Ken returned to the village alone.
The gates were still open when he reached them. The guards checked his papers, glanced at the dried blood on his clothes, and waved him through without comment. C-rank missions didn't warrant questions unless someone failed to come back.
Ken kept walking.
He didn't head toward the mission office. There was no deadline yet. No one waiting for his report. His body ached in ways that wouldn't fade quickly, and pushing through it now would only make things worse.
So he went home.
The house greeted him with silence.
Ken closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, letting his pack slide to the floor. The stillness felt heavier than the forest had. No voices. No movement. Just the faint creak of old wood settling.
He moved on autopilot.
Water filled the tub slowly. Steam rose as he stripped and stepped in, hissing quietly as the heat touched bruised skin. Blood loosened and bled into the water, turning it cloudy before drifting away.
He washed without rushing.
When he was done, Ken dried himself and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened a small box and took out ointment, the sharp, familiar scent cutting through the room. He applied it carefully to each wound, jaw tightening when his arm protested.
Bandages followed. Clean. Tight enough to hold.
He leaned back against the wall when he finished.
The house stayed quiet.
Not enough, he thought. Still not enough.
Sleep took him before the thought could go further.
Morning came quietly.
Ken woke stiff and sore, the kind of pain that reminded him he was still alive. He ate a small breakfast, changed into clean clothes, and gathered his things.
This time, he headed for the village offices.
The Genin Corps building looked the same as always. Busy. Orderly. Impersonal. Ken stepped up to the counter and handed over his mission scroll.
"I'm here to submit a report."
The clerk scanned it quickly, then frowned and shook her head.
"This isn't handled here."
Ken paused. "It's a C-rank mission."
"That's why," she replied. "We only process D-rank assignments. C-rank reports go through the Hokage Tower."
Ken nodded once. "I see."
She handed the scroll back. "Reception's on the first floor."
Ken turned and left without another word.
Outside, he stopped briefly and looked toward the center of the village, where the Hokage Tower rose above the surrounding buildings.
So that was how it worked.
He adjusted the strap of his pouch and started walking.
The Hokage Tower was quieter than he expected.
Ken submitted the report without issue. The clerk checked the seals, recorded the completion, and returned the document with a nod.
Ken hesitated, then spoke. "I'd like access to the library. Using my contribution clearance."
After a brief check, the clerk handed him a pass. "Limited C-rank access approved."
Ken didn't waste the chance.
The library was dim and cool.
A burly man sat behind the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"What do you want, brat?" the man grunted. "This isn't a public library."
"I want access to the C-rank section," Ken said, keeping his voice steady as he handed over the certificate.
The man glanced at it, then snorted. "Not bad."
He handed it back. "Go. Don't waste it."
Ken nodded once and stepped inside.
Rows of shelves stretched out before him, marked by elemental divisions. Fire. Wind. Lightning. Water.
Ken passed them without stopping.
Earth.
He slowed.
Earth was all he had confirmed so far. No guessing. No shortcuts.
He scanned the titles until one stood out.
Earth BulletA compact projectile technique. Simple. Lethal. At high mastery, it could be fired in rapid succession.
Effective. Direct.
He reached for it.
Then stopped.
The camp flashed through his mind. Power hadn't been the problem.
Awareness had.
Ken stepped back and moved deeper into the section.
The sensory shelf was thinner.
Basic Sensory TechniqueA low-level method that released chakra waves to detect other chakra signatures.
Earth Ears – required ground contact.Telescope Technique – enhanced vision, inspired by the Byakugan.
Ken stared at the scrolls longer than he meant to.
The sensory technique was the right choice. He knew that.
It was also risky.
If he lacked the talent for it, this chance would be wasted. He didn't know when he'd earn another.
Ken exhaled slowly.
After a moment, he reached out.
He paid for the technique, tucked the scroll away, and left the library.
The real work begins.