The summons came the next morning.
It wasn't urgent. It wasn't dramatic. Just a quiet instruction delivered by a chūnin clerk who avoided eye contact longer than necessary.
"You've been assigned to a reconnaissance mission," the clerk said, sliding the folder across the desk. "Departure at noon."
He took the file without speaking.
Reconnaissance.
B-rank.
Border region near the Land of Rivers.
Three-man squad.
He read it twice.
Not because the words were complicated.
Because they were clean.
Too clean.
The mission description contained no uncertainty. No cautious language. The type of report that assumed minimal resistance.
He closed the folder and thanked the clerk politely before stepping outside into the daylight.
From the rooftop across the street, a masked ANBU remained motionless.
Still watching.
So.
This was the next step.
At the mission hall, he met his assigned squad.
Takeshi again — steady, optimistic, still recovering confidence from recent Academy promotions.
And a different genin this time. Kaito.
Young. Nervous. Determined not to show it.
"Good to see you," Takeshi said, adjusting his vest straps. "Simple recon. Shouldn't take more than a day."
He nodded once.
Simple.
The word lingered strangely in his mind.
As they passed through Konoha's gates, the sky hung low with muted clouds, the kind that swallowed sunlight without threatening rain. The forest beyond the walls stretched quiet and patient.
He walked slightly behind the others.
Listening.
The strange weight inside him hadn't vanished since yesterday. It sat beneath his awareness like something waiting for a signal.
They traveled for hours without incident.
Too smooth.
He began counting inconsistencies.
No patrol overlap along the outer route.
No visible animal activity near the river crossing.
No recent sign of civilian movement.
Takeshi raised a hand as they neared the designated recon zone.
"Standard formation," he whispered.
They separated.
He moved through the trees carefully, adjusting to the terrain automatically. The air felt heavier here — not physically, but in that same subtle way he had felt inside his home.
Then he saw it.
Disturbed soil.
Not random.
Layered.
Prepared.
His eyes narrowed.
This wasn't reconnaissance territory.
It was staging ground.
He shifted his weight backward.
Too late.
The first explosion tore through the forest floor beneath Kaito's position.
The blast wave cracked through the trees, splintering bark and throwing smoke upward in a violent burst. Enemy shinobi emerged immediately — not scrambling, not surprised.
Organized.
Waiting.
Eight of them.
His pulse didn't spike.
It slowed.
This wasn't miscalculation.
It was design.
The pressure inside him reacted instantly.
Not outward.
Inward.
Denser.
As the first attacker lunged, blade aimed cleanly for his throat, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly.
The man's footing faltered.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
He stepped aside smoothly and struck once, precise and efficient.
The enemy fell.
But he wasn't focused on the body.
He was focused on the ground.
It had shifted.
Not dramatically.
But undeniably.
And for the first time, he understood something chilling.
Whatever this force inside him was—
It responded to danger.
And someone in Konoha might already know.