Red Haired Supremacy

In an instant, Shanks vanished from where he stood.

A flash of red blurred through the night, and before the Kirigakure ninja with the hammer could even react, Shanks was directly in front of him—Gryphon already unsheathed and driving forward.

The blade pierced clean through his chest, right into his heart.

The Kiri shinobi gasped, eyes wide in disbelief. He staggered back as blood spilled from his mouth, his hammer falling uselessly to the ground. His gaze locked onto Shanks, not with rage—but with raw, stunned unwillingness. He died without understanding how.

His body crumpled to the dirt.

The other three Kiri shinobi froze, their arrogance instantly replaced by fear.

They had just watched their strongest comrade, their leader for this mission, fall in a single strike.

Now, they understood: they were facing a formidable enemy, one far beyond their rank.

Before they could speak, shout, or even fully process what had happened, they turned to run—but it was already too late.

Shanks narrowed his eyes.

Using his Observation Haki, he saw not just where they were—but where they would be. He could feel the exact speed, direction, and moment each of them would attempt to flee.

He didn't chase.

Instead, he stepped forward and swung his blade three times, each stroke slicing through empty air as three red arcs of sword energy materialized, hurtling toward the ninjas with slight deviations in their paths.

To an onlooker from a distance, it might have seemed as though his sword energy would miss entirely, cutting through nothing but air.

But the reality was far different.

The three red arcs of sword energy released from Shanks' blade tore through the air with blinding speed. Each one was perfectly timed, their paths calculated to intercept the fleeing Kirigakure shinobi at the exact moment they reached the predicted positions.

They didn't even see it coming.

Each of them was sliced cleanly through, collapsing mid-step, their bodies hitting the ground before they even realized they were dead.

Suzuki watched the entire scene unfold with wide, disbelieving eyes. One man—just one—had taken down four elite Kirigakure shinobi in mere moments. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

Just three slashes.

He had never seen power like this before.

Shanks, calm as ever, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a storage scroll. Without ceremony, he began sealing the bodies one by one using practiced hand seals, drawing them into the scroll with a flash of chakra and a quiet fwoop. Efficient. Unemotional. Professional.

Meanwhile, Suzuki helped his wife and son calm down, speaking to them softly as the terror began to slowly fade from their faces. Once he was sure they were safe, he climbed down from the shattered carriage and approached the red-haired swordsman cautiously.

He stopped a few feet away, then bowed his head.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Thank you very much for saving us."

Shanks turned to him, expression unreadable. His crimson hair swayed slightly in the breeze, his gaze steady.

"I didn't save you out of kindness," he said plainly. "I just happened to be passing through. I came to the Land of Hot Water to hunt Kirigakure ninjas for their bounties."

He gestured briefly to the sealed scroll now tucked away.

"You were just... in the path of my work."

Despite Shanks' cold tone, Suzuki bowed again and said softly, "Even so… thank you very much."

Shanks didn't respond. He tucked the scroll containing the sealed bodies back into the inner pocket of his jacket, then glanced at the road ahead. His eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the earlier conversation.

"From what I overheard," he said, "you're running from your village. Is that correct?"

Suzuki nodded, his face still pale. "Yes. Our village was attacked… by Kirigakure shinobi. They raided homes, took what they wanted, and killed anyone who resisted—or even hesitated. I fled with my family before they reached our home. I didn't think we'd survive the road either, but… here we are."

Shanks nodded once, taking in the information with a stoic calm.

"So, if I follow this road…" he said, pointing toward the path that stretched into the trees, "it'll lead me to your village?"

"Yes," Suzuki confirmed. "It's about five or six miles from here. Straight ahead."

Shanks turned his gaze toward the dark path ahead, then spoke without looking back.

"I'm going to hunt the Kirigakure shinobi terrorizing your village. If you want to return, you can. I know what it's like to lose a home—what it feels like to watch everything that defines you burn to the ground."

His voice dropped slightly, tinged with a rare trace of emotion.

"When that happens, it's not just land you lose. You lose part of your identity. Part of yourself."

He looked back at Suzuki now, his expression unreadable.

"If you believe I can take care of those Kiri shinobi, then go home. Rebuild what you can. If you don't… that's your choice."

And with that, Shanks vanished in a flash—his figure dissolving into motion as he headed down the road toward the village.

The wind stirred behind him, rustling the broken remains of the carriage.

Suzuki stood in silence, watching the direction the swordsman had gone. For the first time in days, there was a flicker of something in his chest.

Hope.

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