Twenty minutes later, inside the Hokage's office.
A sharp knock cut through the quiet. The same coordinating chunin from the field burst in, face slick with sweat, looking rattled. He bowed low and blurted out the report without waiting.
"He lost again?" The Third Hokage already suspected it from the guy's expression, but he still asked.
"Y-Yes, Lord Hokage! Jonin Kawano lost too!" The chunin's voice cracked with disbelief.
"Give me the details. What happened?" The Third leaned forward, face turning dead serious.
Kawano Ayumu wasn't some freshly promoted special jonin like Gekko Ran. This was a battle-hardened veteran who'd survived actual wars!
"Yes, sir!" The chunin swallowed hard and spoke fast. "When Jonin Kawano arrived, he stayed cautious. He could tell the client—Mr. Isshin—had insane physical conditioning, so he didn't close in for melee. He kept his distance right away and opened with Wind Release ninjutsu to test and pressure from mid-range."
"Solid tactic," the Third nodded.
"But that's exactly where it went wrong!" The chunin's face twisted with a mix of lingering fear and confusion. "The client, Mr. Isshin, didn't dodge or block a single one of Jonin Kawano's Wind Release attacks! He just tanked them head-on and charged straight through!"
"Hm?"
"Exactly, Lord Third—he charged! Crazy fast! The Wind Release barely did anything except tear his clothes. No real damage!" The chunin's words tumbled out faster. "Jonin Kawano had clearly never seen anyone fight like that. Plus the client straight-up ate the ninjutsu, so Kawano got worried about the guy's safety for a second. That tiny hesitation threw off his rhythm, and in that split second the opponent closed the gap!"
"Once he was in close range, Mr. Isshin's blade work was brutal—too fast, too heavy, power that didn't make any sense. Jonin Kawano's sword blocks were getting hammered. He got knocked back again and again. He could only rely on experience and body-flicker to stall and look for openings, but… right when their weapons clashed and Kawano got shoved back a few steps, trying to reset his stance…"
The chunin's voice faltered. His expression turned downright weird, almost absurd.
"But what?" the Third pressed.
"But… Mr. Isshin pulled a gun."
"Oh? So the gunshot created the decisive opening… wait a second!"
The Third had been following along, but his eyes suddenly widened and his pipe nearly slipped from his fingers. "What did you just say?! What gun?!"
"Yes, Lord Third. The client, Mr. Isshin, fired a gun." The chunin looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. He repeated it, then added the ridiculous detail. "Some weird, oversized short-barreled firearm."
Ten minutes earlier—Training Ground Three.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Seven rapid-fire shots ripped through the air with almost no gap between them, drowning out every gasp.
Thick gunpowder smoke rolled across the field instantly.
Kawano Ayumu had already been pushed to the brink by Isshin's reckless charge and the storm of close-range slashes. The second that ugly short-barreled pistol appeared in the samurai's left hand, his brain actually blanked for a heartbeat.
He had imagined every possible weapon in this fight—katana, greatsword, spear, even kunai, shuriken, senbon, or any exotic ninja tool.
But a gun?
That clunky, outdated long-range weapon that had been proven useless in the last shinobi war—outclassed by explosive tags and ninjutsu, something even most samurai had thrown in the trash?
It shattered every single fighting instinct Kawano—and every spectator—had.
That fatal split-second of pure shock cost him the perfect window to body-flicker away.
What the hell kind of gun fires this fast?!
Horror flashed through Kawano's mind. On pure reflex he tried to block, but—
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Several sprays of blood exploded across his shoulder, arm, and thigh.
They weren't fatal hits, but the sudden searing pain and impact completely wrecked his balance and chakra flow.
"Ugh!" Kawano grunted, his movements twisting and slowing.
And Isshin—this guy who clearly didn't give a damn about samurai honor—had been waiting for exactly that moment.
His right-hand katana flashed into a vicious arc, surging forward.
Using the flat of the wide blade and the full momentum of his charge, he slammed it square into Kawano's chest and gut.
BOOM!
A heavy, muffled impact.
Kawano flew back like he'd been hit by a siege ram—legs leaving the ground, sailing more than ten meters before crashing down and tumbling several times before he finally stopped.
He tried to push himself up, but the churning agony in his torso plus the bullet wounds made it impossible to gather strength. All he could do was stare with bitter, unwilling eyes at the towering figure in the center who had already sheathed his blade.
The entire field fell into a brief, vacuum-like silence.
It felt like every voice had been sucked away by those gunshots and the brutal follow-up strike.
Then the next second, a volcanic roar of fury erupted.
"Dirty bastard!!"
"What kind of fight is this?!"
"Using a gun?! That's a cheap shot!"
"Disgrace to samurai! No honor at all!"
"No bushido whatsoever! Get the hell out of Konoha!"
Angry shouts, curses, and jeers slammed into Isshin from every direction.
Most of the older Konoha ninjas kept their cool, but the younger ones flushed beet-red, looking like they'd been personally insulted.
You're a samurai—how the hell do you pull a gun?!
We were respecting your warrior status and sticking to swordplay!
Meanwhile, Shinichi had already slipped silently through the furious crowd and knelt beside Kawano Ayumu.
He crouched down, face showing the perfect mix of gravity and concern. Both hands glowed with soft green medical chakra as he worked quickly—stopping the bleeding, easing the pain, and using precise Chakra Scalpel control to carefully guide the shallowly embedded bullets out.
The injuries looked dramatic, but after Shinichi's treatment the guy would be back on his feet in ten days to two weeks with zero lasting damage.
"Thanks, Shinichi," Kawano panted, face pale, voice thick with defeat and bitterness. "I… I embarrassed the village."
Shinichi kept working, but his expression turned a little strange. He seemed to weigh his words before answering quietly, "You're being too hard on yourself, senior. You fought well. Your tactics were solid. No one could've predicted that a famous swordsman from the Land of Iron would pull something like… this in a public match." He paused, searching for the right phrase. "A very unconventional method."
"Too damn dirty!" Shizune came jogging over and dropped to a crouch beside him, glaring at the wounds before shooting a furious look at the indifferent Isshin in the middle of the field. "His swordwork is obviously incredible—why use something like that? This isn't a fair fight at all!"
Kurenai walked up too, her crimson eyes swirling with a complicated mix of shock, confusion, and the faint daze of someone whose worldview had just taken a solid hit. "This… I've never heard of anyone fighting this way. Samurai duels are supposed to be…"
The crowd's outrage kept rolling like thunder around them.