The moment Hagoromo scooped her up, Kurenai Yuhi went completely numb.
To be clear, there were no complex romantic emotions involved. It was the literal, dictionary definition of numb.
It had nothing to do with gender or attraction—otherwise, Kurenai's face might have turned a delicate shade of pink. Instead, her face was currently cycling through a vibrant palette of colors.
First blue. Then white. Then a sickly, electrified mix of both.
The reason was simple: the Chidori Current. While Hagoromo, the caster, was immune to its sting, it was still a high-level Lightning Style shroud, and it definitely didn't come with a "friendly fire" toggle.
In the heat of the moment, Hagoromo had prioritized speed, which meant his teammate was essentially being hugged by a high-voltage transformer. A few seconds of being fried was painful, sure, but it wouldn't kill her.
As for why he grabbed Kurenai, it was pure instinct. There was zero "favoritism" involved.
The proof? The second they cleared the blast radius of the Scorch Style attack, Hagoromo tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes.
In that split second, Hagoromo's brain had calculated the geometry: Kurenai was to his side, Asuma was behind him. He could grab one and kick the other.
So, does he hug the girl or the guy? One is light and soft. The other... well, friendly reminder: that guy grows up to have a thick, scratchy beard.
Between the technical difficulty of a "princess carry" and the aesthetic catastrophe of trying to lug Asuma around while fleeing for his life, Hagoromo chose the girl.
It was the only scientific choice. What was he supposed to do? Cradle Asuma in his arms and drop-kick Kurenai into the bushes?
If you asked Kurenai, however, she would have preferred the kick. A bruised stomach is a one-time payment of pain; being a human conductor for Hagoromo's lightning was a service she never signed up for.
Asuma, meanwhile, probably would have preferred the hug. That kick had been delivered with the full force of a panicked Chunin. He wasn't sure how many ribs were currently playing Jenga in his chest, but his rough estimate was "too many."
Aoba Yamashiro was the luckiest of the lot. He'd been knocked back, but he'd used Asuma as a human cushion on the way out, and then served as a cushion for Asuma on the landing. They were even—except Asuma had broken bones and Aoba just had a sore back.
"BOOM!"
The Scorch Style technique detonated behind them. Miraculously, despite the lethality of the jutsu, no one was hurt by the flames.
Thanks to Hagoromo's abnormal reflexes. ...And no thanks to Hagoromo's abnormal team-management.
The dodge was a success in that everyone was alive, but the "quality of life" for the squad had plummeted. One member: Compound fractures. One member: Continuous muscular spasms.
After dropping Kurenai, Hagoromo checked on his fallen comrades. He was quite satisfied with his leg power; he'd successfully launched both of them clear of the explosion.
Asuma looked... not great. He was gasping for air, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, looking very much like a man who was contemplating the afterlife. Hagoromo offered a silent apology worth exactly half a cent.
Strangely, the enemy didn't follow up. Had they assumed the first blast had finished them? The line of sight was still blocked by the scorched trees. Even if they'd been spotted, the enemy clearly didn't have high-precision sensory skills.
Aoba quickly helped the wheezing Asuma back toward Hagoromo.
"Cough... Hagoromo... I think the kick was overkill. I could have dodged that on my own," Asuma wheezed, clearly dissatisfied with the "assistance."
Understandable. No one wants their headstone to read: "Here lies the son of the Third Hokage, tragically ended by a teammate's 'instinctive' boot to the ribs."
Hagoromo looked at Asuma but said nothing. In a crisis, everyone has their own judgment. Asuma believed he could dodge; Hagoromo believed a kick was a 100% guarantee of safety. He trusted his own foot more than Asuma's agility. Therefore, he kicked. Simple logic.
Kurenai said nothing. It wasn't that she didn't have an opinion; she just couldn't stop her teeth from chattering yet.
"The enemy's techniques are truly unusual," Hagoromo remarked, looking toward the clearing. "Scorch Style... a truly powerful kekkei genkai. It managed to incapacitate half our squad in an instant."
Aoba shot him a look. They were all the same rank and graduated together, yet here was Hagoromo, sounding like a seasoned captain, completely glossing over the fact that he was the one who had incapacitated half our squad.
Asuma still had a muddy footprint on his chest. A bloody one.
The art of leadership, it seemed, involved lying with a perfectly straight face.
Since Asuma and Kurenai were temporarily out of the fight, Hagoromo dispersed his lightning and wove a new set of seals.
Ninja Art: Summoning Jutsu!
A massive, three-headed red hound appeared—the Split-Hiding Dog.
"Get on the dog!" Hagoromo ordered.
It was a ridiculous-sounding command, but Aoba understood instantly. He hoisted the shivering Kurenai and the broken Asuma onto the creature's back.
Hagoromo took point, hand on his sword, eyes sharp. Aoba stood by the summon to make sure their teammates didn't slide off. Together, they rounded the final obstacle and looked upon the battlefield.
There were about thirty Hidden Rain ninjas left alive, surrounded by the mummified remains of their comrades.
Hagoromo's gaze locked onto the central figure. A woman. A Hidden Sand headband.
Pakura of the Scorch Style.
The Hagoromo squad walked out into the open—they'd already been spotted, so there was no point in hiding. Besides, Hagoromo was ready to summon the Yatagarasu at a moment's notice. If things got ugly, they were taking the express flight out of there.
"Oh?" Pakura's voice carried over the rain. She was surrounded, yet completely composed. The Rain ninjas, by contrast, looked like they were one step away from a nervous breakdown.
She turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she took in their gear.
"Leaf ninjas?"
She had clearly expected the newcomers to be Rain reinforcements.
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