Chapter 29 - Turning Tides
The air crackled with tension as blood and fire mingled in the wind. The forest clearing, once a temporary haven, had turned into a battleground. Screams had faded. The younger children, huddled with the remaining civilians, were silent—stunned into stillness by the violence that had erupted.
At the center of the chaos, Juro stood with his Sharingan now fully revealed, eyes glowing crimson beneath his dark hair. Across from him, the Cloud jonin adjusted his stance, sharp eyes narrowing. His breaths came fast and ragged, not from exhaustion but from fury. His genin team was gone. The chunin who had accompanied him had also fallen silent—seemingly beaten by Tetsu.
But then, in an instant that changed everything, that same Cloud chunin made his move.
"Watch out!" Tetsu shouted, but it was too late.
The chunin had thrown his fight. He'd taken a few hits, let himself appear weaker than he was—just long enough to slip away from Tetsu's focus. Now, he moved like a shadow, leaping between Juro and the final blow. The Sharingan saw it, but too late to change the momentum.
A piercing sound tore through the clearing as Juro's jutsu—aimed squarely at the jonin's chest—impaled the chunin instead.
The blast hit true. The man gasped, blood spilling from his mouth, but there was no regret in his eyes. Only grim satisfaction.
"Captain…" the chunin whispered hoarsely, before collapsing, lifeless.
Juro's expression twisted, shocked by the sacrifice.
The Cloud jonin froze as the body of his comrade hit the ground. For a moment, silence fell. Then his face contorted with rage.
"You... You made him throw his life away!" he roared.
Juro didn't answer. He couldn't. The attack had taken effort, and the sudden disruption had left him open. Worse still—he hadn't anticipated the chunin's gambit.
The jonin didn't wait. With a scream that tore from the depths of grief, he charged forward, his chakra surging in a storm of violence.
Juro blocked the first strike, but the jonin's fury had turned to reckless power. Each blow came harder than the last. Juro parried, dodged, countered—but he could feel it. The tide was shifting.
He's fighting without holding back now, Juro thought grimly. I need to end this soon... or I won't.
A sharp kick caught him in the ribs, sending him sliding across the dirt. Pain burst through his side, and he tasted blood.
The Sharingan spun wildly as Juro stood again, slower now, breathing hard.
Farn behind them, the children and civilians watched from their hiding place. The fire from earlier still smoldered in the trees, casting flickering shadows across the broken ground.
Juro's breaths came rough and shallow, his vision tinted red—not from rage, but from the sharp edge of fatigue. His Sharingan spun faster, tracking every muscle twitch in the Cloud jonin's body, but even with its heightened clarity, Juro was starting to slow.
The jonin came at him again—furious, relentless.
He's faster now, Juro thought, ducking under a backhand swipe that cracked a tree behind him in half. He's not holding back at all.
But that meant he was reckless too.
Juro pivoted, slammed his elbow into the jonin's ribs, and followed up with a palm strike that sent a ripple of chakra through his opponent's chest. The man grunted, staggered back—but didn't fall. He just kept coming.
A kunai scraped across Juro's side, and he winced.
I'm not going to outlast him like this. Not unless…
His hand drifted toward a scroll tucked into his belt. But just before he could reach it, the jonin's voice cut through the air, low and shaking with fury.
"You Leaf shinobi… always so proud. So calm. Do you think we're so different from you?"
Juro said nothing, his eyes fixed.
"I trained those kids myself," the jonin growled, referring to the fallen genin. "The chunin too. We lived through war. They were my responsibility. My family."
He formed a rapid sequence of hand seals. The air crackled.
That jutsu…! Juro recognized the signs of a high-speed lightning technique.
He darted forward to disrupt it, hurling a smoke bomb to cloud the man's vision. As the battlefield filled with thick gray mist, he weaved hand seals of his own.
"Fire Style: Phoenix Flame Pillar!"
The mist lit with dozens of small, rapid bursts of flame, each one arcing toward the jonin's last known position. A few struck—he heard the grunt—but not enough to stop him.
From the smoke, a lightning-coated fist burst out.
Damn it—!
It caught Juro in the chest and sent him crashing into the ground, the air knocked clean from his lungs.
Behind them, Ren watched the scene in horror. Juro had always been calm, unbeatable, strong. Seeing him falter now was like watching a mountain crumble.
Kota beside him trembled. The younger children stayed silent.
Ren's hands balled into fists. Aki's blood still stained his sleeves. Taro's last moments were still burning in his mind. But now… now Juro-sensei might die too?
No, Ren thought, a fire rising in his chest. I won't let this be the end.
He closed his eyes, focusing on his chakra—on the lesson he had just learned, in the midst of the last fight. He couldn't force his chakra into the tenketsu. He had to let it move… let it flow.
His breath slowed. In his mind, he imagined the chakra coursing through his limbs like a stream over rocks, winding its own path.
It began to move—softly, but surely.
His hands lit faintly with blue. His control was still weak, but it was there.
Nearby, one of the injured civilians stirred. A young girl, no older than six, whimpered in pain, clutching her leg.
Ren looked at her, then back at the battlefield. Juro was still standing—but barely. His left arm hung limp. His face was bruised and bloodied.
The jonin raised both hands.
This is it, Ren realized. He's going to finish it.
But then, something changed.
Juro raised his head slowly—and smiled.
"You're not the only one with people to protect," he said, voice low.
In a flash, he bit his thumb, slammed his hand to the ground.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
A burst of smoke erupted, and from it emerged a large wolf, silver-furred and fierce-eyed.
The jonin staggered back in surprise, just for a second—but that second was enough.
The wolf lunged.
Claws met lightning. Fang met flesh.
Juro, using the opening, leapt into the air, spinning through a final sequence of hand seals.
"Fire Style: Burning Sky Cascade!"
A torrent of flame burst downward as the wolf disengaged. The jonin threw up a barrier of lightning—but the sheer pressure of the flames cracked it, pushing him back and back.
He stumbled.
Juro landed hard, panting. His chakra was nearly gone. But for now—just for now—the threat was held.
Behind him, the children had started moving. Ren stood protectively in front of them, chakra still flickering across his arms.
Juro looked back, eyes softening.
"You've grown," he murmured.
And for a moment, despite the ash and death and pain—there was a fragile sense of hope.
The battlefield pulsed with tension. The summoned wolf stood protectively in front of several remaining civilians, fur bristling, fangs bared. Juro's breathing was heavy, one eye bleeding slightly from the strain of maintaining his Sharingan. Across from him, the Cloud jonin knelt, hunched forward and gasping. His body was bruised, scorched, and trembling—not with weakness, but fury.
Tetsu lay crumpled beside a tree, unconscious but breathing. The Cloud chunin who had fought him now lay lifeless, smoke curling from his chest—he had willingly thrown his life away, intercepting Juro's killing blow to save his leader.
The jonin's face twisted into something beyond hatred. "You… made me watch them die. My team…"
Juro's lips parted, words forming—but the jonin's hands were already forming seals.
"No—!" Juro lunged forward, but it was too late.
A deep, resonant hum filled the clearing. The jonin's chakra exploded outward in a dense storm of static and pressure. It didn't feel like a jutsu—it felt like pure chakra on the edge of detonation.
"He's going to self-destruct," Juro said, horror creeping into his tone. "He's going to take one of us with him!"
The jonin's eyes burned with resolve as he faced the wolf summon. "You're closest."
The summon tensed, understanding what was to come—but unable to move fast enough.
Then a blur streaked through the space between them.
"Ren!?"
Ren had charged his legs with chakra, just as Juro had shown him weeks ago, just like when he'd trained to climb trees. But this wasn't training. This was desperation.
He didn't think—he acted.
The surge of chakra burst from his soles like twin explosions. His small body rocketed across the battlefield and slammed into the wolf, forcing her out of the blast radius.
There was a sickening crack.
Ren hit the ground, hard. His legs crumpled under him—broken. Pain lanced through his body so violently it was white-hot, erasing the world for a moment. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream.
But the wolf was safe.
The jonin redirected his killing intent toward Ren.
He was already mid-seal again, drawing a kunai with his other hand. "You—brat—!"
Juro didn't hesitate. With a single spin, he flung a kunai infused with fire chakra at a speed that split the air like thunder.
It struck the jonin's arm mid-seal, knocking him off balance, then detonated in a burst of flame.
The jonin staggered back, howling. The jutsu collapsed unfinished.
Juro appeared beside Ren in an instant, crouching low to shield him. "You utter fool," he snapped. "What were you thinking?!"
Ren clenched his teeth through the pain, tears blurring his vision, but his voice was steady—even in agony.
"I don't want to lose more people."
Juro stared at him, expression unreadable behind the Sharingan glow. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to still.
And then the jonin roared and charged again, the battle reigniting with renewed fury.
Ren stared at the fight, clutching Kota's shoulder tightly. His heart was still heavy from the deaths of Aki and Taro, but Juro's battle now pulled him forward—one more fight they couldn't afford to lose.