"I'm fine," Ishiki added coolly.
Shisui stared at him intently, finding nothing but unwavering resolve in his eyes.
Aoba wanted to say something too, lips parting slightly, but he held it in. Deep down, he knew Ishiki was right.
"Alright, we'll go with Ishiki's plan," Shisui decided, voice sharp and final. "After the harassment mission, we regroup here. You have two days."
The team huddled, refining the plan in low urgent voices. Before the night sky had fully shed its shadows, they slipped down the back of Mount Myōjin and melted into the direction of the Land of Frost.
It was November 27th.
The withered slopes of Kuroku Mountain, just shy of the border, loomed ahead before noon. The Land of Lightning wasn't far either — they were now skirting dangerously close to the zones occupied by Kumogakure shinobi.
From this point on, the number of Kumo-nin steadily grew. Yet under the combined stealth of Shisui and Aoba, their squad slid forward like ghosts, never stirring the hornet's nest.
But once they reached the mountain, they had to scatter.
Kuroku Mountain was a hornet's nest in itself. Even a casual sweep around its base revealed no less than seven separate Kumo-nin squads — some concealed in the brush, others patrolling brazenly out in the open. Kumogakure clearly saw this place as critical.
Ishiki's eyes gleamed, curious what kind of classified intel had driven the enemy to dig in so thick.
"Disperse now. Begin the operation at ten tonight," Shisui ordered, summoning a storage scroll and handing out gear — shuriken, kunai, explosive tags, soldier pills.
"In three days, no one gets left behind. Everyone gets out of the Land of Hot Water alive," Shisui added, then vanished into the woods without waiting for responses.
Ishiki only nodded once, sharp as a blade, before dashing toward his designated area.
When he'd moved far enough to be sure he was unwatched, he skidded to a halt. Hands wove seals faster than thought, and in the blink of an eye, a Shadow Clone identical to himself appeared at his side.
Unstrapping the scroll from his waist, Ishiki didn't pull out a book like before. No. As he unfurled it this time, a compact disc gleamed under the faint light, nestling into his palm.
On its label was the image of a girl — cold white eyes staring back through the surface.
Without hesitation, Ishiki drove the disc straight into the forehead of his clone. The clone's forehead clicked open like a cartridge slot, and the disc slid in cleanly — like some grotesque parody of an arcade machine.
The clone's eyes spasmed. Then the sclera bloomed into pure milky white — the unmistakable Byakugan, though unstirred by the caged bird seal.
A liberated Byakugan.
Ishiki had tested it before: Discs — gifts of the White Snake — could indeed be inserted into Shadow Clones.
Shadow Clone Jutsu: a technique that forges a solid double from chakra, not only splitting chakra evenly but creating an autonomous will. When dispelled, a clone's memories and experiences returned intact.
But what Ishiki prized most was not memory — it was the independent consciousness.
That freedom made the Disc system devastatingly useful.
A clone's lifespan depended on the chakra share. With Ishiki's current reserves, a basic clone could last about ten hours.
However, if the clone actively burned chakra — activating Byakugan, using Gentle Fist — its lifespan would plummet.
He didn't care.
Tonight wasn't about longevity. It was about reconnaissance.
As soon as the disc was secured, the clone's hands flashed through seals, veins erupting under the skin around his temples. His face twisted as blood vessels throbbed visibly, snaking outward in jagged threads, feeding the reborn gaze.
The Byakugan — stolen from a branch member of the Hyūga Clan — was nothing fancy. The original host, judging from the Disc's embedded data, was a Chūnin at best.
It still required hand seals to activate, three seals instead of one fluid thought like Hyūga prodigies.
But so what?
It worked.
Long-Range Vision.
One of the Byakugan's most basic, most terrifying capabilities: magnifying sight with chakra to peer across kilometers, stripping the world of all hiding places.
Ishiki's clone established a one-and-a-half-kilometer surveillance radius. A sphere of absolute vision.
Good enough.
Shisui and the others had long slipped beyond that range, but patches of Kumo-nin flickered into view — movements, sentries, traps — painted like ink across Ishiki's mental map.
He moved quietly, following the steps of his observing double.
With Byakugan guiding him, Ishiki's infiltration was flawless.
By two in the afternoon, he reached the prearranged point without the hint of a misstep, nesting high in a dense tree at the foot of Kuroku Mountain.
The thick forests cloaked him; the Byakugan ensured he saw every threat long before it approached.
The only danger was detection by sensory-type shinobi.
But ordinary sensors couldn't scan across a full kilometer. He just had to stay smart, stay patient.
His clone's vision swept up the mountain, revealing a swarm of shinobi combing through the rocky slopes. They were looking for something — or someone.
Inside a battered shack hidden among the rocks, the clone's Byakugan pierced through the walls. A single shinobi dangled inside — strung up like a carcass.
His arms, his legs — all amputated. A crippled meat doll of flesh and chakra.
Explosive tags were slapped over the stumps and spine.
A death trap.
This was the mission target. Or at least, what was left of him.
The faint chakra in his brain suggested a seal was planted there, ready to detonate. Saving him? Impossible. At best, Shisui might retrieve his head.
Staring at the grotesque scene, Ishiki realized just how horrifyingly useful the Byakugan could be.
Limitless vision. No blind spots. Total surveillance, and no enemy even sensing the intrusion.
He pulled a slip of paper from his pouch, began sketching the patrol patterns and guard positions furiously.
At around seven o'clock, Ishiki created a new clone to take over surveillance. As the old clone dispelled, its memories poured back into Ishiki's mind, crystal clear.
He now knew the mountain's pulse. Every beat.
All that remained was waiting for the appointed hour.
His target had been chosen.
His prey marked.
And Ishiki Kujo never missed.