"Then we will leave this matter in Konoha's hands."
"Please rest assured, sir. Such reckless cultists will not be spared, no matter who they are. And we must thank you as well—your information will allow us to deal with them far more effectively."
"You are too kind. This is only what we ought to do."
Inside the residence of Yugakure's leader, Natsuhiko spoke with measured warmth, his tone calm and courteous as he faced the elderly man before him—the village's nominal head.
Wherever there was a hidden village, there would naturally be someone to lead it. Yet the title of Kage belonged exclusively to the Five Great Villages, and smaller places like Yugakure could only appoint leaders of a more modest standing.
The old man before him had a gentle, benevolent face, and within him there was not the faintest trace of chakra. He was, by all appearances, nothing more than an ordinary person.
And yet, the way he carried himself was anything but ordinary.
Even someone as exacting as Natsuhiko found no fault in him. The man maintained the dignity expected of a village leader, while never forgetting that he governed only a minor settlement. There was neither arrogance nor servility in his demeanor—only a quiet balance that made dealing with him unexpectedly comfortable.
Still, if nothing were to change…
Natsuhiko knew how this story would likely end.
He had seen too much of what the future held, and from this brief exchange alone, he could already tell—the old man genuinely longed for peace.
And perhaps that was precisely why he would not survive.
After taking their leave, Natsuhiko once again led his four subordinates into concealment. As members of the Anbu, they had little inclination to expose themselves openly for long; shadows were where they belonged.
It was only after they had slipped into the cover of a nearby forest that Sparrowhawk—Senju Kenichi—finally spoke.
"Sir… that old man didn't tell us everything."
Natsuhiko tilted his head slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing through his eyes.
"Oh? And what led you to that conclusion?"
"When we arrived, I had the distinct feeling that someone was observing us," Kenichi replied honestly. "My sensory ability isn't particularly strong—I could only vaguely detect chakra, and even that disappeared quickly. I can't confirm anything for certain, but…"
"I see."
Natsuhiko's interest deepened, if only slightly. He had not expected Kenichi to possess any degree of sensory perception, though, considering his lineage, it was hardly surprising. Members of the Senju clan were often gifted in such ways—Natsuhiko himself being no exception.
Still, that alone was not enough.
"Anything else?" Natsuhiko probed. "That alone isn't quite enough evidence."
"The traces inside the house, sir," another voice interjected.
Red Hawk—Senju Kaisho—stepped forward, his tone steady. "Though it had been cleaned, the work wasn't done by a shinobi. It was likely handled by servants, and they left behind quite a few signs. The space had clearly been used recently—by more people than just us."
"And there's something else," Harrier Hawk—Senju Keita—added, picking up the thread of thought. "Yugakure borders not only the Land of Fire, but also the territory of Kumogakure. It's impossible that they would place all their hopes on us alone. It's only logical they've reached out to others as well."
He trailed off there, leaving the conclusion unspoken.
Natsuhiko gave a faint nod.
These four were, at the end of the day, ordinary Anbu. The intelligence they could access was limited—nothing compared to what he himself knew.
And yet, with only fragments to work from, they had managed to piece together a surprisingly clear picture.
That alone was enough to satisfy him.
At the very least, they had proven themselves worthy of the training their clan had given them.
Clearly, however, this alone was far from sufficient. They would have to prove themselves further—far better than this—otherwise Natsuhiko might truly begin to lose faith in the clan's system of training.
"You did… reasonably well," Natsuhiko said with a faint smile, his tone mild yet measured. "At the very least, you noticed something was off. But you'll need to do better. This is still far from enough. After all, someone was there—and yet you failed to respond adequately."
At his words, the four of them immediately lowered their heads, their posture turning deeply respectful.
"We apologize for disappointing you, sir."
"Disappointed? Not quite." His voice remained calm, neither harsh nor indulgent. "What would truly disappoint me… I believe you already understand."
His gaze swept over them, unhurried but heavy with implication, before he spoke again.
"Come. Let's go take a look at them. Perhaps we can gather something useful."
Without waiting for a reply, Natsuhiko turned and began walking toward the direction of his shadow clone. The four Senju exchanged brief glances before following swiftly behind.
There was no need for further words.
They all understood what he meant—and more importantly, they knew that anything they might say in response would carry no weight.
As they moved, a familiar thought crept once more into their minds.
This man—Natsuhiko—was younger than any of them by several years, and yet he already stood as a division commander. That alone was enough to unsettle them, but it was his strength that truly inspired something deeper… something closer to fear.
Senju Kenichi possessed a degree of sensory ability, and it was through that faint perception that he had detected the possibility of someone observing them.
But Natsuhiko?
He had noticed everything long before that—and not only that, he had pinpointed exactly who they were and where they had been.
They had always known that his sensory capabilities were exceptional. Yet this was the first time they had experienced it firsthand, and the realization left a quiet sense of despair in its wake.
To be so thoroughly outclassed in something so fundamental…
It was not a pleasant feeling.
Truthfully, when they had first been coerced by him, resentment had taken root in their hearts. Why should someone so young—someone they had once dismissed as little more than a boy—hold such absolute authority over them?
But resentment was meaningless in the face of reality.
Natsuhiko was an Anbu division commander. In his hands lay the power to decide their fates—to determine whether they lived or died.
And more than anything, it was what had happened to Senju Ryota that had forced them to truly understand just how terrifying he was.
Natsuhiko had shown no regard for the fact that Ryota was a fellow clansman, nor that he was a senior figure who once wielded significant influence. With ruthless precision, he had forced him out, leaving him no room to resist.
They could all sense it—had Ryota refused, death would have been the only outcome.
And not just for him.
His entire family might have quietly vanished under the guise of some unfortunate "accident."
As if that were not enough, their time within the Anbu had gradually brought them into contact with members of other divisions. Through those subtle exchanges, fragments of information had reached them—whispers, incomplete and scattered, yet no less shocking.
Their commander, after leaving Konoha following that incident, had accomplished something extraordinary beyond the village.
What exactly that was, they did not know. Within the Third Division, most of them had been occupied with training, and Natsuhiko himself had shown no intention of sharing such details.
But the other divisions knew.
Or at least, they knew enough.
It was said that he had, single-handedly, slain over a hundred shinobi from Sunagakure—and returned alive.
The story lacked detail, its truth impossible to fully verify, and yet even in its incomplete form, it was more than enough to leave them shaken.
At the very least, it allowed them to grasp a simple, undeniable truth:
Their commander was not someone they could ever hope to challenge.
And so, whatever lingering defiance remained in their hearts was quietly suppressed.
Because they understood—if they allowed even the slightest trace of dissent to surface, what awaited them would not be anything remotely merciful.
...
Following closely behind Natsuhiko, the five of them moved swiftly, and before long they arrived at a relatively secluded stretch of forest within Yugakure.
Natsuhiko paused, his senses quietly spreading outward. After confirming that the distance between them had closed to within striking range—and that the other side had already noticed their approach—he spoke without hesitation.
"There are four Kumogakure Anbu about six hundred meters ahead. I'll go on ahead and restrain them. You follow quickly."
He paused slightly, a trace of amusement creeping into his voice as he added,
"Don't tell me I've already finished dealing with them, and you still haven't caught up. That would be… truly disappointing."
The moment his words fell, his figure vanished.
In the next instant, he appeared soundlessly beside the Kumogakure Anbu, as though he had stepped through the space between moments.
Among them was a sensory-type ninja, the one who had detected Natsuhiko's group approaching. Yet his ability was clearly lacking—otherwise, he would have already discovered the shadow clone trailing them.
Even so, having sensed danger, they could hardly remain idle—especially knowing that the one coming for them was Konoha's Nightingale.
"Damn it—!"
But Natsuhiko's speed was far beyond anything they could comprehend.
In the blink of an eye, he was already dozens of meters behind them. Then, with another flicker of movement—so fast it defied reaction—he appeared directly before them.
And this time, he struck.
Bam!
A single punch sent one of the fleeing Kumogakure Anbu hurtling backward. The impact caved in his ribs, and blood spilled from beneath his mask as his body was flung through the air.
Natsuhiko did not pause.
The moment his fist connected, his figure vanished once more, only to reappear like a phantom beside a second target.
"Watch out!"
The warning came too late.
Bam!
Another dull, crushing impact echoed through the trees. The second Anbu was sent flying, his mask shattered instantly under the force of the blow. He collapsed onto the ground, motionless—whether alive or dead, it was impossible to tell.
"Lightning Release—"
A third Anbu began forming hand seals in desperation, but before the technique could take shape, his eyes widened in shock.
Natsuhiko, who had been several meters away just a moment ago, was suddenly standing right in front of him.
A hand shot out, seizing the shinobi's forming seal. With a slight upward motion, Natsuhiko gripped his fingers—and twisted.
"Ahhh!"
The sharp crack of breaking bones followed. Two fingers snapped under the pressure, and the pain forced a scream from the Anbu's throat.
But the cry had barely begun when Natsuhiko's foot slammed into his abdomen, sending him flying backward. His body crashed violently into a tree, the trunk shuddering from the impact as leaves rained down in trembling cascades.
Yet before those leaves could even finish their descent—
Natsuhiko had already vanished again.
Like a specter slipping through the forest, he appeared before the last remaining Anbu. His knee drove viciously into the man's stomach, stealing the breath from his lungs in an instant.
And in that fleeting moment of agony, Natsuhiko's hand rose and closed tightly around his throat.
Only then did the first leaf finally touch the ground.
"It seems… you were still too slow."
With one hand clasped tightly around the man's throat, Natsuhiko spoke without turning, his voice calm, almost indifferent.
At the very moment his words fell, the four Senju arrived at the scene. What greeted them was a sight that made their breath catch—
Three figures lay sprawled across the ground, utterly incapacitated, while the fourth hung limply in Natsuhiko's grasp, unable to resist.
Without hesitation, all four dropped to one knee.
Before any apology could leave their lips, Natsuhiko cut them off.
"Enough. There's no need for empty words," he said evenly. "They're still alive. Clean up the scene and take them with us. We'll need more information."
"Yes, sir!"
Their response came immediately, heads lowered in obedience. Yet something in their voices wavered—subtle, but unmistakable.
Fear.
Even behind their masks, it seeped through.
How long had it been?
For an Anbu operative, six hundred meters was nothing—barely the span of a few breaths at full speed.
And yet, in that fleeting interval, Natsuhiko had already subdued all four opponents.
Not killed—subdued.
That was what made it truly terrifying.
For a shinobi, capturing an enemy alive was far more difficult than killing them outright. And yet Natsuhiko had done exactly that—leaving each one broken, stripped of the ability to fight, but still breathing.
The gap between them… was almost incomprehensible.
Perhaps only someone like him could accomplish the things whispered among the Anbu—the tale of a lone figure who had slaughtered hundreds within the Land of Wind and returned unscathed.
...
At nearly the same time, far away upon the mist-covered sea leading toward the Land of Water, another scene unfolded.
Kakashi stood aboard a modest vessel, his gaze fixed on the dense fog rolling across the waves. The chill seeped through his clothes, prompting him to pull them tighter around himself.
He was dressed as a fisherman.
In fact, all of the Anbu present had taken on similar disguises, blending seamlessly into the appearance of ordinary seafarers. Only Pakura remained unchanged, her attire untouched, her presence conspicuously out of place.
This mission was meant to make her witness the betrayal of Sunagakure with her own eyes. Because of that, she could not hide behind any disguise.
And that, perhaps, was part of the problem.
Kakashi suppressed a sigh.
The woman was… difficult.
From the moment they had set out, her attitude had been nothing short of exasperating. Though she had not resorted to violence, she had adopted a stance of complete noncooperation—silent resistance that wore at his patience far more than open defiance might have.
To be honest, if not for Natsuhiko and his teacher's intention to turn her to their side, Kakashi would have already knocked her unconscious—just as he had done back in the Land of Wind.
Shaking his head faintly, he turned his attention once more to the distance, where patrol vessels from Kirigakure drifted in and out of the fog, their silhouettes ghostlike against the sea.
Let this go smoothly… he thought to himself.
Just this once.