Uchiha Kai gasped as he faced the four Iwa-nin before him. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had met true resistance.
If Kai had engaged these enemies one-on-one, he wouldn't have had much trouble. But against all four at once, things were different. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was struggling—and it showed.
Their coordination wasn't flawless, but it was effective. Clearly, this was Shishihira's team—the unit that had caused Konoha considerable losses during operations in the Land of Grass. Their tactics were sharp and specifically aimed at countering the Sharingan. One would keep Kai engaged from the front, while the others struck from his blind spots—flanking, circling, pushing him to the limit.
No matter how Kai twisted, pivoted, or repositioned, they never broke formation. And worse, the one confronting him head-on didn't seem to care about winning—his job was purely to prevent Kai from observing his surroundings or focusing long enough to counter. That kind of dedicated suppression was rare, and it worked.
"They're really pushing it," Kai thought grimly, parrying a strike with the last of his strength. "Shameless tactics… but damn effective."
He couldn't deny it—he was worn down. If not for the soldier pills provided by the Akimichi unit, he would have collapsed long ago. The pill had restored his chakra reserves, but the effect was fading. His body hadn't failed yet, but the fatigue was creeping in. His muscles burned, and while his Sharingan helped him avoid lethal blows, he couldn't completely evade the hits—especially those from physical strikes and brute force taijutsu.
His breath was heavy. Cuts and bruises now littered his body. Though he had taken worse before, he knew the difference this time: it wasn't the injuries themselves, but the fact that they kept piling up—and the chakra drain from maintaining his Sharingan wasn't helping.
"Just a little longer…" he muttered. "Minato-sensei... if you're coming, now would be a good time."
But even as he held out hope for reinforcements, Kai knew the truth: these Iwa-nin weren't fools. They were learning. Every movement he made taught them something new. If they could chip away at him, they could kill him.
His hand twitched near his eyes. He'd been holding back—he didn't want to activate that power unless absolutely necessary. The Mangekyō Sharingan was not something to be used lightly. The last time he used it, the toll on his eyes was immense.
"Not yet..." he had told himself. "Only if it's life or death."
But now, it might be.
Another slash came from behind. Kai turned just in time, raising his kunai to block. The metal-on-metal clash rang out—but he barely had time to recover before a crushing kick slammed into his back.
Boom!
The impact sent him flying, and pain erupted in his chest. It felt like his organs had just shifted inside him. He flipped midair, landed with a crouch, and staggered—but managed to avoid the follow-up kunai with a desperate sidestep.
He spat blood into the dirt and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"You're persistent," came a voice. One of the Iwa-nin—tall, scarred, with a grim smirk—stepped forward. "To last this long against four Jōnin at your age... you live up to the Uchiha name. But don't worry—we'll study your corpse well."
The others spread out, surrounding him again. This time, they wouldn't leave a gap.
Kai's eyes narrowed. He didn't raise his head yet. Instead, he chuckled coldly.
"Is that so?"
Then, he looked up.
The pattern in his Sharingan shifted—a triangle-shaped rhombus rotated slowly in his scarlet eye.
The Mangekyō Sharingan.
"You really think you can kill me?"
The moment he opened the Mangekyō, a strange sensation washed over him. His chakra surged violently—like floodgates bursting open. Every nerve in his body responded. His coordination, perception, and reflexes sharpened. His body didn't move faster, but it moved smarter—more in tune with his intent.
"This is it," Kai thought. "The Leap of Time."
Activating his unique dōjutsu ability, Kai surged forward with blinding speed. The closest Iwa-nin barely had time to raise his weapon—Kai twisted the man's arm, ripped the kunai from his grasp, and plunged it into his chest in one fluid motion.
He turned. The Mangekyō pulsed again.
The second Iwa-nin froze mid-movement—entrapped in a genjutsu too fast to detect, too strong to resist.
Before the third could react, Kai dashed in, redirected his kunai, and drove it into the chest of his paralyzed comrade.
By the time the third Iwa-nin realized what had happened, Kai slit his throat without hesitation.
Only one was left.
His eye throbbed—chakra bleeding away at an alarming rate—but Kai ignored it. He hurled a kunai to pin the final Iwa-nin's feet and closed the distance instantly. Grabbing the man by the throat, he lifted him off the ground.
"Do you want to dance too?" Kai growled.
With a brutal twist and a sickening crack, he dropped the last Iwa-nin to the ground like a ragdoll. The battlefield fell silent, save for the distant rumble of distant detonations and falling debris.
Blood dripped from his blade. His Mangekyō slowly faded back into the base Sharingan.
"I held back too long," Kai muttered, breathing hard. His eye ached, and his chakra was dangerously low—but he was still standing.