Chapter 17: Chance Encounter

Dawn.

Light filtered through the trees, casting prismatic halos across the mist-laden forest. The lingering fog intertwined with the rainbow hues, transforming the woods into an ethereal dreamscape.

By now, Okamura Arata and Nakama Shin had finished their morning routines, while Dōzan Karin helped Hai Ruri pack up the tent.

"Aah~hn!"

Ruri crawled out of the tent, yawning widely—clearly, she hadn’t slept well.

Last night, she’d experimented until dawn, searching for the perfect balance between speed, strength, and precision.

The results? Promising.

Though she hadn’t pinpointed the ideal equilibrium, she’d narrowed it down to a workable range—like an archer landing within the bullseye ring, if not dead center. The improvement was undeniable.

Using the Shikotsumyaku’s unique properties—bones as malleable as thought, yet hard as steel—she’d reinforced the joints between skeletal structures. Now, every taijutsu motion flowed smoother, with power transmission far more efficient.

By her estimates, her combat prowess had at least doubled.

She dubbed this iteration *"Perfect Combat Body 1.0"*—with room to upgrade.

"Ruri, didn’t sleep well?" Karin slung the rolled-up tent over her shoulder, eyeing Ruri’s drowsy state.

In the shinobi world, there was no nonsense about "men’s work" and "women’s leisure." As the team’s medic and weakest fighter, Karin carried her share of weight—literally.

"Mm, it’s fine. Maybe I’m just excited to go home soon."

"Heh. Two more days to Haikawa Port, then a week by ship to the Land of Fire’s coast… and after that, we’ve got Tanzaku Gai!" Okamura counted on his fingers, practically vibrating at the thought of reaching the Land of Fire.

Karin’s eyes sparkled. "I wonder what it’s like—the strongest, most prosperous nation in the world! Maybe we’ll even run into Lady Tsunade!"

"Keep dreaming, Karin," Shin deadpanned. "Tanzaku Gai’s a den of gambling and brothels. No way a legendary medic’s hanging around there."

"Yeah."

For once, Shin and Okamura agreed.

Karin’s enthusiasm deflated like a punctured balloon, her twin braids drooping.

Ruri stayed silent.

If only Karin knew her idol was a gambling addict… She’d be devastated. Better she never meets Tsunade.

"Wait—where’s Hikari-sensei?" Karin blinked, shaking off her gloom.

"Checking the traps she set last night."

"How long’s she been gone?"

Silence.

The team exchanged glances—then tensed.

Elsewhere in the Forest

Kaguya Hikari moved like a shadow, carefully dismantling a wire strung between branches.

Snap!

A bent sapling—rigged as a spring-loaded whip—lashed toward her face with a sound like a sword cleaving air.

She dodged backward just in time.

This wasn’t my trap.

Her blue eyes scanned the trees. This trap had been designed to launch kunai, but she’d disarmed it in time. Even without the blades, the snapped branch alone could cave in a skull.

And it wasn’t hers.

Someone else—a professional—had set traps nearby.

The placement was flawless: concealed by foliage, angled to maximize lethality. Textbook shinobi work.

Familiar, too.

Her pulse quickened.

Anbu tactics.

…Could it be Brother’s team?

Following the trap line like breadcrumbs, she crept toward the source.

A girl knelt by a dying campfire, dressed in rough-spun clothes.

Pale. Delicate.

Her hand hovered over the flames—and with a press, the fire froze, crystallizing into glittering ice.

Hikari’s breath hitched.

What—?

WHOOSH!

A black mass hurtled toward her.

She ducked on instinct. "Wait! I’m—!"

The object—a gigantic blade—slammed into a tree behind her, shearing through branches like paper.

Hikari knew this weapon.

Every Kirigakure shinobi did.

Kubikiribōchō. The Executioner’s Blade. One of the Seven Ninja Swords, capable of regenerating by absorbing iron from blood.

And its current wielder—

"Anbu trash."

A voice, cold as a grave, dripped from above.

She looked up.

There.

A figure wrapped in bandages loomed on the branch, staring down at her like she was an insect to crush.

Momochi Zabuza.

The Demon of the Hidden Mist.

The man who’d slaughtered his entire graduating class, forcing Kirigakure to reform its academy.

The elite jōnin who’d attempted to assassinate the Mizukage—and walked away alive.

Now, an S-rank nukenin.

The mist thickened, viscous and suffocating, swallowing all visibility.

The stench of bloodlust coated Hikari’s tongue.

She swallowed hard, abandoning the thought of name-dropping her brother.

…Really bad luck.

(＾◡＾)