Hatake Gintama stood at the edge of the battlefield, his expression unreadable. Chaos burned around him—brothers cutting down brothers, samurai against shinobi—but none of it surprised him.
It had been nearly thirty years since Hatake Resuke took the mantle of clan head. Thirty years of blood, politics, and impossible decisions. His authority had become something carved into the hearts of his people, not just earned. Even the internal power struggles couldn't erase that.
Sure, Resuke had allowed factional fighting to fester, but he had never once turned his blade against his own ninja. That restraint bought him a rare kind of loyalty—the kind that even rebellion hesitated to touch.
Now, though, that loyalty trembled on the edge of a blade.
"Third Elder," Resuke's voice cut through the night, steady as steel. "Do you truly wish for me to abdicate?"
Despite his age, the old man stood tall, his gaze sharp enough to pierce through arrogance. The Third Elder met his eyes, irritation flickering before pride drowned it.
"Hatake Resuke," the elder snapped, "since you became clan head, the family has declined year after year! You must take responsibility for what you've done!"
Resuke's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Responsibility? Fine. If you think I'm unworthy, defeat me. Whoever defeats me will become the next patriarch."
"Patriarch!" several samurai gasped, but he silenced them with a single raised hand. His eyes never left the Third Elder, and the faintest shadow of contempt crossed his face.
To Resuke, the Third Elder was a schemer—one of those men who used words like blades because they couldn't swing real ones. If such a man led the Hatake Clan, it would collapse within a decade.
"What's wrong?" Resuke said quietly. "You want me gone, but you lack the courage to face me yourself?"
The elder's face turned scarlet. Everyone knew there was only one shadow-level shinobi in the entire Hatake Clan—and that was the man standing before them. His swordsmanship was legendary; tales said he'd cut down a thousand ninja during his prime.
The elder swallowed his pride and turned toward the crowd. "Gintama!"
Hatake Gintama stiffened, eyes narrowing. After a long pause, he stepped forward.
"Patriarch," he said, bowing deeply, "allow me to test your blade."
Resuke's gaze softened with something like pride. "You, huh… Gintama." He chuckled quietly. "You've seen the world beyond our borders. You understand more than this clan's walls. You might actually lead them where I cannot."
He drew his blade and pointed it downward in respect. "If you defeat me, the Hatake will be yours."
Gintama nodded, his eyes low. "Understood."
A subtle pulse of chakra rippled through the ground as he drew the short blade from his back. Lightning crackled along the edge, wrapping his form in a dim blue glow. The air thickened with killing intent.
Raizen—hidden on a nearby rooftop—watched silently. Great. A family coup in 4K. Nothing says "bonding" like electrocution by katana.
"Be careful, Patriarch!" Gintama shouted as lightning burst from his feet. He vanished into the dark and reappeared midair, descending like a thunder god.
"Ikazuchi!"
A blinding flash tore the air apart.
"Too slow."
Resuke crouched, his hand brushing the hilt at his waist. A flash of cold light split the air—so fast the sound came after.
"Iaijutsu: Flash Draw!"
The lightning strike missed by a breath. A clean, horizontal arc followed, slicing through the illusion of Gintama—only to cleave a wooden log in half. Smoke drifted.
"Substitution Jutsu," Resuke muttered.
Lightning cracked again—closer this time.
"Raishun Slash!"
The attack came from the side, lightning traveling through the blade and straight into Resuke's body. His muscles locked, but his grip didn't falter.
"The age of samurai is over, Patriarch," Gintama said through clenched teeth. "This is the world of shinobi now."
Thunder raged around them. Gintama's chakra output surged, his speed increasing beyond the eye's ability to track. Each slash blurred into the next—feral, desperate, magnificent.
Even Resuke, the old lion of the clan, was forced back.
"Don't underestimate me!"
He roared, swinging his blade with renewed fury. The sound of steel meeting steel echoed like a drum of war. Lightning carved across his armor, but he pressed forward without flinching, his movements sharpening into a calm, terrifying rhythm.
"Ming Kagami Shisui…" Gintama murmured. The old man had entered that state—the samurai's "Absolute Mind," where emotion fell away and only purpose remained.
Resuke's right arm twisted slightly. His sword gleamed with a brilliance that cut the darkness itself. The force made Gintama's wrist tremble as if the sword itself wanted to leap from his grip.
"Damn… even now…" Gintama whispered, retreating under the relentless pressure.
Resuke stepped forward, his blade sinking into the dirt as he steadied his stance. The killing intent around him shifted—no longer sharp but vast, like the eye of a storm.
"After all," Gintama breathed, "he's still the patriarch… even in old age."
Lightning still danced over his own skin, but he could feel the gulf between them—the decades of discipline, the will forged in wars long before he was born.
On the rooftop, Raizen watched the duel with narrowed eyes. So that's the Hatake way… blades first, words later. At least it's honest.
The wind howled. Two generations of Hatake faced each other across the blood-soaked courtyard—thunder against steel, conviction against time.
And only one would walk away standing.
...
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