The rain fell in a steady, oppressive rhythm, but the atmosphere beneath the canopy was anything but peaceful.
Only half a day had passed since they watched their teammate die a gruesome death and narrowly escaped under their teacher's desperate cover. Now, the two freshly minted Genin huddled under the broad leaves of an Umbrella Tree. The only sound was the white noise of the drizzle drumming against leaves, soil, and pooling puddles.
"Hatani... am I useless? Am I just a coward?"
Finally, after an eternity of silence, Nawaki spoke. His voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the rain.
Since entering the Land of Rain—and especially after this morning's nightmare—the once-confident, boisterous boy had been reduced to something resembling a wilted leaf. He was drowning in a sea of self-doubt.
"Kazuha was killed right in front of me. Mimura-sensei stayed behind to save me, and he's probably... but I... I could only think about running. I just ran!"
Nawaki's fists were clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms, drawing thin crescents of crimson.
"Where the leaves dance, the fire shall burn."
Hatani, who had been resting with his eyes closed to conserve energy, finally opened them. He looked at Nawaki—head bowed, spiraling into a pit of self-loathing—and softly recited the golden rule of the Leaf, a line that packed more psychological weight than even the Kotoamatsukami.
"That is the Will of Fire that Mimura-sensei believed in. He lived by that creed, and he practiced it until the very end. To die for what you believe in... I'm sure that in his final moment, Sensei felt a sense of peace. Our job now is to make sure he has no regrets in the Pure Land."
Hatani placed a firm hand on Nawaki's shoulder. When the boy looked up, his eyes clouded with confusion and misery, Hatani met his gaze with absolute conviction.
"What... what am I supposed to do?" Nawaki's voice wavered.
"Live," Hatani said firmly. "Reach the front lines. Become an elite shinobi. Become someone who, like Mimura-sensei, can one day use everything they have—including their life—to light the way for the village, for their comrades, and for the next generation."
"Can I... can I really do that?"
A spark flickered in Nawaki's eyes, but he immediately looked away, the habit of self-doubt pulling him back.
"Nawaki Senju, look at me!" Hatani barked, his tone sharp and commanding.
"Have you forgotten your dream? Have you forgotten everything you've said? You are the grandson of the First Hokage! You're the one who's going to become Hokage, the strongest shinobi in the Hidden Leaf!"
"No... I haven't forgotten."
The haze of fear and doubt was finally starting to burn away, replaced by a growing, jagged resolve.
"What was that? I can't hear you!" Hatani yelled, pushing the boy's momentum.
Nawaki's eyes blazed with a terrifying intensity. He lunged forward, grabbing Hatani's shoulders and pressing his forehead against Hatani's in a gesture of pure, desperate determination.
"NO!" he roared back. "I haven't forgotten!"
"I, Nawaki Senju, am the man who will become Hokage!"
"Good! That's the spirit!"
Satisfied, Hatani slapped Nawaki's shoulder one last time. Then, like a clockwork toy that had suddenly run out of tension, he collapsed backward against the tree trunk. He closed his eyes again, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
"In that case, sleep. Now. We need our strength. We move out at dusk."
"Wait, Hatani, I wanted to ask..."
Now that his fighting spirit was rekindled and his brain was actually functioning again, Nawaki's curiosity took over. "Why are we resting during the day and moving at night?"
In the Land of Rain, where moonlight was a rare myth, traveling at night seemed suicidal. When Mimura-sensei was in charge, they had always moved by day and hunkered down at night. They were two Genin in a territory crawling with enemies—shouldn't they be sprinting toward the base camp at full speed? Why waste precious hours of daylight?
"Based on how those Suna puppet-masters set that ambush on our direct path, it's highly likely our previous route was compromised," Hatani explained patiently, despite his desire for silence.
"We're two low-level Genin in a land that's currently a shark tank filled with Chunin and Jonin. If we bump into an Ame or Suna squad, we're dead meat. So, we do the opposite of what they expect. We move when most of the enemy is resting. It's slower, but it's a hell of a lot safer."
Nawaki nodded, his hot-blooded impulsiveness tempered by the logic. But he still looked worried.
"But there's no moon in this country. It's impossible to see the landmarks. What if we get lost? What if we accidentally walk straight into an enemy camp?"
"Heh, don't worry about that."
Hatani cracked one eye open, giving Nawaki a reassuring look before whispering like some sort of mystic:
"The wind will guide us."
While Hatani and Nawaki recovered under their tree, a hundred miles away at the Suna command center in the Land of Rain, the base commander, Parashia, was livid.
He stood before two masked Anbu, his face a mask of cold fury. As a general responsible for an entire theater of war, he didn't take kindly to subordinates acting without his knowledge.
What incensed him even more was the news he had just received: the two puppet-master Jonin he thought had gone rogue had actually been acting on outside orders. To be a battlefield commander and have someone else pulling the strings in your own camp was a profound insult.
Even if those orders came from the Anbu—and likely represented the Kazekage's will—he found it unacceptable.
The only small comfort was that this "rogue operation" had been a catastrophic failure. Of the two Jonin sent, one was dead and the other was critically wounded. Their puppet collection—the pride of a Suna ninja—was ninety percent scrap metal.
Worst of all, despite the cost, they had failed. The target had escaped under the suicidal cover of a Leaf Jonin, and they had lost the trail.
But before Parashia could even savor the Anbu's failure, his anger surged again. These same Anbu, despite their blunder and lack of manpower, had the audacity to come to him and demand reinforcements to finish the job!
"Impossible!"
Parashia felt as if they had slapped his left cheek and were now asking him to turn the right one.
"Unless I see a direct order from the Kazekage himself, I have no reason to entertain this nonsense. I am the commander of this camp, and I will not authorize a blind mission."
"The matter is of the utmost importance," one of the Anbu said, his voice flat but betraying a hint of agitation. "We ask that Jonin Parashia considers the bigger picture."
They were the Kazekage's direct subordinates, but in a war zone, they couldn't afford a direct confrontation with the man holding the local military authority.
"Hmph! The 'bigger picture'?" Parashia sneered. "I fail to see how a mission where even the target is kept secret has anything to do with the bigger picture."
That was the root of his rage. As the highest-ranking officer in the Land of Rain, he still didn't know who these Anbu were hunting or why it warranted such a mess.
"Nawaki Senju."
The two Anbu exchanged a look before finally yielding.
"The target is Nawaki Senju of the Hidden Leaf."
"Nawaki Senju? Tsunade's brother? The last male heir of the Senju bloodline?"
The name—specifically the surname—stripped the anger from Parashia's face, replaced by genuine shock.
"Heh, does the Jonin think there is another Senju clan in the shinobi world?" the shorter Anbu retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration.
Parashia, not a man of great patience or temperament, darkened immediately.
"I need to know the source of your intel. Otherwise, I will not allow my shinobi to keep charging into the dark only to die for reasons they don't understand!"
"Parashia, do not overstep!" the short Anbu snapped. "If Nawaki Senju is allowed to escape—"
"Hmph."
Before the threat could be finished, Parashia let out a dismissive snort. He flicked through a set of hand seals and vanished in a swirl of wind.
"That's your problem. Not mine."