True alphas weren't rare--maybe one in ten for average dogs; one in twenty for Inuzukas, with their careful breeding arrangements--but they were their own special brand of irritating. Kakashi kept the emotion buried, crushed deep where it wouldn't weaken his scent, and flicked unruffled chakra down through his legs and feet, winding energy into muscle and bone. Kuromaru hadn't shoved yet, but he would. One step back was all it took to lose.

"I don't need you--or Ryouma--to get me anything," he said. "I look after myself."

A part of which was making sure he never went unarmed. One hip-pouch still hung from his belt; he slipped a hand into it, watching Kuromaro watch him, and touched a coil of wire. It slid around his fingers. He didn't plan to injure Kuromaru, but he didn't intend to let a dog that outweighed him by forty pounds get the upper hand, either.

Strength was Kuromaru's advantage; speed was Kakashi's. He snapped chakra through thin steel, cast a loop neatly around Kuromaru's scarred muzzle as the dog's head twisted up, and locked the muzzle in place with a jutsu that twisted the remaining wire coils firmly around Kuromaru's throat. His knee thumped solidly into the heavy ribcage at the same time, reinforced by chakra, forcing the startled animal to move.