CH_5.13 (156)

CH_5.13 (156)

“Why didn’t you order anything,” said Sango after handing the menu to the waiter.

Takuma took a sip of water. “I don’t like to eat immediately after fights,” he said. He had just finished a ninjutsu fight at the Ring, and instead of taking her usual payment, Sango had asked him to treat her to a meal. He didn’t mind taking his iryo-nin to dinner.

“Nutrition and rest— two cornerstones of recovery. You should ensure that your body has enough resources to heal,” said Sango, nagging as usual when it came to personal health.

“I’ll eat when I return home, not just now,” he sighed. The fight had been boring as usual— boring was good, thrill-seeking risk was overrated— but he wanted a challenge, or what use was him fighting in the Ring except for ryo and mission points. Well, it at least kept his body, mind, and instinct sharp; it didn’t take much time for those things to dull.

“Rest well today, and do not forget to drink the mixture I gave you with hot water before you sleep,” she said.

Takuma shrugged. His opponent today had already fought him twice before, and Takuma no longer had any secrets (except for his genjutsu) in the Ring. All of his ninjutsu were already noted by the various teams across the Ring. They had been devising tactics to defeat him, and because he fought more fights than any other fighter of his class, they had plenty of time for trial-and-error improvement.

In some ways, Takuma influenced how the upper hierarchy of the Ring fighters fought.Findd new stories at novelhall.com

His opponent today was a skilled Lightning Release ninjutsu user, the worst compatibility against Takuma, who was proficient with Earth and Water Release. Injuries were inevitable in the Ring because of the flimsy leather armor they allowed in the ninjutsu category, but today he had been squarely hit by a C-rank lightning jutsu in his chest. He had won the fight, but even after Sango’s treatment, he still felt the burn, sting, and pain in and out of his chest. According to Sango, it would take a couple of days before he felt comfortable.

His pain tolerance threshold had improved leaps and bounds ever since he had joined the Ring— but even if he could tolerate the pain, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He hated when his body didn’t behave how he wanted it to.

‘The bastard pulled a new trick today,’ he spitefully remarked.

When several Ring teams were planning to take him down, it was obvious they would come out with good plans. Every few fights, one strategy was bound to work, and Takuma had been grateful that they did. The more flaws his opponents discovered, the more he could weed them out and improve himself.

He was the sword, and the Ring was his whetstone.

“When was the last time you met Enomoto-sensei?” asked Sango.

“I met him in passing a good while back,” Takuma replied. The last time he met him was a month back. Even though Sango was Enomoto’s apprentice, Takuma, and Enomoto’s dealing were private. It was the only way for their secret to remain airtight. Both Enomoto and Takuma would suffer loss if their secret was to be leaked.

Sango hummed idly as she gazed at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You have changed.”

“How so?”

“You’re calmer than before. Back when you were just entering the weapons-category, you were much more... twitchy, as if there was a threat behind every corner, ready to pounce at you. You seem settled down now; it’s a welcome change.”

The moon had pulled up into the starry sky by the time the meal with Sango ended. Takuma wanted to take a leisurely walk and take some alone time to retrospect, but he didn’t have the time. He had to go home, have his meal, do meal prep for the next day, and complete his other chores. By the time he would do that, it would be time to sleep.

He could only enjoy the view of the village’s nightlife as he briskly traveled atop rooftops.

Soon he reached the part of town where he resided. Not many people knew Takuma lived in a shady dump of a neighborhood. Not many would believe that a Senior Officer of the Police Force lived in a place like that. Takuma could’ve moved, but he liked his small apartment. It had begun to become a bit crowded with his ever-growing belongings, but Takuma managed. He enjoyed the secluded silence of the place even though it was offset by the low-grade locality. Takuma’s house was only safe because people knew he was a shinobi and an officer of the Police Force because of his uniform. They didn’t dare mess with him because what might he do to them if they did.

His keys jingled as he reached his door. As he slotted the keys, he heard a sound that he almost missed. He would’ve if his hearing hadn’t been enhanced by relentless training. In a split second, his senses went into hyperdrive, pushing his entire being into combat mode.

He jerked to the side a moment before a kunai whistled past his ear, thumping into the wooden door. Before he could react further, another noise reached his ears. His eyes widened at the door, and he jumped back as fast as his body allowed it. As he jumped back, a sword pierced from behind the door, reaching for Takuma’s gut. His eyes remained affixed on the glimmering blade as it narrowly fell short to reach his heart.

Takuma slammed into the wall of the open hallway.

Two, he thought— there were at least two assailants.

Takuma looked down at the bottom of the door, where a white paper sat undisturbed. The ends of the paper slip were stuck to the door panel and frame. Any attempts to open the door would rip the flimsy piece of paper— but the slip was still whole— and yet, there was someone inside his home. That could only mean three things: the assailants either came in through the balcony window, or they noticed the paper slip trick when they opened the door and fixed it, or they were observing him and knew that he put a fresh paper slip every time he left home.

He went for the worst-case scenario, the last option. He immediately assumed that the assailants had vital information about him.

As the thought had barely ended, Takuma felt a shiver go down his spine as two masked and robed figures emerged from the shadows in the hallway, one from each side. Simultaneously, the sword in the door was pulled back. The person behind the door was about to make their second move.

Takuma’s mind raced. The hallway was too narrow, and moving either side would trap him between the two flanking him. If he jumped out of the hallway, he would be vulnerable in the air, unable to change his direction, giving the one who threw the first kunai to nail him with ease. He needed to get down on the street to have some space to assess his situation.

He couldn’t go left, right, up, down, or back— which left only one direction. Takuma gritted his teeth and rammed his shoulder into his own door. The entire thing snapped off its hinges, and Takuma felt the door slam into the person behind it. He didn’t have time to think; he stepped on the door (and the person beneath it) and ran deeper into the house.

Takuma clicked his tongue. It was clear that the group of assailants was either trying to kill him or at least capture him. He didn’t want either. He wanted to grab more weapons, explosive tags, smoke bombs, and whatnot— but he, unfortunately, didn’t have them in a ready-to-grab package he could yank in a second. He had to do with what he had on hand.

He rushed to the balcony and smashed through the glass door and jumped down into the narrow back street with the sound of glass shattering filling the silent neighborhood. It took a few mere seconds for two figures to jump down as well, but by that time, Takuma had reached the end of the street.

He weaved hand seals, and a clone appeared from a plume of smoke. Takuma turned right while the clone sprinted to the left. It was the Clone Jutsu, creating a simply illusory jutsu, but with nighttime and no street lights due to the poor locality, the limitation of “no shadow” was eliminated. Takuma’s steps didn’t make much sound, a discipline he had trained to use in conjunction with the Hidden Mist Jutsu.

He made sure they saw him, and now the only for them to pursue him was to split up

They outnumbered him, they might have planned about this, researched him— but they had chosen the wrong place to take him on. This was his neighborhood. He knew the terrain better than anyone else. No matter how much they researched him, as long as they were in his neighborhood under the cover of the night sky, he nullified their numbers advantage to some degree.

As Takuma finally had some breathing room to think, the question finally popped in his mind,

‘Who the fuck were these people?’

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