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Chapter 45 - Firehand
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 13:21:09 +0000 UTCI landed low, just behind the scrub brush at the treeline where we’d left the merchant and his creaking, overpriced carts not an hour ago. Sakura’s chakra signature trailed a few seconds behind mine; she’d land a beat later. More than enough time for me to size up just how deep the shit was this time.
And it was deeper than the last. Definitely not your garden-variety dumbass bandits.
Figures stood around the carts, circling just close enough for intimidation but clearly waiting for a command before they struck. I counted at least eight. All held weapons that didn’t look like rusted scraps off some drunk’s belt—actual steel, actual polish. Organized. Intentional. Shit.
Four of them didn’t move like the others. Slower breath, wider stance, chakra leakage poorly throttled but definitely there. Four shinobi, probably chunin-level with rural training.
Naruto was out in front, of course. Arms spread wide, half-yelling already, because his volume knob only has two settings: off and “you’ve pissed me off.” He hadn’t thrown a punch yet, but his body was coiled, like one more step in the wrong direction and he'd skip diplomacy and go straight to the gospel of face-punching.
Sai was... being Sai. Perched atop one of the carts, brush in one hand, scroll resting on his lap. Probably already halfway through a technique and just waiting for the go-ahead. Or maybe doodling a dick. You never really know with Sai. Calm, detached, and had noticed my presence.
Sakura landed beside me, and now some of the grunts were looking this way. Great. It was about time to reveal myself anyway.
“At least four shinobi, twelve total.” I muttered, more for her sake, “This isn’t some dumb ambush.“
She glanced at me, nodding tightly.
I shunshined again, this time ten meters forward, just off Naruto’s right side, hands in my pockets like I’d been invited to this party and RSVP’d ‘late, with booze.’
The jump caught them flat-footed. A sharp intake of breath rippled through the semi-circle of steel-polish-and-bad-attitudes we’d interrupted. Kunai shifted in white-knuckled grips. One of them flinched, nearly dropping their glaive.
“Eh, Eishin,“ Naruto said, then he smiled all teeth, “took you long enough.“
Sakura landed a half-second later, out in the open, maybe two meters behind me.
Too much of a rookie move.
I didn’t react. Outwardly.
Inwardly, I filed the death of subtlety—and whatever element of surprise we had—under Expected Disappointments: Volume One.
If she’d stayed hidden, we could’ve, one: cast her chakra senses for hidden chakra signatures, snipers, or seal tags, or more hidden enemies. Two, act as flank support if things get loud. Three, launch a surprise strike. Four, be the ace in the hole. Useful illusion when people think you’re out of cards.
But that’d require her to be a competent field shinobi. Sakura wasn’t quite there yet.
Thus why I hadn’t given her any orders.
“Lovely day for a stick-up, boys.” I stepped out front, smiling. “The sun’s out, the sky’s blue, and hey—my sword’s still dry. Why don’t you tell me which of you wants to fix that?”
I didn’t have a sword, but they would understand.
A few of them tightened their grips. The leader—stocky guy, square-shouldered with the rough discipline of someone who used to be shinobi but hadn’t polished the edge in years—stepped forward. He didn’t draw a weapon.
“Whoa now,” he said, all peace-and-love in a voice that had probably threatened widows twenty-seven times last month. “No need to get twitchy. Must’ve been a misunderstanding.”
Oh, do tell.
“These roads are uncertain and dangerous. We protect them.” He spread his arms like a preacher in a dirty robe. “Accidentally scaring a cart or two happens now and again, but believe me—it grieves me when it does. Truly does. We’re servicemen. Not villains.”
Naruto, standing like he was about to combust, frowned and pointed dramatically. “Bastard’s lying! They’re totally bandits! They tried to pull the same thing last month, Inari stand told me!”
The stocky guy smiled again. “It’s not easy, you know. This kind of work. We took the perilous duty upon ourselves and kept the roads safe. Yet people always hate us for it. No gratitude—just complaints and coin dodging.”
“Sympathy’s a luxury,” I said softly. “But I have some. The lonely path of the overarmed philanthropist…”
I tilted my head in mock reverence.
“Ah—there’s a man who gets it.” His face lit up, and he chuckled. “Knew it the moment I saw you. It takes a hero to recognize another.”
I’m no hero, and neither are you.
He continued, unaware he was a word away from losing his head, gesturing casually back at the merchant’s carts. “Look. If your crew can’t pay the protection fee, I’ll make an exception just this once. You seem... like men of taste. I’ll defend the carts here. You go back to the last stop, collect the passage fee. When you return, all will be exactly as we left it.”
Naruto growled beside me, fists twitching. I reached out with just two fingers and gently pushed him back, like an annoyed parent sliding away an excitable puppy from shredding the curtains.
I looked back at Road Protector-san and put sugar in my smile.
“So let me get this straight… You’re offering to rob less than you normally do... out of respect?”
“Robbing is a strong word, but yes,“ He gave me a dignified nod. “Grace, when earned, should be given.”
“And in return... you ransom back the goods we were entrusted to protect. In our presence. With a plea for understanding.”
“You see the shape of it, wise man.”
“Oh, I do. I truly do. You’re running a charity with teeth. That’s brave. Inspiring, even.”
He grinned. “Then we’re in agreement?”
As amusing as this little masquerade of civility was, trading dead smiles in a pissing contest over philosophical road-toll ethics, I wanted it over.
Man, I had better things to do than exchange faux-chivalry with half-trained punks swinging swords they probably never sharpened themselves.
I wanted this mission wrapped. I wanted the report filed. I wanted my boots off. I wanted a warm, reckless fuck to burn off the nerves this team kept setting on edge.
Maybe Anko, maybe Shiho. Anyone, to forget the the fact that Naruto's damn Sexy Jutsu gave me a boner.
I turned my eyes back to the present. Tactically speaking—clean kill or controlled lesson?
Normally, this would’ve been a perfect test of how my team responded in coordinated formation under duress. Directives given mid-battle. A test of reflexes, synergy, and initiative.
It would have been.
If they were any other team.
Their skillsets, their social cadence, and their entire personalities clashed. No cohesion. No rhythm yet. Definitely no trust.
Still. That didn't make today a waste.
I used the last ambush to gauge their instincts.
This one, I’d use to show them. What their jonin commander was capable of.
“You know,” I smiled, and began rolling up my sleeves, “you fine gentlemen moved me.”
Their boss tensed, just slightly.
“The courage and selflessness it must take to stand here in broad daylight, blustering on about tolls and duties and road welfare. I’m touched.”
“No need to get sentimental, friend.” The leader’s smile strained at the edges. “Someone had to do it after all.“
“Such admirable deeds need….. an exceptional thanks.“
“Just making our job easier is thanks enough.”
“But I insist,” I said. “When someone shows me such heroism, I refuse to leave them unrewarded.”
Beside me, Naruto cracked his fingers. Sai flipped a brush stroke. Sakura inhaled too loudly, like she meant to speak.
The leader tossed a glance at his men, shuffled sideways. “Well… if you’re that persistent.” He made a great show of pretending to be flattered. “What exactly are you offering us?”
Besides the obvious?
I shook my head with the sad smile of someone preparing a funeral toast. “I’m afraid I’m a poor man. No coin. No heirlooms, no livestock to tithe.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said, working overtime to keep his tone light.
“But,” I continued, fishing into my inner pouch, “Before I took this mission, I was a teacher.”
And I drew a rectangular slip of pale black-laced paper, too long to be innocuous, just short of a full explosive tag. Blank white on one side, full of jutsu shiki on the other.
A few of his men straightened, eyes narrowing. Some even half-raised their weapons.
The leader’s smile didn’t vanish, but it soured with sweat.
He recovered fast.
“Teaching,” he said mildly, “A noble calling. In a way, we’re alike. We educate the traveler in the value of safety.”
I held the tag up, just long enough to let their eyes follow.
“It’s all I’ve got to give," I said. "A lesson.”
And placed it against my forearm, and it clung immediately, drawn by faint chakra threads looping beneath the skin.
“You see,” I said calmly, voice cutting clean through the mounting hush, “Teaching never leaves the bones. You might call it muscle memory. But it’s more than that.”
And then—I pushed. Chakra slid from my core to my forearm and into the seal. The tag flared red, no hand seals needed.
Lines lit in fast-forming arcs, and then the phantom arm bloomed above my flesh. Translucent at first. Red and raging, flames trapped in shape, wavering with heat.
It flickered once, stabilizing above my skin—an arm forged from chakra fire, layered over mine, humming too low for the untrained ear.
Their leader’s smile finally cracked outright.
There was a hush, thin, needle-sharp, and then someone at the back of the pack let out a breath and whispered, too loud:
“Red Claw of Konoha…”
It wasn’t said with awe. It was said with dread dressed up as recognition.
A few looked to each other. Some shifted, retreating an inch before catching themselves. One stared directly at the glowing arm with a nervous fix to his jaw, trying to figure out what kind of chakra construct required that kind of stare back.
My lip twitched.
Not because I hated the moniker.
It was… fine.
Better than some of the dumb-ass shit I’d been called before. One guy in the Land of Marsh called me “Smokey Bones.” Another lady outside Iron tried “Red Oni.” Both bad. Embarrassingly so.
At one point, I even tried to guide the formation of my own myth. Wore a dark half-cloak. Shortened my words. Walked too slow and talked too softly, staring off into the distance anytime the wind passed.
The edgy shit like that.
But of course, this was the name that stuck. Based entirely on my earliest, half-working prototype of this jutsu. Poorly formed. Barely controlled. Flame-fingered and twitchy as hell, and burned me more time than I could count.
Back when I thought this stupid technique was my shortcut to Uchiha-tier relevance. Back when I believed, somehow, that I could recreate Susanoo.
In that naïve early greed, the kind only reincarnated dorks could muster, I told myself, It’s just chakra. Just a jutsu. It must be learnable.
Except it wasn’t. Not to the likes of me.
Not when you're not a Uchiha.
No Sharingan. No bloodline. No kaleidoscope of trauma-plotted spiritual unlocks. Just… me. And Fire affinity.
So I tried to make my own.
After ten years of testing, trial, and failure. An arm. From elbow to fingertips. Made of sculpted flame. But far, far from a Susano.
Still, it was mine.
The bandit leader’s smile dragged itself back over his teeth, its return marked by strain thin as old rope.
“Well," he said, voice light and shaking, "As expected. A warrior with your presence—it had to be you. No way a man with such precision and power came from—”
He was still talking when I made a grabbing gesture.
Just a palm raise and fingers curling.
The Fire Hand launched forward with a boomph of pressure, streaks of heat cracking the air. His eyes widened, not even in time to duck, as the construct’s burning grip closed over his entire head.
Hand seized.
He screamed once. Just a squeak of aborted protest.
"The road to wisdom—"
Then I flexed and pulled, the flaming construct mirroring. The man’s whole body was lifted off the ground like a toy grabbed by a tantrum and flew closer.
Then I did the second motion.
I yanked my wrist down sharply. The Firehand slammed his head into the dirt. Hard. The ground spiderwebbed beneath the impact.
“—is paved with broken pride.“
And just like that, the gang’s charming front collapsed.
