Shinohara Kosuke was just an ordinary shinobi.
After twenty-five long years of grinding through the academy and enduring the brutal shinobi life, he had finally reached Chūnin.
Two years later, the Third Great Ninja War began—and now he was in the middle of Kumo's terrifying offensive.
Barely surviving, chakra almost spent, he fought like a man possessed—like he was the reincarnation of the Sage of Six Paths himself.
His once vibrant brown hair was now slicked with crimson. Blood—his own and his enemies'—dripped freely down his face.
His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. Every kunai he threw, every movement he calculated… somewhere deep down, despair clung to him like a curse.
Shinohara was perceptive; his ears had been tracking the Head Jōnin's fight from the start.At first, he'd believed that two Jōnin together would surely be enough to hold off the Kumo commander.
But he was wrong.
Their screams erupted one after another, cutting through the chaos.
Something inside him cracked.
All this time… all my life I've been fighting, working, doing everything I can to survive, he thought bitterly.And now I die… here, in the middle of nowhere.
He had always known the life of a shinobi was unpredictable—death came early for most—but the thought of dying pointlessly still filled him with disgust.
"Fuck despair," he muttered under his breath, glaring at the two Kumo shinobi circling him. His voice dropped to a growl. "Fuck this world. If I'm dying, I'm taking you both with me."
Even with his vision blurring and his chakra nearly gone, Shinohara prepared himself to rebel—to die standing, as a Leaf shinobi should.
Hashirama's legacy.Tobirama's pride.Hiruzen's intellect.All of it ran in the veins of every Konoha shinobi.
But before he could make his final move—something impossible happened.
The two Kumo shinobi in front of him, along with several others nearby, dropped dead in an instant.
Their heads rolled to the ground, severed cleanly.
For a moment, Shinohara couldn't breathe.
Then he saw him.
A newcomer stood amid the carnage, fiery hair blazing even in the dim light, eyes glowing an eerie crimson.
Sharingan… an Uchiha? he realized.
The man moved like a demon through the Kumo ranks—swift, precise, merciless. Wherever he passed, bodies fell.
Shinohara didn't need to think twice. He's drawing their attention… pulling the Jonin away from us.
And sure enough, the Kumo Jōnin who had been toying with the Leaf survivors turned, focusing entirely on the fiery-haired swordsman.
Shinohara's gut twisted. Five Jōnin at once… no one can survive that. Not even an elite.
He knew the truth—but still, he couldn't look away.
Something inside him stirred. The despair that had been strangling him lifted, replaced by a faint, burning light.
That man's back—broad, steady, defiant—radiated something ancient, something sacred.
Hope.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Shinohara felt his heart pounding harder, louder.
When such a man stands among us, he thought fiercely, gripping his kunai tight, how dare I fear anything?
"I might not be able to handle Jōnin," he muttered under his breath, "but I, Shinohara Kosuke, will take down as many as I can."
He lunged forward with renewed fury, joining the battle.And for the first time that night, Konoha's hopeless line began to move again.
Because Kyojiro hadn't just brought strength to the field.He had brought belief.. . .
Kyojiro wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, eyes flickering with crimson light.
First step—information gathering.
His Sharingan tracked every movement. The Jōnin had dodged his first volley of shuriken—fast, coordinated, no wasted motion.
He dashed forward, katana raised.
His blade met two enemy swords in a blinding flash, sparks exploding as steel clashed against steel.
"Look into my eyes!" Kyojiro shouted, voice echoing through the chaos.
The two Jōnin immediately looked away, eyes darting to the ground.
They knew better. The power of the Sharingan was common knowledge—a single glance could trap them in genjutsu.
It was dangerous. Lethal, even.
Kyojiro clicked his tongue softly. Tch… I'll have to confuse them first. My Sharingan doesn't have the illusion strength to trap Jōnin yet—but misdirection is enough.
He moved through their offense like water flowing around stone, katana deflecting, redirecting, never meeting force with force.
His footwork was flawless—fluid rotations that let him face one enemy at a time while controlling the rhythm of both.
It wasn't typical shinobi swordplay.
It was Rengoku's art.
Kyojuro Rengoku's flame techniques—swordsmanship built to kill demons—had evolved far beyond any style this world had ever seen.
TING!
SLASH!
Kyojiro ducked under a horizontal sweep, his senses alert. Three other Jōnin were closing in, circling, trying to read his patterns.
He couldn't allow that.
Tilting his head, he dodged a stab aimed for his neck and countered instantly—his right leg snapping out in a sharp kick to the shinobi's exposed side.
Now.
Flame Breathing, Second Form — Rising Scorching Sun!
His muscles coiled like springs. His blade shot upward in a powerful vertical arc, cleaving through the enemy's defense with brute force.
The Kumo Jōnin grunted, body lifting off the ground from the impact.
Kyojiro twisted his torso, following through with a crushing back kick that slammed into the man's solar plexus.
The Kumo shinobi flew back, spitting blood, crashing into the dirt.
Kyojiro smirked faintly. That should keep him down for a minute.
His gaze shifted to the next opponent—one whose stance screamed caution.
And then he heard his mentor's voice in his mind.
"Flame Breathing is about explosive power. Speed and strength in perfect harmony—like a fire reborn."
Kyojiro breathed in. Moved.
Flame Breathing, First Form — Unknowing Fire!
His blade flashed in a clean horizontal arc, aiming straight for the man's neck—
But the Kumo Jōnin blocked at the last second, teeth gritted, sparks flying.
Kyojiro's eyes burned hotter. Continuous attack… keep him off balance.
Flame Breathing, Fifth Form — Flame Tiger!
His sword became a blur, carving the air with blazing precision. The strikes flowed one into another, ferocious yet beautiful—like a tiger made of living fire.
Kyojiro exhaled sharply, the realization dawning on him mid-swing.
So this… this is the essence of Flame Breathing.
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Hehe, Show some love guys- we aint even in the power ranking no more :(
Either way, thanks for reading and peace my brothers.