Naruto : Infinite Buff

The four jōnin under Ryojin stood in rigid formation, their eyes flickering between each other, their instincts screaming at them. The man before them—silent, still as death—was unnatural. A presence that pressed against their senses, demanding acknowledgment.

One of them swallowed hard, voice tight with restraint. "Ryojin… what do we do?"

Another jōnin spoke, his tone edged with caution. "This guy… he's not normal."

They had faced monsters before. But this was different. The air itself felt sharp, weighted. The man in front of them—Amatsu—wasn't exuding killing intent, and yet, his stillness felt more dangerous than a blade to the throat.

Ryojin said nothing.

He stood apart from his men, arms crossed, golden eyes half-lidded in thought. A contrast to the tension of his subordinates. It was as if he wasn't even in the same battlefield as them.

Amatsu remained silent. Watching. Calculating.

His black eyes locked onto them, dissecting their reactions, measuring their fear, their hesitation. The jōnin felt it—felt their own vulnerabilities laid bare beneath his gaze. Yet he did nothing.

No movement. No aggression. Just the unbearable presence of something unknowable.

Finally, Ryojin exhaled through his nose, his lips curling slightly—not a smirk, not amusement, but something unreadable.

"Wait for Joji and Hanzo-sama. They're on their way."

The words settled like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through Amatsu's mind.

Ryojin, despite his apparent laziness, was aware of the situation in ways that unsettled Amatsu. He wasn't making a move. He wasn't showing his cards. That meant one thing—he didn't need to.

Amatsu didn't know Ryojin's true strength, and that was a problem.

His instincts told him that if he struck now, he would uncover something he might regret.

And yet, what disturbed him more wasn't Ryojin's unreadable strength—it was his apathy.

Amatsu had tried to break him before, twisting the knife with cold words, painting the death of his comrades before his eyes. Describing in detail what it was like to watch them fall one by one.

But Ryojin hadn't reacted.

He hadn't flinched.

He hadn't even cared.

One of the jōnin frowned, shifting slightly. "Ryojin… if we wait, that means…"

Ryojin tilted his head, his red hair shifting slightly under the dim light. "It means exactly what I said. Wait."

"But—"

"If you can't even stand still without panicking, then go ahead. Move. Fight him."

The jōnin stiffened, jaw tightening.

Another one exhaled sharply, frustrated. "You can't be serious. You want us to fight him while you do nothing?"

Ryojin's golden eyes flicked toward him. "No. I'm telling you to do whatever you want. But understand the weight of your choices. That's all."

The air grew heavier.

One of the jōnin clenched his fists, taking a slow step forward. "If we don't act now, we might—"

Amatsu's eyes shifted to him.

Just a glance.

The man froze.

He felt it—something cold dragging against his skin, a silent whisper of death brushing the back of his neck.

He stepped back instinctively, his throat dry.

Ryojin chuckled. "See? You're hesitating. That's why you'll die first if you try."

His jōnin bristled at the words, but they said nothing.

Amatsu, still unmoving, let the silence stretch. His mind calculated rapidly.

He's not stopping them. He's letting them make their own choices.

Which means… he doesn't care if they live or die.

No fear. No concern. No hesitation.

That was dangerous.

Amatsu's gaze remained fixed on Ryojin, his expression unreadable, but his mind moved like a blade through flesh—cold, precise, dissecting every possibility.

That wasn't an order. It was a message.

Ryojin wasn't telling his subordinates to wait. He was telling him.

Amatsu didn't miss the weight in those words, the deliberate way Ryojin delivered them. Not as a leader commanding his men, but as a man relaying crucial information to someone who needed to hear it.

Joji and Hanzo are on the way.

Why say that? Why now?

If Ryojin wanted him dead, he wouldn't have bothered to speak at all. He would have attacked, or let his subordinates do it. Instead, he gave him a warning—an indirect, subtle one, wrapped in the illusion of conversation.

A message disguised as a command.

But why warn him?

The surface-level answer was simple: he wanted him to understand the danger.

But that wasn't enough. There was something deeper, something left unsaid.

Ryojin hadn't moved. Not once.

That means two things.

One—he didn't see him as a threat.

Two—he didn't care if his men lived or died.

That was the real problem. A man like that didn't operate under normal logic. He didn't fight for honor, for duty, for vengeance. He fought for something else—something Amatsu hadn't yet uncovered.

If Ryojin had no loyalty to his own subordinates, what did he have loyalty to?

Was he warning him because they were on the same side?

Or was it something else?

Something worse?

Amatsu's thoughts turned cold, calculating. Is he my ally? Or am I merely convenient to him—for now?

Silence stretched between them, but in that silence, Amatsu understood one thing with absolute clarity.

Amatsu's black eyes locked onto Ryojin, unblinking, dissecting every shift in his expression, every subtle movement.

Ryojin met his gaze, unfazed. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smile.

Not mocking. Not arrogant.

Just knowing.

A confirmation.

Amatsu's thoughts sharpened like a blade clicking into place.

I was right.

Amatsu nodded.

Ryojin's smile deepened, lazy and cruel.

"What a smart guy."

None of the jōnin realized they were already dead.

The golden chains exploded from Ryojin's wrists without warning, faster than thought—razor-sharp and glimmering under the dim light and rain. The air snapped as the chains shot out, wrapping around throats, wrists, and legs.

"Wha—?"

One of the jōnin's eyes widened in disbelief. His breath caught in his throat as the cold metal dug into his neck.

Another tried to form a hand seal—

Too slow.

The chains snapped his fingers backward with a sickening crack.

"Ryojin… what are you—?"

Blood sprayed as the chains tightened, digging into flesh, crushing bone. The jōnin's voice broke into a wet gurgle.

The third jōnin's chakra flared in panic, body flickering in an attempt to escape—

But the chains dragged him back, slamming him into the ground like a ragdoll.

Ryojin watched with the same detached smile, golden eyes half-lidded.

"You really thought… I cared about you huh?"

The fourth jōnin's breathing quickened, panic spreading like a plague. He struggled, veins bulging in his neck. "Ryojin… we followed you… all these years—"

Ryojin snorted. "Then you should've known better."

Despair.

They never considered this possibility.

Because the mind rejects what it cannot comprehend—

Betrayal from their own leader.

Even as the chains crushed their limbs and ripped through muscle, they still looked at Ryojin not with hatred—

But disbelief.

Why?

Amatsu moved.

He was already in front of them before they registered his shift. His chakra pulsed through his legs, silent and surgical.

The flicker of steel—

A throat slit clean.

A kunai pierced through an eye socket, sinking into the brain.

A precise stab into the heart—quick, efficient.

The fourth jōnin managed a strangled sound—eyes wide, mouth opening as if to beg—

But Amatsu's blade punctured his throat, cutting off the plea before it could form.

Dead.

The bodies collapsed—four lives snuffed out in less than three seconds.

Amatsu straightened, his face blank, the blood dripping from his kunai.

The scent of iron hung thick in the air.

Ryojin's smile didn't waver.

"Cold and evicient, huh?"

Amatsu flicked the blood from his kunai blade. "You knew I'm ready to kill them."

Ryojin's golden eyes narrowed, glinting like a predator testing its prey.

"I was counting on it."

Amatsu's mind moved rapidly.

He used me.

He wanted them dead... but not by his own hands.

Betrayal wrapped within betrayal.

Ryojin had made Amatsu his accomplice—without ever giving him a choice.

Amatsu understood.

The strong devour the weak. That was the only truth in this world.

Their eyes met.

The battlefield was silent.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched. Thick, heavy, drenched in blood and rain.

Then—

Amatsu broke it.

"What is your purpose Ryojin?"

His voice was low, cold. A blade stripped of emotion.

Ryojin said nothing at first.

His golden eyes drifted upward, toward the blackened sky. The rain fell heavier, washing the blood from his skin.

For the first time, his usual smirk faded. His face, usually unreadable, held something else—a shadow of memory.

Sadness.

Or something like it.

Amatsu watched him in silence. What is he remembering, what is he thinking?

Then Ryojin spoke. His voice was quieter than before, but steady.

"Don't worry. We're on the same side."

He exhaled, his golden gaze lowering, locking onto Amatsu's.

"Let's destroy this place. Or, if you want, I'll help you escape. I've been watching all this time… waiting."

His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping something invisible.

"Before I decided to trust this one chance, I had to be sure. But now?"

His smirk returned, but it was different—not mocking, not cruel.

"I won't fail. You and me won't fail"

A pause. The rain fell harder.

Then, softly—

"I'm just like you, man and woman."

Amatsu remained silent.

What does that mean?

He didn't understand Ryojin's reason.

He didn't trust it.

This was a dangerous bet.

He didn't know Ryojin's true goals—his true intentions. An ally or an unknown threat?

But—

He was one of the elites here.

Escaping without him was impossible. He knew everything about this place.

And knowledge was a weapon greater than steel.

A calculated risk.

Amatsu's mind turned cold. I'll gamble on this.

Ryojin rolled his shoulders, his chains rattling faintly.

"We better prepare."

His tone had changed. Lighter, but sharp with warning.

"Hanzo is coming. And he's coming to kill you."

He turned, eyes gleaming.

"He never hesitates. Even against the weak, he goes all out."

The words held weight. Truth.

Amatsu said nothing. He only nodded.

Without another word, he began looting the corpses.

No movement was wasted—his hands worked with the efficiency of a predator stripping a carcass.

Kunai, rations, pills. Anything useful.

Then his fingers closed around a scroll.

Old. Worn. Sealed with unfamiliar markings.

He didn't know what was inside.

But this wasn't the time.

He would check later.

Amatsu stood, cold rain dripping from his hair.

His dark eyes met Ryojin's golden ones.

"Let's move."