But what happens after killing them?
Hidden Mist reinforcements will immediately surround this place.
Rin Nohara has not yet completely cleared the danger zone.
Those two Anbu might not be able to protect her.
He withdrew his gaze and looked back at the blood-covered boy in front of him.
Those eyes were still watching him.
They were as calm as a deep pool, without a single ripple.
Just like when he had cut open his wound earlier, just like when he had shattered his left arm, just like now, standing in the ruins covered in blood.
Minato Namikaze had seen that kind of look before.
On the battlefield, in those who were truly not afraid of death.
But those people had something else in their eyes.
Fanaticism, or despair, or some kind of obsession that had to be protected.
This boy's eyes had nothing.
Only a strange kind of calm.
A calm so profound it was as if he were simply doing something natural.
"What is your name?" Minato Namikaze asked.
The sound of the rain swallowed his voice, but he knew the boy had heard.
The boy did not answer.
He just stood in the ruins, gripping his sword, covered in blood, his left arm hanging limp, unmoving.
Minato Namikaze looked at him for three seconds.
Then he turned around.
The golden figure disappeared into the curtain of rain, chasing in the direction of Rin Nohara's retreat.
Mei Terumī hid behind a broken wall in the distance, watching all of this.
She saw the golden light vanish.
The blood-covered figure was still standing in place.
The hand gripping his sword finally slowly dropped.
Then the figure swayed, and he knelt on one knee into the mud.
The kubikiribōchō was stuck in the ground, supporting him so he wouldn't collapse completely.
The rain washed the blood from his body, pooling into a small, deep red puddle at his feet.
Mei Terumī rushed out.
Running past the ruins, through the mud, past the stones flattened by the battle.
She knelt in front of Shinji, reaching out to help him, but didn't know where to touch.
Shinji was covered in wounds, bleeding everywhere.
Mei Terumī looked up at him.
Shinji also looked down at her, opened his mouth, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible: "Mei... are you okay?"
Mei Terumī's tears suddenly surged out.
Mixed with rain, mixed with blood, streaming down her cheeks.
She nodded desperately, nodding like a child.
The sudden coldness Shinji had shown her over these years didn't matter at this moment.
Shinji didn't speak again.
His mouth just twitched.
The movement was very light, so light it was barely visible.
The rain was still falling.
Mei Terumī rushed up and grabbed his collar.
Her hands were shaking.
Shaking violently.
She didn't know if it was from the cold, from fear, or something else.
The rain flowed down her wrists into her sleeves, freezing cold, but she couldn't care.
"Shinji, are you sick in the head?"
Her voice was also shaking.
It didn't sound like her own, hoarse, as if forced out from the depths of her throat, carrying the scent of blood and the saltiness of the rain.
Shinji did not answer.
Covered in blood.
His left arm hung down, swinging at an unnatural angle.
The wound on his forehead was still seeping blood, washed by the rain into a pale red stream, flowing down his cheek.
His complexion was as white as paper, as white as the corpses lying on the battlefield.
But he did not fall.
The kubikiribōchō was stuck in the mud, supporting him so he wouldn't collapse.
He just looked at her like that.
Those eyes were still the same.
As calm as a deep pool, without a single ripple.
It was as if the one who had been cut open earlier wasn't him, the one who had his left arm shattered wasn't him, and the one standing here covered in blood wasn't him either.
"Don't you know you could die?"
He looked at her.
The rain fell between them.
It hit their shoulders, their faces, the hilt of the kubikiribōchō, making a dense and dull sound.
"...I know."
He said.
Two words.
The voice was very light, so light it was almost swallowed by the sound of the rain.
But she heard it.
Every word struck clearly in her heart.
Mei Terumī's fingernails dug in tighter.
Gripping his collar, her knuckles turning white.
The rain flowed down her arms into her sleeves, but she couldn't feel the cold.
"Then why did you—"
"But you called out."
He interrupted her.
Mei Terumī froze.
She just stood there in the heavy rain, holding his collar, staring at him blankly.
The rain flowed between them, blurring her vision.
But she saw those eyes.
In those eyes that were as calm as a deep pool, something was moving.
He looked into her eyes.
Then the corners of his mouth suddenly moved.
It was a smile.
Very light.
Very faint.
So faint it was almost impossible to tell he was smiling.
Just the corners of his mouth turned up a tiny bit, as if pulled gently by something.
But it was a smile.
"As long as you call, I will come."
He said:
"And, you can save the Hidden Mist Village."
The rain was heavy.
So heavy that the sky, the ground, and everything around them could not be seen clearly.
The ruins of Kannabi Bridge were swallowed by the curtain of rain, and the broken walls in the distance were only blurred outlines.
The whole world was left with only rain, the sound of rain, and the two people standing in the rain.
Mei Terumī stood in place.
The hand gripping his collar slowly loosened.
Bit by bit, as if something was slipping through her fingers.
That hand dropped to her side, rain dripping from her fingertips.
She lowered her head.
Rain flowed down her hair tips, across her cheeks, across her chin, and dripped onto the ground.
Dripping into the puddle at her feet, spreading small ripples.
She didn't move.
He didn't move either.
Only the rain moved.
Only the rain fell between them, flowed by, and merged into the mud at their feet.
A long time later, she raised her head.
Her eye sockets were very red.
So red it looked like something had burned inside them.
But there were no tears.
Perhaps they had flowed, but were washed away by the rain; it was hard to tell.
"If it's for you, whether I can do it or not, I am willing to save this Village!"
She looked at him.
Looking at that ordinary face with no expression, looking at the eyes that still held that faint trace of a smile.
Looking at him standing in the rain covered in blood, his left arm hanging, the kubikiribōchō stuck beside him.
She remembered that afternoon of the graduation combat exercise.
She had been knocked down five times, her knees were scraped, and blood was streaming down her legs.
The crowd watching was full of cold, voyeuristic, and schadenfreude-filled gazes.
No one spoke, no one moved, no one felt there was anything wrong with it.
Then he stood in the crowd and spoke: "Enough."
That was the first time someone had spoken up for her.
She remembered that night.
Ruins.
Mist.
Three corpses.
She was leaning against a broken wall, covered in wounds, thinking she would die there.
He walked out of the mist, killed those three people, then turned around and wiped the blood off her face with his thumb.
"From now on, be my partner."
That was the first time someone had invited her.
She remembered these five years.
Five years.
From nine to fourteen.
From Genin to Chunin, from the edge of the civilian district to Anbu.
Every mission, every battle, every moment she thought she couldn't make it through.
He would always appear somewhere.
Blocking blades for her.
Giving credit to her.
Never asking for any reward.
She never asked him why.
He never explained.
He just did it.
Always doing it.
Always standing in front of her.
The Hidden Mist Village is very cold.
She had known that since she was a child.
The Bloody Mist policy, slaughter, betrayal, death.