Kirikagure — Mizukage's Office
The Mizukage did not interrupt.
He let Kushimaru finish.
The report was precise. Clean. Carefully worded in the way only professionals used when the truth was… inconvenient.
"Primary defender identified as probable clan leader," Kushimaru concluded. "Severely injured during engagement. Terrain collapse prevented body confirmation. Survival unlikely."
Jinpachi stood off to the side, arms crossed, impatience radiating from him like heat. He said nothing, but his scowl filled in the gaps Kushimaru did not.
The Mizukage folded his hands.
"No body," he repeated.
"Correct," Kushimaru said. "Ice Release destabilized the valley. Continued engagement would have risked unnecessary losses."
The word unnecessary hung there.
"And the rest?" the Mizukage asked.
"Hunter-nin units have been redeployed," Kushimaru continued. "The clan scattered during the engagement. Without centralized leadership, they're breaking the pattern."
Jinpachi snorted. "Headless chickens. Running on instinct."
The Mizukage's gaze flicked to him—sharp enough that Jinpachi fell silent.
"Explain," the Mizukage ordered.
Kushimaru inclined his head. "No coordinated movement. No false centers. No terrain manipulation beyond basic survival techniques. Individuals are fleeing independently or in small family units."
He paused.
"They're alive," he added. "But they're no longer organized."
The Mizukage leaned back slowly.
That should have been satisfying.
A clan shattered.
Leadership removed.
Bloodline reduced to prey.
This was the outcome Kirigakure had engineered dozens of times before.
And yet—
"No confirmation of death," the Mizukage said again, softly now.
"No," Kushimaru admitted. "But functionally—"
"Functionally," the Mizukage interrupted, "is not finished."
Silence pressed in.
"You're certain the leader was a Yuki?" the Mizukage asked.
"Yes."
"And you're certain the evacuation was intentional."
"Yes."
"And you're certain someone else coordinated it."
Kushimaru hesitated for half a breath.
"…Yes."
The Mizukage's fingers tightened.
So the Yuki had learned structure.
Then chosen to abandon it.
That was not panic.
That was a choice.
"Continue the hunt," the Mizukage said at last. "Quietly. No large movements. No spectacle."
He stood and turned toward the map, already dotted with faint marks where hunter-nins now ranged.
"Without leadership, they will make mistakes," he continued. "They always do."
Jinpachi grinned. "I'll enjoy that."
"No," the Mizukage said flatly. "You're done."
Jinpachi stiffened. Kushimaru's eyes sharpened.
"This phase does not require legends," the Mizukage went on. "It requires patience."
He traced a slow circle around the Fire Country border.
"Let them run," he said. "Let them scatter. Every child who grows up afraid will betray the others eventually."
He turned back to his subordinates.
"And if the leader lives?"
Kushimaru met his gaze.
"Then they won't act like headless chickens," he said. "They'll regroup."
The Mizukage smiled thinly.
"Then we'll know," he replied. "Because prey without a head runs randomly."
"And prey with a living heart," he added, voice cooling,
"always comes back for what it loves."
The swordsmen were dismissed.
As the doors closed, the Mizukage remained standing, staring at the map—not at where the Yuki Clan were…
…but where they might choose to return.
"No leadership," he murmured.
He did not quite believe it.
And somewhere beyond Mist's reach, a wounded woman was still breathing—
and a man who had already broken one pattern was deciding whether he would break another.
The hunt had begun.
But it was no longer simple.