On the misty shoreline, Kisame lay soaked and bound by the steel wires of the long blade—Nuibari. He looked like a fish flung from water, helpless and pinned.
Lifting his head with a trace of fear, he gazed at the towering figure of Kuriarare Kushimaru, asking cautiously:
"Sir, may I ask what's going on…"
Before Kushimaru could answer, a boy with short black hair and half of his face wrapped in bandages emerged from the thick fog.
"My lord, did this guy disappoint you?"
After bowing to Kushimaru, Momochi Zabuza gave Kisame a mocking glance.
"This shark-faced kid has some strength. He's qualified to be my subordinate."
Kushimaru nodded in approval. He retracted Nuibari, unbinding Kisame, then ordered Zabuza:
"Stay here and explain the rules of working under me."
With that, Kushimaru disappeared in a blur of movement, and the heavy mist lifted with him.
"Kisame, we meet again. Get up."
Zabuza smirked.
Kisame struggled to his feet. His body was covered with cuts from Nuibari's steel wires—bleeding, brutal, and humiliating.
"Explain yourself," he demanded, eyes sharp with restrained fury.
"Don't be angry, Kisame-san. You just got lucky."
Zabuza casually sat on a nearby rock, crossing his legs.
"As you saw, I recommended you to Lord Kushimaru. Congratulations, you passed the real combat test and earned the honor of being his subordinate. From now on, we're teammates."
The way he said "teammates" dripped with sarcasm.
Kisame's expression shifted, but he merely said:
"I understand."
"Very good."
Zabuza snapped his fingers, grinning. "Kisame-san, I'm looking forward to working with you. If we perform well, we might gain favor with the higher-ups and shake off this 'disposable tool' label. Maybe even make it into ANBU. Let's give it our all."
"ANBU…"
Kisame's eyes widened, his pupils contracting. The idea had clearly struck a nerve.
Zabuza noted his reaction with satisfaction. Then he explained the team's rules, and before leaving, added:
"Meet me at the village gates at 6 AM tomorrow. Don't be late."
Then he was gone.
Kisame watched his retreating figure fade into the mist. His face, now unreadable and calm, gave no hint of emotion.
It had all been an act.
He had been wondering how to get close to Kushimaru, and now the opportunity had fallen right into his lap. But he knew better—this wasn't about camaraderie. He was being used as high-grade cannon fodder.
And Zabuza? It was well known that he had a habit of killing his own teammates during missions.
Their intentions weren't good.
But it didn't matter.
Kisame smiled to himself. They'll regret it.
He turned toward the mirror in his room. Most of the wounds he'd suffered during the fight had already healed.
Still, he applied a band-aid to his cheek and wrapped various parts of his body in bandages—faking the appearance of injury.
Then he rested.
...…..
The next morning.
Mist blanketed the village entrance. Trees and flowers were wet with dew. Cold wind stirred the fog and slapped against exposed skin.
Most of the ninjas participating in the operation had assembled—hundreds of them, of various ranks. Most were lower-ranked shinobi from third-tier clans.
Zabuza leaned against a tree with arms folded and eyes closed.
"You're here, Kisame-san."
He opened his eyes and looked at Kisame, who stood silently by his side, stoic as a statue.
"See that?" whispered some nearby shinobi. "The Demon of the Mist, teamed up with that mad-dog Kisame. Better keep your distance."
Moments later, the operation's commanders arrived—the fearsome duo of Kuriarare Kushimaru and Jinpachi Munashi.
Kisame had seen Kushimaru yesterday. Now his attention turned to Jinpachi.
A one-eyed man with a long braid, Jinpachi looked small compared to the 2.13-meter-tall Kushimaru. But looks were deceiving.
Jinpachi wielded the Shibuki—the Blastsword, with a blade on one side and a scroll full of explosive tags on the other.
Kisame swallowed hard as his gaze flickered between Nuibari and Shibuki. His heart pounded with excitement. His mind's inner beast stirred with craving—he wanted those blades.
He forced himself to calm down.
"Everyone here?" Jinpachi muttered irritably.
Three months earlier, the Third Mizukage had tasked them with retrieving Pakura's head from Sunagakure. But upon returning, they had failed—the target had been too well-guarded.
"It's that idiot Raiga's fault," Kushimaru sneered. "Letting himself get killed by a woman. Now people think the Seven Ninja Swordsmen are a joke."
"So this time, we're going to kill enough of them to rebuild our reputation," Jinpachi snarled, his breath turning to mist.
"Let's go!"
With Kushimaru's command, the Mist shinobi vanished into the forest.
...…..
In the wilds of the Land of Water, hunters and prey were locked in constant pursuit.
The invading Suna shinobi were cunning. They'd split into small squads and destroyed infrastructure—bridges, dams—causing widespread damage.
To respond, the Mist split into twenty teams, each 4–6 members, fanning out in a wide net.
....
Three days later.
In a quiet forest, one such team moved in a Y-formation. Kisame and another genin took the front. Zabuza was in the center, commanding. A fourth guarded the rear.
Zabuza's two teammates were veterans. Kisame was the newcomer.
The front lines—where Kisame was placed—were the most dangerous.
They'd tracked signs of a Suna squad to this remote area. But Kisame sensed something was off. The trail was too easy to follow.
"It's probably a trap," he warned.
Zabuza smirked.
"Kisame-san, you might be right. But we're already here. How about… you go check it out? The rest of us will back you up."
The other two teammates gave Kisame hard, threatening looks.
"Oh well." Kisame sighed, scratching his head. "I guess I've got no choice."
Suddenly, his hand flicked—and powdered lime burst from his palm!
Zabuza dodged instantly, already wary. But the other two were caught off guard, screaming as lime stung their eyes.
"You bastard! Do you know what this means?!"
One howled in fury.
"pft—!"
Kisame appeared behind him like a ghost, plunging a kunai into his heart.
"If I kill all three of you, no one will know. You tried to kill me first. This is just self-defense."
Expressionless, calm, cold.
"You mad dog!"
The last teammate attacked with a high-pressure water jutsu, launching Kisame through the woods.
...…..
From a distance, a Suna squad observed the chaos.
They had set this trap for the Mist shinobi—but now the Mist team was fighting each other.
"Heh. What a joke. Kill them while they're disorganized!"
Wind-style blades tore through the woods, targeting both Zabuza and Kisame.
...…..
A three-way battle erupted.
Zabuza was recognized as a priority threat, so the enemy Junin went straight for him.
Clang! Clang!
The two exchanged blows for dozens of rounds.
Meanwhile, Kisame was "tangled up" with two Suna shinobi—but he avoided combat, evading instead of countering.
Behind a dissolving water wall, Kisame vanished into the woods.
He could have won. But showing too much strength would've made him the next target. Better to play weak and let the others clash.
.....
Ten minutes later.
Trees snapped. Boulders shattered. Blood soaked the earth.
All the Suna shinobi were dead.
Only Zabuza remained from the Mist team, gravely wounded.
He staggered, arm limp, shoulder torn open, blood trailing from his fingertips.
He had done it—killed a Jonin-level enemy. He was one step closer to ANBU… to the Seven Swordsmen.
But where was Kisame?
Zabuza looked around warily. The hairs on his neck bristled. Something was wrong.
He quickly looted the corpses and limped away.
...….
An hour later, near a river:
Zabuza splashed cold water on his face, barely conscious. Blood loss was taking its toll.
But he had hope. He reached into his pouch for a flare, biting the fuse to light it—
FWIP.
A kunai, wrapped in a tag, shot out of the forest and exploded mid-air!