A real man knows when to bend and when to strike.
Kisame assessed the situation quickly. He was injured, outnumbered, and unwilling to reveal the Shark-Tail Lightning Whip just yet.
Picking a fight here would be suicidal.
So he swallowed his pride. Apologized. Lived to fight another day.
The crowd was stunned. So was Kurokawa.
A ninja surrendering like this in the Village of the Bloody Mist? Shameful.
But Kurokawa wasn't going to let him off that easy.
He sneered, "Since you're apologizing, show some real sincerity. Crawl between my legs, and we'll call it even."
With a smug grin, he spread his legs wide and gestured at his crotch.
The crowd exploded with laughter and jeers.
Even for Kirigakure, this was humiliating.
No self-respecting shinobi would ever crawl under an enemy's legs. Do that, and your career—and dignity—were over.
Terumi Mei could no longer watch. She stepped forward, intent on stopping it. Whatever their past, Kisame was still a fellow shinobi.
But before she could act—
"Kurokawa-san, are you sure?" Kisame asked softly, eyes narrowed.
Something flashed behind his calm gaze.
"Of course I'm sure," Kurokawa laughed. "Don't tell me you're going to chicken out now?"
Without another word, Kisame knelt down.
Bowing his head, he began crawling forward.
The audience booed and heckled louder.
"Now this is entertainment."
A cold, sardonic voice cut through the crowd.
A young man with black hair, the lower half of his face and neck wrapped in bandages, stood watching.
Momochi Zabuza.
A genin with a terrifying reputation. During last year's Academy graduation, he'd slaughtered over 100 of his peers in a single day—forcing the village to abandon its "kill-your-classmates" tradition.
This boy, known as the Demon of the Hidden Mist, was barely older than Kisame but already feared.
Now, with arms crossed, Zabuza watched Kisame crawl with dark amusement.
In the past, Kisame had been one of the top students Zabuza chased after. Now, seeing him reduced to this, the demon smirked.
"Ha ha ha!"
Kurokawa threw his head back in laughter as Kisame inched closer under his crotch.
Terumi Mei turned away, disgusted.
"Let's go," she said, pulling Ameyuri with her.
But then—
A sudden shift.
Kisame, still on the ground, flipped onto his back with a swift motion. Legs bent like a coiled spring, he took aim.
SWOOSH.
With all his strength, his legs shot up like twin pistons.
CRACK.
A sickening snap echoed through the plaza.
In an instant, Kurokawa's smug face twisted into a grotesque mask of pain.
His eyes bulged, blood vessels burst, and his voice caught in his throat—reduced to a wheezing gasp.
Clutching his destroyed crotch, Kurokawa toppled like a felled tree.
Unconscious. Broken. Ruined.
The crowd froze. Then recoiled.
For the rest of his life, Kurokawa would never be the same.
This sudden reversal shocked everyone present.
However, it wasn't over yet.
After eliminating his opponent's strongest, Kurokawa, with a stealthy attack, Kisame slowly rose and regarded the remaining combatants with a cold, blank expression.
"Come on, kill him!" someone shouted.
Several warriors exchanged glances and surged forward, intent on overwhelming Kisame with sheer numbers.
In such a close-quarters brawl, there wasn't time to seal ninjutsu; one could only rely on taijutsu to fend off a swarm. For Kisame, the odds were still grim.
Seeing his adversaries closing in, Kisame's eyes suddenly widened in anger, and he bellowed loudly:
"Wow!"
That cry reverberated through the gathering.
In the astonished stares of all present, Kisame emitted a fierce bark and sprang into action—his movements wild and feral, like a mad dog unleashed.
"What's going on with this guy…?" murmured some of the onlookers.
Witnessing his transformed, almost beast-like appearance, many were unnerved and hesitated to press the attack.
In that instant, a cold determination flashed in Kisame's eyes as he launched himself forward like a starving hound.
Utilizing a cache of sand he had secretly gathered earlier, he hurled it at his enemies—sand that, while not as potent as lime, was enough to disrupt their vision and temporarily blind them.
"Ah!" they cried out as the sandy assault caught them off guard, leaving them disoriented and exposed.
Kisame seized the moment and advanced, his brutal taijutsu techniques coming into play. His savage strikes targeted vital areas—crotches, throats, eyes—ensuring that once his foes fell, they would be unable to rise again.
"Ouch, ouch…" came the pained cries as Kurokawa's companions were swiftly felled, collapsing in agony.
This was the signature "mad dog style" of unlimited fighting—a flurry of shouts and leaps that unleashed a murderous aura. Though it might appear ridiculous, its efficacy in battle was undeniable.
After his victory, Kisame's demeanor shifted in an instant, his expression returning to that of a seemingly honorable, unassuming ninja. It was as if he embodied both the calm of a virgin and the ferocity of a mad dog simultaneously.
Silence fell among the onlookers; even the falling of needles could be heard.
If, only moments before, Kisame had been seen as a coward, now his image was completely reversed—he had become a super ruthless warrior.
Low-key, resolute, and deadly efficient, Kisame had, in this incredible display, defeated an enemy far stronger than himself. He made everyone understand what it meant to be a true ninja.
Amid the crowd, Ringo Yuli whispered in surprise, "I finally know why this guy survived the battlefield."
Her murmurs echoed the thoughts of many present.
Terumi Mei stared at Kisame, speechless—realizing that today she had learned nothing about her former classmate.
"Clap, clap, clap!"
Zabuza was the first to break the silence with applause. As he cheered, his eyes flickered with the recognition of a worthy opponent.
Kisame glanced briefly at him but did not respond further. He walked past the unconscious Kurokawa, paused for a moment, spat out a large mouthful of thick phlegm, and smashed it into Kurokawa's face.
"Take a mouthful of phlegm and eat it!"
After unleashing this repulsive act, Kisame sneered, turned, and strode out of the crowd.
"Wow," the onlookers murmured.
Wherever he passed, the crowd cleared a wide path as if he were a force of nature—like wheat bowing in a storm.
Due to the torn wound, the bandage on Kisame still oozed blood, and he limped as he walked—resembling a lone, wounded wolf wandering the wilderness.
This solitary figure, under the silent gaze of everyone, soon vanished into the thick, perennial fog that blanketed the Hidden Mist Village.