Konoha – Nightfall – Training Ground 7
Shinudarou and his squad reached Training Ground 7 under a sky thick with tension and storm-churned clouds. But they didn't charge recklessly. The intel had been clear: the Jinchūriki was hypersensitive to chakra and killing intent. One wrong move could awaken something none of them were prepared for.
So instead, they searched the area—and soon, they found their inside man.
Leaning under the gnarled roots of an old tree, half-crouched and silent, was the spy. He wore a mask that obscured everything but his eyes, and he was staring down into the open field below.
After exchanging a swift series of hand signs to confirm their identities, the team approached him.
Julian didn't waste a second.
With a snarl, she closed the distance and drove her fist into his gut.
"Bastard! Do you have any idea how much time we wasted trying to get here?! Couldn't you have marked the Jinchūriki's location just a little better?! We've practically walked the whole damn village. At this rate, the Hyūga team might've already finished their job and followed our marks straight here!"
She hissed the words in a harsh whisper, her frustration palpable—and somehow, still darkly amusing.
"Enough, Julian. Let him go," Shinudarou ordered, raising a hand. "We need intel. Save your fists for the boy."
Julian reluctantly backed off as the spy—Toby, or so he called himself—gasped and straightened slightly, still clutching his stomach. Shinudarou didn't care if it was his real name or a code. He only cared about the mission.
Toby raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the center of the open field, toward the large boulder.
"He's over there. Hasn't moved for a while. Still breathing, but his condition's poor. High fever. Unresponsive. Weak."
Julian scoffed. "Weak enough for me to beat him awake—"
"No." Shinudarou's voice cut her off like a blade.
"You did well not to act. We follow the plan. No one improvises. We don't know if he's faking. Now move."
With a sharp motion, he formed the first hand sign.
The team split into trios—one sealing expert, one genjutsu user, and one combatant per unit—spreading out to encircle the boy. From above, they formed a triangle around him, with one goal: total containment.
Shinudarou surveyed their positions, then gave the second signal.
At once, the four sealers—one at each corner—unleashed their chakra and began crafting an advanced formation. Fingers flew in precise, rehearsed movements. After a complex series of hand seals, a cubic barrier took shape around them, glowing faintly as it linked the four points of power.
Inside the cube, the nine others—including Toby—readied their weapons and released their chakra.
The genjutsu specialists retreated just enough to begin weaving a visual illusion designed to bind the target's consciousness—powerful enough that only someone in perfect harmony with their tailed beast could resist.
And once the illusion was laid...
Shinudarou nodded.
The kill team moved in.
But what they didn't know—what none of them knew—was that a second, much larger barrier had already been cast, surrounding the entire training ground. A silent dome of sealing chakra hidden in the air itself.
Danzo and his forces were watching from the shadows. The old war hawk had allowed them to get this far, only to swoop in and eliminate them when the boy was subdued. Then he'd take the Nine-Tails for himself—an old man's dream of godhood, sharpened and waiting.
Inside the inner perimeter, Shinudarou advanced with measured caution. But Julian had no such patience.
Her boots hit the ground faster than the others could respond. She was already halfway to Menma, knuckles itching to drive themselves into the boy's skull.
Then she stopped.
Dead in her tracks.
Just meters from the Jinchūriki, now clearly visible under the pale moonlight—mud-smeared, still, body steaming from fever.
But that wasn't what froze her.
It was the chakra.
A torrent of it.
It surged through the boy's body like an unshackled beast, burning hot, deep, and ancient. For a moment, every ninja in range felt it—a spiritual echo of Killer B's half-beast form. But somehow, more wild. More unstable.
Shinudarou and the others halted instinctively. Their hands tensed over blades and scrolls. Even Toby leaned back against the tree, breath held.
High above, Obito licked his lips.
His eyes glowed under the mask as he watched the stage unfold.
Two months of preparation. Two months of patient planning.
And now, finally... all the players were in place.
Let the curtain rise.
---
Menma opened his eyes.
Heat roared through his veins. His fever had become fire. His chakra flooded his system like molten metal, alive and unrelenting.
He moved his hands, planted them on the earth beneath his chest—and pushed.
But he didn't just rise.
He launched.
His body shot upward like a fired arrow, arcing over the heads of the four surrounding ninja before he even realized what was happening. His feet hit the ground in a tumbling roll. Then, with a spin and crouch, he landed squarely on his feet—eyes locked on the first group of hostiles.
He blinked.
They blinked back.
He was no longer in the center of the siege.
He was free.
The killing formation had failed to lock him in before he moved. His instincts and power had kicked in before his mind could even catch up. He hadn't even adjusted to this new surge of strength yet—hadn't mastered it—but his body had already begun to act.
Mud hissed as it steamed off his skin. His shirt clung to him, soaked and torn, but evaporating rapidly under the sheer heat of his aura.
His chakra was wild. Alive. Burning.
Julian gawked.
Shinudarou's eyes narrowed.
Obito smirked behind his mask, amused and satisfied.
Menma slowly turned his head, taking in the circle of enemies.
He stood alone. Surrounded. Hunted.
And yet... for the first time, he didn't feel like prey.
He felt like a storm.
And storms don't run.
They rage.
Menma was ready.
Ready to fight.
Ready to burn the ground beneath him.
It had been a long time since he'd felt this alive—his entire body humming, blood surging, heart pounding with something dangerously close to joy. Every muscle ached for action, for the wind to rip past him as he soared under the black sky, wings unfurled beneath the stars.
But he wasn't reckless.
No—his senses were sharp. Sharp enough to feel it: the chakra radiating off the group in front of him. It was powerful, heavier than Kakashi's, darker than Yoruusagi's. These were killers. Not mere shinobi. Yet, compared to Might Guy—to that immeasurable pressure his teacher exuded when serious—they were still small. Still manageable.
And that was something Menma took pride in.
His mind focused.
He gathered two heavy orbs of chakra and pushed them into the mental pressure points locked inside his brain. The first two gates. Of the Eight Gates, these were the ones he could open safely, without falling into madness. He could open up to the seventh—but not without risk. Beyond the second gate, it became dangerous. Past the fifth, it became a gamble of sanity. Beyond the sixth… it wasn't him anymore. Just a raging force of destruction.
For now, two gates would be enough.
He locked his eyes on the enemies before him and shifted into a tight, grounded fighting stance.
No weapons.
No intel.
If he rushed in blindly, he'd die for nothing.
Control.
Across the field, Shinudarou narrowed his eyes.
He hadn't expected the kid to launch himself out of their formation so cleanly. The trap had been carefully planned, and this… this was inconvenient.
He gripped the hilt of his sword and slowly raised it toward the boy. One by one, the others followed.
All except Julian.
The infamous dual-blade user of the Hidden Cloud didn't even bother drawing her swords.
She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, radiating pure arrogance. Her killing intent rolled off her like heat from a forge—sharp, suffocating, trained through years of war and blood.
She advanced step by step, her aura like a spear aimed at the boy's heart.
It was a trick that worked on most.
Weaker shinobi would freeze.
Break.
Sometimes even soil themselves.
And as expected, Menma froze—body trembling as she closed the distance.
Julian smirked.
Easy prey.
She reached behind her and drew a standard kunai, its edges crackling with lightning chakra. It was sharpened to paralyze on contact.
She raised it high.
Victory in her grasp.
Then she slashed downward.
"Wait! Watch out—he's acting!"
Shinudarou shouted, his eyes widening as he caught the flicker of movement too late.
Menma smiled.
His right eye gleamed scarlet in the dark.
Too late.
He moved faster than instinct, faster than thought.
Even he was caught off guard by his speed—if not for the clarity of his mind, always moving faster than his body, he might have missed his mark.
But he didn't.
He caught her wrist mid-swing.
Pulled it to the side.
Then, with a fierce pivot, drove his fist toward the side of her skull.
Julian, seasoned warrior that she was, managed to raise her arm just in time to block—but the impact still rattled her brain, sending her sprawling to the side.
Menma didn't stop there.
He twisted her captured wrist and yanked her forward into a rising knee strike. The blow was aimed squarely at her chest—enough to shatter ribs—but before it landed, he felt another chakra signature closing in fast.
He aborted the strike, leapt back, and—without hesitation—ripped the kunai from her hand as he retreated.
First clash: Menma wins.
Reward: One standard kunai, slightly used.
Shinudarou, blade half-drawn, paused mid-step. Menma's retreat had been too quick to capitalize on, so he halted. Beside him, Julian hit the ground hard, covered in mud, glaring at the boy with clenched teeth.
She'd been fooled. Outplayed.
If this got out… if anyone heard what happened here…
Her fury boiled over.
She stood, trembling, then unsheathed both her swords in a clean, vicious motion.
"You're dead, brat."
From deep within the sealed space, Kurama watched it all unfold. His golden eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.
That girl thought this was killing intent?
Hah.
This child—this boy who had slept for years with the weight of Kurama's wrath inside him—had lived on a steady diet of hatred and chakra most humans couldn't even perceive.
To be afraid of killing intent?
First, you'd have to explain what fear is.
Kurama grinned.
"Let's see how long they last…"
.....
Julian's fury boiled just beneath the surface, but Shinudarou—finally feeling a sliver of relief—let out a small breath. At least she was still alive. That in itself was a small victory. But watching her seethe, fists clenched, ready to charge in again, he finally lost his patience.
"Calm down, Julian. Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough already?"
Her rage flared hotter.
She turned on him—ignoring both protocol and respect—her voice cracking under the pressure of her bruised pride.
"But he—! He—!"
"Enough!" Shinudarou barked, cutting her off. "That's an order. Get back in position and shut up."
His voice echoed across the field like a blade drawn in the dark.
Julian ground her teeth, but obeyed, stepping back in silence. Shinudarou, meanwhile, was still watching the boy.
He had let his guard down on purpose while scolding Julian—a subtle psychological trap. An opening, a flicker of vulnerability meant to bait Menma into striking. But the boy didn't fall for it.
Too inexperienced to notice…?
Or smart enough to see through it…?
That, he wasn't sure about yet.
"Well, kid," Shinudarou said, stepping forward, tone casual but calculated, "you've surprised us—especially considering what you are."
Menma didn't react.
But he moved—subtle, silent. He stepped sideways, shifting toward the fighter with the weakest chakra signature. Still stronger than Kakashi, but far less threatening than the others. Smart.
Shinudarou couldn't help but admire it. The kid was composed, tactical.
Maybe... just maybe, he thought, we can turn him to our side. If we push the right buttons.
"Listen," he said, his tone shifting to persuasive, almost diplomatic. "Maybe you've figured it out by now, maybe not—but let me make it clear."
He raised his voice slightly, making sure the boy heard every word.
"We're from the Hidden Cloud. We're the infiltration unit. One of our primary objectives is to bring you back—alive."
He took another step, slowly closing the circle.
"I've seen how they treat you here. The hatred. The neglect. The isolation. But I can promise you something different."
The words hung in the air, like bait on a hook.
"In our village, you wouldn't be hated. You wouldn't be used and thrown away. You'd have a home. A clan to rebuild. A future. You could marry whoever you want. Start a new life. No more pain. No more loneliness."
Shinudarou let the words soak in.
"No one would stop you. All we ask is that you come willingly. If you don't... we'll have to take you by force. But I'd rather not hurt someone with potential like yours."
Menma didn't answer.
But his movement slowed. His gaze unfocused just slightly, as if the words had struck somewhere.
Shinudarou noticed it immediately. He's listening... I've shaken him. He's weighing it...
The boy could sense lies—he had that reputation. So Shinudarou had spoken nothing but the truth.
And it seemed to work.
But what Shinudarou didn't know was that Menma wasn't thinking about the offer at all.
He was thinking about the fact that these people weren't from Konoha.
Which meant...
The ANBU outside—the killing intent he had sensed earlier—wasn't aimed solely at him. It was aimed at them too.
But why?
Why would Konoha target him, if they knew these were Cloud infiltrators?
Unless...
Unless he was meant to die here as well.
Like a scapegoat. A loose end.
Someone they couldn't afford to let walk away after this.
And that realization…
That betrayal...
It snapped something.
"Hahaha…"
The laugh broke the silence like a crack of thunder.
It started low.
But it grew louder.
"Hahaha! Mister, your offer—it's sweet. It really is. But I'm afraid you can't keep it."
He stepped forward, smiling with sharp eyes.
"You're just like me. Trapped. Caught in a circle of commands and lies. Waiting to be used."
Shinudarou's chest tightened.
Those words...
There was something off about them. A weight that didn't match the boy's grin.
Where is the second team? he thought. Why aren't they here yet? What happened at the Hyūga compound?
A cold feeling crept into his spine.
Does this kid... know something we don't?
He opened his mouth to ask.
But Julian didn't wait.
She snapped.
"Enough with the chitchat!" she roared. "You don't want to come peacefully? Then I'll cut your limbs off and drag you back myself!"
And with that—she charged.
No strategy. No formation. Just raw fury.
The others moved too, fanning out in a sweeping formation, chakra flaring as they closed in from all sides.
Shinudarou's jaw tightened. Please let me be wrong. Please let this be a normal fight.
But deep inside, he knew—
This wasn't going to be normal.
This was going to be the beginning of something monstrous.
Menma's fists clenched.
Muscles tensed.
One gate… then the second.
Heat poured through his body like a rising tide.
The test had begun.
And when it ended—only the king would be left standing.
---