Fugaku???
I thought, staring into the calm yet cold face of the shinobi.
Fugaku Uchiha. The future head of the clan. Father of two geniuses — Sasuke and Itachi. It's surprising that he's already the deputy at the front?
He looked even younger than I remembered him from the anime, but already with his distinctive features.
My thoughts were interrupted by a faint noise — the others had already started leaving the headquarters. I hurriedly followed them.
As soon as we moved a few dozen meters away from the tent, one of the men in chunin armor called out to us. Short, stocky, with closely cropped hair and a fresh scar on his cheek, he waved his hand, beckoning everyone.
"Attention. Does anyone have experience in intelligence gathering?" he asked harshly, scanning us as if he already knew the answer.
Only two of us — from his team — raised our hands.
"Greenhorns," he hissed disapprovingly, shaking his head. "Alright. I'll explain in a couple of minutes what we need from you and how to act so you don't die on the first day."
He pulled a folded map from his bag and spread it out right on a stump. He spoke quickly and confidently, as if he wasn't instructing rookies for the first time.
"First: we are not heroes, we are eyes and ears. Your weapons are silence and time. If you are noticed — you've failed. If someone gets into a fight — that's no longer a B-rank mission, it's survival."
He glanced around at us.
"Do not engage in combat. Even if an enemy shinobi crawls in front of you without arms and 'enemy' written on their forehead. Bypass them. Your task is not to kill, but to learn."
"Each of you will have a sector," the man said, sharply tapping a finger on the unfolded map.
"We will split into threes," he continued, lifting his eyes and surveying us sternly. "You go as the teams assigned from the start. That means your trio does not split. Neither singly nor in pairs."
He paused briefly, giving us time to digest what he said.
"Don't expect to be led by the hand. Each trio has its own commander — and that's you. Everyone is responsible. If you make a mistake — no one will cover for you. This is a real operation."
He leaned over the map again, tracing the marks with his finger:
"The sectors are already assigned. They must not overlap. Your reconnaissance routes are deliberately spaced out. Any overlap with another group is a risk of mission failure or worse, friendly fire."
He straightened, looked at us seriously, emphasizing every word:
"Remember. Three main rules:
First. Leave no traces.
No matter who follows you: shinobi, hunter, or beast. If you leave a fire, food, smell, or even just footprints on the grass — you can be tracked down."
"Second. Do not intersect with other groups.
Each trio works independently. Even if you hear the noise of battle or see a sign, do not intervene. That is not your task. You have your sector, your route, your responsibility. Intervening without orders means mission failure."
"And third."
He paused, his voice lowering but becoming even sterner:
"Only on the third day, when all data is collected, all groups must rendezvous at the extraction point. There we will consolidate the information. From there — return."
"Not earlier.
If someone comes out earlier — they could be mistaken for the enemy. Or bring the enemy back with them. And then not only their neck, but the entire operation is at risk."
Silence hung in the air. Somewhere on a distant hill a bird screamed — hoarse, sharp. As if signaling that now — it's all serious.
"All clear?" he asked without raising his voice.
"Yes, sir!" voices replied.
I nodded silently.
The man looked us over, standing tall, as if seeing through and through us simultaneously.
He raised his voice:
"Did everyone bring their gear? Because there's no turning back."
"Yes!" we responded in unison.
The senior nodded and softened for a moment.
"Since you have no combat experience in reconnaissance," he continued, "this time we'll show you your positions."
He pointed at the team leaders in his group:
"All right, then we move out," he said, and his voice held no more instruction — only a command, dry and final like a shot into the air.
We nodded almost simultaneously, with that focused silence, and moved.
Jumping through the trees was steady, at a working pace — smooth, without rushing. Branches bent underfoot, bark creaked in response, but we moved precisely. Everything was... normal. Maybe too normal.
We passed a couple of squirrels, one snake coiled in a ring and watched us with a frozen gaze from the roots. Somewhere a bird fluttered up with a sharp wing clap and vanished immediately.
But no sign of people. No chakra. No hint of danger.
And suddenly —
The chunin ahead abruptly raised his hand.
"Stop," he whispered without turning around.
We froze on the trees, straining to listen.
Below began a steep cliff — fairly steep, with sparse roots and bushes at the base.
The chunin jumped down first, crouching low. He looked around, placed a couple of markers under a tree trunk — and nodded at us.
When we got close, he pointed to a part of the slope with a small ledge and thick bushes above. An ideal observation point.
"This is the first point," he said calmly. "You stay here."
He jabbed a finger directly at our trio — me, Guy, and Genma.
"Write down everything that moves." He glanced down toward the valley. "Especially people. Direction, number, speed, frequency of the route."
"We'll meet in three days," he added briefly before moving on with his group.
The other trios vanished one by one into the forest, blending with branches and shadows as if they were never there. The rustle of leaves, barely audible clothing sounds — and we were left alone.
I turned to Guy and Genma.
"Let's descend. See that ledge?" I suggested, pointing down to a small crevice at the foot of the slope where the trees parted, forming a natural hollow with limited view but good cover.
Guy squinted, studying the terrain.
"Looks good. There's a view to the west. The main thing is to stay below the horizon line."
"The ledge isn't very safe, though," Genma muttered, looking at it closely. He leaned down, touching the damp moss with his palm, then nodded to himself.
"But I can make a small crevice," he added confidently, straightening up.
"Then let's go down," I said, and chakra gently flowed into my legs, increasing grip on the earth. Under my soles it felt firmer, and I began to carefully descend the slope, choosing spots where the soil was less loose.
Guy and Genma followed silently behind me. Although the slope seemed dangerous, with chakra flowing to our legs and careful movements, we managed. After a few minutes, we reached the right level — halfway between the summit and the foot, where among the stones and bush roots we quickly found a suitable hiding place.
"This will do," I said, looking around. "Not deep enough, but easy to fix."
Genma formed hand seals and moments later the earth seemed to compress, forming a hollow inside.
The shelter was reliable: above us the line of bushes shielded us, below — a narrow ravine hid us from view unless you knew where to look.
Once everything was ready, I sat on the edge of the crevice, checking visibility.
"I suggest splitting the day into three parts," I said, turning to the others. "One watches, two rest. That way we don't miss anything and conserve strength. Eight hours per shift."
"Makes sense," Guy nodded, wiping his brow. "At night, though, one will have a harder time."
"That's why at night we'll watch in pairs," I continued. "Split into two night shifts of four hours each. We'll cover each other then."
"Agreed," Genma added, settling slightly aside and pulling a small scroll with supplies from his bag. "So, who takes the first day shift?"
"I will," I said shortly. "Still fresh, my eyes don't tire yet. Besides, I want to study the situation right away and fix the landmarks. You rest for now."
Guy shrugged lightly:
"Won't argue. Since you took it — then Genma and I will cover the backup."
"Call if anything looks suspicious," Genma added, settling by the far wall of the hollow, shielding himself from the sun.
I took position a little higher, closer to the ledge, which offered the best view of the valley below. The tree line, smoke in the distance — possibly fires or fields, and rare silhouettes of birds nervously rising from branches.
The first observation shift began.
Silence. A light breeze. And not a single extra movement.
One hour, two, three…