I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

It will take several days for Kai's poison to be completely eliminated.

The medical team said it was fortunate he was physically strong; for an ordinary person, that arm would have been useless. Kai, lying in the hospital bed, wouldn't stay still, shouting, "Youth shouldn't be wasted in a hospital bed!" He was pressed back down by the medical ninja.

With the squad short-handed and the camp in a defensive posture, Shuoge's mission changed from patrolling to standing by. When Hong came to find him, he was cleaning his knife in his tent.

"You promised me yesterday—" Red stood at the tent entrance, arms crossed. "Illusion sparring."

Shuoge glanced at her. Hong's expression was very serious, not the kind of seriousness of "just practicing casually," but the kind of seriousness of "I want to become stronger."

During the battle at the sentry post, her genjutsu was broken by the Chunin from Kirigakure, and she almost lost her life.

If it weren't for Shuoge's knife, she would be on the memorial tablet by now.

He put down his teacup and stood up.

The two crossed the camp and entered a grove of low trees to the east.

The woods weren't dense, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting patches of light on the ground. The fog was lighter than at the campsite, but the sea breeze was still salty.

Hong stood in the center of the open space, turned around, and faced Shuoge.

"Rumor has it that the Sharingan of the Uchiha clan is the bane of genjutsu—"

"so?"

I want to give it a try.

Shuoge didn't speak. He took the knife from behind his back, leaned against the tree trunk, and put his hands in his pockets.

Illusion magic doesn't require a knife.

Hong took a deep breath and formed a mudra with her hands. Her fingers were nimble and her movements were quick, with almost no gaps between the mudras.

Sakugo's three-tomoe Sharingan began to rotate silently—he saw the flow of chakra.

Red chakra emanated from her palm, not in an offensive form.

It is a woven form.

She is weaving a net, not a physical net, but a spiritual one.

The essence of illusion is to use chakra to interfere with the opponent's five senses, making the opponent see things that don't exist, hear sounds that don't exist, and smell smells that don't exist.

The red chakra was very fine, like silk threads, weaving into his vision one by one.

The surrounding forest began to deform. Tree trunks twisted, branches melted, and the sunlight turned blood red.

Cracks appeared in the ground, and countless hands emerged from them—pale, dry, with long fingernails.

Those hands grabbed Shogo's ankles, climbed up, grabbed his legs, grabbed his waist, grabbed his chest.

Shuoge did not move.

His three-tomoe Sharingan swept over those hands—not real hands, but woven fabric of chakra.

Kurenai used chakra to simulate the shape, feel, and even temperature of a hand, deceiving his sense of touch and sight.

But the Sharingan can see the essence.

Those hands were translucent to him; he could see through them to the tree trunks, the ground, and the red figures behind them.

He took a step forward.

Those hands couldn't hold him; his feet passed through them as if through a layer of fog.

Red's fingers moved faster as she increased her chakra output.

The forest had completely vanished, and Shuoge stood on a desolate wasteland. The sky was purple, the ground was black, and in the distance stood a huge withered tree, its branches laden with corpses.

The wind blew, and the corpses swayed in the wind, making creaking sounds.

Shuoge stopped in his tracks.

It wasn't because the illusion was too powerful, but because he saw what Red had placed in that illusion—not fear, but loneliness.

That feeling of standing alone in a wasteland, with nothing around but corpses and withered trees.

He thought of his uncle, Zhonglin, and Tiema. Their faces flashed through his mind, one after another, like corpses hanging on withered trees.

The Sharingan is spinning even faster now.

The three tomoe seemed poised to merge into one in the next second, and chakra surged in his pupils.

The corpses vanished, the withered trees disappeared, and the purple sky and black ground shattered like broken glass, revealing the real world behind them—sunlight, forests, and red.

Hong stood rooted to the spot, her hands still in the hand seals, her forehead covered in sweat, her breathing rapid. Her illusion had been broken, and the backlash had taken a toll on her spirit.

But she didn't fall; she gritted her teeth and stood up.

Shuoge looked at her.

"Your illusion magic is very strong."

His voice was flat.

"The precision of your weaving, the control of your chakra, and the penetration into the spiritual realm are no less than any genjutsu ninja I've ever seen. But your aggression is insufficient. What you place in your genjutsu is loneliness, loss, and fear. These things are effective against ordinary people, but not enough against someone who has experienced war."

Hong didn't speak. Her lips were trembling, not from anger, but from exhaustion.

Her chakra and mental energy were greatly depleted.

"Again," she said through gritted teeth.

Shuoge shook his head. "In your current state, if this happens again, your spirit will be damaged. The first lesson for an illusionist isn't how to weave illusions, but how to protect one's own spirit."

Hong remained silent for a moment. She loosened her hand seals, letting them hang at her sides, and lowered her head.

The wind blew by, scattering her black hair, but she ignored it.

"At the sentry post, my illusion was broken." Her voice was low. "Not because my illusion failed, but because that person was trained to resist illusions. My illusion only lasted for less than a second on him. One second wasn't enough for me to kill him."

Shuoge looked at her.

"You need the second layer," he said. "When the first layer of illusion is broken, the second layer triggers automatically. No control is needed, no hand seals are required; it's a trap. He thought he was out, but he's still inside."

Hong looked up at him. There was a glimmer of light in her dark eyes.

"you--"

The second layer of illusion is what she is currently learning.

Hong stared at Shuoge in surprise.

"The Uchiha clan has more than just the Sharingan."

Shuoge turned and walked towards the knife leaning against the tree trunk. "We've been studying illusion magic longer than your family's history. But you're better at weaving than I am. What you need isn't more skill, but a more sinister approach."

He picked up the knife and hung it on his back.

"To be continued tomorrow."

Hong stood there, watching his back as he walked out of the woods.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell warmly on her face.

She suddenly realized that this person wasn't incapable of speaking; he simply only said what needed to be said. He was gentler than she had imagined.

She turned and walked towards the camp. Her steps were lighter than when she had come.

……

……

……

Kai lay in the medical tent for three days, but couldn't stay there any longer on the fourth day.

Taking advantage of the shift change of the medical ninjas, he secretly removed his bandages, slipped out of the tent, and ran to the open space behind the camp to practice his boxing.

When Hong went to find Shuoge, he was punching a tree trunk, leaving a dent with each punch and sending wood chips flying.

The wound on his left shoulder hadn't fully healed, so he removed the bandage, revealing pink, new flesh underneath. He slammed his fist into the tree trunk, causing the wound to reopen, and blood seeped from the edges of the gauze, but he didn't look.

"Can't you just stay put?" Hong stood at the edge of the open space, arms crossed.

Kai turned around, saw her, and grinned.

"Youth shouldn't be wasted in a hospital bed!"

Hong glanced at him, then turned and left.

After a while, Shuoge arrived.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Kai hit the tree for a while. Kai's fist was bleeding; his hand was split open, and blood was flowing down the tree trunk.

He didn't stop, punch after punch.

"That's about it." Shuoge's voice was flat.

Kai stopped, turned around, and gasped for breath. His forehead was covered in sweat, and the wound on his left shoulder had reopened, soaking his clothes with blood. But his eyes were bright, shining like two flames.

"You've come at the right time." Kai clenched his fist. "Shall we have a match?"

Shuoge looked at him for three seconds, took the knife from behind his back, leaned against the tree trunk, and put his hands in his pockets.

"No knife needed."

Kai rushed up.

The speed was so fast that Hong could only see a green shadow before the fist was already smashing into Shuoge's face.

Shuoge dodged to the side, but Kai's punch grazed his ear and struck the tree trunk behind him, causing the bark to burst open.

Kai didn't stop, his left elbow sweeping across Shuoge's temple.

Shuoge crouched down, his elbow whistling past his head, and pulled his right hand out of his pocket, slapping Kai in the chest.

Chakra exploded from his palm, and Guy was forced back three steps, his feet carving two shallow furrows in the mud.

Kai looked down at his chest, then looked up at Shuoge. His eyes shone even brighter.

"Again!"

This time, instead of sprinting in a straight line, he ran around Shuoge at such a speed that Hong could only see a green halo.

Sakugo stood in the center of the circle of light, motionless, his three-tomoe Sharingan tracking Kai's figure.

Kai rushed up from behind and punched Shogo in the back of the neck.

Shuoge didn't turn around; he swept his right leg backward and kicked Kai's shin.

Kai lost his balance and fell forward, with Shuoge's shoulder hitting his chest—sending him flying.

Kai fell to the ground, rolled twice, and lay in the mud, panting heavily. The wound on his left shoulder had opened up even wider, and blood had stained half of his clothes red. But he laughed, a loud laugh.

"When did your physical skills become so strong?"

Shuoge didn't answer. He walked over and extended his hand.

Kai looked at the hand and shook it.

Shuoge pulled him up.

"Go back to bed." Shuoge turned around, picked up the knife, and hung it behind his back. "If your wound reopens, the medical team will tie you to the bed."

Kai followed behind, his left arm hanging down, too afraid to move.

Hong walked at the very back, watching the two people's backs.

One was cursing, the other didn't retort, but they walked in sync. She suddenly realized that the tacit understanding between the two was deeper than any trained coordination.

……

……

……

The night Kai was put back in his hospital bed, an alarm sounded at the camp.

This is not a drill.

The alarm blared short, urgent, one after another, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Shuoge sprang up from the bed, knife already in his hand.

Hong was faster than him; she hadn't slept at all, sitting in the corner of the tent, hugging her knees, holding a kunai in her hand.

The sea breeze blew in from outside, making the tent billow and extinguishing the candlelight.

In the darkness, Sakugo's three-tomoe Sharingan began to rotate, and Kurenai's eyes also adjusted to the darkness. The two looked at each other and simultaneously lifted the curtain.

The camp is in chaos.

It wasn't chaos, but an orderly emergency mobilization. Some were running, some were shouting, some were forming hand seals. Lights were shining in the direction of the medical tents—no, they weren't lights, they were fire.

Someone set the fire.

"Medical tent," Shuoge said calmly. "Keep up."

Hong followed behind him, and the two of them ran through the camp's passageway toward the firelight.

The fog was thicker than during the day; you couldn't see a face more than three steps away, but the firelight was particularly dazzling in the fog, like a burning eye.

The medical tent was half burned; the canvas was curled, blackened, and peeling off in the flames, revealing the iron frame inside.

Some people are putting out the fire, while others are carrying the wounded out.

Kai was carried out of the room, still wearing his hospital gown, the bandage on his left shoulder blackened by smoke. He struggled to get down, but the person carrying him wouldn't let go.

Shuoge didn't stop and ran past Kai.

His target was behind the fire—there were people running in the fog, not in the direction of fighting the fire, but away from the fire. His Sharingan detected the flow of chakra; three people were moving towards the eastern perimeter of the camp.

"Red, the one on the left."

Hong didn't answer; her hands were already forming a mudra.

Her chakra emanated from her palms, weaving into a net within the mist.

The dark figure on the left suddenly stopped running, its body frozen in place, the short knife in its hand raised in mid-air, unable to fall.

Red emerged from the mist, and the kunai flew from his hand, striking his wrist squarely.

The dagger fell to the ground, and the man clutched his wrist and crouched down. His body, which had been controlled by the illusion, was finally free, but it was too late—the second red kunai was already at his neck.

Shuoge caught up with the one on the right.

The man ran fast, but he couldn't outrun Shuoge's blade.

The blade struck the man's knee, causing him to kneel on one knee. The back of the blade hit the back of his head, and he lost consciousness.

The one in the middle ran the furthest and was already close to the warning line.

Shuoge didn't give chase. He picked up a kunai from the ground and threw it. The kunai arced through the mist, striking the man squarely in the shin. The man fell to the ground and was subdued by a patrolling sentry.

Three people, less than a minute.

One on Hong's side, and two on Shuoge's side.

The fire was extinguished. Half of the medical tent was burned, some supplies were lost, and the wounded were transferred to other tents. No one died.

Three hidden assassins were tied up at the camp gate. Two were unconscious, and one was awake, staring straight ahead without saying a word.

Orochimaru arrived, stood in front of the three people, and looked down at them.

The golden eyes gleamed coldly in the firelight.

"Pry open his brain." He said only one sentence, then turned and left.

Shuoge stood beside the ruins of the medical tent, the blood on his knife still wet.

Hong walked over, still holding a kunai in her hand. Her breathing was a little heavy, but her hands were very steady.

Kai squeezed through the crowd, his left shoulder bandage blackened by smoke, his face blackened as well, leaving only his eyes and teeth white.

"I was only in bed for a few days, and you fought two battles?" His voice was loud, but it was clear he was faking it.

Shuoge glanced at him. "Go back and lie down."

Kai opened his mouth, wanting to say "I'm fine," but seeing Shuoge's eyes, he swallowed his words.

He turned and followed the medical team. After a few steps,

He glanced back at Shuoge's retreating figure, then turned back again.

Kurenai stood beside Sakugo, looking at the three bound Mist Ninja. "The second batch, only three?"

Sakugo did not answer. His Sharingan swept through the mist; the flow of chakra was calm, and there were no more people.

But he always felt that something was wrong.

Three assassins to burn down the medical tent? Too few, too easy. That's not how the Mist Shadows fight. They're like water, not fire. Water seeps, it doesn't burn.

He glanced in the direction Orochimaru had left.

That person must have thought of that too.