The mist had lifted hours ago, yet the forest still held the scent of damp earth and steel. The clash with Zabuza left the air thick with tension — even now, the echoes of that battle trailed behind Team 7 like ghosts.
Arato watched from the treetops, silent as wind through reeds. The faint pulse of his chakra masked beneath layers of practiced restraint, unseen even by Kakashi's Sharingan unless he wanted to be seen. He trailed them at a distance, stepping where no branch would creak, where even the birds would not cry.
Below, Team 7 trudged along the dirt path, exhaustion settling deep in their young faces. Kakashi moved slower than usual, still recovering from the strain of the Sharingan. Naruto kept glancing back every few minutes, his eyes flickering to the forest — instinct, not recognition. The boy had spirit, Arato noted. Too much of it, perhaps.
When the trees finally opened into the coastline, the village came into view — the Land of Waves, worn thin by greed and neglect. Broken docks. Abandoned shacks. Children with eyes too old for their faces. It was the kind of place that never forgot hunger.
Naruto's steps faltered. "This… this is where people live?" he whispered, disbelief heavy in his voice.
Tazuna sighed. "Used to be better. Before Gatō."
Sakura's gaze softened. Sasuke said nothing. But Kakashi's single visible eye hardened.
From the shadows, Arato's breath stilled. Gatō. He had heard that name before — in hushed reports filed through the Hokage's desk. A crime lord fattened on fear. And if the Hokage sent Team 7 here… perhaps it wasn't only to protect Tazuna. Perhaps it was to test them.
When they reached Tazuna's home, the evening light bent through the mist like tired embers. The old man's daughter greeted them, her face lined with worry but her words warm. The team ate, cleaned up, and collapsed into rest.
Arato didn't move for hours.
He sat upon the roof, mask catching the moonlight — that smooth ivory surface and the faint silver swirl down his right cheek reflecting just enough to remind him that he was still a watcher, never a guest. He watched Naruto sneak outside, punching at the air, muttering about getting stronger, about never freezing again. The boy's determination burned bright — raw, unfocused, but bright.
Beneath the mask, Arato smiled faintly. He saw a flicker of himself — of the child who once thought strength alone could solve the world's cruelty.
Then came the faint ripple of chakra across the water. Subtle. Gentle. But not natural.
Arato's head turned sharply. Through the haze, his senses brushed against a presence that made the air shiver — delicate, precise, beautifully controlled. Not Zabuza's. Not hostile.
So… you're still nearby.
He closed his eyes, letting the wind carry whispers of the forest. The chakra vanished just as quickly as it came — leaving behind only the ripple of water breaking against the shore. Whoever it was, they were skilled enough to move like a reflection.
Inside, Kakashi stirred. He had sensed something too.
Arato dropped down silently, perching on the edge of the window frame, half in shadow. The candlelight flickered across Kakashi's face as the jonin sat up, his expression unreadable. For a brief moment, their eyes met — one masked, one not.
No words were spoken, but understanding passed between them.
Arato tilted his head slightly — a motion barely perceptible.
Kakashi responded with the faintest shift of his fingers, a subtle ANBU signal: Still watching.
Arato nodded once, then vanished back into the mist.
He didn't need to speak to know what Kakashi was thinking. Stay hidden. Don't interfere.
But as he leapt into the darkness, Arato's thoughts were heavier. You're watching them too, aren't you, old friend? Testing them… just as the Hokage did with us.
He landed silently on a branch overlooking the distant bridge, now half-built and eerily quiet under the moonlight. The air was thick with sorrow and resolve. Somewhere beneath that same sky, he imagined Itachi once stood the same way — burdened by purpose, yet unseen.
The thought lingered longer than he wanted.
When dawn broke, he remained perched among the trees as Team 7 began their training. He watched Kakashi instruct Naruto and Sasuke on tree-climbing exercises, listened to Naruto's exaggerated yells of frustration and Sasuke's silent competitiveness. Sakura took notes diligently — she always did.
The morning sun bathed them in gold. And for the first time in months, Arato felt something stir quietly in his chest — something dangerously close to warmth.
They're still so young, he thought. So unscarred.
His gaze followed Naruto, who had already fallen for the tenth time, groaning but getting right back up.
Maybe, Arato mused, the next generation will do what ours couldn't.
But in the distance, the faint ripple of that same controlled chakra returned — faint as breath, yet sharp as a whisper.
Arato's eyes narrowed behind the mask.
Haku.
The game wasn't over yet.
And though the Hokage had ordered him to remain unseen, Arato could already sense the wind shifting — something dangerous was coming. And this time, he might not be able to simply watch from the shadows.
The waves crashed softly below as he rose from his crouch, silver swirl catching the first light of morning.
The Land of Waves trembled quietly beneath the weight of fate.
And so did Arato.