5. The Humiliation Beneath the Thighs and the Mad Dog Fluid Technique

A true man knows when to bend and when to rise. Kisame was well aware that the situation favored him not in the least. Wounded as he was, unwilling to reveal the Shark Tail Lightning Whip before the crowd, it would be sheer folly to face so many foes alone. To clash head-on with Kurokawa and his companions would surely lead to disaster, perhaps even leave him half dead. Thus, he resolved to play the coward, accept humiliation, and apologize—better to suffer disgrace now and repay it when his wounds had healed.

His declaration stunned not only Kurokawa but the onlookers as well; brows knit in disappointment throughout the crowd. Who would have thought that the Village of Blood Mist harbored such spineless ninja—a disgrace to their home.

But would Kurokawa, fierce as he was, let Kisame off so easily? Of course not. His eyes flickered with cunning as he broke into a predatory grin, pressing forward with a demand: “If you’re going to apologize, show some sincerity, idiot! Here’s the deal—crawl on your knees between my legs, and our feud will be settled.”

Even before he finished, he spread his legs apart, pointing at his own crotch with relish. The crowd’s excitement was reignited at this spectacle. To crawl on one’s knees, like a dog, from one’s enemy’s groin in full view—such an outrageous demand, no one would agree to it. Should Kisame comply, he would forfeit all dignity, never again able to hold his head high in the village.

Mei Terumi couldn’t bear the sight and stepped forward to intervene. To her, they were all comrades—why push things so far? Moreover, Kisame had once been her classmate; she could not stand idly by.

Yet before Mei could act, Kisame delivered another answer that shocked them all.

“Kurokawa, will you keep your word?”

Kisame squinted, his voice calm as he confirmed with Kurokawa. No one noticed the glint of ruthless resolve that flashed deep in his eyes, as though he plotted something.

“Of course. With all these people watching, you think I’d go back on my word? Come now,” Kurokawa laughed, delighted. He had meant the demand as a passing whim, never expecting Kisame to accept such humiliation.

Without another word, Kisame dropped to his knees, head bowed, and crawled toward Kurokawa. Jeers and mocking laughter rippled through the crowd.

“A spectacle to behold,” came a mocking voice nearby. The speaker was a youth with short black hair, his lower face and neck wrapped in bandages, radiating an aura that warned others to keep their distance.

Zabuza Momochi.

His presence brought a chill, and within three meters, no one dared approach. Last year, Zabuza had stunned the village by killing over a hundred classmates during the ninja school graduation exam, forcing the Mist to abandon their tradition of “comrades slaughtering comrades” in the test.

In some sense, Zabuza bore partial responsibility for Mei Terumi’s inability to find a suitable spouse in the years to come.

Dubbed the “Demon”, this boy was only a Genin, but none in the village would underestimate him.

Now, Zabuza watched Kisame crawl like a dog with arms folded and interest gleaming in his eyes. Kisame, once two years his senior and a top student, had been his rival at the academy. To see him reduced to this was beyond imagining.

Kurokawa, hands on hips, looked down from above as Kisame crawled beneath him, slipping through his legs. Mei Terumi shook her head, unable to bear the scene any longer. She pitied Kisame’s misfortune, angered by his lack of resistance.

“Let’s go,” she said, turning and pulling a delighted Ringo Ameyuri away.

But then, a sudden change erupted.

As Kisame passed under Kurokawa’s crotch, hearing the latter’s triumphant laughter, he knew the moment had come. His previous actions had been a ruse to lull the enemy into complacency, searching for a chance to turn the tables.

To defeat a powerful foe, one must use any means necessary—even at the cost of one’s dignity. This was also a core principle of no-holds-barred combat.

The next instant, Kisame’s cold and ruthless revenge began.

In a flash, kneeling on the ground, he twisted his body in a swift arc, back pressed to the earth, legs bent, whole form taut like a drawn bow.

With all his strength, Kisame’s legs shot upward like rockets, striking Kurokawa squarely in the groin.

A crisp crack echoed before the Mizukage’s building, reminiscent of an eggshell breaking.

Within seconds, Kurokawa’s expression twisted from smug laughter to utter agony. His eyes bulged, bloodshot, legs splayed inward. The pain was so intense he could not even scream, only hiss weakly from his throat.

Soon, Kurokawa clutched his crotch and toppled like a felled log, eyes rolling back as he lost consciousness. For the rest of his life, he would be crippled.

The abrupt reversal stunned everyone present.

But it did not end there.

Having dispatched the strongest foe with a surprise attack, Kisame slowly rose, expressionless, facing the remaining adversaries.

“Together! Take him down!” they cried. Glances exchanged, they rushed him, hoping their numbers would overwhelm him.

At such close quarters, there was no time to form seals or unleash ninjutsu; only taijutsu could fend off multiple attackers. Kisame’s situation remained dire.

As they charged, Kisame’s eyes widened in fury, and he let out a fierce cry: “Wah!”

The shout startled everyone. In the next moment, Kisame jumped and howled, as if struck by rabies, acting utterly mad.

“What’s wrong with this guy…” The group hesitated, intimidated by Kisame’s wild-dog display.

But then, a cold gleam flashed in Kisame’s eyes. Like a starving hound, he lunged at them, scattering a handful of dirt and sand.

These were collected secretly as he crawled moments before. Not as effective as lime, but enough to blind and disorient his foes.

“Ah!” The group, caught off guard by Kisame’s sand attack, faltered and exposed openings.

Kisame seized the moment, raining blows upon them. His taijutsu was merciless, targeting the crotch, throat, and eyes—vital points that ensured once they fell, they would not rise again.

“Ow, ow…” In no time, Kurokawa’s companions were all beaten down, writhing in pain.

This was the “Mad Dog Style” of the no-holds-barred fighting school. Through wild shouts and erratic movements, he released killing intent and pressured his foes—ludicrous in appearance, yet devastating in battle.

After his victory, Kisame switched instantly from ferocious to meek, embodying the proverb, “as calm as a maiden, as wild as a mad dog.”

Silence—deathly silence.

At that moment, among the spectators, not a sound was heard; even a pin drop would have echoed.

If, a minute ago, Kisame had been seen as a coward without dignity, now his image had completely reversed—he was a fearsome warrior.

Low-profile, patient, lethal.

Kisame, in an unbelievable manner, had defeated enemies far stronger than himself.

He showed everyone what it meant to be a true ninja.

In the crowd, Ringo Ameyuri’s jaw dropped in amazement. “Now I understand how this guy survives the battlefield,” she murmured—a sentiment shared by many present.

Mei Terumi stared at Kisame, speechless. Only now did she realize how little she truly knew of her former classmate.

“Clap, clap, clap!” Zabuza was the first to break the silence, applauding Kisame. He cheered him on, eyes shining with the thrill of finding a worthy rival.

Kisame glanced at Zabuza but paid him little heed.

He strode over to the unconscious Kurokawa, paused, and spat a thick gob of phlegm onto his face.

“Eat that, you bastard!”

Having vented his rage, Kisame gave a cold smile and turned away, heading out of the crowd.

Wherever he passed, people scattered like wheat before the wind, hurriedly opening a wide path for him.

Blood seeped from his bandages as the wounds reopened; he limped away, like a wounded lone wolf in the wilderness.

And so, in the silent gaze of all, the lone wolf departed, quickly vanishing into the perpetual mist that shrouded the Village Hidden in the Mist.