The mist by the waterfall was dense, a white, damp wall that blurred reality. The roar of the water crashing against the rocks contrasted with a much heavier silence: the one that precedes the clash of steel. The air was thick with moisture, spray, and a murderous intent so pure and concentrated it could almost be felt on the skin.

Kakashi planted himself on the lake's surface, completely still. His crimson Sharingan cut through the dense white mist, an absolute point of focus fixed on his opponent's imposing silhouette. Every muscle in his body was relaxed yet vibrated with contained energy; he was a living contradiction: serene on the outside, but with a lethality about to be unleashed.

Here we are again, Kakashi thought, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Naruto's information was a script unfolding before him, but it was one thing to know the end of the play and another thing entirely to act in it, where a single miscalculation could be his last. I know his moves. I know his jutsus. But knowledge doesn't stop a sword's blade. Only my skill can do that.

Zabuza Momochi smiled beneath his bandages. The sound was a low, guttural growl, filled with the contempt of a predator looking at prey that doesn't yet know it's dead.

"Your brats are surprisingly annoying, Kakashi. I didn't expect it. Especially the Hyuga girl. Her ability is a nuisance."

He paused, using his words as another weapon.

"I'll have to take care of her after I rip your head off. It will be a pleasure to watch the hope vanish from her eyes when she sees your corpse floating in the water."

The threat, so personal and cruel, provoked no visible reaction from the Konoha jōnin. The usual laziness in his voice was gone, replaced by a cold, metallic tone. It was the voice of an executioner announcing a sentence.

"You won't touch any of my students." The statement was flat, a declaration of fact, not a boast. "Your fight is with me, Zabuza. And it's about to end."

"End, yes," Zabuza conceded, his silhouette tensing. "But not how you think."

He vanished. There was no burst of speed, no flicker, not even a sound to betray his movement. He simply faded away, absorbed by the mist.

Kakashi didn't move. He didn't need to. His red eye wasn't following a physical form but the trail of chakra, an almost imperceptible wake in the watery chaos that was Zabuza's domain. He perceived the disturbance in the air, the signature of chakra concentrating behind him, the murderous intent materializing.

The hiss of metal arrived right on time. The massive blade of the Kubikiribōchō descended with a silent fury, carrying enough force to split a boulder and the intention to cleave him in two.

At the last possible instant, Kakashi spun on his heels, his kunai already in a defensive position. He didn't hold it for a direct block—that would have been suicide against such a weapon. He angled it precisely, calculated to deflect the brutal force rather than meet it head-on.

CLANG!

Sparks erupted in the gloom, illuminating the mist for a split second. The light revealed Zabuza's bandaged face, contorted in a grimace of fury and a hint of surprise. The impact created a shockwave in the water beneath their feet. Zabuza pushed with all his weight, the muscles in his arms tense, trying to crush Kakashi with sheer brute force.

"Your eye can see it coming!" he growled, the metal of their weapons screeching under the pressure. "But can your bones withstand the impact, Kakashi? I can feel you struggling! I can hear your muscles trembling!"

He's testing my physical strength, Kakashi analyzed, feeling the vibration travel up his arm to his shoulder.

"Why don't we find out?" Kakashi replied, his calm voice a stark contrast to the effort of the moment.

Instead of resisting the pressure, he yielded. He suddenly ducked, bending his knees and using Zabuza's own momentum against him. The enormous sword passed over his head. Kakashi spun under the weapon with a swift movement across the water, his kunai seeking an opening in Zabuza's unprotected side.

The Demon of the Mist reacted with the brutal speed that had earned him his moniker. He released his sword with one hand, using it as a pivot to launch a spinning kick that cut through the air with a dull thud.

Kakashi, anticipating the feint, blocked the kick with his forearm. The blow echoed in the damp air and sent him skidding back several meters across the water's surface. They separated, two shadows sizing each other up in the brief calm that followed.

His speed is impressive, Zabuza admitted to himself, recovering his blade with an expert move. He landed with feline agility, his mind racing. That defense... it wasn't a reaction. It was anticipation. He saw the angle of my kick before I even threw it. Is that the true power of the Sharingan? To see the immediate future through muscle movement?

"Your taijutsu is predictable," Kakashi said, his Sharingan spinning with a hypnotic slowness that seemed to mock his opponent's fury. "You always open with brute force to gauge your opponent. Then you follow up with a feint to test their reflexes. It's the habit of a thug, not an elite assassin. I wonder how many truly skilled shinobi you've faced, Zabuza."

"And you're a thief!" Zabuza roared. Rage clouded his tactical judgment for an instant, and he charged again, this time with uncontrolled fury. "A coward who hides behind the power of another clan! You're not worthy of that eye! That power doesn't belong to you!"

The Kubikiribōchō cut through the air in a succession of deadly attacks. Zabuza unleashed a storm of slashes, a complex sequence designed to overwhelm, confuse, and finally, annihilate.

But the scene became surreal. Humiliating.

Every move Zabuza made, Kakashi replicated an instant before. If Zabuza lifted a foot to change his stance, Kakashi's was already in position to counter. If Zabuza tensed his right shoulder for a diagonal slash, Kakashi's kunai was already there to intercept the trajectory. If Zabuza feinted with a thrust, Kakashi didn't even flinch, recognizing the fake-out before it was complete.

Zabuza's frustration grew with every parry, with every block executed with no apparent effort. He wasn't fighting a man, but an opponent who anticipated his every intention. It was as if his body, his muscles, his own combat instinct were betraying him.

How? Zabuza thought, his mind screaming in rage. Even that feint! It was an improvisation! It wasn't in my usual attack sequence! How could he have known? No one can read that fast!

"STOP COPYING ME!" The shout was a roar of pure helplessness.

Fed up with the humiliating dance, Zabuza leaped back, creating considerable distance. His hands flew, weaving signs at a dizzying speed. The water at his feet began to churn violently, answering his chakra's call.

"Suiton: Suiryūdan no Jutsu!."

Kakashi watched, unfazed, his Sharingan recording every hand seal. Tiger, Snake, Dragon, Hare... Forty-four seals. A high-level technique. It's a distraction to set up his real trap. Kakashi made no attempt to copy it; he knew this was just the beginning.

Just as a colossal head of liquid chakra began to form in silence, Kakashi shot forward. He ran across the water, straight toward Zabuza.

Zabuza hesitated. His concentration broke for a split second. Attacking during the execution of such a high-level jutsu? It was suicide. The tactic of a desperate rookie. No one in their right mind would charge head-on against a water dragon about to be unleashed.

The dragon dissolved mid-formation, collapsing in a chaotic splash as Zabuza instinctively raised his sword to defend against the frontal assault. But Kakashi wasn't there. The figure running toward him was an afterimage that vanished.

"Behind you."

Kakashi's voice sounded next to his ear, cold, emotionless. Zabuza spun, panic mixing with fury. A kunai was heading straight for his face. He deflected it with the back of his metal gauntlet, the sharp screech of steel on steel cutting through the roar of the waterfall.

It was a distraction. While his attention was fixed on the kunai, the real attack came from below. Kakashi, who had sunk and moved under the water with ghostly speed, emerged right at his feet. His hand closed like a claw around Zabuza's ankle.

"Suiton: Suirō no Jutsu!."

Zabuza felt the pull dragging him down, toward a liquid grave, and the icy panic a genin would feel upon being trapped. But he was no genin. He was the Demon of the Mist. With a burst of chakra focused in the sole of his foot, he created a jet of water that countered the pull and violently propelled him upward. He freed his leg and flipped backward. He landed on the shore by the waterfall, panting, not from exertion, but from adrenaline and the nearness of the trap.

"You play dirty, Kakashi."

"I'm a shinobi," Kakashi replied, emerging calmly from the water, his drenched clothes clinging to his body, showing no sign of fatigue. "It's my job."

Zabuza realized it then. His mind, free from blind rage, analyzed the situation with chilling clarity. Hand-to-hand combat was useless against the Sharingan. Taijutsu, kenjutsu... it was all an open book to that eye. He had to change his tactics. He had to eliminate Kakashi's greatest advantage: his sight.

"Let's see you copy this."

He performed a single hand seal, the sign for mist.

"Ninjutsu: Kirigakure no Jutsu!."

The mist, already thick, became oppressive. It clung to the skin, muffled sound, and erased the world. In seconds, visibility dropped to zero. The roar of the waterfall seemed like a distant murmur. The air became saturated with Zabuza's chakra, turning the environment into an extension of his own will.

"You can't copy what you can't see, Kakashi," Zabuza's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a ghostly presence enveloping him. "This is my world. Here, I am the hunter, and you are the prey. Allow me to show you the true art of the Silent Killing."

Kakashi remained motionless. He could feel Zabuza's energy, but it was dispersed, camouflaged by the mist itself. It was nearly impossible to distinguish Zabuza's chakra signature from the chakra saturating the air.

A hiss to his left. He ducked instinctively; the metal of the Kubikiribōchō passed millimeters from his hair.

A splash of water to his right. He leaped back, avoiding a thrust that shot up from the liquid ground.

Zabuza moved with incredible speed, using the mist to launch attacks from impossible angles, testing his defenses, toying with him. He wasn't going for a killing blow yet. He was wearing him down, physically and mentally.

"Pathetic," Zabuza's voice whispered, now right behind him, so close Kakashi could feel the breath on his neck. "The great Kakashi Hatake, reduced to reacting to my attacks."

Kakashi spun, his kunai describing a lethal arc. It cut through empty air. The Zabuza who had spoken was just a sound illusion to disorient him.

"You're getting tired," the demon continued, his voice now coming from the front. "Your Sharingan consumes too much chakra. I can feel it. Your energy flow is getting weaker. Just keeping the Sharingan active in these conditions is draining you. How much longer can you last before your world goes completely dark?"

He's right, Kakashi thought, a cold drop of sweat tracing its way down his temple. His breathing was getting heavier. The chakra drain to see through this mist is immense. I can't win a battle of attrition. Not in his territory. I need a single blow. A decisive one. I have to force him out of hiding... or better yet, force him to come to me.

He felt a disturbance in the air above him. A sudden, massive concentration of killing intent. Zabuza was descending, his blade ready for the final strike, betting everything on an attack from a vertical blind spot. The perfect silent assassination.

Kakashi didn't move. He waited.

Closer.

The pressure of the air displaced by the sword was an invisible weight crushing the air around him.

Closer.

He could hear the rustle of Zabuza's clothes, the faint sound of water dripping from his pants as he fell. He could smell the iron of dried blood on his bandages.

Now.

Just as the Kubikiribōchō began its descent, Kakashi didn't jump back or dodge to the side. In a move that defied all logic, he shot forward, directly under the attack's path.

Zabuza, suspended in the air with his weapon committed to a downward arc, couldn't react. His attack was designed for a stationary or retreating target. He tried to correct, to twist his body, but it was too late. Kakashi's move had been too unexpected.

Kakashi's target wasn't the heart or the throat. It was more subtle. More tactical. More cruel. A victory that would not only end the fight but leave a permanent scar on the monster who called himself a Demon.

His hand moved with blinding speed. A thin layer of unstable, crackling lightning chakra enveloped it, emitting a sharp, chirping sound. It was a wild prototype of his ultimate technique: a lightning bolt contained in his palm.

There was no clash of steel. Only a flash of blue light that tore through the mist for an instant and a sickening, wet sound: of flesh giving way, of an optic nerve being brutally severed.

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!

The scream was not from a demon, but from a man in unbearable agony. A howl that pierced the mist and the roar of the waterfall, carrying a pain so pure it chilled the blood of those who heard it from a distance.

Zabuza stumbled back as he landed, dropping his prized sword, which fell into the water with a loud splash. His hand instinctively went to his face, to the bandage covering his left eye.

The white fabric quickly soaked with a deep red. Blood seeped through his fingers, dripping into the water at his feet and slowly staining it crimson. The mist around him seemed to waver, losing its cohesion as its creator's control shattered from the overwhelming pain.

Kakashi landed a few meters away, his kunai still smoking with a faint electrical energy that dissipated into the damp air. He remained in a combat stance, his Sharingan spinning, watching his mutilated opponent with absolute coldness.

The Demon of the Mist had been blinded in one eye. The hunter had become the wounded prey.