Four blazing spheres of magma circled around Hayashi, each radiating an unbearable heat that warped the air. His skin prickled painfully as the temperature climbed higher—he felt like he would be roasted alive if it continued for even a moment longer.
Just as the searing magma orbs were about to engulf him, a sharp crack split the air.
In the blink of an eye, four lightning-infused projectiles shot forward, slamming into the magma balls. The impact shattered them apart, molten fragments raining down as steam hissed violently into the air.
A cold gleam flashed before Hayashi's eyes, a blade's edge slicing so close that it brushed the tips of his hair. His body froze. The killing intent in that moment made his breath catch; even the ninjutsu he was about to unleash faltered mid-formation.
His mind raced back to something Yura once said:
"When I first entered the battlefield, I was so terrified that I couldn't even perform the Clone Technique."
Back then, Hayashi had laughed it off. But now… he understood completely.
It had been that close—a mere hair's breadth between life and death. If his chest had been any broader, that blade might have ended him where he stood.
But soon, fear turned into excitement. There was only one person whose swordsmanship could strike that precisely.
That's right—it was him.
Before Hayashi could react, a shout rang out:
"The Eight Ninja Hounds are here!"
Eight dogs—yes, dogs—appeared dramatically between Hayashi and Rōshi. Each wore a small sweater and sunglasses, striking ridiculous poses as if they were on a magazine cover.
The yellow-furred one in front eyed Rōshi arrogantly.
"Finally found you, Four-Tails Jinchūriki."
"Boss, this guy's the Four-Tails? Looks pretty normal to me," muttered a black dog beside him.
"Yeah," another agreed, "I expected someone taller."
The rest began chiming in, barking back and forth until the air was filled with their noisy banter.
Rōshi's face darkened instantly. Being called Four-Tails Jinchūriki was already insulting—but being mocked by a pack of dogs? That was beyond humiliating.
He clenched his fists, chakra surging as molten energy flared around him. Just as he stepped forward, ready to roast the entire pack, a streak of white light descended like a falling star.
Hayashi barely caught the figure with his Sharingan—had his eyes been any slower, he wouldn't have seen it at all.
A man with striking white hair landed between them, his short sword gleaming faintly at his back. The green flak jacket and calm presence left no doubt about who he was.
Hatake Sakumo—the White Fang of Konoha.
He surveyed the battlefield briefly, then gave Hayashi a small nod.
Relief washed over Hayashi's tense expression. So it's Sakumo-san. Then I'm safe for now.
Even if he didn't know why the famous jonin was here, gratitude swelled in his chest. Old man Sakumo, if you still end up dying like in the original story… I'll take care of Kakashi and your wife for you. Promise.
"Are you alright?" Sakumo asked calmly, eyes still fixed on Rōshi.
"I'm fine," Hayashi replied, breathing heavily. "Just a little drained."
"Why are you here?" he asked after a moment.
"Mission," Sakumo answered shortly, keeping his words to a minimum as always.
Hayashi's eyes lit up. "Could it be—to capture the Four-Tails Jinchūriki?"
Sakumo's lips twitched. This kid… completely misunderstanding the situation.
His mission was only reconnaissance—to observe Rōshi's movements, not to capture him. Jinchūriki were village-level strategic weapons, not opponents to take lightly. He wasn't sure he could even win in his current state.
But Hayashi, oblivious, puffed his chest. "Then show me what real skill looks like!"
His declaration made Rōshi snort furiously. The young man in front of him looked barely twenty—yet he dared to speak as if he were challenging a legend.
The magma surrounding Rōshi flared violently, reflecting the rage burning in his eyes.
Sakumo sighed quietly. This brat really knows how to attract attention… and trouble.
The yellow dog suddenly barked, "Uh, Sakumo-san! You've got this handled, right? We'll just… head out first!"
Without waiting for a response, he performed the Reverse Summoning Technique. All eight dogs vanished in puffs of smoke, leaving behind silence—and an increasingly angry Jinchūriki.
Hayashi took one look at Rōshi's expression and immediately began backing away. "Uh, Sakumo-sama, I'll leave this to you! I just remembered—Mikoto and Nawaki might need backup!"
He was already half-turned to flee when Sakumo's voice stopped him.
"Wait. How much chakra do you have left?"
"About a third," Hayashi replied hesitantly. "Why?"
Sakumo didn't turn around. "I know about your A-rank mission. You easily killed two jonin during that operation."
Hayashi blinked. "Wait, what? Me?"
He had been on A-rank missions before—but "easily killed" was a huge exaggeration. He barely survived those encounters!
"Who told you that?" he demanded.
"Orochimaru," Sakumo said evenly. "He told me more than once that you're extremely talented in genjutsu—even he might fall for it."
A drop of cold sweat slid down Hayashi's temple. Orochimaru-sensei, you're killing me with your 'advertising' again.
Sakumo, however, had taken that praise seriously. Orochimaru wasn't the type to exaggerate without reason. If he said this kid was talented, then he must have seen something exceptional.
Sakumo knew his limits. Against Rōshi, he didn't have much chance of winning alone. But with a genjutsu expert beside him, the odds shifted slightly in his favor.
Hayashi sighed, realizing the situation. "Alright, I can use some basic genjutsu—it doesn't drain too much chakra. But heavy techniques are off the table."
"Good," Sakumo replied. "I'll engage him head-on. You provide distraction and harassment from range. Look for an opening. Move when I move."
Seeing the veteran's calm confidence, Hayashi nodded, his Sharingan spinning to life.
Alright, old man Sakumo, he thought grimly. Let's see if the White Fang and a half-dead Uchiha can take down a Jinchūriki.
______
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