When a five-year-old makes a "come at me" gesture at three grown men, there's really only one way to read it: he doesn't consider them human threats.
"You... you... you little brat! Hyuuga or not, that's going too far!"
Being disrespected that blatantly finally snapped Tobiou's last thread of patience. He charged forward, closed the distance in two strides, bent down, and swung an open palm straight at Miyuki's face.
But just as Tobiou was about to teach this kid a lesson about how the real world worked, a small hand shot out. It looked delicate. Fragile, even. But the fingers that locked around Tobiou's throat carried a force that had no business existing in a child's grip.
The breath Tobiou had been halfway through swallowing jammed in his windpipe. He nearly choked on it.
Normally, Miyuki's height wouldn't have allowed him to reach an adult's throat. But Tobiou had bent down to deliver his slap, essentially handing his neck over on a silver platter.
"Hssss... gkh! Mmnngh!"
"See, boss, this is your problem. Heavy lifting like this, you really shouldn't be doing it yourself."
Miyuki ducked the incoming slap with an easy tilt of his body, smiled pleasantly at Tobiou, and gave him a gentle push backward.
"Why you little..."
Just as Tobiou thought the kid was letting him go, a white blur flickered through the air. The same hand that had been around his throat was suddenly pressed flat against his stomach.
A five-year-old hitting you with a palm strike should feel like getting poked by a pool noodle. Should.
The impact detonated through Tobiou's gut like a spear had been driven straight through him. One palm. That was all it took. But the effect was closer to being run through with a lance.
Tobiou staggered backward, clutching his abdomen, and crumpled to the ground. The pain was so intense he couldn't even scream. His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.
Tobiou wasn't a fighter. He knew that about himself. He'd always been the weakest of the three, far below Pesci and Prosciutto. But right now, pain wasn't the only problem.
Bad... this is bad. If this keeps up, "he" is going to come out...
As Tobiou lay on the filthy alley floor, his consciousness was already dimming. The agony was dragging him toward a blackout. And for him, losing consciousness wasn't just passing out. It was the beginning of the end.
"Boss! You're dead, kid!"
Everything from Miyuki's first move to Tobiou hitting the ground had taken maybe two seconds. By the time Prosciutto and Pesci processed what had happened, their employer was already on the floor wheezing. Rage took over instantly.
Prosciutto moved first. The older of the two charged straight at Miyuki and launched a full-force kick aimed directly at the boy's head.
Legs were longer than arms. Legs hit harder than arms. Prosciutto had years of street fighting under his belt and understood this perfectly well.
The kick came in fast and fluid. Not pretty, but loaded with real stopping power. Against an actual five-year-old, it would've been fatal.
But Miyuki had already sized up all three of them before the fight started.
Just as expected. Street thugs who relied on being bigger than whoever they were hitting. Scary to civilians, sure. A genin could've handled all three without breaking a sweat.
So when that big boot came swinging toward his skull, Miyuki didn't even bother dodging. He pivoted, and his palm landed clean and precise on the inside of Prosciutto's right knee.
As someone who'd carried knowledge from another world, Miyuki's understanding of human anatomy wasn't just "above average." It was borderline medical-ninja level.
CRACK. Prosciutto felt something buckle inside his knee joint. His entire body pitched sideways as the leg gave out.
But Miyuki wasn't done. The instant that large frame started toppling, Miyuki launched himself upward like a comet. His small body rose, peaked, and came down foot-first directly on Prosciutto's face.
Miyuki weighed roughly twenty kilograms. But twenty kilograms accelerated through a rapid vertical jump and brought down with full force onto someone's skull was equivalent to dropping a sandbag from two meters. At least.
The impact rattled Prosciutto's brain inside his skull. The world went black. He was out before he hit the ground.
"Prosciutto-aniki! You bastard! I'll carry on aniki's will and finish you!"
Watching Prosciutto go down in one exchange, the last man standing, broccoli-headed Pesci, froze for a beat. Then he reached into his pants and pulled out a... fishing rod.
A what? A fishing rod? Wait, how did he even fit something that long in his... you know what, never mind.
Before Miyuki could fully register the absurdity, Pesci's thick arms were already whipping the rod in a wide arc. The alley was cramped, but there was just barely enough room to get the fishing line spinning.
One second after the line reached full rotation speed, Pesci flicked his wrist and the hook rocketed forward like a shuriken, screaming through the air.
What even is this? Competitive combat fishing?
Miyuki had no idea how dedicated a Beach Boy enthusiast this guy was, but he knew catching a fish hook to the face would not end well.
No time for looking cool. Miyuki dropped into a forward roll, tumbling across the grimy alley floor, and instead of retreating, rolled straight toward Pesci. Closing the distance, not running from it.
"Huh?!"
"Weapons like that have one critical weakness: they can't cover close range. So in a one-on-one fight, maybe don't use it again. Idiot."
The hook whistled past, hitting nothing. By the time it landed, Miyuki was already at Pesci's side. A palm strike hammered into the man's flank.
Pesci doubled over, clutching his ribs. And the instant his head dipped, Miyuki's second palm cracked across his face, sending broccoli-head's consciousness to the same void where his aniki was already waiting.
The entire fight, from Miyuki's first move on Tobiou to Pesci's lights going out, had lasted roughly thirty seconds.
"Three thugs. And they thought they could mess with me. Unbelievable."
In this world, the gap between shinobi and civilians was absolute. Miyuki had understood that for a while now, and from the moment the fight started, he'd never been worried.
He turned toward the trash can where Naruto was hiding, planning to pop the lid and let the kid out before he suffocated under garbage fumes. But from the corner of the alley behind him, a figure was slowly, unsteadily rising back to its feet.
Tobiou? Did I go too easy on him? He's moving already? No, wait. Something's off about him.
Watching the shop owner stand with his head hanging low, Miyuki felt an instinctive prickle of wrongness. But he kept his voice steady.
"If you stay down, I'll pretend I didn't notice. But if you want to get back up, then..."
His warning died in his throat. Because "Tobiou" raised his head, and the eyes staring back at Miyuki were a pair of wild, predatory green pupils.
Hold on. His eyes weren't that color before. And wait... who is this? Why does he feel completely different from a second ago?
For a moment, Miyuki doubted his own memory. Because the man standing in front of him no longer matched Tobiou in any way that mattered.
The short pink hair was growing longer in real time, visibly extending down past his shoulders. The scrawny frame was filling out, muscles swelling and hardening until his build resembled a panther's. But the biggest change wasn't physical.
It was the presence.
If the Tobiou from before had been a sleazy shopkeeper with bad intentions, then whatever was standing in that spot now was something else entirely.
A killer. The real thing.