"Hehehe," a coarse voice sneered, "Does it really matter where we bite you? You're thirteen, not a child anymore. Don't be so stingy. An arm isn't nearly as tempting as a thigh or your chest. Karin… your mother went through the same thing, didn't she?"
Kimimaro narrowed his eyes. Now he could clearly see the girl's face.
Red hair, glasses, and torn clothing.
Uzumaki Karin. A member of the Uzumaki clan, with a chakra-rich lineage. Her mother had also been from the Uzumaki clan—her father unknown. Rumors in Kusagakure whispered about her mother's disgrace and exploitation, all for the sake of survival.
The depraved words of the rogue shinobi ignited a fury deep within Kimimaro.
Though some might brush off their behavior as crude or commonplace in a lawless region, Kimimaro could feel the absolute wrongness of what he was witnessing. It disgusted him. Not even in the Hidden Sound, where cruelty was common, was such exploitation justifiable.
She was only thirteen.
Even if she had been older, it wouldn't change what these men were doing. Their intentions were vile.
Kimimaro's gaze hardened. Just imagining Karin covered in bite marks like her mother once was made his blood boil.
"So this was the kind of life she lived in Kusagakure..." he murmured. "No wonder she turned to Orochimaru. If her mother endured all this for her sake, how could a child like her withstand such torment?"
Kimimaro turned to his companion. "We're saving that girl."
Jūgo nodded. "Kimimaro, look at that one," he said, pointing at one of the men.
Kimimaro's eyes focused. That one had his eyebrows shaved off, replaced with two crimson dots.
The Taketori Clan. A forgotten offshoot of the Kaguya bloodline that had dispersed after the clan's fall. Kimimaro himself had washed off the red facial markings after his resurrection. He saw no meaning in the old clan's appearance—only reminders of their madness.
"If fate brought us here, then I'll use this chance to settle everything," Kimimaro said, stepping forward.
Karin, meanwhile, was curled up, trembling. She was only a genin—her abundant chakra made her a valuable asset, but her combat skills were minimal. Already scarred by loss, pain, and constant fear, she knew what these men wanted.
She thought of her mother, who had died protecting her.
She thought of the boy she saw briefly during the Chūnin Exams—Uchiha Sasuke—his cold eyes had left a deep impression.
No one's going to save me this time, she thought, eyes filled with tears.
Then—thud.
Warm liquid splattered across her. She flinched.
When she opened her eyes, the rogue ninja looming over her was no longer moving. A bone spike jutted through his chest, blood dripping from the tip.
More chaos erupted behind him. A monstrous figure—black-skinned, orange-haired—was rampaging through the group.
"Jūgo," she whispered, vaguely recognizing the monster's form.
Then someone gently pushed the body aside. A white-haired boy with pale skin and piercing eyes looked down at her. He smiled.
"Are you hurt?"
Karin stared in stunned silence. The boy looked no older than her, yet there was something terrifyingly graceful about him. She couldn't find the words.
He took off his outer jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Your clothes are torn. Wear this. I'll deal with the rest."
Then he took off his shirt completely. From his body, long ivory bones extended—shoulders, elbows, knees.
"Dance of the Willow."
In any other situation, the sight might have been terrifying. But to Karin, he was a white knight—his skin pale but firm, his movements beautiful yet deadly. In her thirteen years of suffering, she had never seen anyone like him.
"So… even a boy's body can be so... beautiful," she thought dazedly.
In that moment, Kimimaro wasn't just a savior—he was the first light to shine into the darkness of her world.
Since Kimimaro had activated his Kekkei Genkai—Shikotsumyaku, the Dead Bone Pulse—he had no intention of holding back. The system's restriction was clear: he only had one hour of total combat time with his bloodline limit active. Every second mattered.
From his shoulder, he pulled a sharpened femur, forming it into a sleek bone sword.
"Dance of the Camellia."
His assault was as elegant as it was lethal, each strike piercing with pinpoint precision. Alongside him, Jūgo charged with berserker-like power, his body partially transformed from his Sage Transformation, launching punches that cracked the earth.
But their enemies weren't just ordinary thugs.
One man, a middle-aged shinobi with broad shoulders and battle-worn armor, blocked Jūgo's fist with a reinforced iron gauntlet. His strength wasn't just for show—his chakra and movements indicated he was at least Jōnin-level.
Oddly, he had red circular tattoos where his eyebrows should have been.
"Those techniques… Shikotsumyaku?" the man narrowed his eyes. "You… are you from the Kaguya clan?"
Kimimaro didn't answer. It was a pointless question. His moves said more than words ever could.
The man smirked slightly. "So, a Kaguya survived after all. Our clans never got along, but I won't deny—we're distant relatives. I'm Taketori Hanza. You're poking your nose where it doesn't belong, kid. The Kaguya were wiped out in Kirigakure's civil purges. You must be one of the last… so who are you really?"
"You don't need to know who I am," Kimimaro replied coldly. "Since you recognize me, then why haven't you surrendered? Or have you forgotten—Kaguya is the main bloodline. Your Taketori clan was always beneath us."
"Tch, don't act high and mighty," sneered a teenager with similarly red markings, standing just behind Hanza. He was the one who had spewed the earlier vulgarities, and Jūgo had already marked him as a target.
"That's enough, Ginro," Hanza warned, but the boy stepped forward anyway.
"The Kaguya are extinct," Ginro mocked. "From now on, we—Taketori—inherit everything. You're just a leftover. But I'll make you an offer. Surrender, and I might let you live. That red-haired girl though… once I'm done with her, maybe I'll let you have a turn. Heh… I hear she tastes even better than her mother."
Karin, still clutching her torn cloak, flinched at the words.
Kimimaro's face darkened, a killing intent surging so strong it made the air around him shudder.
"…Who are you supposed to be?"
"Insolent brat!" Hanza barked. "You dare speak to the heir of the Taketori like that!? That is Taketori Ginro, the clan's young master!"
Kimimaro blinked once. "Oh? A lecherous mutt is the young master? That's surprising."
His disgust momentarily turned to cold amusement. So this boy has the purer bloodline… all the more reason.
He stepped forward, bone blade in hand.
Seeing this, Ginro grinned smugly. "Good. Know your place."
But Kimimaro's voice cut the air like steel.
"Then you're even more worth killing."
His tone turned frigid. "How could you lay a hand on such a pure, beautiful girl? People like you... don't deserve to breathe."
Kimimaro raised his blade. "All of you—die."
Karin's heart, clenched in fear, suddenly fluttered. A faint smile appeared on her lips despite everything. "So… someone thinks I'm cute…"
"Enough!" roared Hanza, launching forward with surprising speed.
But Kimimaro was already moving, shifting into the second stance of his bone dance.
"Dance of the Larch."
From his body erupted hardened bone spikes, deflecting Hanza's kunai mid-swing. Kimimaro twisted, countering with a sweeping slash aimed at Hanza's exposed side.
Despite being a Taketori elite, Hanza staggered from the force, blood spraying from a deep gash across his chest.
"You're a relic, boy!" Hanza growled, stumbling back. "That fighting style died with your clan—!"
"Then let it be reborn through your death," Kimimaro answered, cold and resolute.