Hidden Leaf, Hidden Talents 55

The clone boss lowered the spyglass. The Raikage and the bijuu were tearing the forest into noise and fire, but his eyes drifted to the town instead. Half-empty already. The smart ones had run the second a stranger in Kumo colors yelled “evacuate.” The stubborn ones—farmers, drunks, the elderly, finally got the message when the ground convulsed like the earth itself had indigestion. Nothing like a bijuu brawl to loosen stiff legs.

A shadow leaned close. “Boss… this might be too much. Original’s gonna eat this memory raw. What if it blows his cover? What if this stops being just shadows and turns into a war?”

The boss set the spyglass down and thumbed the edge. “What’s done is done, we can’t roll it back. But we can double down.”

The other frowned. “Double down how?”

The boss didn’t answer at first. Just lifted his chin toward the horizon, where dots of civilians stumbled along the road, shadows stretched thin by firelight. Sandals slapping dust. Parents dragging kids. Some dropping what they owned because weight mattered less than survival.

The clone followed his gaze, head tilted. Confused. A moment later, his eyes widened with understanding—“ah”—and he clapped his palm into the heel of his hand. “You want us to…”

The boss didn’t nod. “Take a few clones and stage it. Kumo chasing Iwa. Make sure some civilians see it as they run.”

……

Meanwhile, back with the original...

Looking at the outpost again, I had to admit they'd done some impressive work since our last visit.

What used to be a collection of hastily thrown-together wooden buildings had transformed into something that actually looked permanent. New structures had sprouted up between the old ones like mushrooms after rain, storage buildings, what looked like expanded barracks, even a proper mess hall that didn't appear to be held together by prayer alone.

The population had basically doubled since our last visit. Shinobi everywhere, all walking with brisk pace that meant they had places to be and people to potentially stab. But it wasn't just military personnel. Merchants, blacksmiths, the usual crowd that follows armies around like opportunistic seagulls. Amazing how quickly people will set up shop in a war zone, as long as there's profit to be made and only a moderate chance of getting killed.

'Development at its finest,' I thought, watching two genin handle the crowd flow like pros, clearly they'd been stuck with this job long enough to get really good at it. 'Nothing quite like an active conflict to speed up urban planning projects.'

A chunin appeared beside our convoy before we'd even come to a complete stop. Professional, competent, definitely a checklist guy. He took one look at the wagons, nodded to himself, and immediately started barking orders to get everything unloaded and sorted.

Tsunade and Sakumo barely looked at the guy before heading for the command building. I followed them. Well, I mean, that's what you do, right? Follow your teacher into whatever mess is waiting. Better than standing around watching people haul boxes around anyway.

The command building was exactly like I remembered it. Solid wood, built for work not looks. Different guard though. Young chunin, looked pretty green.

He spotted us coming—well, spotted Sakumo and Tsunade coming, since I was walking behind them, and his eyes went wide. Recognition, then panic, then that frantic look of someone trying to remember the right protocol.

"Tsunade-sama! Hatake-sama!" He straightened up so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash. "Please, let me escort you to the commander."

He led us into the building and down a short corridor, practically bouncing on his toes. When we reached the commander's door, he raised his hand to knock—

That's when Tsunade shoved the door open and bounded inside like she owned the place.

Which, considering her family connections, she sort of did.

The poor chunin's hand was still hanging in mid-air, frozen in the almost-knock position.

"Uncle Minoru!" Her voice boomed through whatever conversation was happening inside. "Hope you weren't saying anything important, because I'm here now and that means all the interesting stuff can finally start!"

Sakumo and I exchanged a look. The chunin's jaw had dropped so far I was worried he might dislocate something.

"Sorry about that," Sakumo said to the poor guy, sounding like he'd done this before. "She's... enthusiastic."

I gave the chunin what I hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "First time? You get used to it. Eventually. Maybe."

Poor kid, I thought as we went inside. He'd probably been rehearsing all morning—how to properly announce important visitors, proper protocol, all that stuff. Then Tsunade just... yeah. Though I guess if you're expecting normal behavior from someone who relieves stress by punching things, that's on you.

Inside was pretty much what you'd expect. Two guys had been bent over maps and papers, looking serious, having some kind of important discussion. Now they were both staring at the whirlwind that had just burst through their door.

One of them was obviously Minoru Senju, looked like Tsunade, just older and more weathered from years of dealing with bureaucracy. The other was obviously a Nara, with that sharp but tired look they all seemed to have.

"Tsunade," Minoru said, sounding like a tired uncle who'd been dealing with her chaos for years. "Still can't use a door like a normal person, I see."

"Normal doors, normal people," she replied cheerfully. "I'm neither."

The Nara—Shikaro, if I was remembering my clan politics correctly, rubbed his temple like he could feel a headache coming on. Which, considering he was probably about to get pulled into whatever shenanigan Tsunade had cooking, was entirely reasonable.

After the usual family pleasantries, health, weather, the general state of not being dead, Minoru's attention shifted to me.

"And who might this be?" he asked, though his tone suggested he'd already made some educated guesses.

"Shinji," I said, giving him a respectful bow that was exactly the right depth, deep enough to show proper respect to a senior commander, not so deep as to look like I was trying too hard. "Tsunade-sensei's student."

That's when she decided to showcase her complete and utter lack of shame.

"My student," she announced, puffing up with pride like she'd built me from scratch, "who also happens to be Konoha's strongest chunin right now. All thanks to my excellent teaching, of course. Kid took down a whole group of jonin just the other day."

The silence that followed made me acutely aware of my own heartbeat.

Both men turned to stare at me like I'd just claimed I could juggle tailed beasts. Which, honestly, was probably less ridiculous than what she had just told them. I felt heat creep up my neck, that embarrassment when your teacher brags about you while you're standing right there, fighting the urge to correct her in front of her uncle. Because apparently the details of that fight have been getting more impressive every time she tells the story. She'd already told Sakumo some version on the way here. Next week it'll be a hundred jonin and a small army of chunin. The staring continued. I tried to look like someone who definitely hadn't been exaggerated beyond all recognition.

Then Shikaro spoke up. "Tsunade, you've been on the front lines for most of the past three weeks. When exactly were you doing all this 'excellent teaching'?"

Ouch. Direct hit.

Her confident expression flickered for just a moment before she rallied with that shameless Senju confidence.

"Quality over quantity," she said, waving her hand around like this was common sense. "I don't need to hover over my students like some people. I give them the tools and let them figure out how to use them. Builds character."

'Tools,' I thought, trying to keep a straight face. Right. Is that what we're calling it when you disappear for weeks? Because I'm pretty sure most of what I've learned came from... well, not having a teacher around to actually teach me anything.

But you couldn't argue with the results, even if the methods were... unconventional.

The conversation eventually shifted away from my apparently mythical combat prowess and toward more practical matters, the war, specifically, and how things were progressing on various fronts. Turned out the news was actually pretty good, at least from Konoha's perspective. The combined pressure on both River and Sand was working, and there were increasing signs that both sides were starting to feel the strain.

That's when Minoru got down to business.

"Well, your timing couldn't be better," he said, spreading out a new map across the table. "We have a mission that requires your particular skill sets."

The map showed certain regions in detail, outposts, supply routes, terrain features, all carefully marked. Someone had risked their neck getting this information. Probably multiple someones.

"River and Sand have been consolidating their food supplies at several key outposts," Minoru continued, pointing to marked locations. "These stockpiles are what's keeping their forces operational in this region. If we can eliminate them..."

"They'll be forced to either withdraw or accept terms," Sakumo finished. "Cut off their ability to maintain extended operations."

"Exactly. Primary objective is the destruction of these supply caches. Secondary objective is intelligence gathering, troop numbers, supply routes, command structure. Tertiary objective, if the opportunity presents itself, is elimination of key personnel."

He straightened up, his expression serious. "This isn't about body counts. It's about crippling their operational capacity and forcing them to the negotiating table."

Made sense. Wars weren't won by how many people you killed, they were won by making it impossible for the other side to keep fighting. Cut off their food, disrupt their supplies, make it more expensive to continue the war than to accept peace.

"So when do we leave?" Tsunade asked, already looking like she was mentally packing for the mission.

"As soon as possible," Minoru replied. "Time is critical here. You two can select the best jonins available to join you for this mission. And if your student is truly as powerful as you claim, Tsunade, then he should be a valuable asset as well."

So I was definitely going along for this one, assuming I could prove I belonged there.

That's when Sakumo asked the question that changed everything.

"Has Shinji learned chakra suppression yet?"

The silence was immediate and telling.

Tsunade blinked. I blinked. Neither of us had an answer, because the answer was embarrassingly obvious to everyone in the room.

'Chakra suppression,' I thought, and immediately realized I had absolutely no idea what that was. Well, I mean, the name was pretty self-explanatory, suppress your chakra, obviously, but as an actual technique? Complete blank. Which was weird, because you'd think something called 'chakra suppression' would've come up at some point during my extensive Academy education. You know, that education where they taught us how to throw kunai and recite the Will of Fire but somehow forgot to mention survival techniques that apparently kept ninja alive on dangerous missions. Unless this was one of those advanced things they only taught to people whose teachers actually planned lessons instead of disappearing for weeks at a time.

Tsunade's face went through a fascinating series of expressions, confusion, realization, embarrassment, and then resignation.

"I, uh." She cleared her throat. "That might have slipped my mind."

'Slipped her mind.' I gave her a flat look. Because apparently while I was busy figuring out chakra control and medical ninjutsu, we'd somehow completely missed this particular survival technique.

"Right," she said, rallying quickly. "No problem. Sakumo and I can handle this one. Shinji can stay here and help with outpost stuff. Plenty of useful work that doesn't require infiltration skills."

I felt my expression change before I could control it. That disappointed look just happened. The one that made me look like a kid who'd just been told he couldn't come to the grown-up party. Because after everything, after finally getting included in something important, I was about to get benched over a training gap.

That's when Minoru spoke up.

"Actually, it should be fine to bring him along."

Both jonin turned to stare at him. Sakumo's expression was particularly skeptical.

"With respect, Commander, even with proper chakra suppression training, there's always a risk of detection by skilled sensors. We'll be hitting multiple targets, which increases the chances of our techniques being identified and countered. Bringing along a chunin without any suppression training, regardless of his other skills, significantly increases the mission risk."

Valid points. Careful risk assessment kept people alive in situations where a single mistake could mean torture and death.

That's when Shikaro decided to contribute to the conversation.

"Actually," he said, sounding like he'd been thinking three steps ahead of everyone else, "it shouldn't be a problem. We did specifically request supplies from Uzushiogakure for situations like this."

As if summoned by his words, and knowing how Nara clan members thought, he probably timed it perfectly, there was a knock at the door.

The same chunin from earlier entered, carrying a small wooden box like it was either very valuable or very dangerous. He set it on the table and stepped back, waiting for dismissal.

Minoru opened the box, showing what was inside. Maybe twenty paper tags, each one covered in complex seal work.

Now that was interesting. I leaned in to get a better look at the patterns. Had to be Uzushio craftsmanship, nobody else could make seals this complicated without accidentally blowing themselves up. And if Shikaro thought these would solve our problem... well, they probably would.

So I wouldn't need to learn chakra suppression after all. Just stick on a tag and become invisible to sensors. Way more reliable than trying to figure out some advanced technique right now. Though I wondered how they actually worked. Absorb chakra? Redirect it? The patterns were too complex to understand just from looking.

"Chakra Damping Seals," Minoru explained, lifting one of the tags for examination. "Uzushio's latest contribution to the war effort. While active, these completely mask chakra signatures. Even skilled sensors won't be able to detect you."

He set the tag down carefully. "If this mission succeeds, if we can force River to accept terms, Sand will have no choice but to follow suit. End the whole conflict."

'End the whole conflict.' That would mean a lot of people getting to go home. Families reuniting. Kids not having to worry about their parents coming back in pieces. Parents not having to wonder if their kids would make it through the war. And honestly, it would mean I wouldn't have to keep killing people either. That was a nice bonus.

And sometimes, if you were very lucky and very good at what you did, you could help make that happen.

Minoru turned to me, his expression serious but not unkind. "So, Shinji. Do you want to join this mission, or would you prefer to stay here and assist with outpost operations?"

I didn't hesitate.

"I'll join."

Because sometimes the choice isn't between safe and dangerous, or smart and stupid, or even right and wrong. Sometimes the choice is between being part of something important or watching it happen from the sidelines.

And I'd never been much good at watching from the sidelines.

Besides, missions like this were how you built up contributions that got you access to the good stuff. S-rank techniques. Forbidden jutsu. Scrolls locked away in the Hokage's private vault that required serious political capital to even look at, let alone learn.

Which reminded me of something I'd just seen through my clones, the Third Raikage's Black Lightning. Guy had charged straight at the Eight-Tails with black lightning covering his whole body, punching holes through anything that got in his way. Black lightning. I'd never even known lightning could change colors until I saw it with my own eyes. Well, my clone's eyes, but close enough.

Though thinking about it, that was probably the point of missions like this. You couldn't learn about jutsu that defied normal understanding if you never did anything worth rewarding. And you couldn't do anything worth rewarding if you spent your whole career playing it safe.

Sometimes you had to take the dangerous mission and hope your contribution was valuable enough to open doors that stayed closed for everyone else.

And just like that, the meeting was over.

Minoru began collecting some papers, his focus already shifting to the next problem on his desk.

"Well then," Tsunade said, clapping her hands together. "I need to put together a proper squad for this. It can’t just be the three of us if we’re hitting outposts."

She turned to me. "Shinji, you're officially off duty until tonight. Go play around, explore the outpost, take a nap, whatever keeps you entertained. We're departing at nine, so don't wander too far."

"I've got some arrangements to make as well," Sakumo added, already heading for the door. "See you both tonight."

And then they were gone, leaving me standing in the command room like a piece of furniture someone had forgotten to move.

'Play around,' I thought, staring at the empty doorway. 'Explore the outpost. Take a nap.'

Right. Because that's exactly what every highly trained chunin wants to hear before an infiltration mission. 'Go find something fun to do while the adults handle the important stuff.' It was like being told to go outside and play while your parents planned your surprise birthday party, except instead of a party it was a mission where getting caught meant torture and execution.

Though thinking about it, surprise parties and infiltration missions had more in common than they should. Both involved a lot of sneaking around and hoping nobody screwed up the timing. Both required everyone to keep their mouths shut until the big moment. And both usually ended with someone getting jumped by people hiding in the dark.

Okay, that comparison got weird fast.

I walked out of the command building and into the afternoon bustle of the outpost, watching people go about their daily routines. Merchants hawking their wares, ninja heading to and from assignments, civilians trying to make a living in what was essentially a militarized frontier town. Everyone had something to do, somewhere to be, some purpose driving them forward.

Meanwhile, I had been told to 'play around' for the next few hours.

'Play around.' What was I supposed to do with that? I wasn't twelve anymore, despite what my face apparently suggested. I couldn't just go find a stick and pretend it was a sword, or challenge random people to friendly sparring matches. Though the sparring thing wasn't actually a terrible idea, now that I thought about it. Nothing like a good fight to pass the time and maybe learn something useful.

I created four shadow clones and sent them off in different directions. "Find some chunin who look bored," I told them. "Get some sparring in. Different fighting styles, see what you can learn." Well, what we could learn. Same thing.

They nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Left me standing there with... what, five hours to kill? Maybe four. And this nagging feeling that I should be doing something useful instead of just hanging around.

I found a decent rooftop and climbed up, getting into a one-handed handstand against one of the support beams. Blood rushed to my head as I held the position, left arm locked while my right stayed tucked at my side. Balance and core strength training.

All that blood pooling in my skull got me thinking about... well, blood flow. Circulation. Which reminded me of those medical texts Tsunade had given me weeks ago. The ones probably gathering dust on my desk back home. I'd been excited about them initially, advanced medical theory, surgical techniques. The real stuff they don't teach at the Academy.

Then I'd made the mistake of leaving reading clones at home.

It started innocently enough. Why not have a clone read while I was out on missions? Efficient use of time, doubled my learning speed, made perfect sense. The clone would absorb the information, I'd get the memories when it dispersed, and suddenly I'd know everything without spending hours hunched over books.

Except it worked too well.

I'd come home after a long day, ready to settle in with one of those medical texts, only to realize I already knew everything in it. My clone had read the entire thing that morning, processed it, understood it, and now those memories were rattling around in my head like borrowed clothes that didn't quite fit.

The experience felt hollow. Like cheating on a test and then wondering why the victory felt meaningless.

So I tried different books. Fire Country history, encyclopedia stuff, anything about the First Hokage. But the clones were faster than me. More focused. Never got distracted by... I don't know, lunch or wondering what that noise outside was. Within a week they'd read everything I owned and started on borrowed books.

Reading became pointless. Every time I picked up a book, I'd already know what was inside. Every fascinating discovery had already been discovered by a version of me that no longer existed, leaving only secondhand memories of secondhand experiences.

It was like trying to be surprised by a movie I'd already seen, except worse because I was the one who had seen it, just not... me me. Clone me. Previous me.

My head was starting to hurt thinking about it. Well, my head was already hurting from being upside down, but this made it worse.

But here's the thing about clone memories—they're just information. Not experience. I could remember reading about storage seals, sure, but my hands had never actually drawn one. I knew the theory behind chakra flow diagrams, but my muscles didn't know how to make the brush strokes work.

That's why I was hanging upside down on a roof instead of studying more. Physical training couldn't be downloaded from a clone. Strength meant actually lifting heavy things. Balance meant falling over until you stopped falling over. Endurance meant... well, pushing through being tired until being tired became normal.

Clone memories were like having someone else's dream about learning how to fight. Interesting, maybe useful in theory, but ultimately useless when someone was trying to punch me in the face.

I pushed off slightly with my left hand and switched to my right, feeling the burn in my shoulders as I caught myself in the new position. This discomfort, this effort, this was mine. Not borrowed, not secondhand, just me doing something difficult because difficult things made me stronger.

Eventually I figured I'd spent enough time upside down contemplating the weirdness of secondhand knowledge. I dropped back down and made my way to the mess hall. My shoulders were sore, which felt... I don't know, productive somehow.

The mess hall was busier than I'd expected for mid-afternoon. Apparently a lot of people had the same idea about grabbing food between whatever important tasks they were supposed to be doing. The smell hit me as soon as I walked in, rice, miso, grilled fish, and the heavy smell that came from cooking in bulk.

I grabbed a tray and got in line, looking around for somewhere to sit. That's when I noticed a familiar face at one of the corner tables, the chunin from earlier, the guy who'd been about to knock when Tsunade burst through the door.

He looked up as I approached, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Oh, hey. Tsunade-sama's student, right?"

"Shinji," I said, settling down across from him with my tray. "Don't think I caught your name earlier, what with Tsunade kicking down the door and all."

"Akio," he replied, momentarily thrown by how casually the kid had just dropped Tsunade's name. No 'sama,' no 'sensei,' just... Tsunade. Like she was some random jonin instead of the Senju princess. He started to open his mouth, then thought better of it. Not his business how a student addressed his teacher, maybe they had a better relationship than the typical master-student dynamic. He cleared his throat. "And yeah, that was... something. Does she always do that?"

"Only when she's in a good mood," I said, picking up my chopsticks. "When she's in a bad mood, she just kicks the door off its hinges."

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just two ninja grabbing a meal between whatever responsibilities the day had thrown at us. Except I noticed Akio kept glancing toward the serving area, his attention drifting from our conversation every few seconds.

Following his gaze, I spotted one of the cooks, dark hair pulled back, ladling soup into bowls. She moved fast but didn't look rushed. Pretty in a way that had nothing to do with trying to be pretty, if that made sense.

"So... friend of yours?" I said, going for casual but probably not quite hitting it. The teasing note crept in anyway. He was being pretty obvious about the staring.

Akio's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth, and I caught the faint blush creeping up his neck. "Something like that."

"Something like that," I repeated, grinning. "Come on, that's the look of a man who's either deeply in love or planning to ask for extra rice. And considering how you keep staring, I'm guessing it's not about the food."

He set down his chopsticks and rubbed the back of his neck, looking caught between embarrassment and something that might have been pride. "She's my wife."

I blinked. "Your wife is working in the mess hall?"

"Her choice," he said, a bit too fast. Like he was expecting me to argue about it. "I told her to stay in Konoha where it's safe, but she insisted on coming here. Said if I was going to be stationed at the front lines, she wanted to help however she could."

There was something in his voice. Happy, but worried. Like he couldn't decide if this was the best thing that ever happened to him or a nightmare waiting to happen.

'His wife followed him to a war zone,' I thought, watching him steal glances at her. 'And he has no idea how to feel about it.'

I mean, I got it. Romance was complicated enough without adding the possibility of getting killed by enemy ninja. It was like... well, it was stupid, honestly. Smart thing would be for her to stay safe in Konoha.

But then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe love was supposed to be stupid sometimes. The whole refusing-to-be-separated thing, even when separation made sense. Even when it was dangerous.

Actually, especially when it was dangerous.

Though I wasn't sure if that made it romantic or just reckless. Probably depended on how things turned out.

'Romantic if they both survive,' I decided. 'Tragic if they don't.'

Not exactly the most optimistic way to look at it, but realistic.

"Must be nice," I said, "having her close by. Even if it's not exactly what either of you planned."

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But every night I lie awake wondering what happens if we get attacked, if enemy forces break through the perimeter. She’s not a shinobi; she’s a civilian who knows basic first aid and can cook for fifty people without breaking a sweat. She’s the most amazing woman I have ever met. But if things go bad…”

He didn't finish the sentence, but I could guess. War made everything harder. Even the good things, especially the good things.

"She knows the risks," I said. Not sure if I was trying to make him feel better or convince myself this wasn't completely insane. "She came anyway. That's got to mean something."

Akio nodded, but he still looked like he was chewing on the same problem I was.

I glanced over at his wife again. She was still working, focused on whatever she was doing. Looked like she knew what she was about, at least. Like she'd thought this through and decided it was worth it.

Or maybe she was just as scared as he was and hiding it better.

Hard to tell from across a crowded mess hall.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I just hope..." He stopped, shook his head. "I don't know what I hope, honestly."

That made two of us.

I went back to my food, but kept thinking about it. About following someone into danger because the alternative was being apart. About whether that was brave or stupid.

Probably both.

I was still processing Akio's relationship dilemma when movement caught my eye near the food line. Someone familiar stepping away from the serving area, tray in hand, scanning the room.

Minato.

And behind him, Nawaki, Miyabi, and Squinty. I still couldn't remember her actual name, which was why I'd started calling her Squinty in the first place. The nickname had stuck so thoroughly in my head that I'd probably forgotten her real name at this point. They all had trays, all looking around for seats.

Wait. Where was the soft-looking boy? What was his name again... Noboru? Yeah, Noboru. Where was he? And where was Nawaki's teammate? I didn't see either of them.

I waved them over before that thought could spiral anywhere dark. They spotted me, surprise flickering across their faces, then genuine smiles. Nawaki actually grinned and nudged Minato, pointing in my direction.

"Akio," I said, turning back to my tablemate. "Looks like some old friends just showed up. Thanks for the conversation."

He glanced over at the approaching group, then back at me. "No problem. Better get back to my post anyway." He stood, gathering his tray. "See you around, Shinji."

"Yeah, see you."

He left just as my old Academy classmates arrived at the table. There was that awkward moment where everyone's trying to figure out the seating arrangement, but then Minato just plopped down across from me and the others followed suit.

"Shinji!" Nawaki said, like he couldn't quite believe I was real. "What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing," I replied. "Though—" I glanced around the table, doing a quick headcount. Something felt off. "Miyabi, isn't your team missing someone? That soft-looking kid... Noboru?"

The question hit the table like a stone thrown into still water. Miyabi went quiet, her chopsticks pausing midway to her mouth. Nawaki's expression shifted. Squinty—Yua, damn it, her name was Yua—stared down at her rice.

Right. Okay. Message received.

'The weakest link broke,' I thought, then immediately felt guilty for thinking it. Because Noboru had been weak, relatively speaking, but he'd also been a kid trying his best in a world designed to kill him. And now he was probably...

Yeah. Moving on.

"So anyway," I said, shifting gears with all the subtlety of a freight train changing tracks. "Minato, man, feels like forever since we've talked. How've you been?"

The relief in his eyes was obvious. "Good, good. Busy, but good. What about you? Last I heard you were—wait." His gaze dropped to my flak jacket, and his expression changed. "Is that...?"

"Chunin vest," I confirmed, trying not to sound too proud about it. Though honestly, I was a little proud. Sue me.

The reaction was immediate and gratifying. Nawaki's chopsticks clattered against his bowl. Miyabi's eyes went wide. Even Yua looked up from her food with something approaching shock.

"You're a chunin?" Nawaki said. "Already?"

"Already?" I grinned. "What do you mean 'already'? It's been weeks since we graduated."

"Yeah, but..." He gestured vaguely, like he was trying to encompass the entirety of shinobi career progression with hand movements. "Chunin! That's... that's really fast."

Was it? I mean, compared to the other chunin, maybe. But compared to what I felt I should be capable of, it seemed almost slow. Time is relative when you’re living multiple lives through shadow clones.

"How'd it happen?" Miyabi asked. There was something in her voice, not jealousy exactly, but maybe a little envy mixed with curiosity.

So I told them about the evaluation, about someone recommending me for field promotion, about the whole thing being less dramatic than they probably imagined. I left out the parts about killing a group of jonin and accidentally becoming famous for exploding clones, because those stories had a way of growing in the telling.

"Man," Nawaki said when I finished. "I'm gonna work even harder now. Gonna be a chunin before the end of the year, just watch."

There was something fierce in his voice when he said it. Determination, maybe, or just the competitive spirit that seemed to run in his family. Either way, I believed him.

"What about you guys?" I asked. "What brings you to this particular corner of the war?"

That's when the real story came out. How their original teams had been... restructured. How they'd lost teammates, not just Noboru, but others too. How Orochimaru had basically inherited a collection of survivors and decided to make them into something functional.

"Mostly we're doing support work," Miyabi explained. "Helping around the outpost, escorting supply convoys. Nothing too dangerous."

'Nothing too dangerous' - right. As if there was some magical category of safe missions when people were actively trying to kill each other. I mean, even delivering supplies could turn into a fight these days.

"Orochimaru's a good sensei though," Yua added quietly. "Tough, but he knows what he's doing."

I could imagine. Orochimaru had that reputation, brilliant, demanding, not particularly concerned with making his students feel comfortable. Probably exactly what a group of Academy graduates needed after losing their first teams.

"What about you, Minato?" I asked, turning to him. "Did you join up with Nawaki's team too? I thought you were still with Jiraiya-sensei."

Minato shook his head. "Not permanently, no. Jiraiya-sensei is... well, he's around, but he comes and goes. So when he's off doing whatever it is he does, I get assigned to different teams that need extra hands." He gestured toward Nawaki and the others. "I've been working with this group for a while now."

"Makes sense," I nodded.

"And you?" he asked. "Still with Tsunade-sama?"

"Yeah, still learning how to punch things really hard and heal people really well," I said. "It's a surprisingly useful combination."

We talked for a while longer, catching up on gossip from Konoha, comparing notes on missions, doing that thing where old friends try to bridge the gap between who they used to be and who they're becoming. It felt good, familiar, like a reminder that not everything about this whole ninja career was life-or-death stakes.

Sometimes it was just friends eating bad mess hall food and complaining about their teachers.

Though I noticed none of us talked about the future much. About what we wanted to do after the war, or where we saw ourselves in five years, or any of the normal things Academy students used to speculate about.

Maybe we'd all learned better than to make plans that far ahead.

Or maybe we just didn't want to jinx anything by assuming we'd live long enough for those plans to matter.