I instinctively channeled more of the red chakra to my eyes. That's it, I'm done for. This bastard's about to swing, and goodbye, right arm. The sharpened blade of the sword, reflecting crimson glints in the rays of the setting sun, began its descent. The sword seemed to drift, I thought distantly. Clenching my teeth so hard they creaked, I braced for the pain. No, this was pure torture—watching the blade float down toward my outstretched arm.
Flashes! My peripheral vision—or whatever you'd call it, with nearly a full 360-degree view—caught vivid bursts of energy. A blindingly bright crimson, another red but slightly less intense, and two shades of blue. Then I noticed a gray elongated shadow rushing toward the samurai. Impact! The samurai jerked abruptly, took a short step forward, and, strangely lopsided, collapsed.
The situation changed rapidly before my eyes. In the air, I saw a blurred, glowing crimson figure streaking by, with gray shadows of throwing knives flying away from it. From the canopy of a tree close to me, a figure glowing blue emerged, and something told me this was a woman. Aside from the man, his throwing knives, and the woman, a crimson sphere hovered in the air, drifting toward the samurai's soldiers near the lead cart.
I tried to move, to break free and hide—under the cart, at least—but my muscles barely responded. It felt like I wasn't just underwater but trapped in some kind of jelly, holding me back from moving. Finally, I managed to budge, but my sluggish movements couldn't compare to the speed of the crimson figure, now on the ground and running toward me.
Meanwhile, events unfolded further. The crimson sphere, which turned out to be a combat technique, reached the cart. My ears were filled with a deafening hum; I couldn't hear the explosion, but the splinters engulfed in flames were impossible to miss. Following the splinters came the soldiers, their seemingly lifeless bodies licked by tongues of fire.
And in the air, there were already three smaller spheres. A field battery of "Katon" techniques was delivering point-blank fire. The crimson and blue-glowing figures were unleashing pure carnage—far beyond the slaughter the soldiers had inflicted on the peasants. At least the peasants had put up some resistance. Here, it was worse. Periodic crimson clouds of sprayed blood appeared in the air—clearly, the strangers had no intention of taking prisoners.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small cluster of blue chakra rapidly approaching the head of the fighter holding me. The blast would wipe me out—what were they thinking? But it seemed there wouldn't be an explosion. The ball of energy was almost upon the warrior clutching me by the scruff of my rough tunic when it slipped into his blind spot. Suddenly, I felt the fingers gripping my collar loosen, and I was... falling!
I needed to roll and brace myself. The best I could manage was to slightly bend my knees and tilt my torso forward. Even that felt like fire coursing through my muscles—had I torn something? No, it was just the strain of unfamiliar exertion.
Landing awkwardly, I barely stayed on my half-bent legs, needing to steady myself by planting a hand on the ground. Meanwhile, the battle was over. Most of the samurai's soldiers had been slaughtered, with only a few huddled on the ground in terror. The scene resembled a grim painting, something like "The Enforcers Have Arrived." Naturally, the enforcers in question were the unfamiliar shinobi.
Two more figures jumped down from the trees—both boys, around thirteen? Maybe older. It's hard to tell with these people of Asian appearance. Though, come to think of it, they seemed to have a significant mix of European traits. Classic anime style—eyes far from narrow, faces more European than anything else. Even their body proportions felt slightly unnatural, exaggerated.
Ah, I got it now. This team must have been the ripple in the probability field. Judging by their composition, this had to be a training team—how else could you interpret a shinobi leading three teenagers? So, this is the proverbial "deus ex machina."
The man leading the team raised an eyebrow in confusion. Crap—did I just say that out loud? Alright, one problem at a time. While I had the chance, I needed to assess my surroundings.
Alright, let's see what we've got here. Starting with the man. Black hair, clean-shaven. Most notably, the veins on his temples are visibly bulging. There are also veins swelling slightly under his eyes, though to a lesser degree. His irises? Practically indistinguishable from the sclera, blending into the whites of his eyes. Only the pupil stands out as a small black dot. What does that mean? A Hyūga, judging by the Byakugan? Seems likely. Interesting. Will he kill me on the spot, or drag me back to the clan first for an interrogation to figure out where this "beautiful anomaly" came from?
I didn't remember the show particularly well, but one thing was clear—clans in this world treated their genetic resources with reverence, to say the least. Now he's standing there, drilling into me with his Byakugan like I'm some puzzle he needs to solve.
Moving on to the team. Naturally, my eyes went straight to the girl. Actually, scratch that—not a girl, but a young woman. Her age? Somewhere in the nebulous "over 15, under 20" range. Round face, a finely shaped figure accentuated by a thin, snug-fitting camouflage jumpsuit. Elegantly outlined curves, probably a B-cup. Long, slender legs. Why is she dressed like this? It's like Trinity from The Matrix, but instead of latex, it's thin camo fabric.
I'm practically drooling, and that's saying something considering I'm stuck in the body of a six-year-old brat. She'd be the perfect sexy archetype with just a hairstyle change. Judging by her amused snort, she noticed my assessment. Why couldn't I have been put into an older body? Just like that, another dream shattered.
Sighing in resignation, I turned my attention to the boys. Both were dressed similarly to their teacher—black t-shirts, baggy pants, and jackets made of the same thin camouflage material. Their footwear stood out—open-toed sandals with thick soles. Some kind of geta? No, probably not—those were clearly not wooden, judging by how silent their movements were.
The first boy, a blond, was staring at me with utter disinterest, his entire demeanor screaming, I am so over this. The second boy, however, a black-haired kid suspiciously reminiscent of an anime Itachi, was practically drilling into my eyes with his gaze. What's his deal? Whatever I did to make him look at me like that, I'm not turning my back on him anytime soon.
"State your name, boy," the man finally broke the silence, previously interrupted only by the faint groans of the wounded.
"My name is Akira," I replied. After a brief pause, I added with a slight bow—better to err on the side of politeness. Japanese culture thrives on it, after all. "Sir."
"And who are you, Akira-chan?" the girl asked, tilting her head as curiosity sparkled in her eyes.