Chapter 44 - Befriending Killer B
______________________
“Brother, don’t you realize how bad your singing is?” he blurted out, hoping for the best.
“Huh?”
Killer B’s expression morphed into one of indignation, as if he’d just been served a cold bowl of ramen on a freezing day.
He looked ready to unleash a rap attack on Miblade, his eyes narrowing into slits.
“You wanna talk about bad singing? At least I’m not in a one-man show called ‘Grumpy Ninja: The Musical!’”
“Oh, it’s on now,” Miblade thought as he braced for impact.
And just like that, the battlefield of words was set, with Killer B rapping about napping and Tsunade ready to drop some ninja wisdom—or maybe a fist—on anyone who dared interrupt her peaceful evening.
Now, sure, Killer B had spent more than a decade honing his skills, but at that moment, he sounded like a cat stuck in a blender—if the cat were also trying to beatbox.
Miblade seized the opportunity, ready to put a stop to the ruckus.
“I’m not saying rap isn’t art! It’s an incredible form of expression! But honestly?” he exclaimed, gesturing dramatically as if trying to win an Oscar for best supporting role in a ninja comedy.
“We think you might want to consider a different career path—like, say, mime or something? You’re a little too grown-up for this, you know?”
Killer B, looking like a sad balloon at a kids’ party, sighed deeply.
“I know I don’t sing well, but I love this art! It’s pure and free!”
“Yeah, art is free! But you can’t just force us to listen to it! You could find a deserted island or something to practice on. Why do you want to subject us to this? We’re just a bunch of kids!” Miblade shot back, channeling all his righteous indignation.
“I need an audience!”
Killer B proclaimed dramatically, raising his arms like he was accepting an award for the worst performance of the century.
“Damn it!”
Feeling utterly defeated, Miblade glanced back and winked at Naika, who instantly understood the cue.
With a flourish, Naika whipped out a sealing scroll and dramatically pulled out a guitar, ready to turn this chaotic rap battle into a jam session that would hopefully drown out the noise!
You have to admit, the world of Shinobi understood songwriting. They had pianos, drums, and even full orchestras hidden in the shadows.
This guitar was a birthday gift from Asuma during Miblade's last birthday when Miblade had serenaded everyone with the birthday song at the party.
Since getting this guitar, Miblade had been itching to show it off, and this was his first public performance. He had visions of using it to woo Naika, but now he found himself in a different kind of battle—one to save peace between two hidden villages!
Taking a deep breath, Miblade picked up the guitar and said to Killer B, “Well, I don’t understand rap, but I’ve done a lot of studying on music. This song is for us in the Shinobi world.”
He began a guitar solo, the rhythm gradually slowing down as he tried to audition for his own musical.
Miblade played a fresh rhythm, the sound echoing through the trees like a harmonious call to battle. Everyone exchanged glances, unsure of what to expect next.
Tsunade thought: Does this kid have such talent?
Shizune commented: It sounds good!
Naka added: Very handsome!
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Killer B remarked: Rap is art...
With newfound confidence, Miblade started singing:
“Crying with your mouth open, please keep it together, Ki, I’m not crying. Kasai, you promised to stay, a fast horse. Kimi, you’re top class and wide.
If you open up, you’re so wide, you’re so wide, and you’re so fast. Oh, Mr. likes to spoil and is tired of his hands, pull down the dei and sika wow, what is that…
Then you go Woo~~ Throw it Kuoluozuo Tilukao...
Saklu Woo~~Benefits Asida Noknowaka~”
The absurdity of the lyrics hung in the air like an uninvited guest at a party, making Tsunade crack a smile despite herself.
Even Killer B had to admit, while shaking his head in disbelief, that this was a rap battle for the ages.
As Miblade continued, it became less about winning over Killer B and more about finding common ground in the ridiculousness of it all. Who knew that a guitar solo and a series of bizarre lyrics could bring a ninja and a Jinchuriki together, if only for a moment?
The theme song of Digimon was one of the few Japanese songs that Mi Blade remembered during his painfully dull second-year crime spree. Seriously, nothing like a little nostalgia to spice up a life of mischief!
Of course, this one was still fresh for him. These were the lyrics Mi Jian had translated phonetically after he bravely ventured into the world of Japanese, armed with nothing but his audacity and questionable decision-making skills.
As he strummed his guitar, the inspiring lyrics flowed out like a melodic stream, especially when paired with Mi Blade’s self-playing guitar and his semi-decent singing.
It was enough to make Naika’s eyes sparkle like he’d just seen a rare Pokémon in the wild.
“There’s heartbreak, where there’s no fragrant grass at the end of the world…” he belted, his voice rising and falling dramatically, much like a ninja performing a particularly elaborate jutsu.
After the final note faded, Naika and Shizune morphed into his little fan club, shaking hands and shouting, “Onixan~” as if they were at a concert for the world’s biggest rock star.
Mi Blade put away his guitar and waved his hand nonchalantly, striking a pose like a rockstar at a concert, complete with an exaggerated wink that he definitely practiced in front of a mirror.
“I see it now; this is the charm of music! This is the art of music!” he proclaimed, arms wide open like he was embracing the very essence of melody.
Miblade then turned to Killer B, patting him on the shoulder with a sympathetic look that screamed,
“I feel your pain.”
“Listen, man, others scold you not because they don’t like rap, but because they don’t want to like your rap. It’s like trying to make sushi with ketchup. The road to music is still long, my friend.”
Killer B, filled with dramatic flair and a flair for the theatrical, hugged Mi Blade’s arm as if he’d just discovered a long-lost brother.
“...I’ve lived for thirty years and finally found a genius in music~ Let’s form a band! We’ll be legends! Mingzhen Ninja, world tour! Tsunade can be our agent, and those two beautiful girls will be our assistants!”
"Wow~ Our group will be called ‘Uncle and Boy.’ What do you think?”
Tsunade shot him a look that could curdle milk, like she’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.
“I’m not interested.”
Shizune crossed her arms, looking unimpressed, and added, “I’m not interested either.”
Naika shrugged with the air of a seasoned critic and said, “Honestly, it’s fine if Mi Blade goes solo; you can forget it.”
Killer B threw his hands up in exaggerated despair, “Bastard egg!”
The dramatic flair of the moment was almost enough to distract from the absurdity of their situation, and for a brief second, they all looked like they were about to break into a spontaneous musical number.
But then again, in the world of ninjas, absurdity was just another Tuesday.
Mi Blade pulled his hand away, looking utterly bewildered. “Just talk; don’t talk dirty!”
Killer B slumped into a dark corner like a sad puppy who’d just had his favorite toy taken away, his spirit deflated.
Mi Blade shook his head in exasperation, recalling a saying from his past life.
“ If you want him to learn the piano, he won’t be Beethoven until he’s, like, ancient!”
Killer B was born with five tones and somehow managed to hit four of them completely out of tune. His musical range was as incomplete as a jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces.
Writing lyrics was a noble pursuit, but with his talent, it was just a comedy show waiting to happen, and the audience was already giggling.
Watching Killer B’s dejection, Mi Blade felt a twinge of sympathy.
But then he remembered the chaotic lyrics and noise-like voice, and that sympathy evaporated faster than a snowman in July, leaving nothing but an awkward silence in its wake.
Naika suddenly grabbed Mi Blade’s hand, wide-eyed and serious as if he was about to make the most important declaration of his life.
“Promise me you’ll write a song for me!”
Mi Blade gazed at him dramatically, clutching his heart as if he were in a soap opera.
“Don’t worry; I’ll pen a song full of love, and I’ll sing it at our wedding in the future.”
Uchiha Naka jumped in with a goofy grin, “Hatake~” His enthusiasm was so infectious it could have qualified as a virus.
Later, while Tsunade and Shizune were enjoying dinner, Killer B sat under a tree, deep in existential thought—probably contemplating the meaning of life, the universe, or why his rap career wasn’t taking off faster than a ninja's shuriken.
“Music dreams are unbreakable, and the art of rap is eternal... or at least that’s what I hope!” he muttered to himself, trying to channel his inner philosopher.
Killer B suddenly stood up, fist raised high like he was about to declare war on mediocrity. “I won’t give up!”
But as fate would have it, he promptly tripped over his own feet and face-planted into the grass.
“...But I might need some practice!”
“Honestly, dude,” Mi Blade chimed in, struggling to stifle his laughter, “the most important thing for you right now isn’t proving your art to someone but improving the quality of your lyrics!”
“Seriously! Think about it! Which singer’s lyrics are like yours, filled with nothing but ‘stupid’ and ‘asshole,’ where the entire rap is just those two gems? And you, my friend, are one of the eight-tailed beasts! Is that really how you want to express yourself?”
“Is that language used casually?” Killer B replied, his eyebrows furrowing like he was solving a complex jutsu.
“Come on! Read more books, study harder, and listen to some actual good music! You know, those underground singers who get drunk and scream about their life problems while making lyrics that sound like they just rolled out of bed!”
“They make people feel something, you know? After listening to them, you feel like there are actual positive vibes in their music. That’s what mainstream music should be about, right? Not your ‘motherfucker’ and ‘big idiot’ fest!”
“So, buddy, read more! Ignorance is a terrible thing!”
This was after Tsunade, Shizune, and Naka took a break from their dinner, probably wondering what the heck was happening over by the fire.
To pass the time, the bored Mi Blade sat by the fire, determined to take Killer B on a journey of musical enlightenment that could only be rivaled by a dramatic training montage in an anime.
He was teaching him with the seriousness of a wise sage—or at least someone who had spent way too many late nights binge-watching documentaries and pretending to absorb all that knowledge.
When it comes to singing, especially rap, the most crucial part is the lyrics. Mi Blade could tell that Killer B had probably never cracked open a book in his life.
Seriously, the only “literature” he was familiar with probably involved cartoonish characters shouting “Kaboom!”
How can a rapper drop lines like "motherfucker" and "big idiot"? Seriously, what’s next? A heartfelt ballad dedicated to his love for instant ramen?
“Oh, sweet ramen, you fill my bowl with joy; I’ll slurp you up like a happy little boy!”
That’s why Mi Blade insisted he read more and explore actual literature—perhaps even get a library card or something! Maybe they had a
“How to Rap Without Sounding Like a Buffoon” section or something.
This was the first time he had seen Killer B take a discussion about rap art seriously, and it was quite the sight—like watching a toddler trying to understand quantum physics while eating crayons.
In the past, no one in the village took him seriously—neither his brothers, his students, nor the music teacher who paid him. They all thought he was just a clown, playing the fool for his own amusement, which, let’s be honest, he was.