Gen quickly packed his gear, stepped out of the tent, and greeted them with a relaxed smile.
"Hello."
Hyuga Tokuma stood at the front, wearing a ninja headband over a light cap. His white combat suit fit snugly beneath the green flak vest of a chunin. Even without his Byakugan activated, his features were sharp and striking.
Next to him, Shirakuni Asa who had his dark hair pulled into a short ponytail. He wore the same green vest over a black, close-fitting combat suit. A ninja sword was strapped to his back, and his expression was calm but fierce.
"Hello, Captain," Tokuma and Asa said in unison.
"Hello, Captain."
The third voice came a fraction late.
Kurenai Yūhi had been staring off in thought, slow to react. By the time she realized, her fair cheeks warmed in embarrassment.
Gen's gaze softened when it fell on her. "Kurenai. Long time no see. You've grown even more beautiful."
Her crimson eyes flicked away, and though his words clearly pleased her, she countered with a quiet, "What's the use of being beautiful? You can't eat it for dinner."
Then, with a faint smile, she added, "You're already a jonin; same rank as Kakashi. That's amazing."
A woman's words often carried more meaning than they appeared to, and Gen recognized the subtle undercurrent.
"Being a jonin isn't all that great," he replied. "You still have to work to fill your stomach."
Kurenai thought wryly, And if you'd wipe that smug look off your face, I might actually believe you.
Gen chuckled. "Alright, enough small talk. Let's get to business. Introductions first so we know what each of us can do. Kurenai, you start."
Forming a team without knowing each other's strengths was asking for trouble.
Kurenai nodded. "My name is Yūhi Kurenai. I specialize in genjutsu. Please take care of me."
Tokuma followed. "Hyuga Tokuma. I specialize in taijutsu and reconnaissance. Please take care of me."
Asa came last. "Shirakuni Asa. I specialize in Wind Release and kenjutsu. Please take care of me."
They were all seasoned chunin, not fresh academy graduates. Any of them could lead a small squad on an independent mission. Since this was only a temporary unit, they kept their introductions short.
"Good," Gen said. "We've got a balanced set of skills. Let's find a spot to talk tactics and run some drills while we've got time—build some teamwork before we're thrown into the fire."
"Yes, Captain!" Tokuma and Asa answered in unison.
Kurenai, however, tilted her head. "Captain, you haven't introduced yourself. My last memory of you is still from our academy days and the other two know even less."
Her tone was light, but her cheeks puffed slightly in mock annoyance.
Gen smiled apologetically. "Ah, my mistake. I'm Uchiha Gen. My strengths are genjutsu and Fire Release. I'm also trained in Wind and Earth Release, decent with the sword, and good with throwing weapons."
So he's skilled in illusions… probably stronger than me in that area, Kurenai thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. But how does he compare to Father? I'll have to find out.
"Alright," Gen said, "let's move."
The four left camp, found an open space, and spent the next two hours running practice scenarios. Their individual abilities remained unchanged, but their coordination and battle rhythm improved noticeably.
By the next day, Konoha's reconnaissance teams had completed their scouting without issue, and the order came down: 'Launch the attack'.
The first step was to dismantle the dense network of traps the Mist had laid near their encampment.
Orochimaru, Jiraiya, and Minato personally led the recon units, using kunai laced with explosive tags to destroy the traps along the assault path.
Behind them, Tsunade led the main force forward.
Hidden Mist naturally couldn't stand by while their defenses were dismantled. They dispatched interception squads, but against three Kage-level shinobi, the attempt was laughable. The enemy was wiped out within minutes.
For a serious disruption, the Mist would need to send either a large main-force detachment or their high-level combatants—perhaps even Yagura himself.
But the terrain was riddled with their own traps, and only the upper leadership possessed a complete map. Ordinary soldiers knew only fragments; a misstep could be fatal to their own side.
Yagura could have intervened, but he wasn't a perfect jinchūriki—not yet—and had other plans in motion. The risk of being crushed between Tsunade's main force and the three Kage-level elites was too great.
Instead, the Mist shifted strategy. While Konoha was busy clearing traps, they reshaped the battlefield to suit their style.
Their camp sat beside a vast forest lake covering tens of thousands of square meters. Dozens of Mist chunin and above used Water Release to draw the lake's water outward, flooding the surrounding forest floor and saturating the air with moisture.
By the time Konoha finished clearing the traps, the battlefield had been transformed into a wetland.
But Konoha's forces didn't flinch.
The Land of Whirlpools, where many of their shinobi had trained, was surrounded by sea on three sides, its humidity rivaled only by the Land of Water. This was far from an alien environment.
When the battle began, Konoha didn't charge in a disorganized mass. They hurled shuriken and kunai in coordinated volleys, some tagged with explosives—though detonation tags were costly, and usually only wealthier chunin and jonin could afford to expend them early.
Explosions burst in the misty air, scattering sparks through the fog.
Some Mist shinobi were unlucky enough to be caught at the front, screaming as they fell, but the bulk of their force took little damage.
Then came the counter: every Wind Release users in Konoha, including Orochimaru, Minato, and Jiraiya, unleashed their techniques.
The combined force whipped into a gale, tearing through the fog and scattering it to nothing.
And with the mist gone, Konoha's shinobi saw the danger: most of the Mist forces had already maneuvered around both flanks, ready to ambush. Had the fog persisted, the trap might have sprung flawlessly.
Now exposed, the Mist had no choice but to engage head-on.
At the edge of the forest by the lake, the two armies clashed. Thousands of shinobi fought in brutal, close-quarters combat, where right and wrong meant nothing—only survival and victory mattered.
In one corner of the chaos, Team Gen faced a four-man Mist squad. The fights split naturally into one-on-one duels.
Steel rang against steel.
Gen swept the Kusanagi sword in a tight arc, knocking aside a hail of shuriken before slashing diagonally. The blade shot forward, elongating in an instant.
His opponent's eyes widened in shock and he barely managed to block mid-air, the clang of metal reverberating through the din of battle.
But with no foothold in the air, the Mist ninja dropped fast, right into Gen's follow-up strike.
The Kusanagi extended again, over ten meters now, stabbing down like a spear.
The Mist ninja raised his sword in both hands, neck craned to keep his head clear. He was skilled—anyone still alive at this stage was—but skill alone couldn't overturn the disparity.
Gen's blow smashed him to the ground. The impact rattled his organs, blood spraying from his lips. His grip faltered, and the Kusanagi's point drove through his blade, piercing into his chest.