's eye tracked the motion with growing wariness.
"Secondary seals," Renjiro explained. "They ensure the primary seals function as intended. Standard safety protocols."
He stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. The clearing was quiet again, the earlier tension returning, building.
"Ready?"
Guy's answer was immediate. "Ready!"
Kakashi said nothing.
Renjiro made a single-handed sign.
The second seals activated*.
The effect was instantaneous. Kakashi's muscles locked—not the slow paralysis of fear or hesitation, but the absolute, mechanical rigidity of chakra-forced immobility.
He could not turn his head. Could not close his eye. Could not do anything except watch as the world narrowed to the small square of his vision.
'I cannot move.'
The realisation was cold, immediate, terrifying. His mind raced, trying to find the edge of the seal, the weakness, the escape. There was none. The paralysis was absolute.
Beside him, Guy had gone still as well. His face, visible in profile, registered confusion first, then surprise, then—not fear, but something like wonder.
He tried to shift. The seal held.
Renjiro was watching them both, his expression calm, his stance relaxed.
Kakashi found his voice, though it came out rougher than he intended.
"You could have used genjutsu."
Renjiro's response was matter-of-fact.
"I could have. But the seal ensures your guard is lowered. No resistance. No escape. Pure data."
He moved then—a flicker of motion that was almost too fast to track. His Body Flicker carried him between them, his body a blur in the fading light.
Kakashi's eye widened. He knew what was coming. Could see it unfolding, could map the trajectory, could predict the impact with perfect, terrible clarity.
He could do nothing to stop it.
The strike was simultaneous. Two fists, moving with identical speed, identical force, aimed at the exact centre of each of the boy's chest. The impact was a single sound—a boom that echoed across the training ground, that sent birds scattering from the trees, that seemed to shake the earth itself.
The force of it drove through muscle and bone, through chakra networks and organs, through every defence they had not been able to raise. The seals had done their work. There was no resistance. No mitigation. No escape.
Kakashi felt it—the shockwave travelling through his chest, the sudden, sharp pain that bloomed outward from the point of impact, the copper taste of blood flooding his mouth.
His vision went white for a moment, then resolved into fragments: the sky, the ground, the distant trees, Renjiro's face, calm and watching.
His knees hit the earth. The impact jarred through him, a second wave of pain that joined the first.
Beside him, Guy had fallen too. His body was folded forward, his hands—still sealed, still useless—pressed against the ground, his breathing ragged.
Kakashi coughed. Blood splattered against the packed earth, dark and vivid. The seal on his palm was still warm, still pulsing, still holding him in its absolute grip. He could not raise a hand to his chest. Could not check the damage. Could not do anything except kneel there, in the dirt, and bleed.
Guy coughed too, a wet, tearing sound that spoke of damage more serious than muscle.
Renjiro stood between them, his hands still raised, his breathing even.
"Phase one complete," he said.
=====
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