Two nights after Kenji's death, Arashi stood at the edge of Training Ground 44—the Forest of Death.
Not during the day.
At midnight.
The air here was different. Not just cold. But listening.
The trees leaned in too close. The insects too quiet. Even the fog on the ground seemed to wait, coiling at his ankles like smoke from a funeral pyre.
He wasn't here for training.
He was here for retribution.
Kenji's killer hadn't been named. Would never be named. That was Root's way.
But Shikaku had given Arashi a hint—a location that "certain unsanctioned trainees" used when they weren't supposed to exist.
Tonight, he would find one.
And make him bleed.
Not for vengeance.
For the message.
—
He moved without chakra. Just raw body movement. In the dark, he was a ghost. Years of training in mental time-space battles had honed his instincts beyond the realm of ordinary shinobi.
Half an hour into the woods, he found the first sign: a footprint too clean, too recent, near a camouflaged mesh cover.
He followed it and soon found a small clearing—unnatural, circular, the trees cut neatly.
There was a pit in the center.
Stone walls. Fuinjutsu marks. Fresh rope burn on the edges.
A Root sparring pit.
Still active.
Arashi dropped a proximity seal into the underbrush. If anyone entered the radius, he'd know. For now, he waited.
Time passed. Slowly.
Then—footsteps.
Two of them.
Fast. Precise. One heavier than the other. One chakra signature steady. The other… untrained. A student.
Arashi's eyes narrowed.
Two Root members.
One mentor. One trainee.
Perfect.
He waited until they stepped fully into the pit. The older operative ignited a chakra blade.
The trainee bowed.
"Permission to engage, senpai."
The older Root nodded. "No headshots."
Arashi landed behind them with no sound.
The student didn't even have time to react.
His blade struck the older one's leg—just enough to stagger, not kill. Then Arashi flipped, jammed a pressure seal onto the man's back, and triggered it.
The chakra suppression field flared, dropping both men to their knees.
The older operative shouted—but couldn't call for backup.
Arashi moved fast.
He snapped the student's wrist—not to cripple him, just enough to disarm. He kicked him out of the circle.
Then he focused on the mentor.
One-on-one.
Close quarters.
No chakra.
Just violence.
They clashed. The operative fought hard. He wasn't weak—probably high-chunin or even tokubetsu jonin class. But Arashi was sharper.
Smarter.
Worse.
He ducked under a jab, elbowed the man's throat, then slammed his knee into the ribs—three times. Cracks. Internal bleeding.
The Root agent reached for a kunai.
Arashi grabbed his wrist and crushed it against a tree trunk.
The kunai dropped.
Arashi pulled down the man's mask.
He recognized the face.
He didn't know the name.
Didn't care.
"Do you know Kenji?" Arashi asked, voice low.
The man coughed. "Too many to remember."
Wrong answer.
Arashi jammed a sealing needle into the man's shoulder. Not poison. Just fire. The skin sizzled.
The Root agent screamed.
Good.
The forest heard that.
He left a mark on the man's chest. Burned it in with wire: a jagged fang inside a circle.
Not a symbol of a clan.
A scar.
A statement.
Then he vanished into the trees before the ANBU perimeter closed in.
—
By morning, the body was found.
Alive.
But barely.
And everyone knew: this wasn't a failed spar.
This was a warning.
And for the first time in a long while, Root didn't respond.
Not with death. Not with whispers.
Because someone had pierced their veil of silence.
And they weren't used to bleeding.
—
Sarutobi called Arashi in that same day.
Not in anger.
In worry.
The Hokage stood behind his desk, arms folded, pipe untouched.
"You went too far."
"I didn't go far enough," Arashi replied.
"The boy in the woods—he wasn't even active."
"He was watching."
"So was half the Uchiha clan during the war."
Arashi's eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me of something, Lord Third?"
"I'm reminding you that we do not kill children to make a point."
"I didn't kill him."
"Only scarred him for life?"
Arashi didn't answer.
Sarutobi sighed and leaned forward.
"You think you're protecting this village, Arashi. I know that. But this path you're on—it ends in blood. Yours or someone else's."
"I'm already covered in blood," Arashi said. "I'm just making sure it's not my family's."
The room fell silent.
Sarutobi stared at him for a long time.
Then finally said, "Sakumo asked me to keep you off the front lines."
"I'm not on the front lines."
"You are now."
A pause.
Then: "Dismissed."
Arashi left without a bow.
He'd just confirmed something critical.
Sarutobi knew about Root's training operations.
And did nothing.
Maybe he thought keeping Danzo close would allow control.
Maybe he believed the end justified the means.
Either way—it meant Arashi could trust no one.
Not truly.
—
That night, he stood atop the Hokage Monument again.
The air was clearer here. Quieter.
But even the stars seemed colder now.
Kakashi would be tested soon. The academy entrance exams were shifting. Root was pushing their plants into the classrooms, replacing instructors with operatives who'd bend children into weapons before they learned to be people.
He wouldn't let that happen.
Even if it meant breaking every law the village built.
He didn't want war.
But if war came—
He'd draw the first scar again.
And again.
Until the shadows bled dry.
To be continued.