In this grand game of shinobi soccer, our star forward—the Third Hokage—had just struck a world-class "screamer" of a goal!
Immediately following his lead, the enemy was swallowed by the vast ocean of a true people's war.
It was a mercy that this war wasn't being broadcast live. If it were, the microphone should never, under any circumstances, be handed to Ui. Heaven only knows what kind of commentary would spill out of his mouth.
As he watched the Hokage's battle stance—that legendary figure aggressively driving forward, sweeping and thrusting his staff as if no man under heaven could match him—Ui's mind was already busy filling in the most inappropriate subtitles.
But the atmosphere was shifting. The Kazekage was on the move. It looked like the "Village Chiefs" were about to have a direct head-on collision.
Powerful as the Third might be, when danger looms, a warning is mandatory. Mental preparation is half the battle; at the very least, it prevents one from being caught flat-footed. Ui promptly relayed the intel to headquarters.
The response from the command center was curt: Continue surveillance.
Ui understood. He would handle the sky; he trusted Tsunade to handle the earth.
The distance for his patrols had shrunk significantly. By hovering near the center of the battlefield, he could monitor the entire theatre of war. The scale of the engagement was compressing as the two sides became inextricably locked in a deadly embrace.
Just as Ui was indulging in the heroic thought of, "I could fly like this all day," the bird beneath him pulsed with a sudden surge of emotion.
Yata did not speak like those chatty toads or pretentious snakes, but through the contract seal, Ui could feel its intent.
He walked carefully along Yata's back until he reached the crown of its head. Crouching down, he locked eyes with the massive bird.
"You want to... attack?"
Ui patted Yata's head. Their pupils were laughably different in size, but a genuine silent communication was happening.
Yata was projecting a clear desire to strike the enemy. Ui wasn't sure what its method of attack was, but he had one hard rule: No losing altitude.
They were currently at 200 meters. This was the "Dead Zone" for most ninjutsu; very few ground-based attacks had the range or precision to hit a moving aerial target at that height. If Yata dropped down to try and claw someone, it would be shot out of the sky in seconds.
"Wait... hold on a minute!"
Ui's eyes widened as he suddenly realized how a bird attacks from a safe height.
Air strikes. Specifically, high-precision, biological bombardment.
Imagine it: Yata dropping a massive "gift" right onto the Kazekage's head.
The scene played out in Ui's mind. He, Uchiha Ui, would achieve the greatest merit since the Sage of the Six Paths founded the Ninja Creed!
Obituary: The Fourth Kazekage. Cause of Death: Struck by a half-ton of high-altitude falling debris (avian excrement).
What a tragic life. What a... fragrant epitaph.
Even if the "gift" didn't kill him, the sheer humiliation would. After being hit by that, the Kazekage wouldn't have the face to show himself in public for a decade. When Gaara was eventually born, he'd probably smell like bird droppings. It would become the Kazekage's new "Clan Signature."
Instead of restraining Yata, Ui became an enthusiastic co-pilot. He began actively helping with the targeting.
Down in the Sand's command cluster, there was a man acting quite arrogant, wearing a conical hat emblazoned with the character for "Wind" (风).
That hat was his target. Was it waterproof? Maybe.
But did the Kazekage know the "splash zone" of a Yata-sized evacuation?
Yata had been suffering from indigestion ever since its stay at the Shikkotsu Forest. It hadn't been able to process the local "cuisine" for days. After flying for hours, it was primed and ready to burst.
Ui had predicted the beginning of this play perfectly, but he completely missed the finale.
What Yata released was far more... explosive... than simple waste.
As they drifted over the Sand Command, Ui performed rapid-fire mental gymnastics—calculating enemy velocity, their own speed, wind resistance, and gravity. He was aiming for a pinpoint strike.
He was ready to paint the Kazekage's world white.
The Sand shinobi had noticed the bird long ago. They knew it was a Konoha scout, but at that height, they were helpless. Having their every move exposed to the enemy's eyes was a tactical nightmare, and Ui had been a constant thorn in their side.
Now the bird was flying directly overhead again. Most ignored it. Let it watch, they thought. It can't touch us, and we can't touch it. Unless it's stupid enough to dive...
But one shinobi noticed something odd.
A thin white line was descending vertically from the bird.
"What is—"
In the high-tension environment of a battlefield, his mouth reacted faster than his brain.
"INCOMING!!!"
BOOM!
A massive "egg" slammed into the ground at the shinobi's feet. It didn't crack. It didn't shatter.
It detonated.
Before anyone could scream, a succession of roars followed.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A series of high-yield explosions rocked the Sand's rear lines.
The Sand shinobi were utterly dumbfounded. We agreed to a ground war! Why do you have a tactical bomber?! Referee, this is unscientific! This is unfair!
Actually, everyone was stunned. The Sand was reeling, Konoha was confused, and even Ui was staring down in shock.
When he saw Yata dropping eggs instead of droppings, he had almost tried to stop it. Don't waste your life force like that! Eggs are precious! You'll regret this when you're older!
Then he heard the explosions.
He watched the mushroom clouds of dust and smoke rise from the Sand Command. His brain took a moment to process the data.
Those aren't yolks... those are Thermobaric Bombs!
"You're a bomber?! Why didn't you mention this earlier?!"
Well, the bird had a limited IQ and couldn't speak. And when Ui had captured it, it certainly hadn't tried to nuke him.
Whether the Kazekage had been hit was still unclear, but Ui had—quite accidentally—demolished the Sand's entire command hierarchy in a single pass.
The "White Yaksha," who had vowed to keep a low profile, had just stolen the spotlight again.
But Ui didn't feel like a hero. He looked down at his bird and sighed a heavy, existential sigh.
In this war, his situation was truly pathetic.
It wasn't that he was useless. It was that he wasn't as useful as a bird. He wasn't as impactful as an egg.
He was literally outshone by a bird's balls.