Murakami's body burned with exhaustion as blood and sweat mixed in his eyes, stinging as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.
His opponent, a burly man who towered over him, wearing a grin filled with sadistic pleasure, clearly enjoying the sight of Murakami's struggle.
"You're done, kid," the man growled in a deep and guttural voice. "This is where you end."
Murakami barely registered the words as his arms ached from blocking countless punches that would've shattered a tree the size of an adult.
His side screamed from the brutal kicks that had landed, and the cut along his cheek was the least of his worries.
His vision blurred as the ground beneath him felt like it was shifting. Yet, he refused to give in. He couldn't.
The man lunged, his fist the size of a boulder coming straight for Murakami's face. Instinct took over. Murakami ducked, narrowly avoiding the punch, but before he could regain his balance, his opponent was already on him.
A vicious roundhouse kick to his ribs sent Murakami flying to the side. Pain shot through his torso as the air left his lungs, and he crashed hard into the ground.
He groaned, trying to push himself up, but the man was already on him in an instant, pulling him by the hair and slamming a knee into Murakami's face.
Blood sprayed from Murakami's nose, and the world swam once more as he fell back onto the ground.
"You still think you're going to make it out of this?" the man sneered, standing over Murakami, his heavy boots crushing into his chest. "Pathetic. You should've stayed down."
Murakami's vision blurred as the man reared back for another blow.
'No, I can't go out like this.'
That was the thought on Murakami's mind as the man's fist descended, and Murakami instinctively raised his arms to block it.
The punch connected with his forearms, sending shockwaves of pain through his body as it sank into the ground, but Murakami gritted his teeth, pushing through the agony.
He looked up, the world was still spinning, his arms trembling from the weight of his opponent's assault, his lips were split, his cheek bruised, but his eyes were full of defiance.
Not yet. I'm not done.
The man growled, moving in for the finishing strike, but Murakami had other plans.
With a sudden surge of chakra, his fingers formed a complex seal and the air around them thickened as his chakra expanded to cover an area around his body in a dark, ominous haze.
"Kazekiri!" Murakami hissed under his breath.
The world seemed to freeze for a split second and in the blink of an eye, a wave of slicing, invisible force exploded outward from Murakami.
Chakra cut through the air with the violent blast of wind erupting from him, slicing through the space like the jagged edge of a blade.
The man never saw it coming and in an instant, his body was torn apart.
It wasn't a slow, drawn-out cut; it was instantaneous, like a thousand blades tearing through him all at once.
His torso, his limbs, his face, nothing was spared. Flesh and bone were carved through as if they were nothing more than soft paper.
Blood sprayed out in a wide arc, splattering everything in its path as the wind itself seemed to devour him whole.
Murakami slowly sat up, his hand still held the seal, his body trembling from the sheer force of what he had unleashed. The man's body was now little more than a mangled heap on the ground, shredded by the brutal slicing wave.
He took a moment to breathe, his chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through him, but it wasn't enough to mask the overwhelming pain that surged through his body.
Is it over?
His head swam, his vision doubled, and his muscles burned from the effort.
He had done it.
He had won.
But could barely keep himself conscious.
Just as he collapsed on his, panting heavily, his vision spun, and everything went dark.
…
Gasp!.
Murakami's eyes shot open, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His body jerked upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest as if he had just run miles.
He blinked in disorientation, his vision darting all over the place as he took in the sight of the surroundings.
It was familiar and peaceful.
'What the hell…' He thought and rubbed his eyes.
The remnants of the battle; the pain, the blood, the cuts, all vanished as if they were nothing more than a nightmare.
Murakami's hands trembled as he ran them over his face, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"It was just... a dream?" he muttered then sighed, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
He let his head fall back into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "That technique felt too real though…"
He let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. "Seriously, Murakami... what the hell was that?"
He remained still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as his breathing gradually settled.
A dream.
At least, that was what it should have been.
Murakami frowned.
The battle had felt too vivid though, the pain, the exhaustion, even the chakra running through his body.
His eyes narrowed.
Could this be an aftereffect of overusing the Spiritual Clone Technique?
He had been spamming the technique for days, repeatedly dividing his consciousness to study and dissect the principles behind B-rank techniques.
The accumulated strain on his mind might have finally caught up with him.
"Maybe that's it…"
He rubbed his temples and let out a tired sigh.
If the Spiritual Clone Technique allowed him to process experiences beyond what his body could normally handle, then perhaps his mind had simply reached its limit and manifested everything he had been studying into a single nightmare.
Still…
That Kazekiri had felt real.
Murakami stared at his palm for a few seconds before slowly closing his fingers.
"Interesting."
Then he pulled the blanket over his head.
Whatever it was, he could investigate it tomorrow.
For tonight, he'd had enough training.
…
The following morning, Murakami made his way to the Lotus Store, not because he had to work, but he just needed to leave his apartment.
He made his way up to the third floor, where he knew Hina, Aiko, and Daichi would be gathered. As he reached the top of the stairs, their voices were already sounding through the air, only muffled by the thick wooden walls, but he could still make out their words.
"Expanding to other villages in the Land of Fire could help us diversify our product lines," Daichi said in a thoughtful voice. "If we get on good terms with the right people, we might even be able to tap into some larger markets."
"True," Aiko added, "but we have to make sure we're not spreading ourselves too thin. The villages have different needs, and we can't afford to overextend just yet."
Murakami entered the hall and the conversation paused as all eyes turned to him.
Hina was sitting at the head of the long table, Aiko sitting to her right, while Daichi was seated at the left, his hands clasped in front of him.
Aiko was the first to break the silence. "Murakami... what's up with you?" She squinted at him, clearly noticing something was off. "You look... different."
Murakami raised an eyebrow, ran a hand through his disheveled hair and made his way towards Daichi.
"What do you mean?"
He asked as he sat down, his tone was casual, though anyone who knew him could feel the exhaustion weighing on him from just that.
Hina leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze taking in the subtle signs: the bags under his eyes, the tightness in his shoulders.
"You look like you haven't had a proper sleep in days," she said, her voice soft but tinged with concern. "What's going on?"
Murakami waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing," he said quickly, forcing a smile. "I've just been practicing a new jutsu. You know how it is, when you get focused, time kind of slips away."
Daichi raised an eyebrow and said bluntly. "Over-practicing again? You're looking like someone who's been through a battle, not just training."
Murakami sighed, running a hand through his hair again.
"Alright, alright," he waved his other hand, "It's just the new jutsu I've been working on is more taxing than I expected. But it's nothing serious, really. Just a few too many late nights."
Hina didn't look convinced, but she didn't press the issue any further.
Instead, her gaze softened, and she pushed back her chair with a determined look in her eyes. "In that case, you're taking a break. Right now."
Murakami blinked in confusion, caught off guard. "What?"
"Holiday," she said, standing up and crossing her arms with an air of finality. "We're taking the day off. All of us. A day to relax, no work. That's an order."
Aiko's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, hell yeah! A day off sounds perfect!" she cheered, clapping her hands together. "I've been dying to get away from all this business talk for a while."
Murakami scratched his head, still slightly dazed. "A holiday?" he muttered to himself. "But I've got so much to do. I mean, I literally have every day to myself. It's not like I'm being forced into any sort of break. In fact, I make my own schedule..."
He trailed off, realizing he was basically talking himself out of the idea of having a holiday.
Daichi chuckled, clearly amused. "Sounds like you could use a break, Murakami. You're not getting any younger, you know."
Murakami rolled his eyes and smirked. "You guys just want an excuse to slack off, don't you?"
But the thought of having the day off did sound tempting. Maybe he could put his jutsu training on pause for a while and just relax.
"Alright, alright," he said with a sigh, giving in. "You win, Hina. What are we doing?"
Before anyone could respond, Aiko suddenly brightened.
"Oh! I just remembered something!"
Everyone turned toward her.
"The Senju Clan is holding a huge celebration at Senju Park for the birth of their new young master, Nawaki. Apparently, they're offering discounts on almost everything from food, souvenirs, even entrance tickets."
Her eyes lit up.."We should go."
Murakami raised an eyebrow, the name not ringing a bell.
'Senju Park? There's a Senju Park?' Murakami thought, suddenly interested. 'Wait, Nawaki has been born?'
A small frown tugged at his lips.
For a moment, the excitement around the room faded into the background as he remembered what awaited the newborn.
Murakami leaned back in his chair, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.
It was strange.
Everyone was celebrating the birth of a child who, in a few short years, would be swallowed by a war that had not even begun.
And Murakami was sitting there, listening to them celebrate his arrival while already knowing how his story would end.
"Yeah… what am I even stressing for?" Murakami thought, letting out a quiet breath.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to take a break. He had been training non-stop for days and worrying about a future he couldn't control wasn't going to change anything.
'A little distraction might do me some good.'
A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or not, but the idea of a day off felt oddly appealing.
The thought of stepping away from his training, even if just for a day, started to feel less like an obligation and more like a necessity.
Alright, let's do it, he thought with a resigned chuckle. A holiday it is.
Aiko, noticing his shift in his expression, grinned from across the table. "Yes! Finally! I've wanted to go for ages. Let's make a day of it!"
Murakami looked at the others, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of their excited faces.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Like it? Read up to chapter 60 on [email protected]/This_Young_Lord