Naruto: The Mist Within-Chapter 112 - 111: Dangers?

The sparks from Takeshi's forge rose like tiny stars in the night as the old blacksmith struck the final blows on a curved blade. Each hammer strike was accompanied by a soft murmur, like a whispered prayer to the metal.

But the peace of the forge was broken by the arrival of three figures. Their dark cloaks swayed in the wind, and the masks they wore reflected the glow of the flames. One of them stepped forward, slowly removing his mask. Long hair spilled out.

"Takeshi," the man began, his voice low and sharp. "We need a weapon. Something... special."

Takeshi didn't reply immediately. He continued working on the blade, hoping to buy time. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm but lacking its usual confidence. "I have a lot of backlogged work. I can't take on new orders at the moment."

The man took a step closer, his fingers brushing the edge of a workbench cluttered with sharp tools. "I'm not asking. I don't intend to wait... or use alternative means."

The veiled threat hung in the air like a suspended blade. Takeshi stiffened, the hammer in his hand trembling slightly. His mind was filled with images of his granddaughter Kurara.

"I understand," he said finally, avoiding the man's gaze. "Tell me what you need, and I'll do my best."

The man smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. "I knew you'd understand, Takeshi. The Kiba blades are no longer mine, but a weapon... can always find its master." He turned, signaling for his companions to follow him. "We'll see each other soon."

When they had left, Takeshi slumped onto a stool, running a tired hand over his face. He had never felt so powerless in his own forge.

- - -

The council hall of the Karatachi Clan was a vast circular space, illuminated by light filtering through stained-glass windows etched with coral designs. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries depicting the clan's pride and power—the manipulation of coral, their Kekkei Genkai.

Seated at the center of the hall, Genji Karatachi, the clan head, observed the members gathered around him. Discussions about the clan's future had grown increasingly heated in recent days. Subtle tensions flowed between the younger members, inspired by legends like Yagura Karatachi, and the elders, who were wary of his rising influence.

"We cannot ignore his position," said one councilor, a man with a scar running across his face. "Even though he didn't inherit the Kekkei Genkai, Yagura has proven his worth with unmatched skill."

"And yet," retorted a woman with cold eyes, "that's precisely what should concern us. His strength could attract envy and resentment from other clans. And if Yagura were to act against us, who could stop him?"

Genji remained silent, his hands clasped as he reflected on the councilors' words. The silence in the hall became unbearable until he spoke, his voice calm but cutting. "Yagura is not the problem."

The atmosphere darkened. Genji rose slowly, his eyes scanning every face present. "We cannot make assumptions. Yagura has always been respectful, despite some of us"—he looked pointedly at certain councilors—"trying to marginalize him from the village. We are all family; dialogue should take precedence."

- - -

In the main hall of the Kurushimi Clan estate, the metallic scent of blood was omnipresent, a constant reminder of their power and legacy. Misaki Kurushimi knelt before the altar of the ancestors, her head bowed. The torches illuminating the room cast flickering shadows over the stern face of her father, Ryoga Kurushimi, who stood above her on the ceremonial step.

"Misaki," Ryoga began, his voice echoing through the sharp-edged hall, "you know why I've summoned you here."

Misaki barely lifted her gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that no matter what she said, it would never be enough. "Yes, Father. For the future of the clan."

Ryoga stepped forward, his figure growing larger under the torchlight. "Exactly. Our future depends on you, and I cannot allow you to fail again. The second-year exam..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear.

Those words hit her like a blade. The memory was still vivid: the failure to come in first, the humiliation of watching other students surpass her. She hadn't been fast enough. Not strong enough. She had trained to exhaustion after that day, but for Ryoma, it would never be enough.

"You should have won," he continued, his tone hard as steel. "Not just for yourself but for all of us."

But it was just an exam, Misaki told herself, a part of her wanting to scream it out loud. A single mistake. Even the best make mistakes. And yet, reality was different. For the Kurushimi Clan, every mistake was a betrayal. Every imperfection, a blow to their reputation. There was no room for weakness.

"You will not repeat that mistake," declared Ryoma, cutting through her thoughts. "You have a power that no one else possesses. And if you don't use it to dominate, then it is useless."

Misaki felt the blood boiling in her veins, an instinctive reaction to the Kekkei Genkai she carried. Was this what he wanted from her? To use her power to prove the clan's superiority? But as her father spoke, another part of her longed for something different. I want to live a normal life. Like Ren. Like Jun'ko. Like Aoi.

She imagined them laughing together, free from the pressure of representing an entire dynasty. Ren could afford to fail and try again. She could not. There was no room for failure in her world.

"Father," Misaki dared to say, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm trying to improve. I want to make you proud."

Ryoma paused, his icy gaze piercing through her. "I don't want your effort, Misaki. I want results. Being the best is not an option; it's an obligation. Show the village that the Kurushimi are not just a shadow of the past. Bring glory to our name, or you won't be worthy of bearing it."

Those words weighed on her like a mountain. I don't want to disappoint him. But how much of myself must I sacrifice? She felt trapped between two realities: the desire to be normal and the necessity of being the champion her father demanded.

Ryoma stepped closer, his face mere inches from hers. "Misaki, never forget. Your power is not just yours. It belongs to the clan. Every action you take represents all of us. And if you fail again, there will be no forgiveness."

Misaki nodded slowly, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. "I won't fail, Father. I promise."

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"I hope so," Ryoma replied, turning back to the altar. "Because if you do, it won't just be your reputation that's destroyed. It will be the entire Kurushimi name."

As he spoke, Misaki wrestled with the emotions inside her: anger, the desire to rebel, guilt, and, deep down, a faint glimmer of pride. If I have to bear this responsibility, I will. Not for him, but to prove to myself that I can be stronger than I believe.

When she left the hall, her determined steps concealed the storm of thoughts crowding her mind. The weight of the promise she had made to her father was crushing, but a fragment of resolve shone in her heart. I can't live like the others. But I can make sure the world knows who I am.

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