“Faster!” Hinata’s voice was an urgent whisper. “I can see the bridge, it’s less than two kilometers away!”

Kiba gritted his teeth, mud splashing onto his pants with every stride. Sweat stung his eyes, and the sound of his own ragged breath was a constant drum in his ears. Beside him, Akamaru ran effortlessly, a swift white blur moving through the trees with a grace he envied.

“Easy for you to say, Hinata,” he growled, casting a frustrated glance over his shoulder. “We’re not the ones carrying extra weight!”

Tsunami and Inari struggled to keep pace, their faces pale and their breaths turning into painful gasps. The woman clung to her son’s hand, pulling him along as their feet slipped on wet roots that seemed like claws trying to ensnare them. They weren’t ninja. Panic and exhaustion were breaking them.

“I know, Kiba-kun, but we can’t stop,” Hinata replied without turning, her focus fixed on the path ahead, her pearl-like eyes glowing with the strain of her active Byakugan. “Every second counts. Kurenai-sensei and Naruto-kun…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The image of their teacher and their friend facing an unknown enemy alone was an icy weight in everyone’s chest. Shino, running silently on the flank, said nothing, but Kiba could feel the tension radiating from him—a forced calm that was more alarming than any shout. His kikaichū buzzed around him, a dark, vigilant cloud scouting the surroundings.

Their route forced them to skirt a small cove hidden in the thicket. Through a gap in the trees, Inari’s run slowed until he stopped. Kiba nearly collided with him.

“Hey, kid! What’s wrong with you? Keep running!” Kiba snapped.

But Inari wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding in the cove. About thirty or forty men from the village were there, huddled behind overturned boats and old fishing nets. Their faces were masks of fear, their shoulders slumped with the weight of resignation. He saw the carpenter who had taught him to make a kite, the fisherman who always gave him the smallest fish from his catch. Men he knew. Men who were hiding.

The image superimposed itself in his mind with the vision of Kurenai, standing firm, placing herself between them and danger. And of the ninjas who were right now bleeding on a bridge for a village that wasn’t theirs.

“Inari, we have to keep going! It’s dangerous!” Tsunami tugged at his arm, her voice broken with panic.

Inari wrenched himself from his mother’s grasp with a strength that surprised her. His small body trembled with rage.

“No. I’m not running anymore, Mom.”

His companions stopped, turning to look at him.

“What are you talking about, kid? They’ll kill us if we stay here!” Kiba said, taking a step toward him.

“And what’s the point of them fighting if we hide like cowards?” Inari’s voice was high-pitched, childish, but it echoed in the forest’s silence. “Grandpa is on that bridge! Kaiza didn’t die for us to live like this—hiding and crying while others die for us!”

Before Tsunami could utter a word or Kiba could grab him, Inari turned and ran. He wasn’t following the path Hinata had set. He was running straight for the cove, toward the villagers’ hiding spot.

“Damn it! Inari!” Kiba yelled.

Hinata and Shino froze for a moment, a visible conflict on their faces. Kurenai’s order had been clear: their duty was to get to the bridge and support Kakashi. But to abandon a child was unthinkable.

Kiba didn’t need to think. The decision sprang from him as naturally as breathing. Discipline, orders, strategy… all of it became secondary to the sight of that boy running alone toward an uncertain danger.

“Damn it,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair. “Listen up.”

Hinata and Shino turned to him. Kiba’s usual impatience was gone, replaced by a sharp seriousness he rarely showed.

“You two go on. You’re better trackers and sensors than I am. Hinata’s Byakugan and Shino’s insects are more useful there. Get to Kakashi-sensei and tell him what happened to Kurenai-sensei. Warn him. I’ll handle the kid and catch up.”

“But Kiba-kun, splitting up…” Hinata began, her voice full of doubt.

Shino, to Kiba’s surprise, placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. His face, as always, was expressionless, but his voice was firm.

“Kiba’s logic is sound. Splitting up is a risk, but abandoning the boy guarantees the failure of our mission: to protect the civilians. We must go.”

Kiba looked at Shino, a flash of gratitude in his eyes. The guy was weird, but he was a teammate you could count on. Hinata still seemed unsure, her concern for Kiba’s safety warring with the mission’s logic.

“We’ll be fine,” Kiba said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He patted Akamaru’s head. “Right, buddy?”

Akamaru barked, a sharp, confident sound.

With a final nod, Hinata turned and resumed her run, this time with a renewed, almost desperate speed. Shino followed without another word. In seconds, their figures vanished into the undergrowth, leaving Kiba, Tsunami, and Akamaru alone in the quiet forest.

Kiba took a deep breath. The weight of responsibility fell on him. He was alone.

“Let’s go, Akamaru,” he muttered. “We have to find that idiot before he gets himself killed.”

Inari’s trail was pathetically easy to follow. Broken branches, deep footprints in the mud… the boy was running with his heart, not his head. Kiba and Akamaru followed at a light jog, their senses sharpened. Kiba’s hearing, amplified by his clan instincts, was as powerful a tool as Hinata’s Byakugan at these short distances.

He caught the whisper of leaves, the dripping of water… and a sound that didn’t belong.

The scrape of metal against a leather sheath. Murmurs. Rough, deep voices complaining in low tones.

He stopped short, raising a hand for Tsunami to do the same. Akamaru crouched, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

“What is it?” the woman whispered, terror returning to her eyes.

“Shhh,” Kiba hissed. He concentrated, tilting his head to triangulate the sound. They were close. A small group, maybe five or six men. And they were heading in the same direction as Inari.

“Stay here with her, Akamaru. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” Kiba ordered in a whisper.

The dog whimpered but obeyed, sticking to Tsunami’s leg like a silent guardian.

Kiba moved, his body low, melting into the shadows of the trees. Stealth wasn’t his specialty, but necessity was a great teacher. He slipped through the ferns to the edge of a small clearing. And he saw them.

Six men, dressed in rags and armed with rusty swords and clubs, were chuckling as they shared a flask of some cheap drink.

“Think the boss will notice if we’re a little late?” one of them, a burly guy, said.

“Nah. By the time we get to the bridge, the ninja will have already killed each other. Our job will be easy: finish off the survivors,” another answered.

Suddenly, a man with a scar on his face lifted his head, like an animal sniffing the air.

“Did you hear that?”

A crunch of branches.

Kiba cursed under his breath. It hadn’t been him. It was Inari. The boy had stepped into another nearby clearing, unaware of the thugs’ presence.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” the burly man said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. All six of them turned, forgetting their drink. “A little lost mouse.”

Inari froze, his eyes wide with terror. The courage that had driven him evaporated, replaced by the raw reality of his own weakness.

Kiba didn’t wait any longer. Surprise was his only advantage.

He shot out from the trees like a bullet. Before the first thug could even raise his sword, Kiba was on him. There was no time for hand seals or complex techniques, just pure, savage taijutsu.

“Four Legs Technique!” he roared.

Chakra erupted from his hands and feet, forcing him into a quadrupedal stance. His nails hardened like claws, and his teeth seemed to sharpen. Adrenaline flooded his system, and an animalistic ferocity took over. He was faster, stronger.

The burly man barely had time to blink before a claw slashed across his face. Kiba used him as a springboard, leaping over him and landing in the middle of the group.

“What the hell…?”

One of the men raised his club. Kiba was faster. He spun into a low, powerful kick that shattered the man’s knee with a wet crunch. The man went down with a sharp scream.

Two more attacked him at once, trying to run him through with their swords. It was a decent tactic against a normal opponent. Kiba wasn’t normal.

“Akamaru!” he yelled, even though his partner wasn’t there. It was a reflex, the name of his other half in battle.

He lunged forward, ducking under the swords as they crossed in the air. He rolled on the ground and came up behind them with predatory fluidity.

“Passing Fang!”

He shot forward, spinning at a dizzying speed, a tornado of claws and fangs. The impact was brutal. The first man took a blow that sent him headfirst into a tree. The second was caught in the whirlwind, his clothes and skin torn to shreds before he was thrown aside like a rag doll.

In less than ten seconds, four men were on the ground, groaning or unconscious. Two were left. They looked at each other, panic replacing the arrogance in their eyes. One of them dropped his sword and ran.

Kiba didn’t chase him. He focused on the last one, the one who had been about to attack Inari. The man was trembling, raising his sword with unsteady hands.

Kiba straightened up, deactivating his technique, and walked toward him slowly. The savage aura still clung to him. Akamaru ran up then, bursting from the trees and taking a position by his master’s side, baring his teeth with a promise of pain.

The thug looked at the ninja kid, then at the wolf-like dog, and what little courage he had left vanished. The sword clattered from his hands.

“Don’t… don’t kill me,” he begged.

Kiba grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him against a tree.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Kiba said, his voice a growl. “But you’re going to talk. What is Gatō planning?”

With Akamaru snarling inches from his face, the man confessed everything.

“Gatō isn’t a fool! Pay a demon like Zabuza? Never! He never intended to! The plan is simple: we wait for the ninja to tear each other apart on the bridge. When they’re injured and exhausted, our real army, the one waiting near the town, will come out and kill them all. The Konoha ninja, Zabuza, his partner… everyone! Gatō gets to keep the country and the bridge. He pays nothing.”

Kiba froze. His grip loosened. It wasn’t a battle. It was a three-way trap. A planned massacre. Kakashi-sensei, Sasuke, Sakura… they were all walking straight into a firing squad.

He dropped the man, who slid to the ground, sobbing. The need to warn the others was now an urgent fire. He turned and saw Inari, staring at him in terror.

“We have to go,” Kiba said, his voice hoarse. “Right now.”

Inari reached the old net warehouse, his heart hammering against his ribs. He burst in, and the whispered conversations stopped. All eyes turned to him—the eyes of defeated men.

An older villager, Giichi, stood up and approached with weary steps.

“Go home, kid. There’s nothing we can do. We’re simple fishermen, not warriors.”

The words, meant to protect him, felt like a slap.

“That’s a lie!” Inari shouted. His voice, though childish, cut through the heavy air of the warehouse. “My father wasn’t a warrior either! He was a fisherman, like you! His hands were covered in calluses from nets, not from holding a sword!”

He walked into the center of the group, his small fists clenched at his sides.

“But he taught me that a hero isn’t someone who’s never afraid! It’s someone who stands up and protects what’s important to them, even if they’re shaking from head to toe!” He pointed a trembling finger toward the bridge. “Right now, there are ninja bleeding and dying to protect us! To protect my grandfather! To protect this town! One of them stayed behind just so we could escape! Are you going to let their sacrifice be for nothing?”

The men’s heads bowed, shame a visible cloak upon them.

“What are we supposed to do, Inari?” another man muttered. “Gatō has an army. We have nothing.”

“We have this!” Inari yelled, his voice breaking with emotion. “Our home! Are you going to keep crying and hiding in here, or are you going to grab an oar, a harpoon, a hammer, and fight for your own home?”

The silence that followed was absolute. Inari stood there, panting, tears of frustration and rage streaking his dirty cheeks. He had said it all. Now, he could only wait.

Then, a sound broke the silence. Wood scraping against the floor. A young man, not much older than the Konoha ninja, had stood up. In his hand, he held a long, sharp harpoon for hunting tuna. His eyes met Inari’s, and he gave a single nod.

It was like a dam breaking.

Another man stood, grabbing the heavy hammer from his belt. Then another, and another. A fisherman picked up an oar; a carpenter, his saw; an old man who could barely stand, a rusty sickle. They looked at each other with a new, grim resolve. Shame had been replaced by courage. The decision was made.

Just then, Kiba appeared at the warehouse entrance, followed by Tsunami. He stopped to take in the scene: dozens of men armed with the tools of their trade, their faces etched with steel-like resolve. He saw Inari in the center, small but standing tall. A smile of respect formed on his face. The kid had actually done it.

But the feeling of triumph was short-lived.

A sharp scream echoed from the edge of town, followed by the sound of a door being kicked in. Then another scream.

Gatō’s army, the one that had been waiting for the signal, had been ordered to advance.

The men from the warehouse ran out to the main street, and what they saw froze their blood. Advancing down the town’s only road was a horde of nearly a hundred thugs, mercenaries, and bandits, armed with katanas, axes, and spears.

For an instant, the villagers’ newfound bravery wavered. They were fishermen and laborers against an army.

But then they looked beside them. They saw their neighbors and their friends. They saw Inari, who had moved to the front, with no weapon at all, only his trembling body as a shield. And they saw the young ninja from Konoha, who stood beside him, his dog growling, ready for battle.

The uprising of the Land of Waves had begun.

ItsDevil

 

Don’t miss the next chapter at: Patreon.com/shurazero