Kimimaro was drenched in sweat. His arms ached, weak and sore.

Once again, he sighed inwardly, frustrated by how his young, undeveloped body was limiting his capabilities. In terms of martial arts skill, he could hold his own against Ogawara Uemon, but the vast difference in physical strength was too much to bridge. After just under ten minutes of fighting, his stamina was nearly spent.

Across from him, Ogawara Uemon had barely broken a sweat, showing only a light sheen on his forehead. His breathing remained steady, with no signs of fatigue.

Kimimaro saw his own shortcomings clearly—countless flaws and weaknesses. However, he was unaware of how others perceived him: to them, his talent and natural ability were absolutely top-notch. Ogawara Uemon, his current opponent, was particularly struck by this.

He felt like a failure.

After nearly ten minutes, he still hadn't defeated this child. His confidence, his pride—they were crumbling. Despite his faults—cold-bloodedness, bloodthirstiness, and a love for fighting—he held swordsmanship in high regard, honing it to the level of an elite ninja. It was his singular devotion.

Yet today, his cherished swordsmanship was failing him against a child.

Being chased down by Mifune-sama like a rabbit didn't faze him; evading the crazed followers of the Jashin cult didn't trouble him. But to be held off by a child for nearly ten minutes? That was truly humiliating.

Five minutes in, he'd been cautious, keeping an eye on the backing Uchiha Itachi while sparring with Kimimaro. But as the five minutes passed without him landing a serious hit on Kimimaro, he grew angry. Ignoring Itachi and forgetting his objective to join up with Heike Kyokei, he focused all his energy on trying to take Kimimaro down quickly.

But it still didn't work.

Kimimaro's Shikotsumyaku, his bone-manipulating kekkei genkai, proved to be a formidable close-combat weapon. Each time Ogawara Uemon attempted a seemingly perfect strike at Kimimaro's head, a bone would suddenly emerge, blocking his sword and allowing Kimimaro to launch a counterattack. Lacking strength, Kimimaro would compensate with speed, inflicting small wounds on Ogawara Uemon, hoping for a cumulative effect.

Though that was his aim, it wasn't yielding the desired results.

Ogawara Uemon's swordsmanship was highly refined, and while Kimimaro's Shikotsumyaku made his attacks unpredictable, they were still often blocked. His speed was limited by his underdeveloped physique, so his strikes weren't as effective.

Thus, the battle reached a strange stalemate.

Kimimaro, an orphan of the Kaguya clan with taijutsu barely at the level of an elite ninja, faced a warrior who had forsaken his homeland and pledged his faith to the Jashin deity. In many ways, they were well-matched opponents, neither hindered by genjutsu or ninjutsu distractions, focusing solely on their respective strengths.

Now, though, Kimimaro was reaching his limit. His underdeveloped body restricted his intake of chakra pills, and his chakra reserves were nearly depleted. Clenching his teeth, he resolved to make one last aggressive push, unable to drag things out any longer.

Gripping his bone sword tightly, Kimimaro lunged forward, aiming to get close to Ogawara Uemon and thrust his bone blade into his abdomen. Compared to Uemon's towering frame of over six feet, Kimimaro's height of barely 4'7" put him at a significant disadvantage.

But after nearly ten minutes of fighting, both knew each other's fighting styles well.

As Kimimaro lunged, Uemon remained unruffled, raising his sword for a move called "Reverse Gut," an upward slash aimed at an enemy's abdomen—a cut reminiscent of a samurai's ritual seppuku, only inflicted upon one's enemy.

Clang!

As the katana met the bone sword, Kimimaro instantly released his grip, arching backward in a backbend with remarkable flexibility, narrowly dodging the blade that barely grazed his chin, sending shivers down his spine.

Even so, Kimimaro remained quick, delivering a kick toward Uemon's left shin. From his sole, a sharp bone quietly protruded, piercing through his shoe. If it landed, it would leave a hole straight through Uemon's shin.

Yet, in an instant, Uemon lifted his left leg into a one-legged stance, gracefully evading Kimimaro's attack. Kimimaro couldn't help feeling frustrated; his short height had both advantages and disadvantages. Had he been taller, he could have aimed for his opponent's thigh or even his abdomen.

His attack had failed again.

Kimimaro withdrew a fresh bone sword from his arm, using his flexibility to ward off Uemon's rapid strikes, retreating step by step until Uemon's momentum dissipated. Their skirmish thus reached a temporary pause, returning them to their previous standoff.

But this time, Kimimaro's condition was visibly deteriorating. He couldn't avoid Uemon's attacks perfectly, and the bones he summoned were appearing more slowly. Several shallow cuts marred his arms, while Uemon's blade glinted in the morning light, glowing a golden-red.

Under the watchful eyes of Uchiha Itachi and Kimimaro, Ogawara Uemon then did something unsettling.

He suddenly licked the blade, tasting the blood. Kimimaro shivered—what kind of twisted hobby was that? But his next action made it clear it was more than just a disturbing quirk.

Ogawara Uemon slit his own wrist, severing his artery. Blood poured onto the ground like a fountain.

Using his foot as a brush and blood as ink, he quickly drew a symbol—a circle with a triangle inside, the mark of the Jashin cult. Judging by his swift strokes, he'd practiced drawing circles with his foot frequently.

"Playtime is over. Now... let the ritual begin!"

Ogawara Uemon raised his katana again, licking the blood that belonged to Kimimaro from the blade's tip. In that moment, his body transformed, turning jet black with white patterns appearing on his skin below the neck. His head remained unchanged.

"What... is that?"

Kimimaro's eyes widened.

His instincts screamed of an overwhelming, indescribable threat that demanded he stop Uemon immediately, regardless of what he was about to do. Acting on pure instinct, Kimimaro lunged forward, swinging his bone blade viciously toward Uemon's chest.

Just as Kimimaro expected, Uemon raised his katana to block the attack.

However—

Contrary to expectations, Uemon seemed to lose all his strength as if paralyzed. The katana and bone blade collided, but Uemon's sword was easily deflected. Kimimaro's blade pierced toward Uemon's chest—yet despite the impending blow, Uemon's face showed no fear, his gaze fixed on Kimimaro as if staring at a dead man.

Something was wrong. A feeling of confusion clouded Kimimaro's mind.

But there was no time to think. His blade had already pierced Uemon's left chest, and at that moment, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his own chest.

Just then, in the corner of his eye, Kimimaro saw a shadow appear beside him. Pain shot through his abdomen as a tremendous force struck him, bending him over like a shrimp. He released his grip on his bone blade, which had yet to deeply pierce Uemon's chest, and was sent flying backward like a severed kite.

As he flew through the air, Kimimaro struggled against the pain to open his eyes, seeing through tears that his attacker was none other than Itachi Uchiha.

"Damn it!"

Ogawara Uemon was both shocked and enraged. He was so close, and Itachi had ruined his plan at the last moment. He reached out with his left hand, grabbing the falling bone blade and drove it toward his own chest, determined to complete Kimimaro's unfinished strike.

"Don't even think about it."

Itachi met Uemon's gaze, and then… nothing. Some warriors could withstand the Uchiha's genjutsu, but Uemon clearly wasn't one of them.

Demonic Illusion: Shackles of Despair

In Uemon's illusionary world, his body was pinned to the spot by thick metal stakes. Other than his eyes and lips, his body was paralyzed, unable to move.

"What… what did you do to me?!" Uemon shouted, furious.

Itachi didn't bother to answer. His eyes fell on the symbol drawn on the ground in blood. He formed a hand seal and used Water Style: Water Fang Bullet to shatter the symbol, washing away the fresh blood that hadn't yet dried.

Seconds later, Uemon's body returned to normal, the black-and-white patterns vanishing as if from a dream.

"Kimimaro, are you alright?"

Itachi quickly moved to Kimimaro, apologetically helping him up. "I'm sorry—I reacted too slowly and couldn't think of a better solution in the moment. I had to kick you away."

"If anything, I should be thanking you for saving my life!"

Kimimaro took a breath, steadying himself with Itachi's help. He lifted his shirt to inspect the wound on his left chest, a small but bloody injury. "How… did he do this?"

"Judging by his actions—the blood on the blade, drawing on the ground, saying 'start the ritual'—I think it was some sort of technique to reflect or share injuries."

"…I nearly fell for it. I'm lucky you were here."

Kimimaro fell silent for a few seconds, shaken by the bizarre technique. He also reproached himself for overlooking the strange behavior, realizing that without Itachi, he might already be dead.

"I only saw things more clearly as an observer. If it had been me facing him first, I doubt I'd have figured it out that quickly."

Itachi spoke humbly as usual.

Kimimaro didn't argue, though he thought to himself that with Itachi's Sharingan, he'd likely have defeated Uemon in a single exchange. The Uchiha's visual prowess was overwhelmingly powerful and often made raw strength or destructive ninjutsu irrelevant, easily turning enemies into helpless targets.

It wouldn't have been the protracted struggle he'd endured, barely escaping with his life. How humiliating!

But some things couldn't be helped. Instead of envying the Sharingan, he resolved to work harder on improving his own Kekkai Genkai, the Shikotsumyaku.

"So… what should we do next?"

Kimimaro glanced at Uemon, who was still trapped in the genjutsu, and asked quietly.

"Keep an eye on him. We'll wait—Senior Toratsuro already sent a signal for reinforcements, and they should arrive soon. But your injury… Are you sure you're alright? If not, I could take you to a hospital first," Itachi said, concern evident in his expression.

Thanks to Itachi's intervention, Kimimaro hadn't sustained a fatal wound to his chest, but the tip of the blade had penetrated. The wound appeared shallow, but its depth was unclear—and it was dangerously close to the heart, where even minor errors could prove fatal.

"I'm fine for now; running all the way to the hospital would be more taxing. Reinforcements will have a medical-nin."

"…True."

Itachi agreed, helping Kimimaro sit against a relatively intact wall.

Keeping one eye on Kimimaro's condition and another on Uemon for any sign of breaking free from the genjutsu, Itachi stayed alert for any additional enemies, mentally urging the reinforcements to arrive soon.

Finally, after a grueling minute and twenty-nine seconds, they arrived.