Ninpocho Chronicles

Ninpocho Chronicles is a fantasy-ish setting storyline, set in an alternate universe World of Ninjas, where the Naruto and Boruto series take place. This means that none of the canon characters exists, or existed here.

Each ninja starts from the bottom and start their training as an Academy Student. From there they develop abilities akin to that of demigods as they grow in age and experience.

Along the way they gain new friends (or enemies), take on jobs and complete contracts and missions for their respective villages where their training and skill will be tested to their limits.

The sky is the limit as the blank page you see before you can be filled with countless of adventures with your character in the game.

This is Ninpocho Chronicles.

Current Ninpocho Chronicles Time:

Unseen x Unheard <Private|Honnou>

Ryuu Tama

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Rain poured down on the Chronopolis that was lit up in neon signs advertising new apartments, a few hole-in-the-wall bars, and a couple of sketchy clubs that couldn’t make the list in the entertainment district a bit further up in the main parts of the city. Pot holes were filled with water and some of the lower sections were kind of flooding from some of the poor house planning. Thankfully, due to being on a mountain, the water happily cascaded down but the strength of the rain kept making those on the lowest end of things worried; at least those on the first floors, anyways.

A youth in a trench coat with a leather hood sewn to the collar, up, held his jacket close and his face down to keep others from seeing it. His hands looked scratched up and his walk seemed to denote a bit of intoxication. On his feet were spatters of red smears where blood had soaked in and was being quietly washed out by the pouring rain. Everything about the young man screamed “danger”, which was in a field of irony due to the fact that he was a member of the military; a soldier trained to protect the interests of Kumogakure.

Shinjo was not in a good way. Beneath the coat he shook but not from the cold air of the mountains; that he eventually acclimated to unlike his damaged lungs. No, the male shook from a lack of an addictive substance he created to help combat his asthma. The poison itself, which it was, wasn’t actually addictive in anyway but when combined with alcohol produced a sensation akin to a type of blissful ignorance. It helped clear his head to do missions and keep his psychosis from spiking into dangerous territories that it tended to lately. However, since his last botched job, work had been coming in slower if any at all. The money he had saved back dried up a quickly with his frequent trips to the advertised sordid clubs of his neighborhood. The special herbs used in his specialized poison were somewhat rare in their mountain home, and the Yamanaka cousins that grew the gardens in the forests above Kumo had started to bar his entrance. They demanded instead what herbs he sought, knowing full well he had picked more than enough of that specific flower to last most people years instead of the months Shinjo burned through. Without that specific flower to create his homemade concoction, the Training ANBU found himself in a world of withdraw that was as painful as it was terrifying.

He could see her. The only person he had stupidly opened his heart to and then murdered by accident. She was right beside him, right now, tormenting him by calling the fake name he had given her. Shin knew better than to turn his head towards the voice, because when he did so all his eyes were filled with was the hallucination of her broken face staring daggers of accusation. His body suddenly shook hard enough to nearly be a seizure and it caused the shinobi to miss a step. He fell against the building he was near with a racking cough that quickly brought on wheezing. Slamming his hand against the wall the shinobi cursed his weakness and caught himself before fully stumbling into a fall. For a moment he leaned against it, still feeling eyes on him but unsure if someone was actually watching or if it was his paranoia again.

The gods knew he had plenty to be guilty for. His killing hand had laid to rest some scum in the streets down here but for no reason other than being randomly insulted, and again it had happened seemingly without his control. There was just something in his head that would snap when the wrong string of words hit his ears and since his last botched mission, the snap had caused the death of at least three more civilians. Those who had been ended weren’t good people by any means. One was a drug dealer, another a pimp who hid in plain sight as an eccentric man with a lots of arm candy. Another had been some kind of stalker and, tonight, a would-be rapist was left butchered in an alley a few blocks back. But instead of capturing these people, instead of pushing them through the fine mesh that was their new social justice system that could of possibly seem at least one of them reformed into a productive member of society…they were dead. Murdered violently with their remains left for the ugly world to see. All to quench a maddening thirst, a need to punish to escape from his own guilty conscious that tormented him even now.

The wheezing slowly settled before Shinjo caught his breath and stood back up straight. The shinobi turned his head back and lifted his eyes a bit to the tall apartment buildings that surrounded him to make sure no one was watching like the hairs on the back of his neck kept raising to warn him. Something told the youth he was being tracked, recorded, but there was no real way of knowing that. Many of the ANBU’s elite were far more practiced at this position than he had been, despite being all but a genius when it came to chakra and swordplay, and he had never finished the quota to move up in rank after his second mission that had been his mental undoing. Turning his head back down the hooded youth turned down a street ally that lead back into one of those sordid clubs. To escape what he presumed was his very branch waiting for a perfect moment to end him.

[MFT]
 

Honnou

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… It was far too easy to track Shinjo down. Hon immediately spotted corpses lying on the wet floors of the festive Susukino District – they were pulled away from busy parts of the district and were found around the discreet, questionable corners of the area in various locations, and Hon saw to it that they were properly disposed of before continuing on following the warm tracks. While he spotted red, bloodstained footprints at first, the pouring rain rendered those tracks impossible to follow after a minute or two, so Hon poured chakra into the pores of his eyes and spread his Visual Prowess to cover the corners of these outskirts. It made him realize something…

Kumogakure was larger than he remembered. Had that much changed over the course of those six months? It really felt like a cultural shock to him… or maybe it was his Hyūga heritage, having been raised so tightly within those four or five walls of his family’s estate that he never got the chance to see the entirety of the village. Now, with a constantly active, blue Byakugan, he was able to keep a track on things happening all around him… but he was focusing his vision on certain points. The areas where small groups began to gather, likely workers from various businesses who noticed the absence of certain figures.

Hon began his report by casting the Snapshot Jutsu and focusing on the corpse lying in front of him: “A middle-aged male has been found dead in the outline of the Susukino District.” His eyes… hmh, there was an interesting thought; how would the Snapshot technique work if it covered all 360 degrees of his field of vision?

“… Dry, grey-brown skin. A common Lightning Country demographic,” he continued, sending his prosthetic hand into the corpse’s pocket as something of interest was spotted – several plastic bags filled with white and black powders, “… Drugs have been found in the male’s possession. Cause of death appears to be severe blunt damage to the chest and skull, likely by a cylinder object.” The last part would definitely send question marks through the Sennin’s head later – according to the dossier, Shinjo was extremely skilled in Kenjutsu, right? Why use something akin to a club? This couldn’t have been him… unless if he was that far to the side of his psyche.

“Report over.” With the visual evidence of the corpse, Hon cancelled the Snapshot Jutsu and darted away in a blurred flash. He had already spotted another place of interest… one with a small gathering of people.



A lot of bickering from the public. These types of people sounded troublesome, especially since they were abundant in these parts of the district, but Hon managed to draw their attention away from the corpse via a small Wind Release Jutsu.

Pressure Burst!

A bit too strong to just be the common winds flying past the village-city, the people had all turned their faces around in shock. That gave the speedy ANBU Captain time enough to snatch the body and disappear again, which further caused confusion between the standers. In the end, they began getting paranoid of the strange occurrence and feared that some shinobi was watching them, which led to their leave. Thank goodness, none of them began arguing or fighting… but here was another corpse. Hon had secluded himself to the top of a roof that belonged to a-

Was this one of those legendary strip clubs? He hadn’t been to one ever since that one mission back when he was a Genin… strange, nostalgic times. Definitely not what you anticipated from a guy like him, who recently began growing more and more interest in topics like these. Either way, he was on a mission, and something like loosely clothed dancers wouldn’t distract him.

The corpse didn’t belong to a drug dealer. He had some kind of extravagant sense of fashion, dressing himself in a now bloodied but purple suit with dark stripes and golden ornaments. He showed clear signs of wealth… but nothing more. A new report: “Another middle-aged male has been found dead in the outline of the Susukino District. He appears to be wealthy – perhaps a frequent visitor to these strip clubs – and he still holds possessions of yen. He was left out in the open, so this cannot have been a theft… he, too, has been damaged with a bludgeoning weapon. The marks are clear to see – likely the same weapon. Report over.”

After disposing of the corpse, Hon leapt across the roofs in search of- spotted. Man, his Byakugan was something special, alright… but what he spotted was unlike the two victims from before. This one was completely butchered.

It was hard to describe the individual – it was a male wearing a black tracksuit, dark jeans and dark grease on his torn-up face. Upon inspecting his ripped clothes, however, Hon found… disturbing items, whose purposes made the atmosphere even grimmer in combination. “A young male, about 20-25 years old, has been found dead in the outline of the Susukino District. No apparent, unique features except the lack of hygiene. The cause of death is different from the previous victims; he is left with ripped, fractured limbs and wide, open wounds likely caused by something sharper. Doesn’t look like injuries caused by a katana, though.” Glancing at the evident items, he continued, “The victim was found carrying a broken voice recorder, a plastic bag with pills, a broken knife, thin steel wire and a handful of condoms. All apparently left on the corpse, as if to let other people find evidence against this person.” If Shinjo was the one behind these kills, then that could also explain the hunch about the previous, fashion-rich guy having some sketchy dealings along with him… which could’ve explained the strange bickering between the people who gathered around his corpse. They were talking about inheritance and escorts, which weren’t typical topics when facing a corpse on the street.

---------------------

After disposing of that corpse, Hon had made his way towards the southern corners of the district. His Byakugan had caught traces of bloody waters, faint enough to escape the ordinary civilian’s eyes. That meant that whoever had drawn blood recently was nearby… and he managed to spot a suspect entering a club while wearing a worn out trench coat and a strange, leather hood. His shoes were laced in a thin, weary layer of blood, and Hon noticed his stature… this person was exhausted. However, his face was sheltered behind that hood, but Hon had a feeling that he already knew who it was.

Just before the individual entered, Hon casted the Snapshot Jutsu again. He followed the person’s entrance sharply, making sure to record even the slightest movements from him. The Sennin definitely wanted a thorough examination on Shinjo’s psyche, and this guy fit the criteria for a mentally frustrated individual – Hon could tell that from a glance.

If I want to examine him further, then…

It was a good idea to dive back into his previous, black jacket and pants with the black, thick beanie instead of his traditional Hyūga garments. Now was not the time to draw anyone’s attention, and to mesh with the people around these parts, he’d have to look the part. Shinjo was still in training, so it was very unlikely that he had seen Hon’s face before. The Hyūga could enter the club unrecognized, most definitely…

And that was what he did. Straight through the front entrance, with the Snapshot Jutsu still activated. He was going to record it all, and hopefully he’d be able to assess this guy’s character precise enough to draw a concise conclusion.

[MFT]
 

Ryuu Tama

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Shinjo stumbled through the double doors and shot his eyes around to get a quick survey of the scene. Nothing more than the regulars really. It was a bar more than a club, after all, with the small dance floor surrounded by tables and some booths on one said. There were a couple of dudes in the corner that were always there; bouncers. A few scattered randoms on the dance floor and one of the private booths was full. The smell of cheap booze, even cheaper cologne, and sex permeated the place. The alcohol itself was tucked into the corner opposite of the trio at their table and was manned by a grizzled man who sighed the moment he saw the problem stumble into his establishment. Before he could raise a hand to get the attention of his bouncers at their table, Shin had already crossed the room over and was seated with little sound. He raised a single finger.

“Money first,” the bartender replied. Shinjo’s once had a high tab that took him forever to pay off, and the drinkslinger had a rule about people with addictive tastes; charge them upfront. Without missing a beat the shinobi dropped a crumpled handful of yen that added up to about 10,000. The grizzled bartender behind the counter pulled it towards him like a dealer at a blackjack table, and reached under the bar to grab a glass and bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. He placed them both in front of the assassin who preceded to quickly pour the liquor into the glass before draining it once, twice, and then a third before measuring out a far smaller amount to start sipping. The entire process, money to drink, took about a full sixty-seconds before Shin was sipping.

Taking out the fact of who he was and what he did for a living, the AiT actually looked like he belonged to the establishment with the others. Everyone there was dressed either anonymously or cheaply, and the looks on the faces told story after story of poor life choices. Yet despite this, a few others including the bouncers began to stand up from their table once they realized who was sitting at the bar and slowly formed a small half-circle around the assassin; Shin tried to ignore them.
“Hey,” one of them called out, “Hey! I’m talking to you-“
Don’t,” Shinjo warned to one of the would-be hecklers as the man was inches away from grabbing the shinobi’s shoulder. There was a slight pause. A tense malice that could be cut with a knife. The bartender froze in the middle of cleaning a glass, as the crowd paused while Shinjo poured more whiskey. It was clear that his presence was not at all welcomed.
“Screw this,” someone said after what felt like an eternity and started to walk away. Yet where the wisdom of one man endured, the collective stupidity of mob mentality prevailed as another decided to reach for the shinobi’s shoulder again, but faster. Surprisingly, he seemed to managed grabbing onto the assassin's coat and dragged Shin right off the barstool and onto the floor where everyone gathered immediatly began to stomp and kick.

Behind the crowd, the ANBU in Training stood, having already moved long before anyone but Hon and the bartender, who was ex-shinobi, even noticed. They were mob stomping literally air, but their legs jolted as if they really were connecting with something as the assassin sighed before turning up the bottle.
“Ah, fuck,” was all the bartender said before ducking down behind the counter. The assassin finished the whiskey and smashed it against someone’s head, stabbed the broken end into a neck before twisting into another, then snatched his hands out and broke two different arms in three places before shattering a jaw; all before the crowd of people realized what was happening. Screaming erupted from someone the person who was just neck stabbed dropped to the floor and began to bleed out while Shinjo dove deeper into the brawl. Yet, despite being highly trained, the ANBU-to-be was quickly overwhelmed. His withdraw and fresh alcoholic buzz was doing nothing good for his mental status and his physical prowess was also clearly lacking. His eyes flashed a weird color for a moment as someone held him while a few took turns pummling him and a black cat came out of nowhere to latch onto someone’s face. It gave the assassin a chance to break free and stumble his way towards the back of the bar with what was clearly a broken ankle, and a limp arm. The crowd, once over the initial chaos that was a cat attacking anything, saw Shinjo making his escape and quickly began to cross the dance floor to cut him off.

“This ends today,” someone said, “We told you not to come back.”
 

Honnou

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... Hon felt bad for Shinjo. An ANBU-In-Training shouldn’t waste his time becoming waste himself, rotting away in a slum like this place. Entering the bar made Hon slightly cringe, but perhaps it was his yet immature composition making itself present in him. He was 17, after all.

The place stank. There was even a salty scent in the air that Hon couldn’t pinpoint. Mhrrrm, gross. Every person he saw in the room – which were, ultimately, all of them – looked worn out from life itself. Adult crises or something?

Anyway, Shinjo had already taken a seat and had attracted company fast. They looked vicious, as if they were about to attack Shinjo just for breathing. Hon had his Snapshot active and decided to make his way towards the crowd, but he was surprised at Shinjo’s first word. Don’t. That was what he said, clearly. A sign of will to de-escalate the tension in the air, which showed shards of self-control still remaining inside the kid. It showed promise.

Still, the world worked against Hon’s favor. Another random pulled Shinjo back, and the rest began jumping him. Hon would’ve been able to jump in to protect him in time, but his Byakugan had already sensed the release of chakra - and it was a thin wave of chakra that was released, most commonly seen when people perform a Genjutsu that affected an area around them.

And all hell broke loose. Shinjo made quick work of them all, and two of them had received fatal wounds from the broken bottle. While Shinjo was quickly held by one of the bar visitors, Hon darted towards the wounded ones and held both their neck wounds with his bare hands to stop the bleeding. “Hey! Stop fighting, these guys need medical help!”

As if damned by nature, the angry mob didn’t listen to him. Bloody amazing. Hon couldn’t let these angsty drunkards die to an ANBU, so he held their wounds closed with all of his might- n-not all of his might, as that would’ve chopped their heads off, but much of it. Thankfully, as if his prayers were quickly answered by Heaven, the bartender jumped in and began applying a Medical Healing Jutsu to both victims while Hon held their necks closed. Hon hadn’t realized that this guy was an ex-shinobi at first, but using this Jutsu of his proved so to the young Hyūga. Lucky him.

Shinjo had broken free from the others and escaped through the back of the bar while the bartender was busy with the healing. Once Hon no longer felt blood trickling out of their necks, he let go and noticed how bloodied his hands had gotten, but he had no time to think about it. There was also a random, crazy, black cat jumping around, and the Hyūga quickly nodded at the bartender with the words: “I’ll take care of him. Make sure these guys don’t follow us.” With a nod received from the bartender, Hon exerted force from the release of his chakra, then leapt at lightning speed to intercept the black cat attacking everything.

Despite it possessing chakra, it was revealed that the cat was merely made of a black, shadow-like cloud that dissipated. No matter, at least it was gone now. Hon made his way out through the back of the bar, and his body began emitting bolts of lightning upon his advance towards Shinjo.

It happened in the blink of an eye, silently but rapidly, and as Shinjo was walking away injured as he was, Hon was waiting for him up front. His arms were crossed, revealing how blood-red his palms were from the earlier treatment of the wounded. His bright, blue Byakugan eyes – pure, innocent eyes with no veins popping on his skin, a faint star-like mark surrounding his white pupils – glared straight through Shinjo, seeing both the ANBU, his chakra network, his inner organs, his breathing, his twitching, his injuries and everything else. Those eyes saw everything.

“... Even petty drunkards usually don’t attack loners unless they got history,” Hon opened up, “And here, I was just trying to enjoy a drink myself, but stupid fights like these always kill my appetite... you’re a shinobi too, right? I’d want to ask what you’re even doing out here, but... guess I’m in the same boat.” Then, swiftly, Hon pointed at his limp arm and continued, “You need some medical attention, so let’s head back. The bartender’s a Medical, he’s patching up the others too.”

[MFT]
 

Ryuu Tama

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Shinjo slammed the back emergency door opened and rolled out onto the back alley. He hit the ground, hard, and began to hack, cough, and wheeze so hard that anyone watching would likely wonder if he was having some sort of attack. Yet despite the need to fill his lungs with oxygen prevailing in his head, the poor teen was more concerned about keeping his wits. The battle rushed the alcohol through his bloodstream faster than normal, and triggered a psychotic episode. He could hear her screaming in his ears like a bullhorn. The assassin placed his hands against his ears and shut his eyes tight to fight the sound and the feeling of bile trying to raise up in his stomach; the pain of his broken limbs little more than an annoyance in comparison.
Get out, I have to get out,’ his mind screamed as he felt his nails slowly dig into the side of his head. Blood gently wept from the wounds he tore into his scalp to try and focus away from the screaming voice of his dead fiancée; and eventually it worked. Once he finally caught his breath and focused purely on the pain in his body the voice slowly faded enough that he could open his eyes again and start to roll off his side and onto his knees. Immediately the shinobi was sick, and heaved up everything that was still on his stomach to splatter against the concrete before scooting to a wall to slowly stand up.

That was when he saw Hon.

This was a trap, he knew it was. He never felt the guy’s presence even for a second, and could barely feel it looking the guy dead in the eyes. It was one thing that no one approached Shinjo unless they were looking for a fight, but because the man before him had such a piecing glare, the broken teen knew he was standing before another shinobi; or at least had a very strong hunch. Before he could even try to counter think the chances of Hon being a fellow member of the military who was very much still active, her voice began to whisper again into his ears.
He’s here to end it.
He’s here to end it.
He’s here to end it.
Run. Kill. KILL. RUN.
I’m waiting for you…burning in Hell, waiting for you…
HE’S HERE TO END IT!

A sob racked the teen for a moment as he placed his hand against his face and leaned hard against the brick wall to support him where his broken leg wouldn’t. The snapped arm that pressed against the cold wet stone felt both terrible and great. What was he going to do? The guy claimed to be just another retired shinobi trying to make it and had no idea why everyone jumped him like they did…which was clue number one that this guy wasn’t who he said he was. Anyone, who came to this bar, knew that Shinjo was the one guy who had a lot of problems handling his drink. He has frequently hit on women that were obviously taken, started fights with people twice his size, flaked on a bar tab until the owner literally threatened to take it up with the military; and that was just the tip of the iceberg. That one time he got so shitfaced he urinated on a few people was probably the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, but it happened nearly a week ago; Shinjo had just underestimated how long people held grudges.

Sorry,” Shin finally replied, “but the only medical treatment Usune is likely to give me is cold steel between the ribs. I’ll pass.” The assassin squinted his eyes through the pain, and reactivated his dojutsu, expecting a fight. Something told him this guy wasn’t going to just let him go wondering back home to nurse his wounds. A black cat appeared from behind Shin’s leg and rubbed against his unbroken ankle all while staring down the Hyuuga. How much strength would it take to dart past the guy? Could he do it with just one foot? He’d have to. There was little choice. Without sound or muscle twitch, the cat jumped up suddenly towards Shinjo’s hand, and as it did, it became a basic throwing knife that he flung at Hon with an underhand throw before moving to dart past the self-claimed burned out soldier.

Yet the very second he felt the chakra build into his foot to propel him forward, the AiT knew in his gut that he had made a very costly mistake.
 

Honnou

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… What a strong reaction to a mere presence. Hon was just standing there, unable to catch onto any intimidating hues that he might’ve let out. He spotted all the irregular twitches, ticks and postures that Shinjo emitted upon his arrival, and he made sure to record them all. This didn’t look good; Shinjo was heavily paranoid of Hon’s presence and showed clear signs of unrest. C’mon, Shinjo, get a grip…

Usune… shit, Hon made a mistake. He didn’t know the guy’s name, and neither did he use the fact that Shinjo was a regular to his advantage. Playing a newcomer proved to raise suspicion, which was the last thing that the ANBU Captain wanted to raise. He could tell that Shinjo was readying up for a move, and the revelation of his Dōjutsu kicked Hon’s nerves into gear. He couldn’t help but feel the same, choking presence of the Sharingan dawn upon him, even though… those eyes of his were different. Even with his little amount of knowledge over the Uchiha’s mighty Visual Prowess, he could tell in an instant that this guy had something else at his disposal…

The black cat from earlier had respawned from behind Shinjo’s leg, which gave Hon some intel on the Operative’s ability. Manifesting black creatures from nothing… is it akin to an instant Summoning Jutsu? he wondered, his blue eyes tracking every muscle in Shinjo’s body directing his next moves. Before said throw with the shadow-molded throwing knife was made, Hon read the contractions of Shinjo’s arm muscles and predicted the attack.

It gave him some perspective on how far he had come as a shinobi. In days past, Hon would’ve had to keep his guard up against sudden ‘sucker punches’ like these, but in his current level of strength and skill, he barely even needed to move away. The blade was blocked by an invisible force coating Hon’s body, but the surprising thing was that the Hyūga simply let Shinjo pass by him. Hon appeared to make no attempt at following suit at first, letting the other ANBU make some distance between the two…

And in the blink of an eye or less, Hon was standing right in front of him the moment Shinjo decided to brake in his advance. There was a slight crack near Hon’s feet, a small bolt of electricity that indicated his method of moving this ludicrously rapid. “If the Usune guy’s not going to treat you, then you’re going to kick the bucket before you even get to return to the bar again. I can tell how injured you are…” he explained, his blue eyes widening a bit as he clearly saw all the inner bleedings and organic detriments that Shinjo was suffering through. He needed medical assistance, and of a very high class.

“Listen… stubbornness only leads you to this,” Hon continued, rolling up his black sleeve on his left arm to reveal that said arm was a metallic prosthetic – a very smart one, but nonetheless not his original, organic arm. He revealed it as an attempt at creating a sense of relation between the two. “I could just let you go and pretend like we never met, and it’d definitely be the easier way, but… I can’t help myself. You get me?”

Shinjo appeared to use shadow-made weapons, so Hon didn’t really see him as a physical weapon’s guy. Did he rid himself of the evidence?

[MFT]
 

Ryuu Tama

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The AiT felt a little elation that he was able to get past the man with the bright eyes so easily. Not a lot of people ever saw the damn shadow cat thing coming and it continued to be used to his ultimate advantage; or at least so he thought. As he slowed down to catch his breath, Shinjo turned his head back to see how much distance he had managed to cover and thought for a brief second he had actually created a sizable gap between them because Hon was no longer in sight; only to turn his head and see those blue eyes staring him back down. The “retired” shinobi began to lecture him now, but the words really fell on deaf ears as the youth felt his leg’s strength give way, plodding him on the ground.

This guy was insane. Miro was a wellspring of power that had absolutely no problems boasting the gap between them through combat. No matter how hard he tried, Shin never really got in the attacks on the Sennin he had wanted in the one time they actually fought. Yet with her he had survived two brutal attacks, one physically the other mentally. This guy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel the need to introduce his battle prowess. In a single second the supposedly retired shinobi showed the gap of their strengths in such a passive-aggressive manner that it literally left Shin speechless. For a moment all he could do was simply stare in disbelief that such a shinobi existed at all, retired or not, and the metal arm that was supposed to be a lesson in hubris actually looked sweet as hell.

The young ninja could still hear the insanity clawing at his head and his survival instincts kept screaming run, but in that single movement of power, the Hyuuga put the AiT in his place. There was a little click in his head, like a switch being flicked on. The screams became drowned in the reality of the situation and he knew then combat was out of the question. Running was out of the question. Living, was out of the question. There was nothing he could do except commit petty acts of retaliation against the wicked, and it was so far from the realization he had come to when he broke free of Miro’s wicked gaze.

What was he doing?

I…yeah, fine…” the late-teen finally muttered with his head down, “Take me to the hospital. Trust me, I’m a known face there. They’ll know what to do. Just do it quick before I change my mind…
Shinjo would allow himself to the mercy of this blue-eyed monster, to the medical field, and to most likely a lifetime commitment to a padded cell in a straight jacket.

[Topic Left w/ Hon]
 
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