As soon as Ishiki separated from the group, he pushed his young legs to their limit, running towards the remote village breathlessly.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging him faster.
Every second was critical; if he were late, even by a moment, the entire village population would face the wrath of the pursuing ninjas.
The thought of the villagers' certain demise spurred him on through the rough, winding forest path.
Finally, the dense canopy broke, and he burst out onto the clearing, the cluster of wooden houses that made up his village coming into view.
He skidded to a halt, hands resting on his knees as he fought to regain his breath.
He breathed a deep sigh of relief.
The village square was quiet, unnaturally so, but blessedly empty of the enemy.
It looked like the ninjas were not here yet.
Wasting no more time, Ishiki began running again, weaving through the deserted lanes towards the village chief's house.
He reached the modest dwelling and pounded on the door with frantic urgency.
The door creaked open, and the village chief, a kindly man with the weight of leadership etched onto his face, looked out.
He saw Ishiki, sweat-soaked and clearly distressed, and his calm demeanor instantly shifted to concern.
"What happened, Ishiki? Why are you like this? You look utterly terrified."
Ishiki immediately recounted the events: the chance encounter with the hostile ninjas, his impulsive but ultimately defensive action of injuring one of them, and the grim reality that a squad of experienced warriors was now heading directly for their village because of him.
He didn't spare any detail, his voice thick with panic and self-reproach.
The village chief listened silently, his expression growing heavy.
When Ishiki finished, the chief let out a profound sigh, his eyes resting on the boy.
"Child, you did a good job," the chief finally said, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Do not worry about this. Not for a moment.
Ishiki looked at the chief, his face twisted with guilt.
"But Chief," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper, If I hadn't injured that ninja, you all would have been safe.
They wouldn't know about us.
The chief shook his head slowly, a sad, knowing look in his eyes.
You are wrong, my boy. Completely wrong.
You must understand something important: even if you hadn't done anything, we were already in trouble.
Deep trouble.
He gestured vaguely toward the humble surroundings.
We barely have any food left to sustain ourselves through the season. Now, when those ninjas arrive, we'd have to give them what little we have.
We are weak, Ishiki, and utterly helpless against people like them.
They would not just take our food; they would ravage our village, and even take our very lives.
He looked directly at Ishiki, his gaze intense.
I don't know where you learned the arts of Ninjutsu, but in that moment, you tried to protect my honor, and the honor of our village.
You showed courage where all of us would have simply knelt down.
So, listen to me clearly, child.
You did no wrong.
Hearing this unexpected absolution, the dam of Ishiki's composure broke.
Tears welled up and streamed down his dusty cheeks.
He wiped them away with the back of his hand and cried out, Chief, we need to save our village! We must!
Let's take everyone and hide somewhere, anywhere safe! My friends, Hashirama and Madara, are out there right now, buying us time with their own lives!"
A grim resolve settled on the chief's face.
"I always feared a day like this would come," he admitted, his voice firming.
A day that would endanger our entire way of life.
For that reason, Ishiki, we prepared. We have a secret underground spot to hide, an old storage cellar deep beneath the earth, stocked with enough to last a few weeks.
He placed a hand on Ishiki's shoulder.
Come with me.
Your young legs are faster than mine.
Help me gather all the villagers quickly and quietly to this secure spot.
Every minute counts.
With this, both the chief and Ishiki began a desperate, hushed operation to gather every man, woman, and child in the village and shepherd them toward the secret, subterranean base.
On the forest path leading to the village, Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha, despite their youth, had already begun to execute their desperate plan.
They knew they couldn't win a stand-up fight, so they aimed for chaos and disruption.
They attacked the squad of Sarutobi ninjas from opposite sides of the path, perfectly timed to attract the maximum amount of attention and confusion.
Hashirama struck first, slamming his palms onto the earth with a focused surge of chakra.
"Earth Release: Tearing Earth Turning Palm!" A massive fissure instantly ripped open in the ground beneath the advancing ninjas, the earth violently convulsing and tearing apart.
Simultaneously, Madara unleashed his assault from the other flank.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered his Fire Chakra. "Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!" A gargantuan sphere of intense flame erupted from his mouth, soaring over the chasm
Hashirama had created, aimed to burn the trapped ninjas from above.
They both attacked with flawless synchronization.
The squad of ninjas, focused on a straightforward punitive mission and utterly failing to expect an ambush, fell straight into the devastating trap.
Five of the enemy ninjas, including two chūnin and one jōnin, were instantly killed by the combination of the earth collapse and the inferno, and several others were badly injured by debris or burns.
The chaos subsided, leaving ten of the enemy squad remaining: three seasoned jōnin and seven chūnin.
They swiftly scrambled out of the trap, their formation broken, and quickly located their attackers: two boys, no older than twelve or thirteen, standing ready for combat.
The leader of the ninjas, a powerfully built man whose uniform marked him as a high-ranking Sarutobi jōnin, roared with anger.
His face was a mask of furious indignation.
"How dare you! You two insolent children! How dare you attack an official squad of the Sarutobi Clan!"
Madara and Hashirama exchanged a silent, determined look. They did not waste their precious energy on a reply.
Their goal wasn't to fight, but to delay.
As one, they turned on their heels and began sprinting in opposite directions, intending to split the remaining enemy force and draw them far away from the village.