The forest was quiet except for the soft whisper of eight shinobi moving through the canopy at emergency pace. They'd been pursuing River Country's diplomatic envoy for the better part of three hours, and Shoichi was beginning to worry they might be too late. The intelligence from their Tanigakure contact had been clear—Konoha forces were actively hunting the other diplomatic team, and there was no reason to believe the Suna-bound envoys would be any safer.
"Contact ahead," the young sensor called out, his red hair whipping behind him as he leaped from branch to branch. "Multiple chakra signatures. Combat in progress."
The team came to an immediate halt, crouched on thick branches with weapons ready.
"Give me a read," Shoichi ordered, his single visible eye scanning the forest ahead.
The sensor pressed two fingers to the ground, his brow furrowing in concentration. "At least six unknowns engaging three others. The fighting's intense—lots of jutsu being thrown around."
"They're still alive then," the green-haired kunoichi observed grimly. "For now."
"Not for long if we don't move," Shoichi replied. The sounds of combat were clear now—the crack of jutsu, shouts of pain, and the clash of steel on steel. "Everyone ready for immediate engagement?"
Nods all around. These weren't Academy graduates—every member of his team had survived the meat grinder of Suna's border conflicts. They knew how to fight dirty and win ugly.
"Standard formation," Shoichi continued. "Priority is keeping the envoys alive. Secondary objective is eliminating the attackers."
Through the undergrowth, he could now see the battle clearly. Three River Country shinobi were backed against a cluster of boulders, desperately casting jutsu to hold off their attackers. Wind bullets slammed into earthen walls as the sharp whistle of shuriken cut through the air.
Their opponents wore all black—no identifying marks, no village symbols. Professional killers who knew their business.
'Probably Konoha operatives,' Shoichi thought. 'They've been flooding the border zones lately.'
One of the River shinobi was holding a continuous Earth Release, sweat streaming down his face from the strain on his chakra. His two companions flanked him—one hurling explosive tags, the other weaving more earth jutsu to shore up their defenses. It was a desperate holding action. They were buying time they didn't have against opponents who were slowly grinding them down.
Shoichi's gaze shifted back to the black-clad attackers.
They weren't pressing the advantage. No wild flurry of blades, no ruthless final strike. Instead, they circled with patience, testing defenses, pressing lightly, watching for weak spots.
They weren't here to kill.
They wanted prisoners.
Shoichi raised his hand, waiting for his team to get into position. The green-haired kunoichi had already summoned her puppet, the wooden figure's joints clicking softly as it prepared for battle. The sensor took the high ground while the others spread through the forest to cut off escape routes.
When everyone was ready, Shoichi dropped his hand.
Eight Suna shinobi exploded from the forest like a sandstorm given deadly form.
The black-clad squad, focused on breaking through the River Country defenses, barely had time to react. Shoichi's blade punched through one attacker's ribs before the man could turn around, but his target was faster than expected—the dying operative managed to drive a kunai into Shoichi's shoulder before collapsing.
The green-haired kunoichi's puppet danced through the melee, its blade-tipped fingers carving bloody furrows through flesh, but one of the enemy shinobi caught it with a fire jutsu that reduced half its torso to charcoal. She cursed and dove aside as shuriken whistled past her head.
"These aren't ordinary border guards," the oldest team member grunted, his earth jutsu barely deflecting a fire dragon that would have taken his head off. "They know what they're doing."
The fight collapsed into a brutal mess of fists, blades, and blood. Trapped and outnumbered, the enemy fought like wild dogs—fast, vicious, and with nothing left to lose. One of the younger Suna ninja went down shrieking, his leg nearly hacked off by a slicing gust of wind. Another took a face full of poison needles and hit the ground convulsing.
But surprise and numbers won out. The green-haired kunoichi's hidden puppet snapped two more enemies into wire traps, yanking them off their feet in a spray of blood. Shoichi and the sensor moved in fast, their attacks crashing together to crush the last few stragglers.
When the sounds of battle finally faded, six black-clad bodies lay sprawled among the blood and dirt. But the victory had come at a price—two Suna operatives were dead, and two more were wounded badly enough to require immediate medical attention.
Shoichi yanked the kunai from his thigh with a wince, blood streaking down his leg. He scanned the battlefield, breathing hard, eyes cold. The three River Country envoys were still alive, slumped against the boulders and covered in cuts and bruises. Shaken, but breathing.
Their fourth wasn't so lucky. The one who'd taken point—shielding the others from the worst of the ambush—lay facedown in a dark, growing pool of blood. He hadn't moved since the fighting stopped.
"Are you alive?" Shoichi called out, approaching the diplomatic team with his hands visible.
The lead envoy, a middle-aged man with blood trickling from a head wound, looked up with desperate hope. "Barely. They... they killed Kenji." His voice broke slightly. "We couldn't hold them off much longer."
The young sensor moved among the fallen enemies, checking for intelligence. "No identification," he reported. "Professional work. Could be anyone."
"Probably Konoha operatives," the green-haired kunoichi spat, examining the charred remains of her puppet's torso with obvious frustration. "They've been sniffing around this border for weeks, stirring up shit."
The lead envoy's face darkened. "Konoha? That would make sense. They've been killing our people. Now they're hunting diplomatic envoys."
Shoichi studied the man. "Who are you? And what were you doing out here?"
The envoy hesitated, clearly weighing how much to reveal. His surviving companion, a younger man with a deep gash across his ribs, whispered something urgent in his ear.
Finally, the envoy seemed to make a decision. "We're carrying a message to the Kazekage. A formal request for assistance against unprovoked attacks on our territory."
Shoichi glanced at his men. They didn't need to speak. This was exactly what they'd hoped for.
"Border patrol," he explained. "We've been tracking unusual movement in this area—foreign operatives pushing deeper into contested territory. When we heard the sounds of combat..."
"You came to investigate," the envoy finished, his voice filled with gratitude. "And saved our lives."
"The Kazekage should hear your message," Shoichi said gravely. "But traveling alone, after this attack... you've seen how dangerous it is. There may be more enemy forces in the area."
"Ah, yes—the message..." The envoy hesitated, glancing at his wounded companion and the body of their fallen friend. "I hate to ask more of you after everything you've already done. You've lost people saving us. And if there are more of those killers out there..."
"We'll escort you to the village," Shoichi said. "We're already patrolling these borders, and after what just happened, you'll need protection for the remainder of your journey."
The envoy's face lit up despite his injuries. "You would do that? After already saving our lives?"
"It's our duty," the oldest team member said solemnly, wincing as he bound a wound on his arm. "The desert protects those who travel in good faith."
"Besides," the green-haired kunoichi added with a bitter smile, "someone needs to make sure these bastards don't try this again. Dead diplomats make for poor negotiations."
The lead envoy bowed as deeply as his injuries would allow. "We are forever in your debt. River Country will not forget this kindness."
"There will be time for such discussions later," Shoichi said diplomatically. "For now, we should move. This area isn't safe, and your companion needs medical attention. We can tend to your fallen friend's body properly once we reach secure territory."
As his team efficiently disposed of the enemy bodies and prepared their own dead for transport, Shoichi allowed himself a brief moment to breathe. The mission had cost more than expected—but it had succeeded beyond their plan. Not only had they stopped unknown operatives from seizing River Country's diplomatic message, they'd also secured their position as River Country's saviors.
When River Country's envoys sat down with the Kazekage, they wouldn't just be desperate refugees seeking help—they'd be grateful allies who owed their lives to Suna's intervention. It was exactly the kind of debt that could be leveraged into very favorable treaty terms.
The price had been steep, but in the brutal mathematics of international politics, it would prove worth every drop of blood spilled.
—
The last few hours of our journey crawled by like a particularly stubborn hangover. Not that I was physically tired—genin conditioning meant I could probably walk for another week without breaking a sweat—but the mental exhaustion of listening to the same complaints, watching the same scenery, and walking behind the same creaky wagon wheel for days was starting to wear on my patience.
"Are we there yet?" I muttered for probably the fifteenth time in the last hour.
"Ask me again and I'm feeding you to the next wild boar we see," Tsume grumbled beside me. She didn't even bother to glare. At this point, I think she was just as fed up as I was.
Mikoto, somehow still managing to look put-together despite three days of wilderness living, shot us both an amused look. "You two sound like cranky children."
"I am a cranky kid," I said flatly. "A cranky, tired, footsore kid who's been staring at the same creaky wagon wheel for days."
And when my brain wasn't busy filing complaints to the universe, it was digging up the kind of thoughts I didn't ask for. Like whether Jiraiya was still off being a deadbeat, or if I'd ever grow a spine and confront him about being my old man. Or if Kushina had finally tried that ramen recipe I gave her—and how much of her kitchen had survived the attempt.
'Probably none of it,' I figured. 'She's got a lot of strengths, but following directions isn't one of them.'
My mind bounced from topic to topic like a drunk grasshopper—everything from wondering if I'd remembered to water that one plant in my apartment to calculating how much sake I could afford with my mission pay to questioning why anyone thought it was a good idea to send three genin into what was obviously becoming a militarized zone.
But mostly, I was just bored out of my skull and ready for something—anything—to happen.
The sun was starting its lazy descent toward the horizon when I caught sight of cleared ground ahead through the trees. My vision picked up the details long before the civilians at the front of our convoy started getting excited.
"There it is," I said quietly, nodding toward the plateau visible through the thinning forest.
Tsume and Mikoto followed my gaze, and I saw their expressions shift as they took in what we were looking at.
"Damn," Tsume whispered. "They weren't exaggerating. This isn't a settlement—it's a full-blown military outpost."
Like magic, the civilians in our caravan perked up as word spread that we'd reached our destination. Backs straightened, steps quickened, and suddenly everyone found energy they'd been conserving for the last few hours. Even the oxen seemed to sense the shift, picking up their pace without being prodded.
The promise of safety—or at least shelter—was enough to wake up everyone.
"Finally," Tsume breathed, and I swear I heard actual relief in her voice. "I was starting to think we were just going to walk in circles forever."
The settlement—or outpost, really—stretched across the plateau like someone had torn a chunk of Konoha out by the roots and dropped it in the middle of nowhere. What had likely begun as a handful of civilian shelters was quickly snowballing into something much bigger. Workers bustled everywhere—hauling lumber, raising frames, shouting over the constant clang of hammers. The whole place pulsed with motion—a controlled mess moving at double speed. Even the hills around us seemed to echo with it, as if the land itself were struggling to keep up.
"So," I said as we got closer, "what do you think happens to us now?"
"What do you mean?" Mikoto asked, glancing over.
"I mean, we got the civilians here in one piece. Mission complete, right? Do we pack up and head back to Konoha, or are they about to hand us shovels and put us to work?"
Tsume snorted. "I'm not spending the next month hauling timber and digging ditches."
"Look around," I said, gesturing at the bustling construction. "Do you see any other genin teams?"
They both scanned the area. Shinobi everywhere—some in flak jackets, some giving orders—but not a single green rookie in sight. Everyone here was older. More experienced. Definitely higher ranked.
"We're probably heading home," Mikoto said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "This isn't really a genin-level operation."
"Thank god," Tsume muttered. "No offense to manual labor, but if I wanted to dig ditches for a living, I'd have just stayed home."
"It all depends on what Tsunade-sensei decides," I pointed out. "And whether the Hokage has any follow-up missions for us. Though honestly, seeing no other genin around here, I doubt we're sticking around. Hopefully."
One of the Konoha-nin stationed at the outpost jogged out to meet us as we neared the main gate. He looked young—maybe mid-twenties—with the kind of eager energy that practically shouted "recent promotion."
"Welcome, Tsunade-sama!" he called out, though his smile looked a little strained around the edges. "I'll be helping get your people settled in."
"Excellent," Tsunade said, stepping forward with a smirk thrown my way. "They're ready to contribute however they can."
"Hey!" I shot back with a half-hearted pout. "Don't volunteer me for hard labor."
"Perfect," the chunin said, either ignoring me or just used to ninja sarcasm. "We've set up basic housing and shared facilities in the eastern quarter. After that kind of journey, I'm sure everyone could use some rest."
He turned and started guiding the civilian convoy toward the housing area, calling out directions to a few other shinobi posted along the path. As the wagons rolled past, another figure peeled off from a building and headed toward us.
This one was older—mid-forties, maybe—with sun-worn skin and the quiet weight of experience in the way he moved. His flak jacket was faded but clearly well-kept, and he carried himself like someone used to giving orders, not following them.
"Tsunade-sama," he said with a respectful nod. "The commander's waiting. He asked me to escort you for a briefing."
"How urgent?" she asked.
"Urgent enough that he wanted you brought in the moment you arrived."
Tsunade gave the three of us a quick once-over, and for a second, I caught something flicker in her expression—probably calculating how much chaos we could cause if left unsupervised.
"You three," she said finally, "get some rest. Look around if you want, but don't step outside the perimeter."
Her eyes lingered on me as she said that last part, and I felt my face automatically arranging itself into what Kushina had once called my 'wounded puppy' expression.
"What?" I said, trying to sound innocent. "When have I ever wandered off and gotten into trouble?"
Tsunade gave me a look—one of those hybrid expressions she'd perfected: half stern, half amused, with a pinch of I'm watching you thrown in for flavor.
"I'm serious, Shinji. Stay within the settlement. We don't know what the situation is beyond the perimeter."
"Scout's honor," I said, holding up three fingers like it meant something. "I'll be the model of responsible behavior."
She snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it."
As she turned to follow the jonin toward what looked like the command center, my eyes dropped—completely against my will, obviously. Her hips moved with a slow, confident sway, each step sending a subtle ripple through the fabric. Her jonin coat flared just enough to hint at the shape beneath—tight, firm, and just as commanding as the rest of her.
It wasn't subtle. Hell, it wasn't even fair.
That ass should've been registered as a diplomatic weapon.
"Enjoying the scenery?" Mikoto asked, appearing at my elbow with that scary smile she'd been perfecting lately.
"What scenery?" I replied, blinking innocently. "Just admiring the... uh... architectural layout of this place. Very well-planned defensive positions."
"Defensive positions," Tsume repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling Tsunade-sensei's ass now?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I said, maintaining my innocent expression despite the fact that both of them were now staring at me like I'd just claimed the sky was green. "I'm a professional. I observe tactical advantages and structural engineering. Nothing more."
Mikoto's smile grew wider and significantly more terrifying. "Of course you were."
"Completely professional," I insisted. "I'm practically a monk when it comes to maintaining appropriate boundaries with authority figures."
"A monk," Tsume snorted. "Right."
"Come on, monk boy," Mikoto said sweetly, gripping my arm with just enough pressure to remind me she could probably dislocate it if she wanted to. "Let's go see what passes for proper accommodations around here."
The three of us moved deeper into the settlement, and I had to give credit where it was due—this place was put together well. The main road was wide enough for full wagon traffic, paved with clean-cut stones that wouldn't dissolve into sludge the moment it rained. Buildings flanked the path at just the right angles to double as cover or choke points, but it didn't feel too much like a fortress. Someone had gone out of their way to keep the design from looking overtly militarized.
"Professional work," I muttered, eyes scanning the layout. "Whoever put this together knew exactly what they were doing."
We passed a crew hauling timber near one of the new structures. At first glance, they looked like ordinary laborers—but the way they moved said otherwise. Their eyes flicked around between steps, tracking movement without thinking about it. Hands calloused from more than just construction. These weren't civilians—they were shinobi in work clothes, playing the part.
"Shinobi," Mikoto said quietly, following my gaze.
"Mm. The way they move—definitely Chunin, maybe higher," I murmured back. "Whole settlement's crawling with active-duty shinobi pretending to be construction crew."
"Makes sense," Tsume said, arms crossed. "If you're building a forward base, you don't want soft hands swinging hammers. You want people who can build and hold the line if things go sideways."
A bell chimed somewhere in the settlement, and I watched as the work crews began securing their tools and heading toward what looked like communal dining areas.
"Dinner time, apparently," I observed. "Think they've got anything better than travel rations?"
"Please," Tsume groaned, almost pleading. "I'll do anything for a hot meal right now."
"Anything?" I raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm pretty sure I could negotiate some... interesting arrangements in exchange for—"
"Don't." Mikoto's smile sharpened—just enough to make me rethink everything. "Whatever you're about to say, just don't."
"I was going to suggest cooking a new dish," I protested. "My intentions are pure as freshly fallen snow."
Both girls looked at me with identical expressions of skepticism.
"Okay, fine, my intentions are a dumpster fire of bad ideas," I admitted. "But this time, I really was talking about food."
"Uh-huh," Tsume said, already drooling. "Let's go see if they've got something hot and filling."
...
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