"Ryosuke, this…"
Mizuki Rokka was stunned by the eerie silence in front of her. Just moments ago, several men had been standing there—now they were gone.
Then, the agonized wails from outside the door made Mizuki Rokka shudder.
"Wash up, Aunt Rokka," Ryosuke said with a soft smile, his voice calm and reassuring. "Take care of Lian. I will handle everything."
That smile—it was the same one he had worn as a child, back when he would tug at her sleeve and call her 'Aunt Rokka' with innocent eyes. Yet, just moments ago, those same hands had delivered a punishment so cruel that it sent shivers down her spine.
"Ryosuke…"
From within her mother's arms, Mizuki Lian looked up at Ryosuke, tears still streaming down her face.
Ryosuke slowly extended his hand, gently resting it atop her head.
"Don't worry. I'll be back soon."
Hearing his soothing words, Lian nodded hesitantly.
"Be careful, Ryosuke," Rokka said softly, her worry evident.
Mizuki Ryosuke simply chuckled. "Don't worry, Aunt Rokka. I am the head of the Mizuki Clan."
His words carried no arrogance—only absolute certainty. Seeing this, Rokka no longer tried to dissuade him and simply nodded.
Ryosuke turned and stepped toward the door.
Outside, the streets of the Mizuki Clan district were eerily quiet, save for the pitiful groans of the men he had discarded like trash. They writhed in pain, unable to even cry out properly—their severed tongues reducing their wails to muffled gurgles.
Not far away, the doors of another Mizuki household creaked open, and a middle-aged man peeked out to investigate. The sight before him made his blood run cold.
There, bathed in the dim glow of the street lanterns, was the once-proud Supreme Elder of the Mizuki Clan—now sitting in a pool of his own blood, his mouth curled into a foolish, vacant smile. A moment later, a dark stain spread across the fabric of his robes as he lost control of his bladder.
The man staggered backward in terror.
Around the elder, the rest of the Mizuki shinobi lay in various states of disfigurement—limbs twisted at grotesque angles, bodies twitching from unbearable pain. Their vacant, horror-stricken eyes were frozen in silent screams. Blood seeped from their mouths, their tongues having been mercilessly ripped out.
From the depths of the nightmarish scene, Mizuki Ryosuke emerged, walking forward in an unhurried, deliberate manner. His expression was serene, yet his presence carried the weight of a storm.
An elegant chair sculpted from solid ice materialized behind him as he sat down gracefully, exuding an air of absolute dominance.
His sharp gaze shifted to the trembling man still frozen in shock.
"Go summon Mizuki Hidero," Ryosuke commanded, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. "If he takes too long, and these men die, it won't be my problem."
The man jolted as if struck by lightning before scrambling to his feet and sprinting away toward the clan's inner district.
Meanwhile, other residents of the Mizuki Clan had begun to peek from their windows, their curiosity piqued by the commotion. However, the moment their eyes fell upon the mangled remains of their elders, they quickly shut their doors, pretending they had seen nothing.
Ryosuke paid them no mind.
Bored, he lazily lifted one foot and placed it atop the head of the Supreme Elder, pinning him to the blood-soaked ground.
Minutes passed.
Then, more than a dozen figures rushed toward him from the distance. At the forefront was Mizuki Hidero, his face twisted in fury. Behind him were several elite Mizuki Jōnin, their expressions grave.
The sight of Ryosuke, seated upon his throne of ice with his foot resting atop the Supreme Elder's head like a footstool, sent a ripple of shock through them all.
Mizuki Hidero's rage ignited.
"Mizuki Ryosuke! Do you intend to rebel?!"
His voice echoed through the district. The surrounding Jōnin frowned at Ryosuke's audacity—challenging the authority of the Mizuki Clan elders so brazenly. If he wasn't dealt with, it would be a humiliation to the entire clan.
Yet, Ryosuke remained unfazed.
He simply kicked the Supreme Elder's head aside and stood up.
His movements were languid, but his overwhelming presence sent a wave of unease through the gathered shinobi.
"If something happens, come to me," Ryosuke said coldly.
"But next time you dare lay a hand on the women behind me…"
His gaze locked onto Mizuki Hidero, his voice dropping into an icy whisper.
"I want your dog's life."
The sheer murderous intent in his words caused even the hardened Jōnin to tense.
Mizuki Hidero involuntarily took a step back, his throat dry.
Ryosuke raised his hand, and an ice-crafted mirror materialized in the air before them. The surface shimmered, then played back everything that had transpired in his home.
It revealed the Supreme Elder's heinous scheme—how they had tried to manipulate Mizuki Lian under the influence of genjutsu, coercing her into compliance. The recording captured every deceitful word, every sinister smirk.
Their plan had been simple: once Lian agreed while under illusion, they would use this ice mirror as irrefutable evidence of her "willing consent." Even if she later awoke from the genjutsu, they would have blackmailed her into submission.
But they hadn't expected Mizuki Ryosuke to arrive in time. Not only had he destroyed their plan, but he had turned their own tool against them.
The assembled Jōnin watched in silence.
Disgust. Disbelief. Rage.
Many of them had once respected Mizuki Taki, the previous patriarch. To see his widow and daughter targeted in such a vile manner… it was unforgivable.
One particularly hot-tempered Jōnin turned to Mizuki Hidero, his fists clenched.
"Hidero, is this true?"
Mizuki Hidero's face twisted in panic.
"I… I didn't know about this! The Supreme Elder acted alone!" he blurted out, desperately trying to distance himself from the disgraceful plot.
But it was too late.
The Jōnin's eyes burned with disappointment. They weren't fools. They had seen through the truth, and Hidero's feeble excuse only made him look even more pathetic.
The once-imposing leader of the Mizuki faction now stood humiliated before them all.
Ryosuke, sensing his moment, smirked.
"If you want to fight, I'll oblige."
His chakra flared violently, an ocean of raw power surging through the air.
A shadow loomed behind him—three monstrous tails, forming from the energy coiling around his body. The sight was unmistakable.
Mizuki Hidero stiffened.
He understood the implication.
Ryosuke had already begun to harness the power of the Three-Tails. Even if he wasn't a perfect Jinchūriki yet, it was only a matter of time. Challenging him now would be reckless.
And with the upcoming Mizukage selection on the horizon, a direct confrontation with Ryosuke would be political suicide.
He clenched his jaw, swallowing his pride.
"…We'll see about that, Mizuki Ryosuke," he spat bitterly before turning on his heel.
The other Jōnin exchanged glances before reluctantly following. Some cast Ryosuke apologetic looks before gathering the broken elders from the ground and carrying them away. If they delayed any longer, these men wouldn't survive the night.
Ryosuke watched them go, his expression indifferent.
This battle had been decided before it even began.
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