The River-nin stood near the pond, kusarifundo already spinning in his hand. A chain weapon. Weight on one end, nothing on the other except for the wielder's grip. The clone had seen these before, knew what they were called, but he'd never actually fought against one.
The River-nin attacked first.
The weighted end came at him and the clone moved. The weight whistled past, close enough to feel, and then the chain was everywhere at once. High, low, wrapping, retracting. The clone kept moving because stopping meant getting caught, and getting caught meant getting bound or brained or both. His feet found positions without his brain telling them where to go. Duck, step, jump. The kusarifundo hissed through the air, arcs stacking and breaking in ways that were almost predictable but not quite, and that "not quite" was the problem. The weapon had rhythm but the rhythm kept changing, half a beat faster or slower than expected, and the clone's body was still learning the song.
Three exchanges, four, five.
Somewhere between the ducking and the jumping, the clone started figuring it out.
The weapon had range. More range than a sword, which made sense since the chain extended the reach, but less range than most jutsu, which also made sense since it was bound by physical length. The weight could strike from maybe ten feet out, give or take. The chain could extend, retract, change direction mid-swing using momentum and the wielder's wrist control. Physics and technique working together. That gave the River-nin options at short range, mid-range, and long range, all within that ten-foot bubble. In other words, he could attack from basically anywhere within his effective zone, which was both the weapon's strength and, theoretically, its weakness.
The clone watched and moved and watched some more. The weight kept coming and he kept not being where it wanted him to be. The River-nin was probably doing the same thing, watching, learning his patterns, figuring out how he moved.
But the clone was building something. A mental map, a sense of timing. The weapon had rhythm, he could feel it now. The swing itself was dangerous, obviously. The weight could crack a skull or wrap the chain around a limb. But after the swing came the retraction, and during the retraction the River-nin had to reset his stance, had to pull the weapon back and prepare for the next attack. That moment existed. Brief, maybe half a second, but it was there. A window. He just had to find the right moment to climb through it.
So he changed tactics. Instead of moving away, he moved in. The River-nin saw it immediately and adjusted, redirected the chain mid-swing to wrap around the clone's blade arm. The chain coiled and tried to bind but the clone angled his tanto just right, let the chain slide along the flat instead of catching.
There it was, the gap he had been counting on. A breath of time during the retraction. He slid into it, blade angling for the ribs. The River-nin retreated a step and swung the weight through a tight arc, turning it into a barrier and stealing the distance back.
That exchange told the clone everything he needed to know. He smiled. The weapon controlled space, but it needed space to do that. Take away the room and the advantage collapsed.
The clone slammed his fingers together, and three more burst into existence around him. Four bodies hit the ground running. The River-nin's expression tightened. The kusarifundo could handle one opponent, maybe even two if the wielder was good enough. But four changed the equation. The weight went for one clone, got deflected. Another clone pressed in from the side while the River-nin was dealing with the first. The chain had to retract, redirect, engage the new threat. Fast movements, sure, but the weapon still needed time to transition between targets. Physics didn't care how skilled you were.
The rhythm started breaking down.
The clones pressed in, not all at once because that would've been predictable. They moved with staggered timing and shifting angles. One advanced to draw the River-nin's attention, and while he committed to that defense, another slipped in from somewhere else. It was math as much as combat. The weapon thrived on rhythm, and rhythm only worked when it kept its shape. Hard to keep a beat when the tempo refused to cooperate.
The River-nin saw the problem too, obviously. He jumped back toward the pond, put distance between himself and the clones. Started forming hand signs while he moved, which meant jutsu, which meant the fight was escalating. Water gathered around his kusarifundo, started swirling around the weighted end, building up pressure or chakra or both.
Suiton: Suiren no Jutsu.
One of the clones saw it happen, saw the water wrapping around the weight like a liquid coating, and knew immediately that getting hit by that was going to be worse than getting hit by regular metal. He moved to dodge. The weight came at him anyway, faster than before, and the River-nin had predicted which way the clone would dodge. The bastard had read his dodge and swung where the clone would be, not where he was. The clone tried to adjust mid-movement, brought his tanto up to deflect because dodging wasn't working out.
The water-wrapped weight hit the blade and everything went wrong. The impact did something to the water, released it all at once in a pressurized surge that blasted straight through the clone's guard and sent him flying backward into a tree trunk. Hard enough that the clone just popped out of existence on impact, which answered the question of how much force the jutsu added. A lot. The answer was a lot.
One of the three remaining clones came around from behind the tree with hand signs already formed. Fire built in his throat, the familiar heat and pressure. Gōkakyū no Jutsu. The fireball went straight at the River-nin, and it was hard to avoid something that big and that hot unless someone had a really good plan.
The River-nin had a plan. He whipped the weighted end in a tight circle, fast enough that the chain created a spinning blue barrier. The fireball hit it and disintegrated. Flames broke apart, flared off in all directions. The water still clinging to the metal vaporized instantly, sent up a cloud of steam thick enough to choke on. He came through it already swinging.
The clone and his two remaining copies moved in together. Three tanto against one kusarifundo, which should have been an advantage except the River-nin was good enough that it wasn't as much of an advantage as it should have been. The weapon moved between all three of them, striking, wrapping, forcing them to defend and dodge. The clone felt the weight pass close to his head. Felt the chain try to catch his leg. Saw an opening when the River-nin committed to dealing with one of the other clones and moved into it.
His tanto went for the torso. The River-nin dropped the weighted end, just let it fall, grabbed the chain with both hands and used it like a short staff to deflect the blade. Then they were close, trading strikes. Metal on metal, fast enough that the clone's brain couldn't keep up with his hands. But his body knew what to do, had done this enough times that thinking would have just slowed him down.
Another clone threw a fireball at the River-nin. The man reacted the way anyone would with a ball of flame coming at his face, he got the hell out of the way. Shunshin, fast and instinctive, putting distance between himself and the heat. But that was exactly what the clones wanted. The one fighting up close caught him mid-movement, blade sliding into the gap above his vest. Steel bit into the hollow of his collarbone, shallow but deep enough for warm blood to spill beneath his shirt, and the River-nin's next breath hitched in pain.
The shunshin put him in the air, and that was as good as dead without aerial jutsu. Gravity made you predictable. The third clone struck while he hung suspended, and River-nin could only twist, trade his life for his shoulder. Steel punched deep into the joint, and he felt the pop as something important separated.
Landing nearly put him on his face, roots and dirt and his own failing coordination. The shoulder pulsed hot with each heartbeat, blood running down his arm now, dripping off his fingers. Between gasps, he cursed the clones' mothers, their ancestors, and their whole damn bloodline.
Another dodge brought him to the pond's bank, water lapping at his heels. Both wounds bled freely now, the collarbone painting his chest in slow streams, the shoulder turning his entire sleeve dark and sticky. Still on his feet, still functional, but the blood loss was adding up, making his movements just a shade slower.
His kusarifundo was on the ground somewhere between him and the three clones. He looked at it. The clones could see him calculating the distance, weighing his options, deciding whether he could make it to his weapon before one of them made it to him. Apparently the math didn't work out in his favor.
He pulled a kunai instead. Smaller weapon, shorter range, but it was what he had.
"What the hell are you?" The River-nin's voice came out strained. Angry. There was confusion there too, and something that sounded like desperation. "You look like a genin. You're wearing a chunin vest. But you fight like a jonin. What the hell is going on?"
One of the clones tilted his head. "Oh, you noticed the vest? Yeah, I'm a chunin. Thanks for asking."
The River-nin's expression darkened. "That's not what I—" His breathing quickened. "Stop screwing around. You're just a kid. How are you—"
"I'm thirteen," another clone said helpfully. "Well, technically I'm a shadow clone, so I'm actually only about a few hours old. But the original is thirteen. Does that answer your question?"
The River-nin's eyes widened. "Shadow clone?!"
"Also," the third clone added with a smile, "there are a lot more of me. Just so you know."
The River-nin's face went pale. Understanding dawned, and panic came right behind it.
The clones didn't give him time to process it. They closed in from every side, strikes overlapping, angles shifting. The River-nin had to deal with attacks coming high and low and from the side, had to block and dodge and counter all at the same time. He was good at it too, good enough that for a few seconds it almost looked like he might actually hold them off. Blocked a tanto, threw an elbow that one clone had to block, threw his kunai at another clone's throat, twisted away from the third clone's strike and threw that clone away.
But he was bleeding. His shoulder kept leaking, and fighting three opponents at the same time while injured drained stamina fast. The math was simple. One person versus three, even if that one person was skilled, even if those three were just clones. The clones didn't give him space to breathe or recover. Just kept pressing, kept attacking, kept forcing him to defend and move and burn through what little energy he had left.
One of the clones got his thigh. The River-nin's leg buckled, which was bad because legs were necessary for movement, and without proper movement, dodging became nearly impossible.
Two blades came simultaneously. He blocked one, but the other punched into his side, found the gap between vest panels and sank deep between ribs. The clone felt it go in, felt the layers of tissue part and compress around the steel. The River-nin's gasp was wet, and blood bubbled up over his tongue, spilled from his lips in dark strings.
The third blade came up under his jaw, punched through the soft palate and into his brain. His eyes went huge, pupils blown wide. Blood flooded from his mouth, no longer bubbling but pouring.
They extracted the blades. All three, simultaneously. Steel sliding back out of meat with soft, sucking sounds. He dropped beside the pond like a puppet with cut strings, and the dirt turned to mud beneath him, dark and spreading.
The three clones stood there for a moment, breathing hard, covered in blood spatter.
One of them looked around, scanning the area. "Anyone else coming?"
"Don't see anyone," another clone said, turning in a slow circle. Eyes moving across the trees, the pond, the surrounding forest. "I think that might've been the only one in this area."
"Yeah, nothing's moving out there."
They kept watching for a few more seconds. No figures appearing from the treeline. No shinobi running toward them. The area looked clear.
"Yeah, we're good."
The clones relaxed slightly.
One of them glanced down at his blade, noticed the blood coating it. "We should probably clean these."
"Yep," another clone agreed. "Blood's bad for the blade if you leave it on."
"Wait." The third clone paused. "Do shadow clone weapons even rust? I mean, we're not real. When we dispel, the tanto goes with us."
The other two looked at their blades.
"Huh. That's... actually a good point."
"So cleaning them might be pointless."
There was a pause.
"I mean, yeah, but..." One clone stared at his blood-covered tanto. "It still feels wrong to just leave blood on a blade. What kind of swordsman doesn't clean their weapon after a fight?"
"Mm, that makes sense."
"Do we have anything to wipe them with?"
They all checked their pouches. No cleaning cloths. Nobody had thought to bring any.
"Well," the third clone said after a moment, glancing at the dead River-nin on the ground. "He's got clothes."
The other two followed his gaze.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Yep, that'll work."
The first clone crouched down, reaching for the dead man's sleeve. Then he paused, hand hovering. "Wait. Is that disrespectful? Using a dead guy's clothes to clean your blade?"
"Hmm." The second clone rubbed his chin. "Good question."
"I mean, we did kill him."
"Right, so the disrespect ship has probably already sailed."
"Yeah, we're way past the harbor on that one."
"I don't know, desecrating a corpse feels like a separate category of disrespect."
"Does it count as desecration if it's convenient though?"
"I mean, yeah, probably."
"But it solves our problem."
"Immediately solves our problem."
"Exactly." The third clone said. "And if you think about it, would he really want his death to mean we're just walking around with dirty blades? That seems wasteful."
"Are you seriously trying to say we'd be honoring him by using his clothes?"
"Hey, if it makes me feel better about it, why not?"
"You don't actually feel bad though."
The second clone let out a breath. "Just wipe the blade already."
"Yeah, yeah."
The clones started wiping their tanto clean on the dead man's clothes to get the blood off their blades. The clothes were already ruined anyway, and it was right there, and wiping a blade on grass or dirt didn't work as well.
While they were at it, the conversation turned to the fight itself. One clone noted the River-nin had been pretty capable. Handled that kusarifundo well. Actually made the fight challenging. The others agreed as they finished with their own blades. Yeah, he'd been skilled. Gave them a decent workout.
Shame he couldn't have lasted a bit longer though. One clone said he'd been hoping to see more of that kusarifundo technique. Didn't get many chances to fight against chain weapons. The practice would've been valuable.
Then it occurred to one of them that they were reviewing a dead man's combat performance while literally kneeling over his body using his clothes. The other two paused, considered that, and decided it was morbid but not morbid enough to stop. The blood still needed cleaning.
....
The clone on the rooftop made his way down and headed toward the storage building. Moved fast through the outpost, jumping from roof to ground level, cutting through alleys. Got there in maybe two minutes.
Turned out he didn't need to rush.
Four River-nin bodies were on the ground near the storage building entrance. All dead. Konoha had handled it already. Six Konoha shinobi were there. Three of them were leaning against the wall, wounded. Not critically, from the looks of it, but definitely hurt. Blood on their uniforms, grimaces on their faces. The other three were standing, checking on their injured teammates.
One of the standing shinobi, a jonin with a cut across his forehead, turned to another. "Go find an iryo-nin. These guys need medical attention."
"On it." The chunin started to move.
The clone walked up. "That's not necessary."
All six of them looked at him. The jonin frowned. "Huh?"
"I said you don't need to go looking," the clone repeated.
"Kid, these are serious injuries here. We need to get a—"
"I'm an iryo-nin," the clone said. He formed the hand seal. Two more clones appeared beside him. "We can handle it."
The jonin blinked. Looked at the two new clones, then back at the original. "Wait, you're a medic?"
"Yeah."
"You sure you didn't hit your head or something?"
The clone gave him a flat look. "Probably did. Still a medic, though."
The jonin's eyes flicked down to the chunin vest, then back up to the clone's face. The kid looked barely genin-age. "Look, no offense or anything, but—"
"I trained at the hospital everyday," the clone said flatly. "Under Tsunade. I know what I'm doing."
That made the jonin pause. "Tsunade?"
"Yeah."
"Wait, the Tsunade? Like, she's actually your sensei?"
"That's what I just said."
The jonin stared at him for a moment. A kid this young, wearing a chunin vest, trained by one of the best medical shinobi in Konoha. None of that quite added up, but...
He glanced at his wounded teammates, then back at the clone. Clearly doing the math in his head. Help was help, and his men were bleeding.
"...Alright." He stepped aside. "Let's get these guys stabilized, at least."
"That's the plan."
The three clones knelt beside the wounded shinobi. Mystical Palm lit up their hands as they started working. One had a deep gash across his ribs that needed immediate attention. Another had what looked like a broken arm and some burns. The third had taken a kunai to the leg, bleeding pretty heavily.
"Oh man, thanks," the man said through gritted teeth. "Hurts like hell but... yeah, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
The other two clones were working on their patients. The one with the broken arm was getting his bones realigned and stabilized. The one with the leg wound was getting his blood vessels sealed so he wouldn't bleed out.
The jonin who'd been about to send someone for a medic spoke up. "You're pretty good at this for a chunin."
"Thanks," the clone said without looking up from his work. "Just a lot of practice, really. Spent a lot of time at the hospital."
"How long have you been training?"
"Few months, maybe? Could be longer. Kind of lost track."
"That's some dedication."
"More like necessity. You know how it is." The clone adjusted his hand position, focusing more chakra into the wound. "War means more casualties, and more casualties means we need more medics around."
"Yeah, I guess that's true." The jonin watched the green glow for a moment, then added, "Still though, most chunin medics aren't this skilled."
"Most chunin medics aren't learning from Tsunade."
"Fair point."
The chunin glanced at the dead River-nin scattered around. "We're lucky Jonin Yuhi sensed these guys when she did. Pointed us right to them. Otherwise we'd probably still be wandering around the outpost looking."
Yuhi? The clone's thoughts went immediately to the question of which one. Yuhi as in the husband, or Yuhi as in the wife? Same last name, both jonin, both stationed at this outpost. But the chunin had said "sensed," which meant it had to be Aya.
The clone nodded, continuing his work on the rib wound. "Sensor types are invaluable in situations like this."
"Barely made it in time though," one of the wounded shinobi muttered. "These bastards really put up a fight."
The clone finished with the ribs, moved to check on the burn wounds his copies were treating. "Well, at least you guys made it. Could've gone a lot worse."
The wounded shinobi with the burns managed a weak laugh. "Heh. Yeah, guess that's true."
"Could've been dead," the one with the broken arm added.
"Instead you're just mostly broken."
"I'll take broken over buried any day."
The healing continued for another few minutes. The clones worked efficiently, treating each injury in order of severity. By the time they finished, all three wounded shinobi were stabilized. Not fully healed, they'd still need proper medical care back at the hospital, but they weren't dying anymore. That counted for something.
The clone stood up. He looked at the six Konoha nin. "You should get them back to the hospital soon. I've done what I can here, but they're going to need more than field treatment."
"Will do. And thanks again." The jonin nodded at him. "Really, we appreciate it."
The clone was about to leave, but he paused. "Jonin Yuhi. She's alright?"
"She's fine," one of them said. "She's with Commander Minoru right now. They're coordinating the response to the whole infiltration thing."
"Okay, good." The clone hesitated for a second. "Did she say anything about more enemies? Anywhere else in the outpost?"
The jonin shook his head. "Not that I know of. I mean, she just told us to get to the storage building and make sure it was protected. She didn't mention anything else." He glanced at the others. "So... probably not? If there were more of them around, she would've said something, right?"
"Yeah, probably," the clone said.
He turned and walked away.
...
Meanwhile, inside the command building, Aya slumped against the wall. Her chest hurt. That was putting it mildly. The kunai embedded between her ribs made every breath feel like drowning. Blood soaked through her uniform, warm and spreading. Too much blood. She knew enough about injuries to recognize this wasn't something you walked away from.
The River-nin stood in front of her. He kept asking the same thing, his voice getting sharper each time.
Where was Commander Minoru?
Aya didn't answer. Her throat felt too dry to speak anyway, and her whole body felt like it weighed twice as much as it should.
Then she heard her husband's voice. "Aya! Don't say a word!"
She turned her head slightly. He was there, across the room, locked in combat with a River jonin. Their blades clashed, sparks flying. Blood ran down his arm from a wound she couldn't see clearly.
"Even if we die here," he shouted between strikes, blocking a slash aimed at his neck, "don't tell them anything!"
The two fighters clashed again, blades meeting in a shower of sparks. Then her husband broke away and jumped through the hole in the wall. The opening had been there already, damage from the earlier infiltration. The River jonin didn't hesitate. He followed her husband through, their fight continuing outside.
Aya already knew better than to reveal intel. She had no intention of speaking. She'd been a shinobi long enough that protecting information was second nature, something beaten into her through years of training and experience.
But hearing those words from her husband still made her chest tighten.
There'd been no hesitation in his voice. No warmth either. Just that cold, familiar tone he used when the village came first, when everything came second.
He'd shouted it like an order, not a goodbye. Like he was already choosing Konoha over her, even at the end.
And it hurt. Not just the kunai buried in her side, but deeper, in a place no jutsu could reach.
She didn't even realize she'd been silent through all of it. Hadn't noticed how long she'd been staring past the River-nin instead of at him. But he'd noticed.
She saw the moment the River-nin in front of her gave up on getting answers. His expression didn't change much, just went a little colder. A little more removed. Like he was already thinking about what he had to do next instead of what she might say. He lifted the dagger and brought it toward her face. She could see where he was aiming. Her eyes.
She watched the blade come closer. Everything around her seemed to slow down. Her vision tunneled to just the dagger, to the way light glinted off its edge, the small nicks in the metal. This was it then. This was how it ended. Not in battle against overwhelming odds. Just here, in a side building. Alone. Bleeding out with a kunai in her chest and a dagger coming for her eyes.
The image of her husband faded, and in his place she saw Shinji standing by her hospital bed with that look he always had, that half-smile that made it impossible to tell if he was being serious or just messing with her.
He'd made her a promise that day, said he'd find a way to fix her arm. She'd laughed it off back then, because as far as she knew, medical ninjutsu couldn't regrow limbs.
But he'd meant it. He really had.
And now she'd never know if he could actually do it.
She wouldn't get to see if he could keep that promise. Wouldn't get to find out if that impossible promise could've become real. She'd die here with one arm, a kunai in her chest, and a dagger about to end whatever was left.
The regret hit her harder than the pain. Not for herself. She'd accepted death as part of the job years ago. But for the promise she'd never see fulfilled.
The dagger was so close now. Inches from her eye. She couldn't move. Couldn't dodge. Could barely breathe.
At least it would be quick.
Only it wasn't.
The blade wasn't there anymore.
The River-nin's hand wasn't there either, both had been severed at the wrist. The dagger flew, the hand still gripping it. Blood came out in a spray, painting the walls in broad strokes, dotting the floor with pools and trails, and lingering in the air like a thin red haze. She felt some of it hit her face, hot droplets against her cold cheeks. The red spread across the walls almost like petals, like someone had thrown flowers across a white canvas.
It took her a moment to understand what had happened.
Someone was standing between her and death, his black jacket billowing behind him like a shadow that had come alive.
Her eyes weren't focusing properly. Blood loss made everything blurry. But she didn't need clear vision to know who was standing there. She'd recognize that silhouette anywhere.
Shinji.
He'd come for her.
Tears started falling without her meaning them to. They mixed with the blood on her face, warm trails down her cold cheeks. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief. Or just the overwhelming realization that she wasn't going to die alone in this room after all. That someone had cared enough to find her. That he had found her.
...
The clone stared at the River-nin sprawled on the floor, at the stump where his hand used to be. Blood pooled around the man, dark and spreading, and the bastard had his teeth clenched so hard it looked like his jaw might crack. He was trying to hold the stump, pressure and panic, but the blood kept coming.
This was the same clone who'd just finished off the kusarifundo wielder. He'd met up with another clone right after, got told the outpost was secure, Aya was safe, everything wrapped up nice and neat.
Except it wasn't.
He'd decided to check anyway. Call it paranoia, call it thoroughness, call it whatever, didn't matter. What mattered was that if he hadn't decided to swing by, Aya would be dead right now. Just another casualty nobody would remember.
He was pissed. At the other clone for the sloppy sweep and his unreliable information. At this River bastard for still being alive when he shouldn't have been.
He turned to Aya. Looked at her properly this time. The kunai was still buried between her ribs, and blood had soaked through her uniform, darkening the fabric until it was almost black in places. Her face was pale, unnaturally so, the pallor of someone who'd bled too much.
"Are you okay?"
The question came out softer than he'd meant it to. Not his usual tone. Something about seeing her like this, seeing how close she'd come to dying, made his voice come out different.
Tears ran down her face and her lips trembled when she tried to smile, and somehow that combination, the tears and the smile happening at the same time made her more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.
Which was a weird thing to think in a moment like this, but it was true.
Her voice shook when she finally managed to speak. "Yes." Just that one word, but it sounded like she was saying so much more. Like she was saying 'I'm alive because you're here.'
He held her gaze for another second, making sure she was really okay, making sure she wasn't about to collapse or pass out or worse. Then he straightened up and formed the seal.
Another clone appeared in a puff of smoke beside him.
"Kill him," he said, his voice back to its usual edge, nodding toward the River-nin on the floor. "Make sure he's actually dead this time."
The new clone didn't need to be told twice. He nodded, his eyes already shifting to the River-nin sprawled on the floor, assessing the threat level, calculating the fastest way to finish this.
The first clone dropped to his knees beside Aya. His hands lit up with green before he even touched her, the healing jutsu pooling in his palms like liquid light.
"I've got you," he said quietly, his eyes already scanning her injuries, assessing what needed to be fixed first, calculating how much chakra he'd need and how long it would take. "You'll be fine."
He glanced over his shoulder at the River-nin on the floor. The bastard had somehow managed to patch himself up while they'd been talking. Stopped the bleeding from where his hand had been severed. The stump wasn't spurting anymore, just oozing slowly, dark blood seeping between his fingers where he pressed down on it.
The first clone smirked faintly. "Well, look at that. The cripple's a medic. Didn't see that coming."
The River-nin glared at him, teeth still clenched, breathing hard through his nose. He didn't say anything. Probably couldn't, not with that much pain.
The clone turned his attention back to Aya, fingers already working, chakra flowing into her wounds. Wasn't worth worrying about the bastard anymore. His clone would handle it. One-handed, bleeding, probably in shock, the River-nin wasn't going to be a problem for much longer.
Then the clone heard it. A small sound, faint enough that most people would've missed it. Creaking. Wood joints moving against each other, puppet strings pulling taut.
He knew that sound.
His head snapped toward the window, eyes narrowing.
Suna puppets.
The window exploded inward and glass went everywhere, sharp little pieces that would've shredded skin if they hit right. The puppet came through the opening in a spinning blur, wood and metal twisted together, and four blades stuck out from its belly, rotating like they wanted to chew through bone. Headed straight for Aya. If those blades connected, they'd open her up from chest to stomach, spill everything inside her onto the floor.
The clone healing Aya moved without looking back.
His tanto was already sliding out, still clipped horizontally at his waist, and he caught two blades with the scabbard and two with naked steel. All with one hand. The impact flared with sparks, metal shrieking as the clone twisted his wrist, redirecting the puppet's force instead of stopping it. Its momentum carried it past him, while his other hand was already blurring through seals.
Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu.
The fireball erupted from his mouth, massive and roaring, and swallowed the puppet whole. The flames punched through the wall behind it, kept going, took out the building next door too. Wood snapped. Stone cracked. The puppet's strings burned away in an instant, and the whole thing became ash before it hit the ground.
The River-nin's eyes went wide. He'd been controlling the puppet, his remaining hand still frozen in that grip, fingers twitching as the strings turned to ash.
Who?!
There was one clone in front of him, and the original still by the wounded kunoichi. That made two shinobi. But the presence behind him, the blade already sliding between his ribs, that was a third. Another clone. When? When had he made another one? His brain tried to process it, tried to figure out when he'd missed it, but there wasn't time.
The tanto was already buried in his chest, right through the sternum, deep enough to feel the heartbeat stutter and stop against the blade. The clone pulled it out like he was ripping out a nail. Blood followed, dark and thick, spilling down the man's front. His body jerked once, hard, like something inside him was trying to hold on. His hand spasmed, fingers curling and uncurling, then went still. His eyes stayed wide the whole time, surprise locked in place. Like he couldn't believe this was how it ended.
The second clone looked at the newcomer who'd just killed the River-nin and recognized him immediately. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. You're the one who told us the outpost was secure."
The third clone pulled his tanto free from the corpse, the blade sliding out with a soft sucking sound. He didn't look up, just started wiping the blood off on the dead man's clothes. "I did say that, yeah."
"And it wasn't secure at all." The second clone's voice came out flat, but there was an edge to it. "This bastard almost killed Aya."
The third clone finally looked up. "That's not my fault," he said, his tone sharpening. "I got that information from another shinobi. I was just passing along what I was told. It's not like it's my job to personally verify every single piece of intel that comes through."
"Well, maybe it should be."
"Or maybe you should've checked it yourself if you were that worried about it."
"I did check. That's the only reason she's still alive."
The third clone shrugged, irritated. "Okay, so then what's the problem? She's fine."
They stared at each other, both ready to keep arguing, when the first clone spoke up from where he was kneeling beside Aya. "Are you two done?"
Both of them turned to look at him.
"Because I need to focus here," he continued, not looking up from his work, hands still glowing green over Aya's injuries. "And you two bickering like children isn't helping."
The third clone opened his mouth to respond, but the first clone kept talking.
"Look, just make more clones. Have some of them sweep the area. Check every building, every room, every corner. Make sure there aren't any more surprises waiting to kill someone." He paused, his healing jutsu flickering slightly as he redirected chakra to a different injury. "And send the others to check on Nawaki's group. I really don't like that we haven't heard anything from them."
The second clone and third clone looked at each other again. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but the first clone had a point. A good point. One that neither of them could really argue with.
Both clones clicked their tongues at the same time, the sound identical, annoyed but unable to argue with the logic.
"Fine," the second one muttered.
The third one hesitated, clearly still irritated, then let out a breath. "Fine. Whatever."
"Good," the first clone said, still focused on Aya. "Now go. And try not to get into any more fights with yourselves on the way."
The second clone turned and headed toward the hole in the wall where the puppet had burned through. The edges were still smoking slightly, charred wood crumbling at the touch. He stepped through without looking back.
The third clone went the opposite direction, toward the window. Glass crunched under his feet, shards flashing underfoot as they slid across the floor. He paused at the frame for just a second, glanced back at the second clone kneeling beside Aya, then jumped through and disappeared into the outpost.
...
Aya stirred. Her eyes opened partway, lids heavy, pupils unfocused and glassy like she was looking through water instead of air. She was staring at him, at the clone, and her lips moved slowly, struggling to form the word. "Shinji..."
It came out soft, barely audible, more breath than voice.
The clone's expression softened into a small smile as he looked down at her. "Sorry, I'm just one of his clones. The real one's off somewhere else right now, doing... well, probably something stupid knowing him." He paused, then added, "But I'm here, so... that's almost the same thing, right?"
He didn't stop the healing. His hands stayed where they were, chakra pouring into her injuries, fixing what was broken. "Don't worry about anything right now. Just rest. I'll take care of the rest. Everything's going to be fine."
Her face softened when she heard that. The tension bled out of her features, the fear that had been etched into the lines around her eyes and mouth just... disappeared.
"Thank you," she whispered. The words were so quiet he almost didn't hear them, but he did. He caught them just before they faded into nothing.
"Don't mention it," he said, still smiling. "Seriously. Don't. If you start thanking me, I might get emotional, and that would be embarrassing for both of us."
Her lips twitched. Just barely. Like she wanted to laugh but didn't have the energy for it.
Then her eyes closed again, slowly, lids sliding down like curtains at the end of a performance. But there was a faint smile still there on her lips. Small, peaceful. Like she felt safe now. Like knowing Shinji was watching over her, even if it was just his clone, was enough to make her feel safe.
The clone reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "That was too close," he murmured. "Way too close. I almost lost her there."
The moment passed and his attention shifted. He pulled his focus away from Aya, away from the healing, and looked toward the corridor beyond the room. Taking in the silence. The absence. The emptiness that shouldn't have been there.
This was the command building. The central point of operations for the entire outpost. Commander Minoru should've been here with his entire command staff, jonin coordinating patrols, chunin relaying messages, someone manning the communication station. There should've been people everywhere, voices overlapping, orders being shouted, the controlled chaos of a military operation in motion.
But there was no one.
Just empty space and quiet.
He considered the possibilities, turning them over in his mind one by one. The other clones wouldn't have given him fake information. They were all him, after all. Lying would just be lying to himself, which didn't make sense, especially since they all eventually fed their memories back to the original anyway. There was no benefit to deception when you were just deceiving yourself. And the Konoha shinobi had no reason to give false reports either.
Which meant the absence wasn't a mistake or miscommunication. Something had happened. Something urgent enough to pull everyone away from their posts. Something that required the commander and his entire staff to abandon the command building in the middle of an active infiltration.
He turned toward the window. The glass was gone, just an empty frame now, opening out into the afternoon air. He looked out at the distance, scanning the horizon, the treeline, the shapes of buildings visible against the fading light.
A bad feeling started working its way into his chest.
"I hope nothing's wrong," he said quietly.
...
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