Meanwhile, only a few hundred meters away, the ground split open in silence.

From the concealed sealing space, Tatsuma Aburame stepped out first, dark cloak brushing against the dirt.

Behind him followed two shadows: his younger cousin Yōji, codename “Sugaru”, and Gakuya Inuzuka, known as “Mushin.”

Dozens more Root operatives emerged in precise formation, their masks pale under the dim light, movements so uniform they looked more like puppets than men.

Yōji’s insects swarmed briefly, relaying information.

The mute Aburame rarely needed words.

His voice, when forced out through his insects, was unsettling even to comrades.

Tatsuma’s eyes narrowed behind his mask.

The first strike had failed.

Yōji’s kochū poisonous bugs, bred in secret, unique even among the Aburame, capable of slipping through senses undetected, had never missed before.

Root had weaponized them precisely because they left no survivors.

To see ‘Ryusei Nishida’ burn through them so suddenly… that was a first.

The boy had noticed. Somehow.

Tatsuma glanced once toward his cousin.

Clan ties meant nothing in Root, yet he remembered the whispers of Yōji’s childhood.

The mute prodigy who slit his father’s throat back, in return, before his sixth birthday, was then molded by Danzo into a perfect tool.

Now his only words were written in the hum of his insects.

Gakuya, by contrast, shifted lightly on his feet, his posture low, animalistic.

Even masked, his Inuzuka blood showed in the way his body tensed, ready to spring.

Recruited almost as young, shaped into silence and obedience, his loyalty was absolute.

“Sugaru. Mushin,” Tatsuma’s voice was quiet, clipped, carrying the weight of rank. “Formation three. The boy noticed too soon. That makes him dangerous. We’ll have to do our plan B.”

Both nodded wordlessly.

Behind them, the rest of the squad fanned out.

Root never wasted movement.

They didn’t mutter, didn’t question, didn’t so much as breathe louder than necessary.

To them, Tatsuma wasn’t a cousin or a comrade.

He was the vice commander.

One of Danzo’s first, raised from childhood to be a blade.

All the more reason this mission couldn’t fail.

Tatsuma’s gaze swept the treeline where Ryusei had vanished, his voice low enough for only his lieutenants to hear.

“Engage only when I signal. He’s faster than expected.”

Sugaru’s insects stirred faintly, a buzzing chorus that translated into two words: ‘Understood, Vice Commander.’

Mushin gave a sharp, canine-like nod, a low growl rattling in his throat beneath the mask.

Tatsuma paused for a brief moment, his pale eyes narrowing toward the place where the two ‘teammates ‘had been left behind.

They would be confused, maybe unsettled, but that was expected.

With a flick of his hand, he gestured to a few Root subordinates. “Go to them. Explain the situation. Tell them this mission was classified above their clearance. Their part ends here. They may return to camp.”

The operatives bowed their heads once before vanishing into the trees, as silent as smoke.

Tatsuma’s face betrayed nothing. He didn’t bother judging whether those two had been complicit in Ryusei’s survival or not.

The boy had slipped through too many kill boxes for suspicion not to fall on everyone near him. But that wasn’t his concern.

If their ANBU superiors had not stripped them of their posts, then it meant they were still useful.

Useful tools weren’t to be discarded without orders.

Even if their hesitation earlier had been strange, even if it gnawed faintly at the edges of his instinct, Tatsuma wasn’t about to move without Danzo’s word.

They were legit ANBU operatives now, not under his jurisdiction.

If the higher chain wanted them gone, it would have been clear. Since it wasn’t, they would be left alone.

His gaze shifted back to the trail Ryusei had taken, his expression cooling to stone.

With that, he raised his hand, and the formation of Root shinobi tightened behind him.

Their cloaked figures fanned outward in unison, spreading into the forest like a shadow net.

The hunt for Ryusei continued.

But, just as the unit began moving again, Mushin’s ninken padded out from the underbrush, muzzle twitching.

The dog gave a low growl, then pressed its nose to the ground before barking once, sharp and certain.

Tatsuma’s eyes narrowed. “Report.”

Mushin crouched, running his hand along the ninken’s back. “It’s fine. He has the scent. Distance won’t matter now.”

Tatsuma’s gaze shifted to Yoji. The mute Aburame answered with the faint hum of his insects, forming words that scraped like static in the air: ‘Shōkaichū I planted… have his trail. Chakra traces… locked.’

Tatsuma gave a single approving nod. With these two, escape was meaningless.

Ryusei could burn half the forest, drown it in firestorms, or scatter clones in every direction; it wouldn’t matter.

Mushin’s ninken would hold his scent through storms, and Yoji’s insects would cling to the faintest residue of chakra.

Not to mention that they would also be constantly moving toward him, not letting him create enough space to get out of the tens of kilometers of required range. 

That was precisely why Danzo had sent both of them.

Very few shinobi in the world could slip once those two had the trail, and even fewer could keep it hidden.

The boy would have to erase not only his chakra but his very existence from the environment, and even then, one miss would tighten the net again.

Tatsuma knew their prey would run, fast and desperate.

But he also knew he couldn’t run far enough.

Yoji’s heritage made him invaluable in support and assassination operations; his Kochū could assassinate nearly everyone without leaving a single trace, and his Shōkaichū swarms could sense, penetrate barriers, jam sensors, and hunt in silence.

Tatsuma himself was the heavy weapon and more of a frontal traditional ‘fighter’, carrying the Aburame clan’s two most advanced breeds, at the same time, the corrosive Rinkaichū, even the dangerous Kidaichū, that few outside Root had ever seen.

Together with Mushin’s ninken, the hunt was all but sealed.

The cloaked figures shifted without a sound, masks turning as one toward his direction.

In fact, Tatsuma’s plan was simple.

Even if Ryusei could outpace them for a while, there was no way he could run forever.

So long as he remained within their dynamic sensing range, once fatigue set in, they would close the distance and finish it.

And that wasn’t the only assurance.

The surrounding companies and even the entire division in this part of the Land of Hot Water had been blanketed under sensory suppression.

On top of that, Root and ANBU units had been placed in layers further out, their role to intercept, harass, and tire Ryusei out, or sacrifice themselves outright if it came to that.

With so many nets stacked on top of one another, Tatsuma believed it was inevitable.

The boy wasn’t superhuman.

He couldn’t possibly outrun all of Root, not for fifty kilometers straight, not while every trace of him was being hunted.

But then Mushin’s ninken barked sharply.

At the same time, Yoji’s bugs stirred with the same signal.

Both trackers confirmed it together.

“He’s running… toward Kumo lines.”

Behind his mask, Tatsuma’s expression shifted.

For a moment, a flicker of unease crept into his chest.

“What is this boy plotting now…”

The thought pressed hard in his mind.

Ryusei’s choice sounded insane, running deeper into enemy-controlled territory where Kumo squads prowled in force.

And yet, Tatsuma had a certain bad feeling about it.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep