The pitch‑black night was blanketed by sheets of rain. High above, a falcon glided through storm winds, its sharp eyes tracking every movement below. Riding this falcon, Hayashi trailed his target from afar, descending into the ruins of an abandoned mine.
He knew his opponent's intent — this was a trap. Yet Hayashi had no intention of retreating.
Two years under the oppressive rain of the Land of Rainbows had worn him down. He craved a real fight, one that tested his limits. So if this ninja sought to lure him here, fine — Hayashi was ready.
His gratitude for the fight was simple: he wanted to test himself. But when it ended, he planned to sever this ninja's head and leave.
"Since you've already chosen your own graveyard, I won't hold back," Hayashi murmured, his voice low and steady.
With renewed speed, he closed the distance. When his feet struck the cavern floor, he spun on the balls of his feet, his hand brushing his waist as he drew his tachi and struck.
Clang!
Sparks erupted as steel met steel with deafening force.
Hayashi stepped back, then lashed out with a thunderous whip kick.
Bang!
His leg collided with the other ninja's guard. The man crossed his arms to block, yet the impact dragged him skidding across the rocky floor for several meters.
Hayashi remained poised, a mocking smile pulling at his lips.
"Not running anymore?"
The other ninja shook the dust from his clothes, returning a slight grin. "Running was never the plan."
"Oh? Yet you baited me."
The man's lips curled in a cold snort. Then, in a flash, he vaulted into the air, soaring above Hayashi and descending with lightning speed, a kunai held tightly in his grasp.
Hayashi didn't flinch. Without turning to look, he lifted his blade toward the sky, meeting the strike.
Boom!
The clash vibrated through the ground, cracking stone beneath Hayashi's feet. Still, he stood firm as the other ninja was thrown back.
"Fire Release: Fire Dragon Flame Bullet," the attacker spat, forming hand seals mid‑air and spewing a burning torrent of fire more than ten meters long.
Hayashi inhaled deeply and exhaled, shaping his chakra.
"Wind Release: Gale Shield."
A razor‑sharp wind current erupted before him, an invisible barricade slicing through the onrushing inferno. On one side, fire roared and leapt; on the other, the wind held strong, forcing the flames to crash upward as if striking an unseen barrier.
The two releases shattered together in a blast that pulverized rock and sent shards raining.
Hayashi vanished in a blur, reappearing right in front of his foe with a movement as swift as lightning.
Both of the other ninja's hands flicked, conjuring a pair of kunai hurled toward him.
Hayashi flipped back like water in motion, his palm pressing lightly against his opponent's shoulder as he twisted in mid‑air. With that momentum, he launched a kick.
The other ninja crossed his arms and braced — but even so, he was driven backward more than ten meters.
When he finally came to a stop, chest heaving, he was on one knee, pain painting his features. Webbing between his thumbs was torn and his body was streaked with blood.
Hayashi wasn't untouched either. His black shinobi attire was shredded nearly beyond recognition, and scorch marks marred his exposed skin.
Heathing his tachi, he glanced at this young but undeniably powerful opponent with a faint, puzzled frown.
What was this kid's background?
Hayashi had expected traps, ambushes, hidden techniques — standard fare. But this strength, this unpredictable combat style… nothing about it matched any known village markings or clan secret techniques.
Before he could mull further, the other ninja blinked back into existence behind him, a kunai crackling with lightning chakra aimed straight at his back.
Hayashi didn't react in time.
The blade buried itself deep between his shoulders.
But rather than cry out, Hayashi's head twisted unnaturally, rotating a full 180 degrees so that his eyes stared directly at his attacker.
"I already expected you would try a surprise strike," he said, voice low and edged with mockery, his gaze unmoving.
The wound should have crippled him. Instead, his body seemed less harmed than it appeared — the blood at the corner of his mouth expelled not from weakness but as a distraction meant to draw his opponent's attention.
Then something changed.
Hayashi's shape blurred, his form distorting as longer nails and jagged fangs emerged, flesh rippling until the shinobi before him looked less like a man and more like a furious specter from a nightmare.
He lunged with a brutal roar, jaws snapping toward the other ninja.
For a moment, even the rain seemed to still.
Then the attacker stood firm, composed, calm.
"You do know," he said slowly, unwavering, "very few dare to use illusionary techniques against someone from the Uchiha clan. I suppose I should commend your courage… or question your sense of self‑preservation."
Before Hayashi's transformed maw could close the final gap, the other ninja's Sharingan eyes — crimson with three tomoe — locked onto him like a magnet drawing steel.
Hayashi's attack froze mid‑lunge.
Everything changed in the blink of an eye.
In an instant, the illusion collapsed like shattered glass.
Hayashi gasped, his wide eyes watching events dissolve and replay anew before him.
Now he saw it exactly as it had happened: the Uchiha had struck him directly in the chest with a kunai, piercing his heart.
Blood spilled as disbelief flickered across his face.
The attacker — Uchiha Fugaku — watched, his deep crimson Sharingan burning.
Hayashi opened his mouth but only a gurgled sound emerged, his vision blurred.
Then Fugaku twisted the kunai.
A jolt of searing pain shot up Hayashi's spine as blood surged into his throat, choking off his voice.
Still, a faint smile curled on Hayashi's lips.
"That's why your expression was strange earlier," he whispered with ragged breath. "You saw through my illusion — and used it against me without my noticing. To fall to an Uchiha… it's no dishonor."
Thoughts like these never left his mouth — they faded with his strength as his body crumpled.
Fugaku let out a long breath, then swallowed several restorative pills before binding Hayashi's severed head into a scroll.
Only then did he rise. With Hayashi gone, no force in this forsaken village could stop him from departing.
"At last," Fugaku murmured, tightening the scroll, "I can return to Konohagakure."
Thirty minutes later…
Seven figures tore across the rocky terrain from the west. They moved with urgency and precision.
Each of them carried a massive sword strapped to their backs — massive weapons that seemed almost too heavy to justify.
And none of them were known to Fugaku.
Their appearance was unexpected and potentially dangerous.