Stepping out through the narrow gate of the barrier, Biwa Juzo's expression finally relaxed a little.
He had no idea that the scroll given to him actually contained a space–time ninjutsu. Nor had he expected the sealing formula that unfurled upon opening it to swallow him whole and transport him here.
While trapped inside the barrier earlier, he'd feared the Hyuga might break their promise—killing both Ao and him to tie up loose ends. But now that they had released him from the formation, it was clear they had no intention of doing so. If they wanted him dead, they wouldn't have bothered sending him out alive.
Realizing this, Juzo allowed himself a small breath of relief—without letting his guard slip. Seeing the Hyuga already closing their encirclement around Ao, he called toward Hyuga Satoru:
"Remove the seal you put on me. Our deal is done!"
His voice was steady, but the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.
Satoru had planned to finish dealing with Ao before addressing Juzo's matter. He wasn't naïve enough to just let the man go—this particular piece might still be useful. But hearing Juzo take the initiative, Satoru made things plain:
"I didn't place any kind of seal on you. You don't have to worry about that. And you don't need to be so eager to distance yourself from the Hyuga. In the future… we might still have opportunities to work together."
He didn't spell it out, but Juzo understood perfectly well—Satoru didn't intend to discard this chess piece yet.
Rather than anger, a wry calm settled over Juzo's face. He was long past the age of illusions. A useful pawn is never thrown away. From the moment he'd been captured, his only goal had been to live—three more days, half a year more, a year more. The more valuable he made himself, the longer he would live.
"Heh."
Juzo chuckled softly, unsure whether he was laughing at Hyuga duplicity or his own fate. He accepted the situation and asked flatly:
"What do you need me to do next?"
He was a smart man—and smart men kept conversations efficient.
"Do whatever you like," Satoru replied evenly. "For now, focus on surviving the Mist's pursuit. When I need you, I'll find you."
"As for this mission, the Hyuga will pay you at S-rank rates. Consider it a professional commission."
Satoru gestured. Hyuga Hizashi slipped into camp and returned with a metal case, handing it to Juzo.
Juzo opened it—and froze. Neat stacks of paper money. At least two hundred million ryō; far beyond a typical S-rank bounty.
"Money…?"
He blinked, caught off guard. For someone of his rank, money was both useful and meaningless. A man with strength could live without coin—but when offered, few refused. Shinobi were still human, and money remained the simplest bridge back into society.
Holding the case, Juzo felt the bitterness in his chest ease by a hair. Being enslaved was one thing; being employed was another.
Satoru knew when to use the stick and when to offer the sweet date. For a clan as wealthy as the Hyuga, money was the cheapest lever. They were an ancient house at Konoha's heart, with industries that touched half the Fire Country. Even cooperation with the village came with compensation.
As Juzo weighed his windfall, Satoru's gaze had already shifted to Ao.
The man stood calm inside the formation, lone Byakugan tracing the barrier's seams. Patient. Cold. From temperament alone, Satoru could tell—this one would have made a better pawn than Juzo.
Unfortunately, for a thief who had stolen Hyuga bloodline, there could be no mercy.
"Biwa Juzo, you can leave," Satoru said. "If you ever need our help, send word. If it's within our means, we won't refuse."
Juzo smirked, snapped the case shut, slung the Executioner's Blade over his shoulder, and said, "You're an interesting one, kid. I hope you never have a reason to find me again."
He flickered into the trees—gone without hesitation.
As he vanished, all eyes returned to Ao.
"Now," Satoru said quietly, "let's see the power of the so-called Byakugan Killer. Keisuke."
The Hyuga barrier—the Four Purple Flame Formation—required at least four jōnin to maintain. It was meant to contain, not destroy. To reclaim the Byakugan, Hyuga hands were needed.
At Satoru's cue, Hyuga Keisuke altered his seal, opening a slit in the barrier opposite Ao's position.
Before Ao realized, several Hyuga had already slipped inside—Satoru among them.
"Kill him."
With a flick of Satoru's hand, the Hyuga surged.
The title "Byakugan Killer" came not from a tally of slaughter, but from the eye he had stolen. For a clan whose bloodline had remained pure for centuries, the theft was an unforgivable stain. Erasing it fell to Hyuga Satoru.
The Hyuga closed in from all sides—but Ao didn't retreat. He lunged.
He slipped past a palm strike, hammered a fist into one attacker's gut—and with his free hand, formed seals.
Satoru's eyes narrowed. One-handed seals.
A breath later, Ao vomited a roaring flood.
"Water Style: Water Collision Wave!"
The surge smashed into the vanguard, breaking their rhythm and stalling the advance.
Satoru vaulted lightly, the flood washing under his feet as he lit on the water's skin. Closer Hyuga were pushed back by the torrent.
The Hyuga were famed for taijutsu, but reliance on the Byakugan made some lax with ninjutsu. Against ordinary foes, their Gentle Fist was absolute. Ao's water release was not ordinary—and with a Byakugan of his own, his timing was surgical.
He had taken Hyuga sight and marched it down a different road.
"So, he's a genius too…" Satoru murmured. One-handed seals were vanishingly rare.
Enough observation. It was time to end this.
Satoru flicked a kunai toward Ao's blind angle, lightning chakra crackling along the steel.
Even with one eye, the Byakugan's 360-degree vision caught it instantly. "Lightning Style…" Ao muttered, impressed. "At his age?"
He dove aside; blocking lightning with water was suicide.
The kunai whistled past—and Satoru vanished.
He appeared beside Ao, the same kunai in his grip.
Flying Thunder God.
The blade hissed toward Ao's neck. Even with the Byakugan, he couldn't fully react. The lightning edge grazed his throat, searing flesh. Blood welled. Smoke curled.
Staggering, Ao clutched his neck, shock blazing in his eye. "So fast… space–time ninjutsu—the Flying Thunder God?!"
"He actually dodged…" Satoru's brow lifted—fractionally.
Flying Thunder God had been devised to break the Sharingan's predictive sight; instantaneous motion left no trajectory to read. The Byakugan, for all its clarity, was equally helpless. Ao's escape was pure instinct.
Satoru thrust a palm. "Eight Trigrams: Vacuum Palm!"
The dense chakra slug smashed Ao's forearms, bones cracking. His left arm dropped, numb and useless.
"Main family…" Ao rasped, finally understanding.
Surrounded, maimed, his odds plummeted—but will is stubborn.
"HAAA!" He roared, chaining one-handed seals again. Water bullets spat toward Satoru.
Satoru raised his palm. Chakra compressed, whirling—then detonated forward in a focused blast.
"Eight Trigrams: Thunderburst Palm!"
A shock-bright column erupted, slamming through the barrage. The explosion thundered within the barrier; the shockwave heaved the flooded ground.
Ao pinwheeled into the barrier wall. Purple fire licked his back, searing flesh; the air filled with the reek of burnt meat.
"AAAHH!"
He plunged into the water, dousing the flames after several agonizing seconds. When he surfaced, his back was charred, breath ragged, vision tunneling.
"At least… I can't let them have their way…"
He smeared blood across his fingers and began the signs for a Summoning.
A kunai pinned his right hand to the earth.
"AAAHH!"
"Did you really think I'd let you form seals?" Satoru's voice came from beside him. He was already there.
A Gentle Fist slammed into Ao's chest, sealing his chakra flow.
"An outsider dares to wield the Hyuga's Byakugan…" Satoru said coldly. "Return it."
His hand reached for Ao's eye—
—and a pair of yellow talismans flared, protective seals kindling over the stolen Byakugan.
"Tch."
Annoyance flickered over Satoru's face. Lightning chakra crawled over his fingers; his hand became a surgeon's knife.
A blue arc flashed.
Ao went still.
Satoru caught the head by the hair as the body toppled with a wet thud. Blood spattered his face and robes.
For a heartbeat the Hyuga stared, struck silent by the sight of their blood-splashed young leader—then elation broke over them like surf.
They had done it.
The Hyuga had reclaimed the Byakugan.
Satoru knelt, dispelled the basic failsafes with practiced precision, and eased the eye free. Hyuga Keisuke stepped in with a stasis tube; the Byakugan slid into preserving solution, seals snapping shut over the glass.
Something even Hyuga Hiashi had failed to accomplish, Satoru had completed in three days at the border. Word would race through the clan; the men who witnessed it would become his firmest blades.
The Four Purple Flame Formation dissolved. The battlefield hushed.
Hyuga began tending wounds and readying for withdrawal—
—when the faint rustle of distant foliage rolled like a whisper through the woods.
A sensor lifted two fingers. "Multiple signatures. Fast. Dozens."
Hizashi's eyes narrowed. "Mist reinforcements?"
Keisuke swallowed. "No… mixed. I'm reading something heavier. Like… Kage-class."
Satoru straightened, lightning kissing his fingertips, eyes cold as winter rain.
"Form up," he said softly. "We're not done yet."
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