Hidden Leaf, Hidden Talents 38

I walked back toward my apartment, mentally running through the checklist of things that needed doing before tomorrow's mission. Joint operation with Team 4, escort duty, potential foreign shinobi encounters—the usual cheerful prospects that made up my career as a leaf shinobi.

Should probably let my team know about the delay, I mused, stepping around a puddle from the morning rain. 'They're expecting to meet up this afternoon, and finding out their mission got pushed back a day might actually qualify as good news for once.

The morning crowd was starting to fill the streets. Shopkeepers setting up, Academy kids dragging their feet to class, the occasional jonin moving with that urgent pace that usually meant someone was having a bad day.

Speaking of Academy—

"Takada-sensei!"

The Academy instructor turned at my call, a tired smile crossing his face. "Shinji. You're up early."

"Early? Ha. This is me sleeping in." I fell into step beside him, noting his direction toward the Academy. "Off to wrangle the little monsters?"

"Educate the little monsters," he corrected, though he was smirking. "Some days I'm not sure there's much difference."

"That bad?"

"You could say that." He adjusted the stack of papers under his arm. "Don't you have a mission today?"

"Got pushed back to tomorrow. Figured I'd grab breakfast, then hunt down my team." I stopped walking. "You eaten anything yet? I know a good place."

Takada slowed his pace, glancing toward the Academy. "Ah, I should really get to class..."

"Come on. When's the last time you had actual food instead of whatever you live on? Rice balls and that sludge they call coffee in the faculty room?"

He laughed despite himself. "It's not that bad."

"Right. You look like you haven't slept in a week." I nodded toward the Academy. "Those kids aren't going anywhere. Probably prefer their sensei shows up a few minutes late anyway."

"Shinji..."

"My treat. Quick breakfast, I promise. Besides, beats eating alone."

He hesitated, clearly weighing duty against the fact that he was probably starving.

"Fine," he said finally. "But just quick. I really do have classes to teach."

"Deal. And trust me, you'll be way more useful to those kids when you're not dead on your feet."

…..

Twenty minutes later we were sitting across from each other at a small restaurant that served the kind of simple, well-made food that kept you going without emptying your wallet. Rice, miso soup, grilled fish—nothing fancy, but filling.

"This is really nice," Takada said, actually relaxing as he ate his soup. "I honestly can't remember the last time I sat down for a real breakfast instead of scarfing down whatever while I'm grading."

"See? I'm basically doing community service here." I picked at my fish. "Keeping Konoha's teachers fed so they can properly educate the next generation."

"Very noble of you."

We ate quietly for a while. The morning light coming through the windows made everything feel calmer, less rushed.

"So," I said eventually, "how's the new school year going? Any promising kids this time around?"

Takada glanced up from his bowl. "You know how it is. Some have potential, others..." He shrugged. "They'll get there eventually."

"Any new faces? Kushina mentioned someone moved into the neighborhood. Thought maybe they had kids."

His chopsticks stopped moving. He set them down carefully and reached for his tea. "New students? I mean, we get transfers now and then."

"Why do you ask?" he added.

That was weird. I'd asked a pretty normal question and he'd clammed up like I'd touched a nerve. I kept eating, trying to figure out what the hell that was about.

"Just curious. You seemed less stressed lately. Thought maybe you got some easy kids to balance out the hellions."

"Ah." He poked at his rice. "Well, you know how it is. Some years are just... easier than others."

I could see him pulling back, getting that look people got when they realized they'd said too much. Better drop it.

"Speaking of hellions," I said, reaching for the sake bottle and topping off both our cups, "please tell me none of your current batch have tried to set anything on fire lately."

That got a laugh. "God, you jinxed it. Yesterday I caught two of them with explosive tags they'd somehow gotten hold of. Trying to see who could make the biggest crater in the practice yard."

"Explosive tags? How the hell did Academy students get their hands on those?"

"That's what I'd like to know." He shook his head. "Had to confiscate them and send a very uncomfortable letter to their parents."

"At least they're motivated?"

"Motivated to accidentally destroy the school, maybe."

We drank, and I steered the conversation somewhere safer—weather, training ground maintenance, how one of his students had tried to pass off water balloon throwing as legitimate shuriken practice. Easy stuff.

I topped off my cup and gestured at his. "Come on, have another. It's not like you're teaching anything dangerous this morning, right?"

"I guess one more won't kill me." He let me pour, shoulders relaxing a bit.

We finished eating in comfortable quiet after that, Takada telling me about his more creative students and the increasingly ridiculous excuses they came up with for missing homework. By the time we said goodbye outside the restaurant, he looked like an actual human being instead of a zombie.

"Thanks for this," he said, patting his stomach. "Didn't realize how hungry I was."

"No problem. And hey—eat actual meals once in a while, yeah? Can't have our teachers passing out in class."

"I'll work on it." He grinned, then paused for a moment, his expression growing thoughtful. "You know, Shinji... you've really grown up, haven't you? I remember when you were just another troublemaker in my class, and now here you are worrying about whether your old teacher is eating properly."

I shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. "Just returning the favor. You put up with all my smart-ass comments for years, remember?"

"Still." He shook his head with a small smile. "You turned out well, kid. Really well."

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, he headed off toward the Academy while I turned back toward home.

The morning was getting warmer, and I had a few hours before I needed to worry about tomorrow's mission.

Still bugging me though, that whole weird reaction about the student. Maybe I'll send a clone to poke around later. Quietly, of course. Just to satisfy my curiosity.

I was still turning over the conversation as I approached my building, automatically checking the little signs I'd left to see if anyone had been messing around while I was gone. Everything looked normal at first glance—until I stopped by the door.

Someone had definitely opened the door.

My clone? I straightened up and flexed my glove, listening for sounds before slowly pushing the door open.

"—swear these prices are insane. Like, what do they think kunai wire is made of, gold or—oh, hey Shinji."

I stopped in the doorway. My single clone had somehow become three, and they were sitting around my kitchen table with Mikoto, Tsume, and Kuromaru. Maps were spread across the surface along with what looked like a fresh pot of coffee.

"Uh," I said, closing the door behind me and hanging up my jacket, "should I be worried right now?"

Mikoto glanced up with a small smile. "We stopped by to see if you wanted breakfast before we meet up this afternoon. Your clones said you were out getting supplies."

"And they made coffee," Tsume added. "Beats hanging around the training grounds."

"Yeah, about that..." I said, moving to pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot. "We've got some changes."

"Changes?" One of my clones raised an eyebrow. "What kind of changes?"

"Good news first—we're not leaving today. Mission got pushed to tomorrow." I settled into the remaining chair. "Other news is we're now babysitting Team 4."

"What?" Tsume frowned. "Joint op?"

"Yeah. Turns out Miyabi's team is escorting some merchant caravan to the Land of Hot Water. Same area we're supposed to be poking around." I sipped my coffee. "Ran into her this morning, figured we might as well work together."

"She actually agreed to that?" Mikoto sounded surprised.

"Took some convincing. But she's not stupid—extra backup means less chance of getting jumped by whoever's been hitting the trade routes. Plus now we've got actual bait instead of just poking around old crime scenes." I leaned back in my chair. "Should make things easier."

"More dangerous, you mean," Tsume said, but she didn't sound particularly worried about it.

"That too." I sipped my coffee. "At least Team 4 won't be going in blind. Told them what we know about these guys."

"Think they'll actually listen?"

"Miyabi's not stupid. She knows these aren't just bandits."

"So what's the play here?” Mikoto was already looking at the map. "We splitting up?"

"Has to be." I traced a finger along the route. "They stick close to the caravan, we work the perimeter."

"Circle around, pick off any nasties before they get close." she nodded approvingly. "If things go to hell, they keep the merchants breathing, we deal with whatever's trying to kill everyone."

One of my clones glanced up from his book. "Assuming we don't trip over each other when it hits the fan."

"We'll make it work," I said.

Tsume had been eyeing my clones for the past few minutes, and finally her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, I have to ask—how the hell are they actually talking? Like, having real conversations?"

"I think..." Mikoto said slowly, like she was trying to remember something. "My older cousins mentioned something like this once. Some kind of forbidden jutsu."

"Not forbidden, just..." I shrugged. "Chakra-intensive. Most people try it once and pass out." I gestured toward the clones. "These guys are solid, they think on their own, and when they poof, I get all their memories."

"That's crazy." Tsume blinked. "Why didn't you tell us about this?"

"Just learned it."

Mikoto was still watching one of my clones like it might disappear. "So they're actually... you? Like, really thinking their own thoughts?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Same brain, different... I dunno, angles on things."

The clone she'd been staring at rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks for making this weird, boss."

I stood up, stretching. "Anyway, since we've got time to kill, anyone want to train? Might be good to work on coordination before tomorrow."

Tsume perked up immediately. "What kind of training?"

"I don't know. Drills? Some sparring? Just... figure out how we're gonna mess this up while we can still afford to mess up."

"I'm game." Mikoto was already checking her gear pouch.

"Hell yeah." Tsume stretched and grinned. "Kuromaru's been getting lazy anyway. Haven't you, boy?"

The dog opened one eye and huffed, clearly unimpressed with the accusation.

…..

After the apartment door closed behind Shinji and his teammates, the three remaining clones sat in comfortable silence for exactly thirty seconds. Then the one sitting closest to the bookshelf cleared his throat and stood up.

"Alright," he said, "I'm calling dibs on being in charge."

The other two clones looked up from where they'd been cleaning the table.

"In charge?" one of them asked. "Seriously?"

"Someone's gotta keep things organized while boss is out training." He moved to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick book on fuinjutsu. "Besides, we've got stuff to do."

"Like what?"

"Making more of us." He settled into the most comfortable chair and opened the book. "You two start meditating, churn out some more clones. I want at least six more running around here in an hour."

"And you're gonna do what while we're doing all the work?" the second clone asked.

He waved the book. "Research. Boss keeps bitching about chakra costs with the clone jutsu. Maybe there's something useful in here."

The third clone snorted. "Of course you give yourself the reading job."

"Hey, I called dibs first." He was already flipping through pages. "Now quit bitching and get to work. These seals aren't gonna figure themselves out."

The other two clones exchanged looks, then shrugged and found spots on the floor to begin their meditation. Within minutes, the apartment was filled with the soft sounds of controlled breathing and the occasional rustle of turning pages.

Just another normal day in the life of Shinji's apartment.

……

I settled onto an old wooden trunk with Tsunade's medical book that I'd been putting off since our last mission. Dense stuff—the kind of reading that made most people's eyes glaze over, but sometimes you'd find something actually useful buried in all the technical jargon.

About twenty feet away, Tsume and Mikoto were sparring. What had started as light practice was turning into something more serious, judging by how hard they were both breathing. Kuromaru was sprawled in the shade, lifting his head every now and then when one of them landed a particularly good hit.

"You're dropping your shoulder again," I said without looking up. "Might as well put up a sign that says 'punch coming from the right.'"

Tsume grunted and immediately threw the exact same telegraphed punch. Mikoto saw it coming a mile away, slipped to the side, and tagged her with a quick elbow that Tsume barely got her guard up for.

"What did I just say?" I flipped a page. "That wasn't fixing it, that was doing it louder."

"I'm trying," Tsume panted, resetting her stance.

"No, you're overthinking it. Big difference." I glanced up to watch Mikoto move—smooth, controlled, the kind of technique that came from years of clan training. "Quit trying to muscle through her defense. She's quicker than you, so be smarter instead."

Tsume's next attack was better—started low like she was going for the body, then drove her knee up when Mikoto committed to the block. Actually made her give some ground.

"Yeah, like that," I said, already back to my reading. "Don't let her get comfortable."

But Mikoto was already adapting, using Tsume's forward momentum against her with some fancy throw that sent her teammate flying through the air. Tsume hit the ground hard enough to rattle her teeth.

"Ugh." Tsume rolled to her feet, spitting out grass. "Damn it."

"Better though," I said. "At least she had to work for that one."

"Your pep talks suck."

Mikoto straightened up, barely winded despite the extended exchange. "You want to try giving advice from inside the ring instead of from your comfortable reading spot?"

I looked up to find both of them staring at me with that look. The one that said they'd been planning this.

"What, me? I'm perfectly happy over here with my book." I marked the page and tucked it away. "But if you really want a challenge, maybe you should team up. Make it interesting."

Tsume's eyes lit up. "Both of us?"

"Sure. You two have been working on that teamwork thing, right? Good practice." I stood up, stretching out the stiffness from sitting too long. "Besides, I'm just one guy. How hard can it be?"

The look they shared was pure trouble.

I walked to the middle of the training area and rolled my shoulders. "Alright, let's see what you've got."

They didn't waste time talking about it. Tsume came straight at me like she always did—all forward momentum and rapid-fire punches. Mikoto went wide, circling to get behind me while Tsume kept me busy.

Not bad. They were actually thinking about this.

I slipped past Tsume’s opening salvo, using just enough movement to let her strikes miss without taking the full brunt. Blocking her head-on was like trying to win a headbutt contest with a rhino. Her whole style screamed momentum and brute force, making redirection a much safer bet than trying to out-muscle her.

Unfortunately, while I was busy playing matador to Tsume’s bull impersonation, Mikoto decided now was the perfect time to introduce my supporting leg to the floor.

She came in low, smooth as oil on marble, and aimed a sweep that would’ve taken me down hard if I hadn’t lifted my foot just enough to let her leg pass underneath. Then I pivoted to intercept her rising elbow with my forearm. The impact stung, but I used the connection to steer her momentum away—like rerouting a rogue shopping cart. At the same time, I stepped back just in time to narrowly avoid Tsume’s follow-up, which had all the subtlety of a flying cinderblock.

"Better," I said, easing back into stance. "But you're still thinking too much instead of maintaining pressure."

They didn’t argue. They reset like pros, and this time, they came at me with tighter coordination. Tsume’s new combo flowed cleanly into Mikoto’s sequence, like they'd rehearsed it in secret just to ruin my day. The result? A non-stop barrage that pinned me in a dance of constant defense.

I ducked under Tsume’s high kick—her heel slicing through the air just above my head—then twisted hard to the side as Mikoto’s knee came whistling toward my ribs. What followed was a rapid exchange of blocks and redirections, their attacks coming fast enough that I couldn’t find an opening to counter without risking getting caught by the other.

Tsume’s next punch was all drama and zero commitment—a bait if I’d ever seen one. She pulled it short at the last second, dropped her weight, and swept low just as Mikoto aimed high. I had about half a second to decide between dignity and survival. Naturally, I chose survival and hopped up, which left me—briefly—hovering like a very vulnerable, very airborne target.

Mikoto’s uppercut came fast, but I twisted mid-air, pulling hard with my core to get just enough clearance. Her fist skimmed past my ribs instead of rearranging them. I landed on one hand, then launched sideways as Tsume’s heel slammed down hard enough to make the ground reconsider its life choices.

“Much better,” I said, flipping to my feet. “You’re starting to fight like a team instead of two strangers who met in the waiting room.”

“How about a knuckle sandwich?” Tsume grinned, already mid-swing.

This time, they weren’t just coordinated—they were synchronized chaos. Tsume came in hard and fast, throwing combinations designed to push me exactly where Mikoto wanted me. And Mikoto was right there, staying just out of the way, waiting to capitalize on whatever opening Tsume created.

I bobbed and slipped through Tsume’s flurry, but Mikoto had clearly started reading me like a well-loved book. When I ducked a hook, she was already moving with a knee. When I stepped back from an elbow, she cut off my retreat with a kick aimed right at my ribs. I twisted just enough to let it slide past.

"Good," I called out between exchanges. "Mikoto, don't chase—you're close enough to counter, so trust your distance."

The pace was vicious. Attack, defend, reposition, repeat. All three of us were breathing hard now, sweat dripping, but nobody let up.

"Tsume, mix up your timing. You're getting predictable—keep me guessing."

Then Tsume threw a particularly mean combination, all power and pressure, and I had no choice but to give ground. Except I didn’t keep giving. Mid-step, I shifted in, threading inside her guard and catching her wrist just as she committed to another punch. With a quick twist, I redirected her momentum and spun her around like a very confused, very violent door.

“Now that’s how you funnel momentum! Mikoto—don’t trail her, angle out and control my flank.”

Mikoto, to her credit (and possibly my growing regret), took that suggestion and turned it into a full-on acrobatic stunt. She didn’t bother trying to get around. Instead, she vaulted over Tsume with a one-handed flip that could’ve won her a talent show—and maybe caused a few heart attacks on the judging panel.

I ducked under her flying kick and had just enough time to bring my arms up before her follow-up drove me back—right into Tsume’s incoming punch.

What followed could only be described as choreographed chaos. We traded blows like overly aggressive dance partners on a stage made of grit and bruises. They weren’t just fighting better—they were thinking together now.

And I’d apparently coached myself into trouble.

The exchanges got faster, sharper. They were starting to anticipate not just what I was doing, but what I was going to do. It wasn't flawless yet, but it was good enough that I had to work to stay ahead of them.

Eventually—after what felt like the longest “just a few minutes” of my life—I carved out just enough space to lift my hands in truce.

“Alright, alright,” I said, breath coming a little harder than I liked to admit. “That’s enough murder practice for one day. You two are getting way too good at this."

Tsume grinned, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Scared we might actually land a hit?"

"Terrified," I said, grabbing my book from storage. "I was starting to worry you might figure out how to actually catch me."

"Starting to?" Mikoto raised an eyebrow. "We nearly had you a couple times."

"Nearly counts for something, right?" I settled back on the trunk and cracked open the book. "But seriously, that was impressive. Your timing's getting much better."

Tsume flopped down on the grass next to Kuromaru, who lifted his head to give her an approving tail wag. "Still feels like we're missing something though. Like we're almost there but not quite."

"That's how it goes. Teamwork's weird like that." I found my page. "You guys have only been doing this for, what—a few days? Weeks? That's nothing."

"What about you?" Mikoto settled into the grass a few feet away. "How long did it take you to get that good?"

"At what?"

"All of it. Reading us, knowing what we're gonna do before we do it. You make it look ridiculously easy."

I glanced up. "I don't know. It's not like there was some magic moment where I suddenly got it. Just... happens over time, I guess."

"That's not really an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." I shrugged. "Some things you learn without realizing it."

Tsume was giving me that look she got when she thought I was holding out on her. "Must be nice, being naturally good at everything."

"Natural talent's overrated. Most of it's just paying attention and putting in the work." I grinned at them. "Besides, give it another month and I might actually have to try."

"Oh, screw you," Tsume said, but she was laughing.

Mikoto threw a clump of grass at me. "Might have to try? We just spent ten minutes trying to murder you."

"And you did great! Very committed homicide attempts." I ducked another grass missile. "Really coming along nicely."

"You're awful," Mikoto said, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Alright, I'm heading out," I said, closing the book and getting to my feet. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone."

"No promises," Tsume said, already eyeing Mikoto like she wanted another round.

"We'll be fine," Mikoto said. "You should probably get some actual rest instead of whatever it is you do at night. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"Oh, hang on." I pulled a couple of wrapped bundles out of my storage glove. "I made extra food for the mission before it got pushed back. You want them? They'll just go bad otherwise."

Tsume's eyes lit up. "Seriously? What kind?"

"Rice balls, vegetable tempura, miso soup. Nothing fancy." I tossed the bundles over. "But it beats having to scrounge for dinner."

"You're amazing," Tsume said, already unwrapping hers. "I was not looking forward to figuring out what to eat tonight."

Mikoto caught her bundle and gave me a small smile. "Thanks. You really didn't have to."

"Better than throwing it out. Hate wasting food."

Tsume had already bitten into a rice ball and made a happy sound. "Oh man, this is really good.”

I gave them a lazy wave and headed home, already looking forward to a quiet evening and maybe getting some actual reading done. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in those orange and pink shades that made even Konoha's more run-down districts look pretty decent.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside my apartment door, key in hand, when I heard voices inside. Multiple voices. A lot of them.

'Oh, right. The clones.'

I opened the door to find my small apartment absolutely packed with copies of myself. They were everywhere—sitting on the floor, perched on counters, leaning against walls. Had to be at least a dozen of them, maybe more.

"Hey, boss," one of them said without looking up from the scroll he was reading. "How'd training go?"

"Fine," I said, squeezing through the crowd toward my bedroom. "What are you all doing?"

"Research," another clone replied. "Figured we'd get some studying done while you were out having fun."

I pushed open my bedroom door to find three more clones sprawled on my bed with books and scrolls scattered everywhere.

"Out," I said.

"But we're in the middle of—"

"Out."

They grumbled but gathered up their reading material and filed out. I closed the door behind them, kicked off my indoor sandals, and flopped face-first onto the bed.

Finally. Some peace and quiet.

Except I couldn't shake the feeling I was forgetting something. Something important. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was nagging at me.

Mission supplies? Check. Training my team? Done. Equipment maintenance? Pretty sure that was handled.

Through the bedroom door, I could hear my clones talking in the main room.

"...so if you adjust the chakra flow ratio..."

"...but that would make the seals too unstable..."

Seals… seals…

Oh, shit.

I smacked my forehead. Fuinjutsu supplies. I'd been planning to practice some of the seals Kushina had shown me, but I'd completely forgotten to buy the special paper and ink I needed.

I lay there for a moment, weighing my options. I could get up, get dressed, walk all the way back to the shopping district, buy supplies, walk back home...

Or.

"Hey!" I called out to the clones in the living room. "One of you go buy fuinjutsu supplies. Special sealing paper, chakra-conductive ink, the good stuff. You know what we need."

"Which one of us?" came the reply.

"I don't care. Figure it out among yourselves."

There was some muffled discussion, then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

I pulled a pillow over my head and settled in for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and I needed all the sleep I could get.

One of the benefits of having clones—delegation.

…

I woke up to the sound of my own voice saying, "Boss is awake!"

Before I could even figure out what that meant, there was a series of soft pops from the living room, followed by what felt like someone dumping a filing cabinet directly into my brain.

I groaned and pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes. Clone memories were always disorienting, but this was ridiculous. Intelligence networks, research divisions, organizational charts, supply chains, a second-in-command—

"What the hell were you idiots doing all night?" I muttered, sitting up and trying to sort through the mental chaos.

The smell of cooking food drifted through the bedroom door. Really good cooking food. My stomach rumbled in response, which at least gave me a reason to get up and investigate.

I shuffled out of the bedroom to find my kitchen transformed into what looked like a small restaurant. The table was absolutely loaded with food—rice, miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, tamagoyaki, the works. Off to the side, I counted at least six neatly packed bento boxes.

Three clones were still bustling around the kitchen, putting finishing touches on what appeared to be enough breakfast to feed a small army.

"Okay," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I have the memories, but I'm still confused. What exactly is all this?"

"Breakfast," one of the clones said cheerfully, setting down a plate of perfectly grilled fish. "And lunch for the road. We figured you'd want something decent to eat before the mission."

"That's not what I'm asking about." I gestured at the mountain of food. "This is enough to feed half the village. Why did you make so much?"

The three clones exchanged glances, then the one who'd been stirring the soup straightened up with an oddly formal expression.

"Well, boss, we've been discussing the ethical implications of our existence, and we've reached some conclusions."

I blinked. "Ethical implications?"

"Indeed. Simply put, it's unreasonable to expect us to prepare food while being denied the basic right to consume it ourselves." He adjusted his stance like he was giving a lecture. "The act of cooking creates anticipation and desire for the meal being prepared. To suppress these natural responses would be a form of psychological torture."

"We have a right to happiness," another clone chimed in, waving a pair of chopsticks for emphasis. "And good food contributes significantly to overall well-being and morale."

The third clone nodded sagely. "Furthermore, the arbitrary restriction of sustenance based solely on our status as shadow constructs constitutes a clear violation of basic humanitarian principles."

I stared at them. "Did you just... argue for clone rights? Using philosophy?"

"We prefer to think of it as applying logical reasoning to workplace fairness issues," the first clone said. "Also, we were hungry."

"You're literally going to dispel in a few hours anyway."

"That's beside the point. The experience of eating is what matters, not the long-term existence implications."

I looked around at the ridiculous amount of food, then at my clones who were standing there looking proud of their intellectual arguments for why they deserved breakfast.

"You know what? Fine. Whatever. Eat all you want." I sat down at the table and picked up a pair of chopsticks. "Just... try not to develop a labor union while I'm on mission, okay?"

"We make no promises," one of them said solemnly, settling down across from me with his own plate.

The tea was perfect, the fish was grilled just the way I liked it, and the rice had exactly the right texture. I had to admit, even if my clones were apparently developing delusions of personhood, at least they were useful delusions.

"So," I said, taking a sip of tea, "this whole 'commander' business. Please tell me you didn't actually try to set up a military hierarchy in my living room."

"Why wouldn't we?" The clone next to me shrugged. "You try coordinating a dozen people all researching different stuff without some kind of organization."

"We rotate leadership between divisions," another one explained, waving his chopsticks. "Second-in-command comes from research, then when he dispels, third takes over from intelligence, then logistics, and so on."

"Each division gets a say in the big decisions," said a clone from across the table. "Then we cycle back to research. Keeps things balanced."

I stared at them. "So you've... organized yourselves into a functional command structure with checks and balances. I honestly don't know how to feel about that."

"Relax, boss. We're not idiots." Another clone grinned. "Just because we're copies doesn't mean we lost our common sense. Leave the details to us."

"We had all night to work out the kinks," another added proudly.

I sighed. "Just... try to keep the apartment in one piece, okay?"

"We'll do our best, boss."

Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better.

…..

I finished breakfast and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel and clean clothes on the way. A hot shower sounded perfect before spending the next few days on the road with merchants.

I was just settling into the warm water when I heard voices from the living room getting louder.

"I'm telling you, 'The Shinji Squad' sounds good."

"That's awful. What about 'Clone Force Alpha'?"

"Too serious. How about 'The Magnificent Seven'? Oh wait, there's more than seven of us now."

"The Magnificent... Twelve?"

"We're not all magnificent. Did you see Clone #4 face-plant into the doorframe this morning?"

I scrubbed shampoo into my hair and tried to ignore them. This was what happened when you left copies of yourself unsupervised.

"Shadow Battalion?"

"We're not big enough to be a battalion."

"Shadow Platoon, then?"

"Eh."

"Just Shadow Squad?"

"Better, but kind of generic."

I rinsed the soap out of my eyes and let out a long breath. Of all the things they could be doing with their time...

"What about Shadow Company? Simple, sounds professional."

There was a pause.

"Actually... that's not bad."

"Yeah, I like it. Sounds legit without being over the top."

"Shadow Company it is. All in favor?"

A bunch of voices called out "aye" at the same time.

Great. Now they had a name.

I finished washing and got dressed, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. My clones had formed their own organization and were now apparently branding themselves.

'Shadow Company,' I thought, rolling my eyes. 'Of course they'd pick something that sounds like something from a bad action movie.'

"So what do you think of the name, boss?" one of them asked as I walked through the living room.

I rolled my eyes. "It's fine. Whatever makes you happy."

"That's not exactly enthusiastic approval, boss."

"It's the best you're getting." I grabbed my jacket from beside the door. "Just don't burn the place down while I'm gone. And you intelligence guys—be careful out there."

"Don't worry, boss. We've got it handled."

"Famous last words," I muttered, but I was already heading for the door.

…

The main gate was busy when I got there. Team 4 was already set up around three loaded wagons, with Miyabi barking orders while a bunch of nervous merchants hovered around making last-minute adjustments. She spotted me first and nodded.

"You're actually on time," she said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I'm always on time for important things."

"Since when?"

"Since today, apparently." I looked around at the organized chaos. "Where's my team?"

"Right here," Mikoto called from near the gate, walking over with Tsume and Kuromaru behind her. "Just arrived."

"Perfect timing." I watched Noboru and Yua finish tightening cargo straps under Miyabi's watchful eye. "How's it looking?"

"Miyabi's got her shit together," Tsume said. "Seems like she actually knows what she's doing."

I nodded, taking in the whole setup. Team 4 managing their caravan, my team ready for security, and four merchants who all looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. For a split second I considered just sending my clones and staying home, but I couldn't do that to my team.

"Looks like you've got everything well organized," I told Miyabi as she finished explaining something to one of the merchants.

"We've run escort jobs before," she said. "Just making sure we don't hit any surprises down the road."

"Better to catch problems here than out there."

"Exactly." She glanced at my team. "You guys ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," I said, glancing back at Mikoto and Tsume, who were doing their own final equipment checks.

"Everything secured?" Miyabi asked, turning to her teammates.

"Should be," Noboru said, finishing his check of a wagon wheel. "Double-checked all the straps and axles."

"Good work," Miyabi said. "Yua, how are the supplies?"

"All accounted for," Yua replied from where she was organizing their gear. "Extra rations, medical supplies, replacement equipment."

One of the merchants—a thin man with nervous eyes—approached Miyabi with a clipboard.

"Miss, about the route..." he started.

"We'll make good time," Miyabi assured him. "The roads are clear, and we're taking the most direct path to Hot Water Country."

"What about the... the security issues?" he asked hesitantly.

"That's why we're here," I said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

The merchant nodded a few too many times and scurried back to his wagon.

"Alright, people," Miyabi called out. "Let's get moving. The sooner we start, the sooner we get everyone where they need to go."

The wagons started rolling, wheels bumping along the packed dirt road. I fell into step on the left flank while Tsume and Mikoto took positions on the right and rear.

For the first few minutes, everything felt almost normal. Just another escort mission on a quiet road.

Of course, that probably wouldn't last long.