"I have no objections to the proposal. We proceed as discussed."
A thin, razor-sharp smile curled on Orochimaru's lips.
"Excellent!"
"Then it's settled! Let's move out!" Tsunade pumped her fist, her youthful face alight with the thrill of the mission ahead.
While she had ventured beyond the village walls before, this was her first time doing so without the safety net of her clan. The independence sent a jolt of excitement through her.
Yuta drew a slow, steadying breath.
His reaction, however, wasn't born of wanderlust. He was steeling his nerves for the grim reality of what was to come: killing.
He was not a native of this brutal world. In his previous life, he'd been a law-abiding citizen who had never so much as thrown a punch in anger. The casual way these shinobi spoke of death was foreign to him.
Yet, Yuta refused to believe he would falter. He would not vomit, he would not freeze.
Kill or be killed. That was the shinobi's first and most fundamental creed. He would embody it.
"Let's go," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter.
None of them noticed the boy watching from a shadowy corner just inside the Konoha gate. His face was pale, his eyes fixed on the departing team.
His classmates—Tsunade, Orochimaru, Jiraiya—were already full-fledged shinobi, embarking on missions for the village. He, however, remained trapped at the Ninja Academy, his every effort met with the same, damning assessment: "Lacks the innate talent."
Physically, only the village gate separated them. But in truth, the divide was a canyon, an unbridgeable gulf between genius and mediocrity.
'So this is the world of the gifted…'
In young Hiruko's heart, a seed of envy was sown. It would take root in the dark soil of his insecurity, destined to grow into a great, twisted tree of hatred.
—
The mission was supposedly "near Konoha," but the definition of "near" was apparently flexible. After hours of travel with no sign of the bandit encampment, Yuta fought back a grimace.
'So, anywhere in the Land of Fire is considered 'local' for us? We're practically at the border!'
"We have arrived," Orochimaru announced softly, his head tilting as he surveyed the dense forest. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. "They have drifted for some time, but it seems they have finally found a nest worthy of them."
Yuta followed his gaze. The mountainous, heavily wooded terrain was perfect for concealment. It was a good choice.
A column of thick, grey smoke rose from behind a nearby ridge. Jiraiya nearly vibrated with excitement. "They're right there! What are we waiting for? Let's charge in! My fists are begging for a workout!"
"You moron!" Tsunade's fist connected with the back of his head with a solid thwack. "We have a plan! We're following the plan!"
Yuta could only sigh inwardly.
"I'll scout the perimeter and assess their numbers," he stated.
With his Root's stealth techniques, he was the obvious choice for reconnaissance. In a flicker of displaced air, he was gone.
Orochimaru's serpentine eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
He recognized the Body Flicker Technique—a high-level application of chakra for instantaneous movement. It was a skill he himself had not yet perfected. The fact that Yuta wielded it so effortlessly...
'This Yuta... is interesting,' he thought, a spark of curiosity igniting within him.
"Hey, where'd he go?" Jiraiya mumbled, rubbing the new lump on his head.
"Be patient. He'll return with the intelligence," said Meyuri.
Having worked with Yuta for three months, both Meyuri and Osamu were accustomed to his capabilities.
They were considered prodigies in their own right, but beside Yuta, that label felt inadequate. Even the Hokage's own disciples seemed... ordinary in comparison.
"Is it wise for him to go alone?" Tsunade asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "Shouldn't we provide support?"
"Relax," Osamu said with an easy confidence. "If anyone can handle this solo, it's Yuta."
—
Yuta moved like a ghost through the treetops, his presence dissolving into the scenery. He settled on a high ridge overlooking the bandits' lair.
The fortress was a crude but functional structure built into the mountainside. A palisade wall of sharpened logs stood twice the height of a man, crowned with thorny brambles. A handful of watchtowers offered a clear view of the approaches, each manned by a bored-looking bandit with a telescope.
The main gate was a brute thing of heavy timber, guarded by two men who looked more interested in their conversation than their duty.
Inside, the compound was a hive of half-finished activity. This wasn't a temporary camp; these bandits were building a permanent stronghold.
Yuta's sharp eyes quickly picked out a huddled group apart from the rest. Their clothes were rags, their postures slumped in defeat. Six civilians, their spirits broken.
The captives.
A man leaned against a post nearby, lazily picking his teeth. He was clearly their guard. But it was the symbol on his forehead protector that made Yuta's blood run cold: the symbol of the Hidden Sand Village, slashed through the middle.
'A Suna missing-nin.'
His gaze swept the compound again, and his fears were confirmed. A second man, this one with the defaced protector tied to his arm, lounged near a makeshift barracks.
'Two of them.'
The mission rank had just changed drastically. They were no longer hunting simple bandits. They were walking into a den guarded by rogue shinobi from one of the Five Hidden Villages.
Gathering the intelligence he needed, Yuta retreated as silently as a passing shadow, his mind already racing through the new, deadlier calculus of their situation. He had to warn the others.
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