The armory wasn't hard to find, a long, tent near the logistics area, marked by stacks of sealed crates and the faint smell of iron and oil that always clung to weapon stores. A single lantern burned near the entrance, its light catching on the dull metal of the weapons inside.
The place was smaller than I expected. Sparse, too. Most of the racks were half-empty, the few remaining items arranged with military precision. Kunai in bundles of five, shuriken stacked neatly in cloth rolls, a few coiled wires, ration packs, and rolls of medical tape.
Behind a low wooden counter stood a middle-aged shinobi, his flak jacket faded and scuffed from years of use. His expression was tired but alert, the kind of look you saw on people who had been in the field long enough to forget what rest felt like.
I approached and said. "Basara, chūnin. Cleared for active duty tomorrow. Here to resupply."
He looked at me, squinting slightly, "Alright, Basara. Basic field kit only 2 kunai sets, three shuriken sets, medical supplies, and a ration pack. Pick them up from the right side."
I inclined my head. "Understood."
Moving deeper into the tent, I found a small table where the supplies were laid out. Each item was tagged and organized by type.
I picked up the assigned weapons first, testing the weight of the kunai and the balance of the shuriken. They weren't new, but they were sharp and serviceable. The medical pack contained bandages, disinfectant, and a few soldier pills, barely enough for a short skirmish, but it would do.
Then, something caught my eye.
On the far side of the table, half-hidden beneath a sheet of paper, were several explosive tags. My gaze lingered on them. They were lethal and could save my life if used right.
I hesitated. These were usually mission-issued, reserved for specific missions. Still… they could be useful.
I turned to the quartermaster. "Any chance I could requisition a few explosive tags?"
He looked up, one brow raised. "Tags, huh?" He studied me for a moment, not suspicious, just weighing the request. "Normally, those are only issued for specific assignments."
I held his gaze, keeping my tone even. "Understood. But I was ambushed recently, if I end up out there again, I'd rather not be empty-handed."
He sighed through his nose, scratching the back of his head. For a moment, I thought he'd say no. Then he reached over, picked up 3 tags, and tossed them onto my pile. "Fine. You can have three. Don't make me regret it."
A grin flickered before I could stop it. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I thanked him quickly, gathering the supplies before he could reconsider. Slipping the tags carefully into a side pouch, I gave a small nod of appreciation and made my way toward the exit.
Outside, the air had cooled further, and the camp now washed in the soft flicker of torchlight. Shinobi moved with quiet precision, patrols returning from the perimeter, medics crossing between tents with steady urgency, and mess teams cleaning up what was left of the evening meal. The whole place thrummed with a kind of organized life efficient, but undeniably human.
Adjusting the pouch on my hip, I began the walk back toward the outer tents. The dirt crunched beneath my sandals, and faint voices drifted through the canvas walls murmured laughter, the scrape of armor, the occasional bark of orders. It felt… surreal, A stark difference from my old world. A place that existed between war and routine.
By the time I reached my tent, the night had deepened fully. The faint glow from within painted the walls gold, and I stopped for a moment, I thought I was alone, until I heard movement inside. A rustle of fabric, a quiet exhale. Instinct tensed my muscles for half a second before I pushed aside the flap and stepped in.
A boy, Younger than me, thirteen maybe, sat on the edge of the second cot, unstrapping his arm guards. He looked up at me, dark eyes bright and alert despite the fatigue in his movements. His hair was spiky and ash-brown, and faint fang-like markings stood out on his cheeks.
"Inuzuka Riku," he said with a grin that was far too energetic for this hour. "You must be the new guy they said would be bunking here,"
I blinked once, then nodded, relaxing my shoulders. "Basara."
The boy grinned wider, sharp canines flashing faintly in the lamplight. It was impossible to miss the twin fang-like markings on his cheeks, a trademark of the Inuzuka clan.
What was odd, though, was the absence of the scratching sound of paws or a low growl from beneath the cot.
No ninken.
Maybe it was being treated by the medical corps. Or maybe he hadn't been assigned one yet. Either way, not my problem
He slung his small pack off his shoulder and let it drop onto the cot with a soft thud. "Mind if I take this one? My team just got back from patrol, my teammates are in the next tent, this one was empty."
"Sure, go ahead," I said, setting my own gear down on the opposite bed.
He sat down heavily, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated groan. "Ugh, finally. I swear, if I have to go on another patrol without any action, I'm defecting to the rain."
I gave him a sidelong glance.
After a moment, he turned his head toward me, curiosity flickering behind his dark eyes. "So, uh… where's your team? Haven't seen anyone with you."
The question hung in the air for a moment. My hands paused over the strap I'd been unbuckling. For a moment, I considered brushing it off, saying they were elsewhere in the camp or reassigned. But lying felt harder when I was this tired.
"There was an ambush," I said quietly. "They didn't make it."
The words came out flat, too controlled, as if they belonged to someone else. The silence that followed stretched thin between us. The Inuzuka boy's grin faltered, guilt flickering across his face.
"Oh," he said softly. "Sorry, I— I didn't know."
I shook my head, keeping my tone even. "It's fine. You couldn't have."
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint rustle of the tent walls in the night breeze. Then, because he seemed incapable of letting silence linger for long, the boy brightened again.
"You know," he said, leaning forward slightly, "you could join our team!"
I blinked, caught off guard. "…What?"
"Yeah! We're short one member right now. Our squad's just three people: me, Hana, and Sayuri-nee. She's the acting team leader, a chunin. You're a chunin too, right?"
I hesitated, studying him. "You're suggesting I join your team? Can you even make that kind of decision?"
He scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Technically, no. But Sayuri-nee wouldn't mind. She's been grumbling about how we could use another experienced shinobi since we lost our last guy to an injury." He perked up, already halfway to standing. "Actually... hang on, I'll go ask her right now!"
"Wait... " I started, but he was already on his feet, energy surging back into his limbs like he'd just woken from a nap.
He pushed aside the tent flap, the torchlight from outside cutting across his face for a brief moment. "She's just next door. I'll be back in a sec!"
Before I could stop him, he was gone, his voice carrying faintly through the camp, calling out to his teammate.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across my jaw.
Typical Inuzukas, no hesitation, no filter. Just action before thought.
My eyes drifted to the cot opposite mine, his discarded flak jacket. This was what being a Konoha shinobi meant for most of them: connection, camaraderie, trust built through shared danger. Bonds that made the work bearable.
I moved toward the tent's entrance, parting the flap slightly to watch. Riku stood a few paces away, talking animatedly with someone a tall kunoichi with auburn hair tied upShe turned her head at something he said, her gaze flicking briefly toward me before she answered him with a measured nod.
Riku grinned like he'd just won an argument, then jogged back toward me, his expression triumphant.
"She said she'll come talk to you late tomorrow!" he said breathlessly. "Told you she wouldn't mind."
I sighed, half exasperated, half amused despite myself. "You certainly work fast."
"Of course. I'm that good !," he said proudly, tossing his flak vest onto the cot and collapsing beside it. "You'll see. We're a good team. You'll fit right in."
"Maybe," I said quietly.
The tent went quiet after that. The muffled sounds of the camp still drifted through the canvas: distant footsteps, the faint murmur of conversation, an occasional clink of armor or weaponry being set aside for the night.
I exhaled slowly, turned down the lamp until the tent was cloaked in near-darkness, and lay down. The cot creaked faintly under my weight.