Unohana Yachiru—the woman also known as Unohana Retsu—moved with a blade that seemed to dance. Her speed was transcendent, carving out trajectories of attack that defied conventional logic.
This sudden, wordless assault forced Shiraishi into a defensive posture. In an instant, his Dragon Seal Sage Mode flared to life, causing his sensory perception to spike to its limit.
Sage Art: Great Sand Spray!
He exhaled a massive torrent of sand, forming an airtight shield of Magnet Release. Yet, to his surprise, Unohana's blade sliced clean through the Sage-infused defense as if it were mere silk.
Pure physical strength coupled with high-frequency vibration...
A normal weapon would have shattered under the stress of such speed, but her blade seemed to be an extension of her own soul, unconstrained by the laws of common metallurgy.
In Unohana's hands, the katana became a focal point for a macabre ballet. A flash of crimson light cut through the battlefield, and Shiraishi felt the blade pierce his torso.
"Is this the end?" Unohana's voice was as cold as her steel.
There was no blood. There were no wounds. Instead, Shiraishi's body dissolved into a plume of white smoke before her eyes.
A deception?
Having never encountered the Substitution Jutsu, Unohana didn't recognize the specific technique, but her centuries of combat experience didn't fail her.
She pivoted on her heel, her long blade sweeping in a lethal arc toward the direction where Shiraishi's presence had reappeared.
"I am not your enemy," Shiraishi said, his Magnet Release shaping a metallic sword to parry her strike. The screech of clashing metal echoed across the sea base.
"I am one who sought death, yet this unexpected resurrection has left me... irritable," Unohana replied. "Whether you are an enemy or not, let our blades decide."
A seeker of death?
Shiraishi realized he was facing a true master of the sword. Her body became a blur of vermillion light as the blade sought out his vitals with terrifying precision.
Since her spiritual power was recovering too slowly to utilize Kido or the special abilities of her Zanpakuto, she relied entirely on pure Shunpo, Hakuda, and Zanjutsu. Even in this restricted state, Unohana was a master without peer in the shinobi world.
Her blade seemed to emerge from thin air. Just as Shiraishi used an air-pressure vortex to deflect a strike, he felt a sudden chill.
"Are you not going to draw your sword?"
As she flickered behind him, a layer of frost appeared on her blade. Shiraishi realized with a start that she had just used a form of Ice Style illusion.
Interfering with visual perception through Ice Style?
"The power inherent in this body... it would be a waste not to use it," Unohana said softly.
By using the Ice Style to create light refraction, she was mimicking a crude version of a technique she remembered—Aizen's Kyoka Suigetsu
While far from the "Complete Hypnosis," she was already using the body's natural affinities to create mirages and reflections to scramble his senses.
Shiraishi felt a shiver of genuine apprehension. Women who live for a thousand years are truly monsters... White Snake Hime was one thing, but this Unohana is on a different level.
Meanwhile, back in the Hidden Sand Village, Uzumaki Tomoki was nursing a growing headache.
He was currently on a domestic mission, but he had just received a visit from a teacher at the Ninja Academy. The news was familiar: his two "precious" nieces, Karin and Tomoko, were in trouble again for fighting in school.
Following the passing of the Uzumaki elders a few years prior, the clan in the Sand consisted only of Tomoki and the two girls.
As Tomoko grew older, she had become a magnet for trouble. Gifted with the immense vitality and chakra of the Uzumaki, she spent her days either beating others up or getting beaten up, only to return for a rematch.
It was an endless cycle. According to the teacher, Tomoko had moved on from her peers and was now picking fights with upperclassmen and recent graduates.
As for Karin, while she appeared more well-behaved on the surface, she possessed the same latent "violent streak." When the two sisters teamed up, no boy in the academy was safe.
"Tomoko, Karin, fighting again?"
Outside the academy gates, the two red-haired little girls were attempting to sneak away. Both were covered in scratches and bruises.
Hearing a voice, they looked up to see a young boy watching them with an amused smirk.
"Mao! If you're not going to help, don't you dare laugh at us!" Tomoko shouted, her hands on her hips. Karin, however, blushed slightly at the sight of the boy.
Aoki Shigeru was now six or seven years old. Despite being a young "shota," he was remarkably disciplined, thanks to his mother's strict upbringing.
"Shigeru, remember," his mother, Maki, told him constantly. "Your father is the Kazekage. You must never bring shame to him. Every word and action must reflect the son of the greatest Kazekage in history."
Because of this, Shigeru rarely engaged in brawls himself. Instead, he acted as the "brain" of the group, remotely directing Tomoko and Karin to charge into the fray while he coordinated the "tactics."
The group was rounded out by the quiet Gaara. With the One-Tail, Shukaku, having been "re-educated" by Shiraishi, the beast remained silent within Gaara.
Though still an urchin, Gaara's childhood was far more vibrant than the lonely path he had walked in the original history, thanks to his siblings and these three troublesome friends.
"Gaara, say something..." Tomoko poked the quiet boy, as she often did, trying to count how many words she could get out of him.
"I think..." Gaara started.
Three words.
"Shigeru.."
One word.
"...doesn't like fighting."
Eight words total. Does he really hate talking that much? Tomoko rolled her eyes. As for Shigeru not liking to fight? That kid was full of schemes—he loved the fight; he just didn't like getting his clothes dirty.
Seeing Tomoko's attention fixed on Gaara, Shigeru huffed and turned to leave.
"Aren't we going back together, Shigeru-niichan?" Karin asked weakly.
"No. I heard the teacher already complained to Uncle Tomoki. You two are on your own."
What?!
The mention of their uncle—the only person the fearless Tomoko actually feared—sent her into a state of visible panic, much to Karin's secret amusement.
Uzumaki Tomoki appeared at the academy gates, a dark aura radiating from his body that made Tomoko tremble.
"Dear Uncle... what brings you here?"
Tomoki smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes as he held up a report card and a note from the teacher. "You tell me."
"It was... an accident..."
"All the housework for the week is yours," Tomoki declared. "Except for my underwear—you don't need to wash those."
Nieces are meant to be used for housework, Tomoki thought with a sigh, though in truth, he viewed them more like younger sisters given their relatively small age gap.
Tomoko sighed, walking up to pat Tomoki on the shoulder. "Uncle, even if you gave them to me, I wouldn't wash them. Boys are... dirty 'down there,' aren't they?"
Tomoki's face turned bright red instantly. "Enough! You're too young to be saying such crude things! Don't corrupt Karin!"
But Karin is the one who shows me those weird books and manga... Tomoko thought, though she didn't say it. Instead, she flashed a mischievous grin.
"Uncle, when are you going to marry Sister Temari? You've been a virgin for so long, you must be frustrated.'?"
Before she could finish, a "Fist of Justice" descended on her head.
"SHUT UP!"
This niece is a literal disaster, Tomoki lamented.
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