Naruto: Just an Average Ninja

The head that rolled onto the ground bore an expression of agony tinged with a flicker of bewilderment. Everything that had just transpired carried an indescribable air of mockery…

For the enemy, this could only be described as capsizing in the gutter—a humiliating upset. A ninja utterly confident in their own strength would inevitably face such an extreme reversal at some point. His death was merely one of the unavoidable prices to be paid.

Shock turned to fury, and a barrage of shuriken came hurtling toward Hanemiya Genma.

Such an attack was well within Genma's expectations. The moment his feet touched the ground, he didn't hesitate. Chakra erupted beneath him, and like a gust of wind, he darted behind a towering tree, concealing his form.

Thud, thud, thud. The rain of shuriken stabbed into the earth, tracing Genma's path of movement before embedding themselves along the outer bark of the tree.

One enemy ninja refrained from joining the shuriken assault. Instead, he observed Genma's actions and position, his hands swiftly forming seals. With a mere sidestep of two or three paces, he brought the dodging Genma back into his line of fire.

Water Style: Water Bullet Technique!

A massive orb of water hurtled toward Genma.

Faced with such a wide-ranging ninjutsu, Genma remained unfazed. He had been in the ninja world for a year—not battle-hardened, perhaps, but certainly equipped with the fundamental qualities of a ninja.

His hands came together naturally, fingers flowing smoothly into seals to meet the attack head-on.

Fire Style: Great Flame Bullet!

A blazing orange-red fireball, over two meters in diameter, roared forth, charging straight at the water orb that had already closed half the distance.

For clans versed in fire techniques, nearly every family had a foundational ninjutsu like this—similar hand signs, similar chakra flow, similar effects. Even the names were barely distinguishable: Grand Fireball, Great Fireball, Bursting Flame Ball, Flame Bullet, Great Flame Bullet, and so on.

Fire clashed with water. The flames extinguished as the water boiled and hissed. Amid the dense sizzling sound, the scale and power of the two techniques canceled each other out. Thick white steam, churned up by the intense heat, surged and spread through the dense forest, severely obscuring the ninjas' vision.

The enemy's sensory ninja wasn't present, which tilted the environment further in Genma's favor. The veil of mist negated their numerical advantage, and Genma excelled at striking from the shadows.

He pressed himself against the trunk of a tree behind him. The Mayfly Technique activated once more, and like a skilled swimmer slipping beneath the water's surface, his body gradually melded into the wood.

Relying on his memory from moments ago, Genma moved swiftly through the trees and earth. Soon, he located the ninja who had challenged him with water release.

Silently, he emerged behind his foe. By sheer coincidence—or perhaps misfortune—the enemy was slowly retreating, his back pressed against a tree. It was a smart move: in a situation where visibility was heavily compromised, resting against cover could effectively guard against a sneak attack from behind.

But this time, it backfired spectacularly.

Genma's upper body protruded from the trunk above. Like a phantom, he extended both arms—his right arm locking around the enemy's neck in a chokehold, while his left arm swung around to the front. With the relentless precision of pounding mochi, he struck the man's chest cavity twenty or thirty times in rapid succession, each blow fierce and unrelenting.

The mechanical repetition, the crisp sound of flesh giving way—it all spoke of cold indifference and lethal intent.

In the blink of an eye, survival was no longer a question for this man. His innards were so thoroughly mangled they could've been tossed straight into a hot pot.

Genma's form vanished once more.

The deeper he plunged into combat, the more he sensed the changes in his body. In the past, whenever he used ninjutsu, the release of chakra came with a profound sense of detachment—as if a portion of his spirit and vitality had been forcibly stripped away.

After casting a technique, he would feel shriveled and frail.

But this time was different. Amid the battle, he felt a burgeoning sense of strength. Every cell in his body seemed to awaken with the fight, growing more vibrant and alive. If before he had been a flat plane, now he could feel himself in vivid 3D—no, perhaps even 6D.

In a flash of clarity, Genma realized something: perhaps ordinary people weren't meant to become ninjas at all. Chakra might very well be a force that severely drained one's life essence.

"Who's been attacked? Report your status and position!" an enemy shouted loudly.

Making noise in the thick steam was far from a wise choice. Genma, already hunting his next target, zeroed in on the source of the voice and charged toward it.

"Three left," he counted silently in his mind.

But as he closed in on the next enemy, preparing for another assassination, a faint sizzling sound pricked his alertness.

"Not good—it's a trap!"

Unseen by Genma, a cruel smirk spread across this ninja's face. His hands completed the final seal.

Genma reacted instantly, using the Mayfly Technique to flee. He had a hunch about the kind of attack his opponent was about to unleash.

This enemy had made himself bait, deliberately luring Genma in. Strapped to his body was a stack of pre-ignited explosive tags. Moments later, seven or eight layered sheets of paper unleashed their power.

A blinding white light erupted. Under the immense radial shockwave, the ninja's body, scattered leaves, and surrounding soil disintegrated in unison!

Several trees snapped at their trunks, creaking and groaning as they toppled. Genma's form was forcibly ejected from a section of wood.

His mastery of this technique was still imperfect. Though he had escaped the blast's epicenter at top speed and avoided the brunt of the damage, the explosion's force still revealed his position.

The powerful shockwave even dispersed the surrounding steam, restoring clarity to the obscured battlefield.

This utter disregard for one's own life—this "nonchalance"—was beyond comprehension.

The enemy had no idea how Genma executed his assassinations. He had only noticed the second comrade's death, roughly estimated Genma's movement speed by comparing his prior position with the fallen ally's, and then acted on that shaky intel to detonate himself.

No, it wasn't nonchalance—it was numbness. With such scant information, he had gambled his life without hesitation. How was that any different from suicide? His explosion might very well have hit nothing but air.

Of course, Genma gave him some credit. Due to his own inexperience, his movements had been predictable, nearly falling right into the enemy's guess. Fortunately, his vigilance had spared him any real harm.

In other words, the enemy's death had been meaningless.

Life seemed to hold no value, while death felt more like a release.