A rogue ninja from Kumogakure?
Honestly, when they heard what the young waka had said, the shadow guards didn't fully grasp the deeper implications. But it came from the heir's mouth, and despite his age, the boy was still the firstborn son of the Main House and the future head of the clan. They weren't about to argue.
"Some nerve on this rogue, showing up in Konoha at a time like this!"
"No! I'm not a rogue ninja! I'm a jounin of Kumogakure! I'm one of the senior members of the envoy delegation! Stop making things up!"
Being stared at with expressions that clearly said you absolute piece of garbage, Darbi felt his face burn. He couldn't help shouting.
"If you're not a rogue, then you should have something on you to prove your identity, right? Your Kumo forehead protector? Let's see it."
"That's..."
The shadow guard captain's question shut him up cold. He was on a covert mission. Of course he wasn't carrying his village's headband or any other identifying token. That would've defeated the entire purpose.
"Tch. Rogue ninja who won't even own up to it. Move in. Restrain him first, sort it out later."
The captain didn't bother waiting for more excuses. His lean frame blurred forward, closing the distance to Darbi in an instant, one palm already driving toward the man's chest.
The Hyuuga were famous for their Juuken. Combined with the Byakugan's ability to see chakra flow in real time, they held an overwhelming advantage in close-quarters combat.
For anyone who didn't understand why the Byakugan was so dangerous up close, the explanation was simple: chakra flow was intention made visible. It was the body telegraphing its next move before the muscles even fired. If someone was about to throw a punch, their chakra surged toward the fists. If they were about to sprint, it pooled in the legs. Reading that flow meant reading the future, one half-second at a time.
"Juuken: Rekka Shou!"
The captain's hands danced through the air like butterfly wings. Dozens of palm strikes fanned outward in rapid succession, each one homing in on Darbi's body from a different angle like a swarm of hornets.
Compared to the raw, bone-crunching power of other taijutsu styles, Rekka Shou looked almost gentle. Soft, even. But getting hit by it was no joke.
The Hyuuga's Juuken wasn't "gentle" in the martial arts sense of redirecting force. The word referred to how it bypassed flesh and muscle entirely, injecting the user's own chakra directly into the target's body to destroy the tenketsu network and internal organs from the inside.
It didn't matter how tough a shinobi was. How much they'd trained their body. The chakra pathway system and internal organs couldn't be hardened or reinforced. That was a design flaw baked into human biology from the start, and the Hyuuga had built their entire fighting style around exploiting it.
Get hit by Juuken and one of two things happened. Either your tenketsu got sealed and your chakra stopped flowing, which was the equivalent of having your powers stripped away. Or your organs took the hit directly, causing internal hemorrhaging, which was the equivalent of dying. So beneath that elegant exterior, Juuken was actually one of the most vicious fighting styles in the shinobi world.
If that connects, I'm dead. Darbi's heart rate spiked. He'd survived countless life-or-death situations across his career as a jounin. But the edge never went away. Every single time, the fear hit just as hard.
As an intelligence operative, almost none of Darbi's techniques were designed for combat. Even at full strength, he couldn't go toe-to-toe with a Hyuuga shadow guard captain. And now, with one leg snapped courtesy of a certain three-year-old's invisible sabotage, he had even less room to fight.
Come on, then. Kill me. The moment I die, the cursed seal on my body activates. Kumo's people will trace my location immediately. By tomorrow morning, they'll formally demand compensation from the Hyuuga.
For the sake of Kumogakure's ambitions, what's one life?
Resolve hardened behind Darbi's eyes. And then he did something that nobody in that courtyard could have predicted.
In full view of everyone, Darbi gritted his teeth, launched himself forward off his one good leg, and deliberately shoved his own head directly into the path of Rekka Shou.
What?! The shadow guard captain nearly choked. For a split second, he genuinely wondered if he was caught in a genjutsu.
This guy... is he trying to kill himself?
The captain hadn't been aiming to kill. Every single one of his strikes had been targeting non-lethal points. He wanted Darbi alive. But this maniac had just thrown himself face-first into a killing trajectory with zero hesitation.
That's right. Darbi had gone full insurance scam. The ancient and noble art of throwing yourself into harm's way on purpose so someone else takes the blame. The kind of stunt that would make personal injury lawyers weep with pride. And this Kumogakure jounin had just executed it with the conviction of a man who truly believed in the craft.
Rekka Shou was already in motion. The captain's chakra-loaded palm was on a collision course with Darbi's forehead. One more fraction of a second and it would turn his brain into pudding.
Unstoppable. Irreversible. Once a man decided he wanted to die, not even God could talk him out of it.
God couldn't.
But someone who'd been watching the whole time? That was a different story.
Called it. He's going for the dive. Miyuki had seen this coming from a mile away. From a certain angle, Darbi's willingness to die for his village was almost admirable. From another angle, it was shameless beyond belief.
For Kumogakure's leadership, this mission had always been a win-win. Success meant they got the Byakugan. Failure meant their operative died on Hyuuga soil wearing diplomat credentials, giving them political ammunition. Miyuki understood the math perfectly.
But the entire scheme hinged on one thing: Darbi had to die inside the Hyuuga compound while officially being a Kumo envoy. Strip away either condition and the leverage evaporated. So all Miyuki had to do was keep this idiot alive. Like right now.
In the space between moments, in the invisible layer of reality that only Miyuki could perceive, a small white figure was already pressed against Darbi's body. Long, flowing white hair, impossibly long, unfurled from behind Kaguya-hime like silk cables and coiled tight around Darbi's neck.
Kaguya-hime's hair was absurdly long. Waterfall-length. Enough to use as a fishing net if the situation called for it. And its tensile strength was excellent, more than capable of bearing a grown man's weight in combat.
"Pull him down!"
At Miyuki's command, Kaguya-hime's tiny body dropped like an anchor. The hair snapped taut around Darbi's throat, and the jounin's body was wrenched downward with violent, irresistible force.
Huh? HUH?!?!
Darbi felt something invisible cinch around his neck and yank. His entire body plummeted mid-leap, pulled off trajectory by a strength he couldn't see or understand. His heroic death-dive twisted into an awkward, flailing drop.
The palm strike that should have caved in his skull sailed over his head, close enough to ruffle his hair. Rekka Shou hit nothing but air.
What is wrong with this guy? Does he want to die or doesn't he? Make up your mind. The shadow guard captain couldn't see Kaguya-hime. All he saw was Darbi leaping toward death and then inexplicably flinching away at the last possible instant. The whole thing was baffling.
But confused or not, the captain was a veteran ANBU-class jounin. He recovered in an instant. His body blurred forward and his fingers became a storm, jabbing into Darbi's exposed body in rapid succession.
It looked random. It wasn't. Every strike was a precision tenketsu seal. Sixteen pressure points shut down in under two seconds. By the time the captain stepped back, Darbi couldn't move a single finger.
No! I still have one last chance!
Even now, even paralyzed from neck to toe, Darbi refused to give up. His jaw clenched. His mouth opened wide. He was going to bite down as hard as he could.