"What the hell is that?!"
Inspector Megure watched the ash-black flames erupt from the boy's body, twisting and coiling through the air, solidifying into the upper half of a grotesque skeletal titan.
His eyes blew wide. The words tore from his throat before he could stop them.
Kogoro Mouri, freshly tackled to the ground by his daughter, and every officer in the vicinity wore the same mask of shock and incomprehension.
The veteran detectives of the First Investigation Division remembered something then. Something they'd laughed off the night before, when Eri Kisaki had tried to warn them.
Super... superpowers? They're real?
As the Susanoo materialized around Makoto, the more timid players, Saika Totsuka and Eriri Spencer Sawamura among them, squeezed their eyes shut.
They'd survived blood and brutality in the Naruto world. It had hardened them, to a point.
But there'd always been a buffer in the other world, a thin psychological membrane that whispered this is a game. The unconscious self-deception of I'm not killing people, just NPCs.
Like the difference between running someone over in GTA and doing it on an actual street.
The violence of the Naruto world had been real enough to scar, but compared to watching it unfold here, in the world they'd grown up in, walked to school in, eaten breakfast in... the impact didn't even compare.
And for the ones who'd never entered the Reincarnation Game at all, Shinichi Kudo, Makoto Itou, Moeha Fujiwara, Kotonoha Katsura, they stood frozen. Minds blank. Bodies locked.
Now they understood. They finally, completely understood why Makoto Nishikado could murder someone and stroll down the street afterward without a care.
With power like that, who would fear the police?
Tomoya Aki bit down on his lip hard enough to taste copper, knuckles white, and against his will, his mind superimposed his own face over Makoto's inside that ash-black giant.
"Stop! Stop killing people!"
Yukino, pinned from behind by her sister's arms, screamed the words.
"S-snipers!" Inspector Megure clawed his way back to functionality and bellowed at the officers around him.
They'd already witnessed Makoto's speed, something that pushed the limits of what a human body could achieve.
Sniper teams had been positioned on the rooftops of surrounding buildings as a contingency.
At the time, it had seemed like overkill. Now it felt woefully insufficient.
Hundreds of meters away, atop several high-rises, every sniper swung their barrel toward the monstrous skeletal figure. Every pair of hands shook uncontrollably.
Will this even work?
The thought was a prayer and a funeral rite rolled into one. There was no other option left.
Triggers squeezed in unison.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Heavy-caliber rounds, the kind that punched clean through steel plate, shrieked through the air.
The Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan in Makoto's eyes spun wildly. A grin tugged at his mouth. "A sniper duel? Is that what you want?"
The Susanoo's right hand swept outward in a lazy arc.
A dozen magatama, each the size of an adult human, materialized in a perfect line, then launched forward in the same instant.
It was like a toy stroller meeting a freight train head-on; the bullets simply disintegrated on contact.
The magatama kept going, slamming into the rooftops beyond.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Explosions cascaded across the skyline. The upper floors of the surrounding buildings detonated like they'd taken cruise missiles, shearing away in avalanches of concrete and glass.
Smoke billowed upward in columns thick enough to blot out half the Tokyo sky.
Debris rained down like a monsoon. The city plunged into panic.
Police. Players. Students. Every last person stood rooted in place, struck dumb.
Monster. That's a monster.
Ran Mouri had barely gotten back on her feet. Her face was ash-white, pulse still hammering.
As the terror ebbed, relief flooded in. If she hadn't stopped her father when she did, he'd be buried under one of those rooftops.
Still inside the classroom, Ishigami stared at Makoto's back. The look in his eyes had crossed the line from admiration into something feverish.
So this is... the new era.
Inspector Megure stood paralyzed. He swallowed with visible effort, gaze fixed on the crumbling skyline.
After the humiliation Makoto had dealt him last time, he'd called in every favor he had, pulled the best snipers the entire Metropolitan Police could muster.
And it amounted to nothing.
A chill slithered up his spine.
He turned. Makoto was looking right at him, that faint smile still in place.
"Ready for round two?"
Megure's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"What's the matter?" Makoto's tone was almost bored. "Was that it? Your final card?"
The silence from Megure and every officer beside him was answer enough.
The Japanese police's heaviest firepower amounted to sniper rifles and shotguns.
This wasn't America, where they could scramble helicopters and armored vehicles with mounted weapons.
Different country, different scale of problem. Japan's criminals might carry the occasional firearm, but the threat level never warranted military-grade hardware.
Even their helicopters were mostly used for chasing Kaitou Kid, not armed for combat.
"Tch."
Makoto's brow twitched.
The feeling was like strapping on a spiked condom, only for the other girl to suddenly announce she was on her period.
His right Mangekyou spun.
Black flames erupted across the officers' bodies without warning.
"AAAARGH!"
The men and women of the First Investigation Division collapsed, writhing on the ground, clawing at themselves, desperate to extinguish the fire.
"What is this?!"
"It won't go out?!"
"Help me! HELP ME!"
"I don't want to die!"
The eerie black flames sent ice through the veins of every onlooker. What kind of power is this?
Ran watched Makoto's expression darken with impatience. The Amaterasu was out. She didn't hesitate another second.
A precision knife-hand strike cracked against the back of her father's neck, and she dragged his unconscious body into the retreating crowd.
"S-sorry, Sensei! We'll get out of your way! We're leaving!"
Makoto spared her a glance, then turned back to the only two members of the First Division still standing: Inspector Megure and Detective Miwako Sato.
"Call in every officer the Tokyo police have. No... call the military too."
When he didn't pursue her, Ran let out a breath she'd been holding for what felt like a year.
Shinichi Kudo rushed over, voice cracking. "Ran, why didn't you tell me... he... he can..."
Even the self-proclaimed great detective, the walking embodiment of deductive confidence, couldn't look at this scene and still believe he was equipped to take on Makoto Nishikado.
Ran shot him a withering glare. "I told you. Did you listen?"
Megure still hadn't moved. Clearly, his brain had stalled completely. Makoto's right eye spun again.
FWOOM.
Black flames engulfed Inspector Megure.
"Inspector!" Shinichi screamed, lurching forward.
Before he took a single step, Ran's hand chopped the back of his neck. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Inspector Megure!" Miwako Sato went white, already reaching for her uniform jacket, ready to throw herself forward and smother the flames.
But Megure, burning, summoned his last reserves of strength. He raised a trembling hand. "Don't... don't come near me, Sato... just... contact headquarters!"
The police force lay in smoldering ruin. Every student across Shuchiin's middle school, high school, and university divisions stood frozen, too terrified to breathe.
Shizuka Hiratsuka snapped out of it at last. She shoved her way to the front and screamed at the students behind her.
"GO! Everyone, get out of here NOW!"
The collapsed buildings. The officers burning alive. Shizuka had zero doubt that when the real military response arrived and Makoto decided to stop holding back, this place would become a slaughterhouse. And every bystander would be collateral.
The students jolted awake and ran for the gates like their lives depended on it, because they did. Some of them still craned their necks, morbidly curious about what Makoto might do next, but they weren't bloodsport spectators in a manga. Curiosity wasn't worth dying for.
The stampede turned chaotic. In the crush to escape, people went down and didn't get back up.
By the time the campus emptied, several more bodies lay still on the cold ground.
Shizuka gulped air, heart slamming against her ribs, and then noticed a cluster of figures still standing in the open field.
Airi Akizuki. Marina Akizuki. Utaha Kasumigaoka. Megumi Kato.
"Why aren't you running..." The question died on her lips as realization hit. These were the same people Yukino had summoned to the Service Club.
"Makoto! I want to fight too! Me too!"
Airi hadn't spared Shizuka a single glance. She bounced to Makoto's side like an excited rabbit, practically vibrating with energy.
Marina followed at a more composed pace, her gentle smile never wavering.
Utaha and Megumi fell in behind them.
Utaha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Sensei, you promised to make it up to me afterward. Still waiting on that, by the way."
"You were rather forward last time, Makoto." Megumi's voice was its usual soft monotone.
On the other side of the field, Ran had been creeping toward the exit, dragging her unconscious father by one collar and her unconscious childhood friend by the other like a pair of suitcases.
When she spotted her teammates stepping forward, her feet stuttered to a halt.
If I leave now... am I going to look like the odd one out?
"Ran?" Sonoko turned to her best friend, then followed her gaze to Makoto and the constellation of girls orbiting him. Understanding clicked instantly.
Sonoko might swoon over every handsome face that crossed her path, but she was a Suzuki heiress. When the stakes were real, her head was clear as crystal.
This was no small matter.
"Go." Sonoko took Shinichi and Kogoro off Ran's hands. "I'll get them out of here."
Before the Reincarnation Game, she could never have managed the weight. But the system had reforged her body, and two years at the ninja academy, even without graduating, had given her enough strength for this.
"But..." Ran hesitated.
Sonoko's palm smacked her square between the shoulder blades. "Go! If you don't get over there now, you'll never get another chance!"
She was certain of it. If Ran didn't pick a side today, the consequences would follow her forever.
Sonoko wasn't the only one who read the situation. Haruno Yukinoshita saw it too.
Groomed since childhood as the Yukinoshita family's heir, barely past twenty but already a veteran of cutthroat business politics, Haruno recognized in an instant that this wasn't about fleeing or staying.
It was about allegiance.
"Yukino, go." She gave her sister a gentle push.
Yukino stared at her, bewildered.
Haruno dropped her voice. "I'll handle this. One of us is enough."
She'd spent her entire life shielding her little sister from the family's expectations, shouldering the burden of heir so Yukino could live freely. This was the same instinct.
Besides, she knew her sister's principles would never align with Makoto's methods. Forcing her into that circle would only create problems.
"Just hold on to what you believe. That's enough."
With that, Haruno jogged to Makoto's side, all smiles. "Lord Nishikado, allow me to..."
"Get lost."
She froze mid-sentence.
Seriously? That much disdain?!
THWUP-THWUP-THWUP.
The bass thrum of helicopter rotors swelled from the distance.
Makoto and the others looked up, expecting police or military reinforcements.
The helicopter bore a crisp "Tokyo TV" logo on its fuselage.
Makoto stared.
The cops really are useless.
He'd dismissed the Susanoo moments ago.
Now the ash-black skeletal specter blazed back to life around him. Its right hand closed, and a massive black chainsaw materialized from nothing.
Every Uchiha's Susanoo carried a unique weapon. The two reincarnations of Indra had wielded longswords. Sasuke paired his with a spectral bow. Shisui Uchiha's Susanoo bore a drill. Kakashi's had conjured dimensional shuriken.
The Susanoo inherited through Makoto's Uchiha Fugaku lineage wielded a chainsaw.
The instant it solidified, it screamed to life with a high-pitched mechanical whine.
Makoto approved. He'd always thought katanas were too thin, too long, too fragile.
"Wh-what's he doing?!"
Inside the helicopter, anchor Rena Mizunashi and her crew went pale. They'd come chasing a terrorism story. They hadn't expected... this.
And the thing below them appeared to be taking aim.
"Wait, wait, Makoto!"
Airi grabbed his attention just as he was about to bisect the helicopter and give the crew an express ride to the afterlife.
"Hm?"
"Isn't this perfect?" Her eyes sparkled. "Let them film us fighting. Show the whole world."
And, naturally, show the whole world that Makoto Nishikado belonged to her.
That was Airi's version, anyway. Reality had the ownership reversed.
Utaha nodded. "The blonde retriever's not wrong. If we're doing this, we should do it properly."
"WHO are you calling a little blonde retriever?!" Airi bristled.
Makoto considered, then dismissed the chainsaw. Inside the helicopter, the pilot and Rena's crew collectively remembered how to breathe.
THWUP-THWUP-THWUP.
More rotors. Everyone looked up again, and this time, the color drained from every face.
A fleet of military attack helicopters bore down on them, flanked by the screaming engine note of fighter jets tearing across the sky.
F-35s.
And it wasn't over.
Type 10 main battle tanks ground down the road on clanking treads, smashing straight through the school's perimeter wall, rolling to a halt in front of Makoto's group. Row after row of gun barrels leveled at them, dark and absolute.
"That all you've got?"
Makoto stepped forward. His Eternal Mangekyou blazed, and Chakra poured out of him in a flood that bent the air itself.
The ash-black skeletal Susanoo erupted with Chakra pathways, threads of energy weaving into muscle and sinew, then armoring over with thick, savage plating.
Its already staggering frame swelled to several times its former size.
Susanoo. Third Form.
"Come on then." Makoto spread his arms wide, laughter rising from his chest. "Let's dance!"
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Every 60 Powerstones = 1 Bonus Chapter