Naruto: Becoming Mizukage

As the kunai hovered less than a centimetre away from Mizuki Ryosuke's throat, he made his decision. The time for pretending was over. He would face his opponent head-on.

In close quarters, every detail was clear to him. The murderous intent in his enemy's eyes, the tension in the muscles beneath his opponent's skin, and the twisted snarl on the man's face—all signs of a killer determined to end his life. 

Ryosuke could even see the feral hunger lurking in those beast-like eyes. It wasn't just about completing a mission or winning a fight. His opponent wanted to tear him apart, to satisfy some primal urge to reduce him to a lifeless corpse.

Ryosuke's mind raced. How had a Jōnin from Rock Shinobi managed to get so close to Kirigakure territory? This was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance mission, but nothing about this encounter had been routine. 

He had been sent to gather intelligence, yet he now found himself face-to-face with a high-ranking ninja from an enemy village. Something wasn't right. A Jōnin wouldn't wander this far on a whim. There had to be more behind this—something deeper, something dangerous.

But there was no time to dwell on the implications. Right now, Ryosuke needed to survive.

He sighed internally, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He hated having to resort to violence. He preferred it when missions ended quietly, without bloodshed. Wouldn't it be easier if both sides just faked their encounters, pretending to engage in combat while secretly hoping to avoid any real confrontation? Why did things always have to escalate to killing?

But the harsh reality of the ninja world was unrelenting. In this world, death was the only constant. If you hesitated, if you showed mercy to the wrong opponent, you would be the one lying in a pool of your own blood. The rules were clear: kill or be killed.

Ryosuke's gaze hardened. His inner conflict faded, replaced by cold resolve. If he didn't act now, he would die here. And that was something he couldn't allow.

A glint of icy determination flashed in his eyes.

"Pfft!"

The sound of metal cutting through flesh echoed in the air as the kunai sliced through Ryosuke's neck. His opponent, an Iwa Shinobi, let out a low, triumphant growl. His grin widened, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed in the dim light. He had been waiting for this moment—this victory over an enemy shinobi.

But then, something changed.

In an instant, that smug grin disappeared, replaced by confusion, and then panic. The body that was supposed to slump lifelessly at his feet dissolved into a puddle of water.

"What? A Water Clone? When—"

His voice faltered as his mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. He had been fighting an illusion the entire time. The real Mizuki Ryosuke had never been in danger.

Before he could react, a blade flashed through the air, faster than his senses could register. His head separated from his body in a single, fluid motion. 

His decapitated head soared into the sky, his wide eyes staring blankly at the blue expanse above. In his final moments, as his consciousness began to slip away, one thought lingered.

"So fast..."

His severed head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling twice before coming to rest at Ryosuke's feet. The last image etched into his mind was that of Ryosuke's cold, emotionless face—sharp as a blade, and his eyes, dark and deep like the ocean, void of any remorse.

The Iwa Shinobi never learned the answer to his unspoken question. Why had Ryosuke dragged out the fight? Why didn't he kill him from the start? He would never know. 

The young Jōnin of Rock Shinobi, known as "Gravel" Duff, had met his end here, far from home, without realizing the true extent of his opponent's power.

Ryosuke, however, knew why he had drawn things out. Using a Water Clone to deceive his enemy had been a tactical decision. The real Mizuki Ryosuke had been in the shadows, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when the moment came, he had ended the fight in a single blow, severing the enemy's head with ruthless efficiency.

But even that wasn't enough.

Ryosuke remained vigilant, his eyes scanning the lifeless body before him. He knew better than to let his guard down. In the ninja world, even death could be a temporary setback. Techniques like Impure World Reincarnation could drag the dead from their graves, bringing them back to fight once more. A simple decapitation wouldn't be enough to guarantee his opponent's end.

Ryosuke's eyes narrowed. He couldn't afford to leave loose ends. If this man survived, if he somehow returned from the dead, he might rally allies, leading them to seek revenge. Ryosuke wouldn't allow that.

Without hesitation, Ryosuke formed a one-handed seal, focusing his chakra. He took a deep breath, then released a thin, deadly needle of ice from his mouth.

The technique was one of his most precise attacks: Ice Release, Thousand Needles of Death.

"Pfft!"

The ice needle flew through the air, piercing the Rock Shinobi's eyeball with pinpoint accuracy. In the blink of an eye, the man's brain was frozen solid, the ice shattering the tissue from within. Now, even the most advanced jutsu couldn't bring him back. His mind, his memories—everything was destroyed.

At last, Ryosuke could relax, knowing his opponent was truly dead. The threat had been neutralized.

"Ugh..."

He let out a deep, tired sigh, staring down at the corpse. For a moment, a flicker of regret crossed his face. He hadn't wanted things to end like this. But there had been no other choice. In this world, hesitation often led to death.

Looking around at the battlefield, Ryosuke knew he couldn't leave the scene as it was. Even though he had acted in self-defence, anyone who came upon the remains would only see that he had killed an Iwa Shinobi.

The details wouldn't matter. His actions would raise too many questions. He had to make it look like a desperate fight for survival, not a swift execution.

Moving quickly, Ryosuke began altering the surroundings, creating the illusion of a brutal, chaotic battle. He scattered debris, scuffed the ground, and left signs of struggle. Soon, the area was a convincing mess, as though two equally matched shinobi had clashed here in a fierce, drawn-out fight.

"That should do it..."

Breathing heavily, Ryosuke knew there was one more step to take. He couldn't just leave the scene without injury. Anyone investigating would find it suspicious if he walked away unscathed.

He steeled himself, channelling chakra into his right arm. His muscles bulged as the secret technique of the Hozuki clan—the Luxurious Arm Technique—took hold, enhancing his physical strength to monstrous levels. 

"Boom!"

Without warning, Ryosuke drove his own fist into his chest. The impact was devastating. Blood spurted from his mouth, and his vision blurred from the pain. His breathing became laboured, and his body trembled from the self-inflicted wound.

"Cough... cough..."

He wiped the blood from his lips, smirking weakly. "Damn, that hurt... but it had to be done. The Luxurious Arm Technique never fails."

Satisfied, Ryosuke collapsed onto the ground, his consciousness fading. Of course, he wasn't truly unconscious. His "prudent and cautious" nature ensured that even in a weakened state, he maintained enough awareness to react if necessary. He wouldn't allow himself to be truly vulnerable.

Time passed, and eventually, another figure arrived at the scene. A middle-aged man, dust clinging to his clothes and blood staining his once-white garments, appeared. His face was tight with concern as he surveyed the area.

"Ryosuke!"

The man, Kuroshima Morita, a senior Jounin from Kirigakure, rushed over to Ryosuke's side, checking his vitals. Relief washed over him when he realized Ryosuke was alive, albeit badly injured.

After ensuring that Ryosuke was stable, Morita's attention shifted to the decapitated Iwa Shinobi. His eyes widened in shock.

"'Gravel' Duff? This kid Ryosuke... he's more talented than I thought."

Morita picked up Ryosuke's limp form with one hand and the Rock Shinobi's head with the other. A severed head was a valuable prize in the ninja world—especially the head of a Jounin from an enemy village like Iwagakure. There was no telling what kind of secrets it might contain.

What Morita didn't know was that the head he carried had been rendered useless. Any valuable information had been destroyed the moment Ryosuke's ice needle shattered the brain within.