34. Even a cigarette can become a concealed weapon.

Kisame left the hotel, intending to stroll about and observe the customs and atmosphere of the Leaf Village. He had barely taken a few steps when he heard a commotion from a nearby alley. Following the sound, he saw several Mist ninjas embroiled in a heated conflict with a group of Leaf villagers; tempers flared on both sides, and it seemed only a matter of time before blows were exchanged.

Unperturbed, Kisame walked over.

“Everyone, stop arguing,” he said as he stepped into the crowd, first urging his Mist companions to remain calm, then turning to the Leaf group with a smile. “Friends of the Leaf, let’s not make trouble. For my sake, let it go.”

“And who are you supposed to be? Why should we give you any face? This is ridiculous,” the leading Leaf genin replied, arms crossed arrogantly.

Kisame forced a smile, glanced at his Mist comrades, then suddenly—

Spat out a thick wad of phlegm.

Smack!

The spittle landed squarely on the Leaf ninja’s face, covering it completely. It was hard to imagine a person could spit such a large amount.

Phlegm wasn’t deadly, but it was intensely disgusting and offensive.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the Leaf genin recoiled in shock and fury, instinctively reaching up to wipe his face. Kisame seized the opportunity, kicking the man hard and fast in the groin.

A scream erupted as the man collapsed.

The remaining Leaf genin realized what was happening and charged at Kisame. He welcomed them with a handful of blinding white lime, which, with a swift motion, scattered into the air, stinging their eyes and obscuring their vision.

“Take them down,” Kisame ordered coldly. The Mist ninjas, now fully alert, followed his command, pouncing on the Leaf genin and beating them mercilessly.

Wails echoed from the alley.

“Enough,” Kisame said when the beating had gone far enough, commanding his companions to stop. He looked down at the Leaf genin who had insulted him and said, “In the Mist Village, we have a saying: ‘No acquaintance without a fight.’ You should know me now—Kisame Hoshigaki.”

The man, terrified, clutched himself and looked miserable.

Kisame then turned to his Mist comrades. “Next time, when faced with this situation, don't waste words—just act. We came to the Leaf to show these hothouse flowers what the Blood Mist ninja are really like.”

His words were met with eager nods. Kisame was already nicknamed the “Mad Dog,” and lately, the Third Mizukage had taken a particular interest in him, so he had become the pillar of the Mist genin.

As the group prepared to leave the alley—

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

Several shuriken suddenly flew in from outside, which Kisame caught effortlessly.

“You lot—are you the Mist genin here for the Chunin Exams? If you’ve come to the Leaf, you’d better follow our rules, you bastards.”

The voice preceded its owner. Moments later, a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley, hands in his pockets, blocking Kisame and his companions’ way.

He was a young man with long hair, dressed in a black suit with the jacket open, revealing his chest and abs. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he blew smoke, striking a cool pose—clearly a delinquent.

“It's Asuma!”

The battered Leaf genin on the ground called out, tears of relief flooding their faces as if they'd seen their savior.

Asuma?

Kisame narrowed his eyes, recognizing the identity of the newcomer. The delinquent before him was none other than Sarutobi Asuma, son of the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen. He was a year younger than Kisame, yet already a chunin of the Leaf.

Asuma had been rebellious in his youth—smoking, drinking, and dating early, all things his Hokage father disapproved of; their relationship was strained, and Asuma had even run away from the village at one point.

“So it’s Lord Asuma. I’ve heard much about you,” Kisame said, his demeanor shifting as he approached with a polite smile.

The Leaf shinobi hastily warned, “Lord Asuma, watch out for that shark guy!”

They feared Kisame would repeat his earlier tricks.

“You know me?” Asuma stepped back warily, keeping his distance, his brow furrowed as he asked in a flat tone.

There’s a saying: never hit someone who’s smiling. Seeing Kisame’s respectful manner, Asuma couldn’t justify attacking him outright before understanding the situation.

“Lord Asuma, it’s all a misunderstanding. We’ll apologize to our Leaf friends right away. Please, don’t be angry,” Kisame said sincerely, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one to Asuma.

“Don’t try to play games with me,” Asuma sneered, about to refuse, but his eyes lit up when he saw the exquisite packaging. “This cigarette’s not bad.”

He accepted it readily.

Asuma, experienced and discerning, recognized it as the most expensive brand sold in the Leaf shops—even his Hokage father rarely indulged in it.

Click.

Kisame produced a lighter and lit the cigarette for Asuma.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Asuma said, satisfied as he took a drag and blew a smoke ring. “I’ll mediate. You treat those Leaf genin to a meal and pay their medical expenses. Then we’ll call it settled. It’s not a big deal anyway—I get into fights all the time and still make friends afterward.”

“No acquaintance without a fight. I feel the same. Great minds think alike,” Kisame continued to flatter him, and Asuma began to feel a bit smug.

The Mist ninjas were bewildered.

“That Mad Dog Kisame—why is he suddenly groveling? He just told us to make the Blood Mist’s reputation known.”

Someone muttered.

“Hmph, because Lord Asuma is the Hokage’s son and one of the exam proctors. You guys are finished,” one of the battered Leaf ninjas jeered, finally venting his frustration.

His words made the Mist ninjas pale, exchanging nervous glances.

Meanwhile,

Asuma, basking in Kisame’s praise, took another delighted drag from his cigarette.

But then—without warning, with a loud bang, the cigarette exploded in his mouth.

Asuma’s lips split, teeth flew, and his face was covered in blood.

A perfect opportunity.

Kisame struck, landing a furious combination that knocked Asuma to the ground.

“For a chunin, your vigilance is pathetic. The Hokage’s son isn’t much, after all,” Kisame said coldly, towering over Asuma with a completely different demeanor from his earlier deferential attitude.

“Ugh…” Asuma struggled to raise a hand, pointing at Kisame, trying to speak, but the pain in his mouth was too much for words.

Kisame had tampered with the cigarettes.

After purchasing the pack, he removed a portion of tobacco from each cigarette and, using the explosive blade's ability, crafted an equal number of tiny firecrackers, inserting them into the cigarettes with the fuses leveled with the tips.

Thus, the pack became a hidden weapon: whenever Kisame offered someone a cigarette, the explosion in their mouth was the perfect opening for an ambush.

Kisame carried many such tricks and concealed weapons.