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Chapter 77 Steel against fair skin
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 14:03:37 +0000 UTCThe others quickly left, leaving just the two of us standing there. With the Byakugan active, I was able to watch the others. While only Haruto was pushed right into combat, the others had a few moments of pre-fight banter.
It was rare, but in certain high-level fights, it did happen. If someone was sure they would win, but the fight was still worthy of their attention, their opponent worthy of respect. Or if they wanted to get under their opponent’s skin, to make them sloppy.
It could work, and in our line of work, every little advantage was worth it.
Though some people were just sadistic and wanted to play with their food.
Sazanami Tokuma was one of those. A disgusting piece of work, a man so horrible even his own comrades couldn’t stand him, and now, his filthy eyes were lusting after my body.
His eyes didn’t just look. They lingered. Catalogued. Undressed.
I kept my stance neutral, my breath slow. Fury wouldn’t help me here. I couldn’t let him pull me down to his level.
“You’re quiet,” he said, voice like warm oil over rotting meat. “I like that in a woman, she shouldn’t speak unless spoken to. The only exception is when I’m using her as a toy, then I like hearing her scream.” He licked his lips.
Somehow, he managed to keep that smile, all while speaking like a total creep; it was… creepy.
Downright disgusting.
“Sazanami Tokuma, you have quite a reputation and bounty; your head is worth a lot.”
“What can I say? I’m just that good.” He bragged, but didn’t lower his guard.
“It’s not your skill that gave you that price, it's how hated you are, that even Suna Kunoichi wants you dead enough to post a bounty.” I spat.
He just laughed. “Well, they hate me because I won’t look at them, too ugly, nothing like you. Such a fine woman, I can’t wait to watch your face as I have my way with you, I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing what it looks like when the famed Byakugan is filled with tears of despair.”
I let the silence stretch.
Let him fill it with filth. Every word he spoke was a mistake I would make him pay for. Slowly.
My fingers tightened slightly. Not enough to show aggression. Just enough to feel the pulse of chakra surging under my skin.
He thought this was about domination. About lust. About power.
He was wrong.
This was about punishment.
“You think you’re going to win,” I said, softly. “You think strength makes you untouchable.”
His grin widened. “It usually does.”
“But I’ve seen men stronger than you fall, Tokuma. Gods, even. And they all bled the same.”
He chuckled. “Then make me bleed, little Hyūga. I want to see you try.”
The moment hung in the air like a held breath.
Then I moved.
I would deliver unto him punishment for daring to desire me with his filthy mind, to look at me with his filthy eyes, and to speak to me with his filthy mouth.
I had seen not just Hashirama Senju fall, but even Indra and Asura, even those gods bled, and he, he would be no different.
He drew his blade in a flash, slashing low toward my thigh. I saw the chakra flow over it, a sharp, powerful wind. A dangerous wind.
The wind made the blade appear larger than it was, and far more deadly.
Thankfully, I could easily see the wind and how far it extended out from the blade, the true effective range he had.
It would be all too easy to use the Gentle Fist, imbue my fingers with chakra, and push against the flat of the blade, pushing it in a wide arc away from me. It was why the Hyūga was so deadly in taijutsu, because weapons meant nothing to us.
Our palms, our fists, were the deadliest weapon of all.
There was just one problem with that: going for the blade meant I couldn’t guard against the wind. And if I used my chakra to deal with the wind, I risked the blade's edge. Unable to protect my fingers.
This was how you fought against the Gentle Fist, and why this Rag Man was chosen to fight against me.
But I didn’t care.
I was Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, I wasn’t so easily bested!
His blade came at me, and I deflected with a twist of my wrist—chakra-imbued fingers brushing the flat of the blade just enough to push it wide.
A fraction off. That was all it took.
I pivoted and aimed for his wrist, a precise Gentle Fist jab meant to disable the limb, make him lose his grip on his sword.
He jumped back, fast, eyes narrowing. The smile didn’t vanish—but it faltered.
“Huh… you are better than I expected, but let's see how far luck will carry you.” He said, flexing his fingers around the hilt of his sword.
“I have no need for luck when dealing with someone like you,” I said and instantly moved again.
I surged forward, my footing light, sliding across the water with barely a ripple. I was at a disadvantage when it came to reach, but that didn’t slow me down.
I refused to let him press the advantage—I struck first. My hands met his sword in a dozen collisions.
He clearly hadn’t expected me to be able to push him so far, so hard, and he struggled to keep up, already he was forced to take one step back after the other.
Feints. Sudden steps. Low angles. My hands a blur of probing strikes.
But he was trained. Disciplined. He moved like a wall of rotating blades—always turning, always keeping the sword between us.
Every time I pressed in, he gave ground, pivoting with fluid economy, minimal steps, just enough swing to force space between us. The edge never dipped. The chakra-infused wind kept me from closing in too far.
He was good.
Not godlike.
Not invincible.
But good.
And cautious. That was the key. He was afraid of a single mistake.
He should be.
Still, I had to admit—his control over wind chakra was better than I expected. He didn’t just swing his sword. He used it to shape the battlefield, cutting the air into traps and walls.
He slashed sideways, and a curtain of wind ripped the surface of the lake, throwing water in a sharp arc between us. I darted left, circled, and drove forward.
He spun with me.
Blocked again.
Always that blade. Always just between us.
“Awfully persistent for a little girl,” he muttered, breathing slightly harder now. “You want it that badly?”
“I’m just watching you fail. Over and over.”
Another flick of my hand. Another miss. I saw the gap, a brief moment where his elbow opened—but the wind around the blade flared, redirecting my palm an inch wide.
Still no contact.
Damn.
I landed light, pivoted, then withdrew two steps to reset.
He didn’t press the advantage. No reckless charge. No overreach.
Just that disgusting smile.
“You’re clever,” he said, “I’ll give you that. But it won’t last. You’re spending chakra faster than me. One mistake—and I’ll carve a message into that pretty face.”
I didn’t answer him because he was wrong. I used barely any chakra at all, but he didn’t know that and wanted to keep it like that. It worked to my advantage that he falsely believed he was winning.
I shifted my weight again, moving with deceptive calm as I adjusted my angle around his blade. But my eyes—the ones he thought were only focused on him—were watching everything.
The Byakugan didn’t just let me read his chakra, track his footwork, or count the beats of his pulse. It let me see it all.
Not only did I hear the flashes of ninjutsu, but I also heard the explosions, and felt the water under my feet roar in protest.
No, I saw it.
Arata—bleeding. Outnumbered. Still standing.
His opponent moved with brutal, slashing precision, twin fans flashing like rain through mist. I couldn’t hear his thoughts, but I could read his body. He was buying time. Looking for help. Desperately holding out.
He was lucky that his opponent was such a sadist, taking pleasure in drawing things out, because as much as I knew he needed help, as much as I wanted to help. I just couldn’t.
I might not be at as much of a disadvantage as the others, but Sazanami was good; he was deadly, skilled with his sword. If I didn’t take him seriously, I could forget about helping others, I would need help myself.
And who would come to my aid?
Arata was barely standing, bleeding from nearly a hundred cuts all over his body.
Haruto had retreated into the woods. And while he wasn’t as desperate as Arata, he was burning through his chakra fast. And as a ninjutsu specialist, once he ran out, he was doomed. For now, the trees let him dodge more easily, but he only needed to make one mistake, and it was over.
As for Koji.
Koji fought like a firestorm—fast, wild, full of raw emotion.
He too managed to fight back against his opponent, even if he was handpicked to counter Koji. From what I could see, the puppet user was too arrogant, letting his feelings cloud his judgment.
His puppets were deadly, but nothing special, nothing that openly countered Kuro and Koji, which I took as a sign that they were his favorite puppets, generalist tools, not the specialist ones he no doubt had.
So, both fought with emotion, but I saw that Koji, despite showing rage, was still calm and took down one of the puppets. Giving him an advantage.
But even knowing all that—every pulse, every breath, every ragged chakra thread my team held onto—I didn’t let it shake me.
Because Tokuma was stepping forward again.
His blade rose like a guillotine, his expression twisted into that same sick smirk.
“You’re distracted,” he said. “Thinking of your little friends? You won’t save them. Just like you won’t save yourself.”
I exhaled.
“Funny,” I said. “You talk so much for a dead man.”
Then we clashed again.
I pressed in with speed and subtlety, strikes weaving together like threads on a loom—fast, fluid, precise. Each step a trap. Each palm an invitation. I didn’t need to overpower him. I just needed one mistake. One moment.
But Tokuma wasn’t giving it to me.
He pivoted cleanly, sword flashing between us again. A gust of wind rolled off the edge with every swing, just enough to keep me a breath too far.
I ducked beneath a high arc of steel, chakra pulsing into my palm—but his footwork was solid. He stepped out of range before I could close the gap, wind chakra flaring in a shield-like burst to stagger my balance.
Still no contact.
He laughed under his breath. “Is this all the Gentle Fist can do? You dance well, girl. But I’m starting to think you’re afraid to commit.”
I didn’t reply. I surged forward again, twisting my hips and driving my palm toward his shoulder. He blocked with the flat of the blade, but I didn’t retreat. I pivoted low, driving a knee at his shin, only for a gust of wind to blast out from his blade’s edge and knock me a step back.
His technique was refined—every swing calculated to create just enough space. He didn’t waste movements. He never overreached. And he never let the sword dip out of line.
But I could see the strain building.
I was forcing him to work harder than he expected. His chakra flow was clean, but it was fluctuating now—small spikes of output around his joints and grip. Fatigue. Pressure. Stress.
I just had to keep turning the screw.
I shifted to his left, feinting high before spinning low again, trying to catch him on the back foot. He twisted and countered, his sword trailing a spiraling gust that kicked up spray from the lake.
I leapt sideways, deflecting the wind with a burst of chakra from my palm. It stung, but it was better than losing a finger.
He grunted, slightly off-balance this time.
Closer.
I followed up with a flurry—four strikes in rapid succession, every one aimed just shy of his center. None meant to land. All meant to tighten his footwork. Shrink his margins. Fray his calm.
He blocked them all.
Barely.
Our eyes met between strikes. Mine calm. His—narrowing.
“You’re not tired yet?” he said, voice low, like it irritated him to admit it.
I allowed myself a small smile. “Not even warm.”
His teeth clenched, and he came at me this time—his blade arcing down in a two-handed swing designed to cleave the water in half.
I sidestepped, danced across the edge of the spray, my chakra flaring in my feet for grip, and darted under his reach. My hand snapped out—too slow. He twisted, blade already snapping into position.
Steel and wind forced me off again.
So close.
Again.
Always just one inch away.
But he was sweating now. Just a little.
And me?
I was just getting started.
(End of chapter)
So, once more, a fight, personally, I see taijutsu almost as a dance, step by step, move by move. Unless it's someone like Guy just smashing Genin, it’s a back-and-forth, with blocks and parries, defensive and careful, waiting for a chance, a slip-up, and then you finish it.
At least once, things reach a certain level, and taijutsu is king, all the big fights in Naruto had taijutsu in it. sure, ninjutsu is pretty, its cool, but even Pain fought Naruto in taijutsu towards the end.
Because if you are good at taijutsu, you stop the enemy from being able to use ninjutsu, so unless you can cast ninjutsu from safety, the best way of dealing with taijutsu users, is really to overwhelm them, or a better taijutsu user.
