The emergency scroll arrived with a hawk whose wings trembled with exhaustion. Captain Renji caught the bird as it collapsed onto the windowsill of their border outpost, its dark eyes dull with fatigue. Whatever message it carried had been urgent enough to push the creature to its limit.
He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Unlike most Suna teams, his group had been stationed at this remote outpost for three months—long enough to grow comfortable with the routine of border surveillance and the occasional bandit cleanup.
That comfort was about to end.
Renji's scarred face remained impassive as he scanned the message once, then again more slowly.
"What does it say, Captain?" asked their tracker, frowning at the change in Renji's expression.
Renji lowered the scroll. "Report from Shoichi's recon unit. Looks like Konoha might be gearing up for major operations in River Country. Command thinks they're aiming for full annexation."
"Might be?" interrupted the explosives specialist. "That doesn't sound very certain."
"It's not. But the evidence is mounting—increased patrol activity, that new outpost construction, supply line expansions. Command's decided we can't wait for confirmation. Better to act now while we still have the initiative."
The youngest member of their squad, a sensor, leaned forward nervously. "What kind of action are we talking about?"
Renji held up the scroll. "Pre-emptive operations against Konoha forces. This isn't simple harassment—we're being tasked with systematic disruption of their capabilities before they can launch whatever they're planning." He paused, letting that sink in. "Priority targets are patrol units, supply lines, and that outpost they're building."
A heavy silence settled over the room. These weren't Academy graduates—every member of his squad had survived many missions and understood exactly what those orders meant.
"That's basically laying the groundwork for war," the medic muttered.
"War was always coming," Renji corrected. "The question is whether we let Konoha dictate the terms, or if we seize the advantage while we still can." He stepped over to the wall map, tapping the border. "Besides, River Country isn't just about stopping Konoha expansion. Those trade routes, the water rights, the agricultural resources—all of that could benefit Suna if we play this correctly."
The tracker nodded slowly. "So it's not defense. It's leverage."
"Exactly. If River Country falls to Konoha, they control two new trade routes and gain direct access to our northeastern border. If we can establish influence there first..."
He didn't need to finish.
The explosives expert gave a sharp grin. "Hit 'em early, knock out their legs, then walk in smiling as River Country's 'friendly protector.'"
"There's more," Renji said, eyes scanning the lower half of the scroll. "We're authorized to pull extra squads from nearby posts. Command wants at least twenty operatives for this operation."
"Twenty?" The medic raised an eyebrow.
Renji nodded. "Reports indicate Konoha's been running full squad rotations through this area. Eight-man teams, all experienced chunin or better. If we're going to cripple their operations effectively, we need overwhelming numbers for quick, decisive strikes." he pointed to several marked locations on the map. "This gives us the flexibility to hit multiple targets simultaneously while they're still scrambling to respond."
The sensor leaned in, eyeing the spread of markers. "What kind of targets are we looking at?"
"That's what we need to find out," Renji said, tracing potential routes on the map. "Our spies have provided general intelligence—patrol schedules, outpost location, construction activities. But for things like supply convoys or high-value targets, we'll need fresh eyes on the ground."
He turned to the sensor. "I want you coordinating with two additional sensor specialists from the drafted squads. Your job is to map Konoha's movement patterns over the next twenty-four hours. Supply runs, patrol rotations, guard changes—everything."
The sensor nodded. "We find the holes and hit where it hurts."
"Exactly. No drawn-out fights. In fast, out clean, leave them chasing shadows."
Renji's tone hardened as he continued. "Reconnaissance teams move out the moment we have enough personnel. Strike operations begin the moment we have actionable intelligence. This is maximum-speed deployment. We adapt on the move and strike the second we see an opening."
The tracker let out a low whistle. "That's cutting it close."
"It has to be," Renji replied. "Every moment we delay gives Konoha more time to strengthen their positions. Their outpost construction is ahead of schedule—if we don't act now, we'll lose our window."
"How do we handle recruitment?" the tracker asked, already mentally cataloging which nearby squads would be most useful for coordinated operations.
"Emergency protocols," Renji replied. "Any squad within half a day's travel can be temporarily reassigned to our operation. Command's already sent out the recall orders through the regional network."
The sensor was already unsealing her scroll kit. "I can have three squads here by this evening. Maybe four if we extend the recall radius."
"Do it," Renji ordered. "And ping back a confirmation. I want continuous intelligence updates on any changes to Konoha's patrol schedules or convoy sightings. If it moves, we track it."
As his squad dispersed to make their preparations, Renji stayed by the window, studying the terrain on the map where they'd soon conduct their operations. The key to success would be speed—identifying targets quickly, striking decisively, and disappearing before Konoha could mount an effective response.
…
…
The dining area turned out to be a large open-sided pavilion, with rows of long wooden tables and benches that could probably seat half the settlement. The scent of stew and freshly baked bread filled the air—rich and warm. Tsume's stomach let out a growl that sounded like a small earthquake. It was loud enough that a few nearby diners glanced over with amused expressions.
"Real food," she whispered, her voice almost trembling. She looked genuinely close to tearing up. "I'd almost forgotten what that even smells like."
"Don't get your hopes up just yet," I said, even as my eyes locked onto the serving line with a little too much interest. "Real ingredients can still taste like cardboard if the cook doesn't know what they're doing. And you literally had my cooking yesterday."
"That doesn't count," Tsume scoffed, brushing off my comment with a flick of her hand. "You're not normal food. You're like... I don't know, some kind of forest-cooking sorcery."
"Forest-cooking sorcery," I repeated, deadpan.
"You know what I mean. There's camp food, and then there's whatever spell you cast with a pot and a handful of leaves."
"It's called seasoning," I said, giving her a look.
But as we stepped closer, I had to admit, the setup was solid. Kitchen staff moved like they'd been doing this for months instead of days. No chaos, no trouble, no one running around screaming about burnt bread. For feeding this many people in what was basically a construction zone, it was pretty damn organized.
"Not bad," I said as we joined the line. "Looks like they actually know how to feed an army."
"You sound surprised," Mikoto said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you expect them to just throw ration bars at everyone and call it dinner?"
"My dad always told stories about military kitchens during the war," Tsume said, practically vibrating with anticipation as the line moved forward. "Half the time they were disasters. Burnt rice, watery soup, mystery meat that might actually have been boot leather."
She took a deep breath of the cooking smells and let out a small, satisfied sigh. "This smells like actual food made by people who give a damn."
"Look at you getting all emotional over dinner," I chuckled. "Next you'll be writing poetry about proper seasoning."
A burly man in a stained apron looked up as we reached the serving counter. His arms were thick as tree trunks, and his face carried the kind of permanent scowl you only earn from years of feeding cranky, impatient people.
"You three the new genin?" he asked, already dishing out stew before we could answer.
"That's us," I said. "Escort team for the civilian convoy."
"Good timing. Made extra tonight since we heard you were coming." He handed over the bowls along with thick slabs of brown bread. "Sit wherever you want. Just don't start any fights with the regulars."
"Do we look like troublemakers?" I asked, keeping my tone as innocent as possible.
The cook's eyes flicked to me, then to Tsume—who was practically vibrating with hunger—then back to me.
"Kid, I've been feeding shinobi for fifteen years. You all look like troublemakers until proven otherwise."
Hard to argue with that.
We found a spot at one of the long tables, squeezing in between a group of off-duty chunin and some civilian builders and loggers with hands like stone and sunburned necks. The stew turned out to be surprisingly solid—tender chunks of beef, soft root vegetables, and a rich broth that had clearly been simmering for hours. Even the bread was fresh enough to still be warm.
Tsume dove into her bowl like she hadn't eaten in days, but after a few more bites, her pace slowed, and a weird expression crept onto her face.
"What's wrong?" Mikoto asked, noticing the change.
Tsume hesitated mid-chew, looking like she'd been caught thinking something she wasn't supposed to say. "It's fine. Really. It's just…" She glanced down at her bowl. "This tastes like… food. Normal food. It's not the same as Shinji's."
"You've been spoiled," Mikoto said, giving her a knowing smile. "I remember your face after that first bite yesterday. You looked like you'd discovered religion."
"I did not—" Tsume started, then paused. "Okay, maybe a little. But now everything else tastes like cardboard. It's not fair."
"Life's tough," I said with a sympathetic nod.
"Shut up," she muttered, going right back to devouring the stew. "This is still better than those ration bars. I'm just saying your cooking broke something in my brain."
"The curse of having standards," I said solemnly. "Once you know what good food really tastes like, mediocrity becomes a tragedy."
"This is your fault," she grumbled, pointing her spoon at me. "I was perfectly fine with travel rations and campfire slop before you came along and ruined everything."
"You're welcome."
"Slow down before you choke," Mikoto said, though she was steadily working through her own bowl. Her expression stayed neutral, but I caught the slight pause between bites—the same disappointment Tsume had voiced, just better hidden.
I took my time with the meal, which was decent enough even if it couldn't compete with what I'd been cooking for us on the road.
Around us, the dining hall buzzed with low conversation, the kind that came from people used to working side by side. Most of it was routine chatter—timelines for rebuilding, supply runs, patrol updates—but I caught enough to get a feel for the place.
This wasn't just a temporary outpost anymore. It was a forward base, properly set up with intel flow, contact with Konoha command, and enough firepower to make anyone think twice before trying something stupid.
"So," one of the chunin at our table said, turning toward us with curious eyes, "you three part of the reinforcement they've been talking about?"
"Just an escort mission," I replied easily. "Brought some civilians who wanted to try their luck at frontier living."
"Frontier living," he snorted. "Guess that's one way to describe it. Hope they're ready for a bit more than building fences."
"What kind of 'more' are we talking about?" Mikoto asked.
"Border's been heating up. Lot of movement today. Patrols coming back with interesting stories." He lowered his voice slightly. "Word is, things might get messy soon."
Tsume looked up from her bowl, finally slowing down enough to pay attention to the conversation. "Define messy."
"The kind where having genin around might not be the best idea," another chunin added from across the table. "No offense."
"None taken," I replied. "We're probably heading back to Konoha anyway, once our sensei's done with her business."
"Smart move," the first chunin said with a nod. "This place is about to get a lot less welcoming for casual visitors."
The conversation shifted to other topics, but the message was clear. Whatever was brewing near the border, no one here expected it to stay quiet for long. And they definitely didn't think it was the kind of situation where rookie genin should be hanging around.
Which was fine by me. I hadn't signed up for a war zone—I signed up for D-ranks, the occasional bandit, maybe a missing cat or two. Not whatever storm was gathering out here.
I finished my stew and leaned back, feeling more human than I had in days. A hot meal, some company, and the promise of sleeping in an actual bed tonight instead of on damp earth or tangled tree roots. Sometimes the simple pleasures were the best ones.
"Think Tsunade-sensei's briefing is going well?" Mikoto asked quietly.
I glanced toward the command building, where warm light spilled from windows that had been carefully positioned to prevent anyone from seeing inside.
"Hard to say," I admitted. "But knowing her, she's probably getting straight answers whether they want to give them or not."
"Good," Tsume said, pushing away her empty bowl with a satisfied sigh. "I'm tired of people talking around things instead of just saying what's going on."
"Welcome to the wonderful world of politics," I said. "Where everything important gets discussed in code, and the people actually doing the work are the last ones to know what's happening."
Mikoto nodded thoughtfully. "The Academy doesn't exactly prepare you for how much of this job is just... waiting around while other people make decisions that affect you."
I shrugged. "You pick things up. Spend enough time listening to adults talk, and you start noticing patterns."
Which was true enough, even if the real reason I understood the game was because I'd been playing it a lot longer than anyone suspected.
The dining hall was starting to empty as people finished their meals and headed off to whatever evening activities passed for entertainment around here. I could see card games starting up at a few tables, and someone had broken out what looked like a portable shogi set.
"So," I said, standing up and stretching, "want to explore a bit more before it gets dark? See what other surprises this place has to offer?"
"As long as we stay within the perimeter," Mikoto said pointedly.
"Naturally," I replied with a grin. "Purely out of professional interest, of course. Got to appreciate a well-run operation."
Tsume was already getting to her feet. "Fine. But if we end up in trouble because of your curiosity, I'm blaming you."
"When have I ever led you astray?"
Both girls just looked at me, then at each other, then back at me with expressions of dawning confusion.
"Huh," Tsume said slowly. "You know what? You actually haven't."
"That's... weird," Mikoto added, sounding genuinely puzzled. "I was expecting to have examples, but now that I think about it..."
"You've been weirdly responsible this whole mission," Tsume finished. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm hurt," I sighed. "Deeply wounded by your lack of faith in my sterling character."
"No, seriously," Mikoto said, frowning slightly. "You cook for everyone, you help with the civilians, you follow orders... it's like you're actually a functional team member instead of the troublemaker everyone says you are."
"Maybe everyone's wrong about me," I suggested.
"Or maybe you're just saving it all up for one massive, spectacular disaster," Tsume countered.
I grinned. "Now that sounds more like the me you know and love."
"We don't love you," Tsume said automatically. "We just love your cooking."
"Same thing," I said cheerfully. "The way to anyone's heart is through their stomach. It's a proven scientific fact."
"That explains why you keep feeding us," Mikoto said, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief. "Evil mastermind using food to make us dependent on you."
"Evil? Please," I said, waving a hand like I was brushing off a bad review. "I'm just being helpful. Feeding people. Building morale. You know—standard good teammate behavior. Anyway, let's go see if there's anything even slightly fun to do around here before you two start staging a coup."
We stepped out of the dining pavilion into the evening air, cool and quiet now that the noise of construction had finally died down. The settlement felt different at dusk. The usual hustle was gone, replaced by a slower, more relaxed pace as people wrapped up their day.
"So where to first?" Mikoto asked, scanning the various buildings scattered around the compound.
"Let's just walk," I said. "Might as well get a feel for the place while we've got time to spare."
We spent the next couple hours actually exploring the settlement, and I had to admit it was not that bad. The place had developed its own little economy—small market stalls tucked between the more official buildings, selling everything from travel supplies to what looked like locally made crafts.
"Oh, look at this," Mikoto said, stopping in front of a stall with an assortment of trinkets and jewelry. An elderly woman stood behind the table, smiling softly as Mikoto picked up a silver hairclip shaped like a butterfly. "This one's actually really pretty."
"You thinking of buying something?" I asked, leaning in to look over her shoulder.
"Maybe. It's been a while since I had anything nice that wasn't strictly functional." She held the bracelet up to catch the torchlight. "What do you think?"
"I think it'll look good on you," I said honestly. "Silver suits you better than all that practical black gear we usually wear."
She raised an eyebrow. "So, my usual look is boring now?"
"I'm saying you deserve to have nice things that aren't just tools for the job," I replied with a small smile. "Sometimes it's good to have something just because it's beautiful."
Her expression softened, and she looked down at the trinket in her hands, a delicate silver butterfly hairclip with tiny blue stones for the wings. "Well, if you say so, I guess I'll buy it." She completed the purchase quickly, then turned back to me with a slightly shy smile. "Could you... help me put it in?"
"Sure," I said, taking the clip from her. She turned around, and I carefully positioned the butterfly so it caught a few strands of her dark hair, securing it just above her left ear. "There. Perfect."
She reached up to touch it gently. "How does it look?"
"Beautiful. Like it was made for you."
A soft blush crept across her cheeks, and she gave me a smile that was equal parts pleased and slightly embarrassed. "Thank you," she said quietly, before turning to admire her reflection in the small mirror the vendor handed her.
While Mikoto admired herself, Tsume had already drifted over to a nearby food stall. She was eyeing the skewers of grilled meat like a predator sizing up its prey—and was already halfway through digging coins out of her pouch before I even noticed.
We kept walking after that, taking our time. Eventually, we found ourselves near what had to be the main workshop area. The blacksmith's forge was still going strong despite the late hour, and through the open doorway, we spotted a broad-shouldered man hammering away at what looked like a set of kunai.
"Mind if we take a look around?" I asked, poking my head in.
The blacksmith looked up, face slick with sweat from the heat. "Sure, just stay out of the way. Got a batch of orders to finish before morning."
The workshop was cramped but well-organized, with racks of weapons in various states of repair and bins full of raw materials. I found myself gravitating toward a display of finished kunai, examining the craftsmanship.
"Decent balance," I commented, picking up one of the blades to test the weight.
"Should be. Been doing this for twenty years." The blacksmith set down his hammer and wiped his hands on his apron. "Though I'll admit, these aren't my best—had to make do with what we've got."
"You charge money for these?" Mikoto asked, clearly interested but unsure about the economics of a military outpost.
"Course I do," he replied with a slight grin. "They give us some materials for free, and we get others cheap, but that's only part of what we need. Still gotta pay for the rest, and hard work ain't free. Keep the prices fair though—no point gouging people who might be watching your back tomorrow."
While Mikoto discussed the prices, Tsume found herself fascinated by the forge itself. "Doesn't that get incredibly hot?" she asked, watching the blacksmith work.
"Hot enough to make steel workable," he replied, pulling a glowing piece of metal from the coals. "Takes time to get used to, but it's good work. Honest work."
"Better than hauling lumber all day, I bet," Tsume said.
"Different kind of hard work," he agreed with a chuckle. "But at least I get to make something useful instead of just moving it around."
We spent another hour or so wandering through the various stalls and workshops, window shopping and chatting with the vendors. It was surprisingly relaxing—almost like being back in Konoha, if you ignored the heavy military presence and the fact that we were essentially on the border.
"This is nice," Mikoto said as we passed a stall selling tea and small cakes. "Almost normal."
"Yeah," I agreed, though I noticed the strained smiles and weary expressions on many of the vendors' faces. Some looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. "Almost."
"This is actually pretty nice," Tsume said, munching on some kind of sweet pastry she'd bought from the tea stall. "Maybe we could explore more tomorrow before they send us back."
I rolled my eyes. "We're not here for a vacation, Tsume. This is a military outpost, not a resort."
"I know that," she said. "But a girl can hope for a decent night's sleep and maybe some real food for breakfast."
"Depends on what Tsunade-sensei learns in her briefing," I said. "And whether things stay quiet on the border."
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon by the time we finished our loop around the settlement. Torches and lanterns lit the main paths in gentle pools of golden light, casting soft shadows across the dusty ground. The evening air was starting to cool, enough that I found myself idly thinking about where we'd end up spending the night.
"Think we should head back?" Mikoto asked, covering a quiet yawn with the back of her hand. "It's been a long day."
"Probably a good idea," I said, glancing around. "I just hope they put as much effort into our sleeping arrangements as they did into their market—otherwise, my spine's going to file a formal complaint all night long."
We were already turning back toward the center when movement near the main gate pulled our attention. A group of medic-nin was rushing in, several of them carrying stretchers between them. Even from this distance, I could make out the dark smears staining the fabric.
"Wounded," Tsume said quietly, her nose wrinkling. "Fresh blood."
"Should we..." Mikoto started, then trailed off as the group passed under a torch. The figures on the stretchers were clearly in bad shape—torn clothing, visible injuries, and that particular stillness that came with serious trauma.
"Come on," I said quietly, already heading in the same direction. "Let's find out what happened."
We followed from a respectful distance as the medic-nin moved through the settlement, eventually stopping in front of a long, low building near the center. Its windows glowed softly from within, and the metallic scent of blood met us before we even reached the door.
"Medical facility," Mikoto murmured, slowing her pace as we approached.
Through the open doorway, I caught sight of the wounded being rushed to beds. The space inside was bright and orderly, clearly set up to handle emergencies like this. Three injured shinobi were already being laid out on the examination tables while medics moved quickly from one to the next, checking vitals and administering first aid.
"What happened to them?" Tsume asked, turning to one of the chunin who'd helped carry in the stretchers. He was leaning against the wall just outside, still catching his breath.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing a trail of dirt across his face. "Border patrol was ambushed by a coordinated Suna-River strike team about six kilometers east. Nasty ambush. These are the ones who made it back."
"Joint force?" I asked, keeping my tone even even though my mind was already racing. "Suna and River Country are working together now?"
"Looks that way. Intel suggested it might happen, but this is the first confirmed contact." He glanced toward the medical building. "Lucky they got out at all. The enemy had numbers—and they weren't holding back."
The chunin headed off toward what looked like a debriefing station, leaving us standing outside the medical facility. Through the windows, I could see one of the medics working over a patient, green chakra glowing around his hands.
"Think we can get closer?" I asked, genuinely curious about what was happening inside.
"We shouldn't interfere," Mikoto said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced.
"Not interfering. Just... learning."
I stepped a little closer to the window, making sure not to get in anyone's way as I tried to get a better look. The medic—a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair—was focused on a nasty gash running across a patient's torso. Her chakra glowed faintly as it flowed through her hands, tracing gentle patterns over the wound.
Then she moved on to the next cot. Her entire approach shifted as she began treating what looked like internal damage. It was subtle, almost like watching a different person work. Just from observing her, I was already forming a list of questions for my next session with Tsunade-sensei.
Though, with how things were shaping up, I'd probably need to ask her for access to some medical books soon. Her schedule wasn't going to stay open for long.
Tsume's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Well," she muttered, arms crossed, "that was sobering."
"And informative," Mikoto added. "If Suna and River Country are really working together..."
"Then things just got a lot more complicated," I finished. "We should probably find Tsunade-sensei. See what we're supposed to do about all this."
We made our way toward the command building where we'd last seen her disappear. The place was buzzing with activity—chunin and jonin moving in and out, messengers arriving with reports, and the general tension that came with developing situations.
I approached one of the chunin standing outside the main briefing room. "Excuse me, is Tsunade-sama available? We're her genin team."
He glanced at us, then shook his head. "She's in emergency planning with the command staff. Could be hours." He paused, seeming to remember something. "Actually, she left word that if you three showed up, you should get some rest. Her exact words were 'tell them to sleep while they can.'"
"That doesn't sound ominous at all," Tsume muttered.
"Any idea when she'll be free?" Mikoto asked.
The chunin gave a tired shrug. "Who knows. You'd best follow her orders and get some sleep."
There wasn't much we could do about that. Whatever was being discussed in there was clearly above our pay grade, and Tsunade had made her instructions clear.
"Come on," I said, resigned. "Let's find our quarters. Tomorrow's probably going to be rough."
We made our way to the building we'd been pointed to earlier, a plain but solid structure. Inside, our room was simple but tidy. Three futons had already been laid out on the floor, and a small table sat in the corner with a water pitcher and basin placed neatly on top.
"Not bad," Mikoto said as she nudged one of the futons with her foot. "Better than sleeping on the ground."
"Definitely an upgrade," I agreed, dropping my pack and starting to sort through my gear.
"Think we'll be heading home soon?" she asked, already stretching out on the futon closest to the door.
"Hard to say. Depends on how that meeting goes, I guess." I settled onto the middle futon, grateful to be off my feet after days of rough sleeping. "Either way, we'll at least get one decent night's rest."
"Speak for yourself," Tsume muttered, though she was already shifting into a more comfortable position. "Kuromaru snores."
Right on cue, the little pup gave a soft, snuffling noise that promised to grow louder once he was fully asleep.
"It's fine," Mikoto murmured as she pulled her blanket up to her chin. "We've all dealt with worse. At least tonight, we're warm and dry."
Despite all the grumbling, it didn't take long for exhaustion to catch up with us. A full day of travel, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the looming news about Suna and River Country had drained whatever energy we had left.
As I lay down for the night, I kept thinking about the injured shinobi we'd seen earlier and what their condition said about the situation waiting for us. Whatever was happening near the border, it wasn't slowing down.
Still, that could wait until tomorrow. For now, I had a bed, a roof over my head, and a place to rest. It wasn't much, but it was something.
...
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