He couldn't afford to bleed more.
The thought rang through Renji's head like a silent drumbeat as he stared down the Mist-nin — both of them still, poised, suspended in the hush that followed his order:
"RUN!"
He didn't check if the kids obeyed.
Didn't have time.
The man in front of him was already moving.
A blur of dark clothing and chakra-soaked steel lunging forward through the fog. No wasted movement, no hesitation. Just pure threat, low and fast, aiming to kill.
Renji stepped into it.
The first clash came without ceremony — his blade met the man's kunai in a sharp, jarring spark of steel, and both twisted, broke away, struck again. Renji shifted back, water chakra pooling in his palm as he countered with a sharp horizontal slash of pressure — more shove than slice — enough to knock the Mist-nin off balance.
The man recovered fast. Hands moved. Water gathered from the mist around them, forming into a whirling lash that cracked against a tree trunk with the force of a hammer.
Renji ducked it and sent up a wave of earth, dense and quick — not a wall, not something permanent, but just thick enough to block the next incoming blow. It held. Barely.
Then he pushed forward again, trying to keep the rhythm aggressive.
He couldn't let it go on long.
Couldn't afford to bleed more.
Not just because he was still healing — but because he was running low. Chakra reserves limited. Strength thinner than he wanted to admit.
His jutsu were sharp. His instincts were trained.
But his body… wasn't what it had been.
The Mist-nin was breathing heavier now, lips curled in a grimace, blood soaking his sleeve from a cut Renji hadn't even seen land.
"You're ANBU?" the man spat, keeping his distance.
"No."
"Doesn't matter. They keep coming. Keep sending you damn types out here—"
Renji's eyes narrowed.
The man was slipping.
His voice was shaking.
He was afraid.
Desperate.
Renji kept moving. Side angle, low stance. Used the wet ground to his advantage — a push of water beneath his feet sent him sliding in fast, striking for the legs. The Mist-nin jumped, flipped, landed — countered with a heavy arc of water that clipped Renji's shoulder and sent him stumbling back.
A sharp sting shot down his spine.
Renji gritted his teeth and threw up a palmful of mud in retaliation. Not elegant. Just instinct.
The man growled in frustration, wiped his eyes clean — and smiled.
It was the wrong kind of smile.
He moved his hands into a seal Renji didn't recognize fast enough.
Then the fire came.
Not huge. Not some cinematic blaze. But sharp. Direct. A snap of heat that flashed out like a spearhead, slicing across the gap between them in an instant.
Renji tried to dodge.
He moved too late.
Pain hit like a hammer — white-hot, lancing down his left side as flame caught his arm and wrapped it in instant agony. He stumbled, hit the ground hard, the side of his face smacking stone. The air fled from his lungs. He rolled once, twice, crushing the fire out under his own weight, the stench of scorched cloth and skin curling into his nose.
The pain stayed.
It wasn't just burning. It was cutting — like his skin was being peeled away one layer at a time.
He bit his tongue trying not to scream.
He looked.
The flesh was blackened and split. The cloth had fused in places.
And underneath—
Underneath something else was moving.
Not blood. Not muscle. Something fibrous. Pale. Ridged.
It crept from beneath the burned flesh like roots under old bark, twining over the damage, replacing it.
It didn't pulse like flesh. It didn't bleed.
It was quiet. Slow. Calm.
Renji felt it. Cold. Foreign.
Not part of him.
And yet, it obeyed.
"What the hell are you?" the Mist-nin demanded, eyes wide, teeth bared. "Some kind of kekkei genkai?"
Renji didn't answer.
His fingers tightened around his blade.
"Freak," the man hissed. "Another cursed bloodline freak."
Renji stood.
The fibers in his arm flexed once under the wrappings — the ridges barely visible now, hidden, but not gone. They felt wrong. Like skin carved from memory.
He ignored them.
There was no time.
He moved again.
Not fast. Not fluid. But focused.
He baited the Mist-nin in — faked a stumble, let his shoulder sag. The man lunged, taking the bait, blade drawn high and aiming for the ribs.
Renji snapped his foot down, channeled the last of his control into the soil—
And the ground responded.
A sharp spike of hardened stone erupted from the earth at a perfect upward angle — not wide, not theatrical, but fast and precise.
The Mist-nin had no time to adjust.
The spike drove through his chest and out the back, clean and merciless.
His mouth opened, trying to speak. Nothing came.
Then he dropped, sliding down the stone and collapsing into the dirt.
Renji stood still.
His arm trembled.
His knees wanted to follow.
He stayed upright out of pride alone.
The woods were quiet again.
For a time.
Then—
"Renji-sensei?!"
Naruto's voice, cracking through the mist like a signal flare.
The kids returned in a hurry — clearly, they hadn't run far. Naruto led the charge, arms wide, kunai out. Ino and Hinata close behind him.
They stopped at the edge of the clearing.
When they saw the body.
When they saw the blood.
When they saw him — standing, burned, weapon lowered.
They froze.
Ino was the first to move.
She crossed the distance fast, expression torn between fury and relief, and flung her arms around his shoulders. "You're a total idiot," she breathed, voice catching. "You could've died—"
Hinata followed, slower, quieter, but no less urgent — her arms circling his waist, head against his chest.
Renji didn't hug them back.
But he didn't pull away.
His left arm, still covered in torn cloth, was held low. Hidden.
"It's okay," he said softly. "It's over."
They stepped back slowly, eyes wet.
Naruto stayed back a little longer, hands still half-raised. When he spoke, it was low.
"I should've stayed. I should've helped."
Renji looked at him — really looked.
Naruto's fists were clenched. His jaw was tight. But his legs were braced in front of the girls.
"You did," Renji said. "You protected your classmates. I'm proud of you."
Naruto blinked.
Then looked down, rubbing at his nose.
"Yeah. Well. Next time I'll help punch the guy too."
They set up camp close to the clearing. The girls insisted. Renji didn't argue.
He didn't let them unwrap his arm.
Didn't let Iruka see it either, when he arrived an hour later with a full squad.
"I'm fine Iruka," Renji said. "No healing needed, don't worry about me. Look after the kids."
Iruka frowned but didn't press. He knew Renji well enough by now.
Still, he glanced at the blood. At the wrappings.
At the kids, hovering nearby.
Later, Renji sat by the fire with his back turned to them all.
He didn't sleep.
His arm didn't hurt.
That was the worst part.