Senju Hashirama drifted over the moment I stepped off the arena floor, smiling that overly friendly smile only he could pull off in the middle of a blood-soaked era.
"Raizen-kun, that was impressive. But… how did Uchiha Izuna's blade pass straight through you?"
Seriously, this man could bench-press mountains but still had the curiosity of a toddler poking a beetle. I forced a calm grin.
"That? Secret technique."
A classy way of saying I wasn't explaining a damn thing.
Hashirama nodded, half-apologetic, half-fascinated. He knew better than to pry. Uzumaki Mito, on the other hand, stared at me with bright, foxlike eyes.
"Amamiya Raizen, you're full of surprises."
I gave her a smug little shrug. "It's a talent."
Her smile had barely settled before a cold voice cracked across the room.
"Amamiya Raizen."
Izuna. Perfect. The human thundercloud himself stalked toward me, jaw clenched, eyes sharp enough to cut stone. He looked ready to erupt, Sharingan spinning like red storm lamps.
I sighed. "Trouble?"
Izuna stopped right in front of me, voice low and burning.
"Why do you possess the Mangekyō Sharingan?"
Around us, a dozen heads swiveled like hunting dogs.
Wow. Subtlety really died young in the Uchiha clan.
"Mangekyō what?" I deliberately raised my voice. "Never heard of it."
Ninjas within ten meters suddenly tuned in like gossiping aunties. Izuna twitched. If looks could kill, I would've been a smear on the palace tiles.
"You used it. Those eyes. Just now."
"Oh, those?" I blinked innocently. "My eyes look perfectly normal to me."
I gestured to him. "You mean that funky pattern you saw? Isn't that supposed to be some… advanced Sharingan thing?"
A stone could've seen through the act, but every ninja nearby stiffened. Mangekyō Sharingan. Higher evolution. Forbidden power. The kind of rumor you'd hear whispered in nightmares.
Izuna hesitated, then—out of pride more than honesty—nodded.
"Yes. Mangekyō Sharingan is the next stage. Now answer me, Raizen. Why do you have it?"
All eyes shifted to me. Even Hashirama looked like he had questions.
Too bad.
"Me? Mangekyō? Don't joke. I've got nothing like that."
Izuna's voice broke with controlled fury.
"Then explain how you phased through my blade."
"Easy." I tapped my forehead. "Flying Thunder God. Everyone here knows I mastered a version of it. Space-time ninjutsu. Handy trick."
Izuna clenched his fists. He wanted to scream, to accuse me, to drag the truth out of my skull. But he wasn't stupid. Getting into a public fight over a clan secret? Bad idea.
He leaned close, breath cold.
"I'm not finished with you."
"I'll be waiting," I replied, bored.
Izuna glared a final time, then stalked back to his clan. I caught a few mutters, a few dark glances from Uchiha elites. Then, without warning, the entire Uchiha contingent withdrew from the palace.
Yeah. Totally normal behavior. Absolutely not plotting my murder.
The celebration resumed, because apparently nobles can ignore impending massacres if the appetizers are good. Clans from all over the continent took turns showing off on the dueling grounds. Puppeteers from the Wind Country, Ice Release from the Water Country—the kind of stuff that made Fire Country shinobi squint like they'd seen a ghost.
By night, the daimyo called the matches off and shifted to feasting. Laughter, warm lamps, too much sake. The kind of fake joy that hides the scent of war.
Because beneath the smiles? Everyone had measured each other's strength tonight.
And they all knew exactly who to fear.
The Konoha Alliance.
And me.
That's why, the moment we slipped out of the capital, heading home under the moonlight, my stomach twisted. The world doesn't give you peace for free.
Half a mile from the city walls, silhouettes blocked the road.
Tall collars. Fan emblems. Cold chakra radiating off them like frost.
The Uchiha clan.
They never left at all.
And the look in their eyes told me everything.
They came for me.