A month had passed since Yao first donned the black uniform of the Force.
He had carved out a permanent place within the First Squad with startling speed. In a unit where respect was bought with blood and competence, Yao's steady performance and undeniable ceiling had silenced the last of the skeptics.
"Intelligence reports a breach at the Land of Fire's border," Uchiha Inaho announced, his voice echoing through the mission hall. He looked over the assembled officers with a grim, bureaucratic chill. "A cell of approximately ten rogue shinobi has infiltrated our jurisdiction. They are reportedly ruthless, their hands stained with the blood of frontier merchants."
Inaho's gaze locked onto Tekka. "The Hokage demands a clean sweep. Eliminate them or bring them in chains within three days. Tekka, the First Squad has the lead."
"Consider it done," Tekka grunted.
The squad mobilized with the practiced silence of the Uchiha. As they neared the last reported sighting, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in a bruised purple.
"Recon shows over ten targets. The intel was soft," Tekka whispered, crouching in the thick undergrowth overlooking a hidden valley. He frowned, his eyes scanning the campfire light below. "We're outnumbered, and they've taken the low ground with high-ground sentries. We don't charge blindly."
"Yao," Tekka turned to the boy. "You're on point. Recon and long-range suppression. The rest of you, form three-man cells. We move when the moon hits the zenith."
"Understood," Yao replied, his voice a low, steady shadow.
Late that night, Yao moved through the trees like a civet cat, his feet making no more sound than the wind through the leaves. Above him, a sentry leaned against a sturdy branch, yawning with the lethal boredom of a man who didn't know he was being hunted.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Three shuriken, whistling in a tight triangular formation, cut through the night.
The sentry saw only a flash of silver. Before he could draw breath to scream, the blades buried themselves simultaneously in his throat, heart, and brow. He slumped, falling from the tree without a sound.
Across the perimeter, the faint ching of steel on steel signaled that the other cells had done their work. The outer ring was silent.
"Now!" Tekka's voice hissed through the squad's comm-signs. "Assault! Yao, break their formation! Everyone else, cut them down!"
Ten Uchiha silhouettes lunged from the darkness like tigers descending upon a fold.
"Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!"
Yao's hands were a blur. Dozens of searing fireballs rained down upon the camp like a celestial maiden scattering burning flowers. The projectiles didn't just hit; they sought out the most densely packed clusters of rogue ninjas, turning the camp into a screaming inferno of chaos.
"Kill them!" Tekka roared, leading the charge. His three-tomoe Sharingan blazed with a bloody light as his katana carved a path of gore through the panicked ranks.
The battle seemed won—until the shadows bit back.
Three figures erupted from the chaos, their auras flaring with the unmistakable pressure of Jonin-level strength. They moved with a seamless, practiced coordination that suggested years of shared slaughter. Their target was clear: the Captain.
Tekka was a titan, but even a titan struggles when three lions strike at once. His retreat was cut off; a long blade, gleaming with a sinister, wind-natured chakra, whistled toward his neck.
"Die, Uchiha!" the leader sneered.
"Fire Release: Great Dragon Fire Technique!"
A roar like a sudden thunderclap split the valley. A titanic dragon of flame, its scales shimmering with white-hot intensity, tore through the air. The rogue ninjas, sensing the sheer lethality of the heat, were forced to abort their kill-strike and scatter like ash in the wind.
Rumble—!
The dragon slammed into the earth where they had stood, the shockwave of fire consuming the tents and the terrain.
Tekka scrambled back, his heart hammering. He looked toward the source. Yao stood atop a jagged rock, his hands locked in the final seal, his One-Tomoe Sharingan appearing eerie and predatory amidst the dancing flames.
"Yao!" Tekka breathed, a surge of relief washing over him. The boy's output was terrifying—the sheer power of that dragon was indistinguishable from a seasoned veteran's.
The three rogue leaders steadied themselves, their faces contorted with fury. "Who is this brat? Since when does the Uchiha let children fight their wars?"
"Kill him first! He's the anchor!"
Two of the leaders lunged back at Tekka to keep him pinned, while the third shot toward Yao like a bolt of lightning. In his mind, Yao was a spent force—a child who had poured his entire reserve into one flashy move.
"You've overreached, boy!" the rogue snarled, closing the distance.
Yao didn't move. He didn't even raise his kunai. He simply looked the man in the eye.
"Genjutsu: Hell Viewing Technique."
Yao's mental energy, bolstered by the System's refinements, slammed into the rogue ninja's consciousness like a physical blow. The world around the man fractured. The fires of the camp turned into a sea of rotting corpses, and the ground beneath him became a gaping maw of darkness.
He froze, his sword arm trembling, his eyes glazing over in a mask of primal terror.