"Those Suna ninja really are a bunch of useless hacks!"
Beneath the steady drizzle, four figures stood huddled under a massive Umbrella Tree. They wore dark brown hooded rain-cloaks that shielded their entire bodies, and their faces were hidden behind animal-themed porcelain masks. To any outsider, they looked exactly like members of the Konoha Anbu.
However, the conversation they were having cast a massive shadow of doubt over that identity.
"Even with the intel provided by their spies embedded in the Leaf, they managed to fail time and again, letting the target slip through their fingers."
"What about the Genin fleeing with the target? Any intel on him?"
"Namikaze Hatani. A commoner. Both parents were Genin who died ten years ago. He has an older brother, Namikaze Minato, who was promoted to Chunin last year."
"The target's classmate. He graduated from the Academy ten months ago. Along with the deceased Kazuha, he was considered an average-tier student—a civilian ninja deemed no threat to the plan. That's why he was assigned to Team 13 with the target."
"His marks for Shurikenjutsu were 'Good,' and his Three Basic Jutsu were 'Excellent.' He's considered talented for a commoner, but nothing more."
"Is that it? No other intel?"
"So... he's just a Genin who got incredibly lucky?"
"Based on current intel, yes. The only problem is that the last two skirmishes have made the target extremely paranoid. It's highly likely they've abandoned their original route. They might even be taking a detour back to the Leaf. It will be difficult for us and those Suna idiots to track them now."
"Hmph. Then we have no choice but to initiate Plan B."
The speaker wore a bird mask and seemed to be the leader. He let out a frustrated, heavy sigh before continuing.
"We should have cooperated with Amegakure from the start. In this godforsaken Land of Rain..."
"Careful. Hanzo isn't like those self-important fools in Suna's Anbu. If we want to keep the target's body intact to prevent the cellular leakage of the Senju line, it won't be that simple."
"Enough. Stop bickering. Execute Woodpecker Plan B immediately."
The leader's sharp command cut through the argument.
"Sir!"
A chorus of low, disciplined acknowledgments rang out. A moment later, the space beneath the Umbrella Tree was empty, as if the entire meeting had been nothing more than a ghost in the rain.
Even when hidden behind thick storm clouds, the sun still dictates the passage of time. As the hours bled away, the already gloomy sky finally began to darken—resembling the heavy eyelids of a DOTA player who had finally pushed down the enemy Ancient and could now succumb to their "just one more win before bed" promise.
After resting for several hours, Hatani and Nawaki finally left the shelter of their tree. They set off into the dark, damp, and freezing night.
Darkness has always been the enemy of humanity. Without the specialized senses of nocturnal animals that evolved over millions of years, humans find it nearly impossible to travel in the dark without a light source. Trying to navigate the perpetual rain and sludge of the Land of Rain was a nightmare squared.
Muddy, treacherous paths were one thing, but accidentally stepping into a hidden bog was a death sentence.
Consequently, they moved at a crawl—barely a third of their daytime pace.
Even so, within the first hour, Nawaki had slipped twice, fallen into three puddles, and lost track of Hatani five times because he was too busy staring at his own feet.
When Hatani finally hauled him out of yet another icy puddle, Nawaki finally snapped. His frustration, feelings of inadequacy, and burning curiosity boiled over into a loud outburst.
"Hatani! Why haven't you slipped once? And why is it that every time I lose you, you find me instantly without me even making a sound? How can you be so sure we're even heading the right way?!"
Nawaki thought he knew Hatani. They had spent six years in the Academy together and nearly a year on the same squad. But the last three days in the Land of Rain had shattered every impression he had of his teammate.
He felt as though Hatani was shrouded in a dense fog. The more he tried to look, the more he felt the need to peel back the layers and see who Hatani really was.
"And another thing! How did you spot that paper bomb trap Suna set? Or those two puppet-master Jonin? Even Mimura-sensei—an elite Jonin—didn't notice them until it was almost too late!"
Nawaki was like a human encyclopedia of questions, his tone growing more excited with every word.
"Do you have some kind of incredible talent as a Sensor-type ninja?!"
"Are you finished?"
Hatani's response was cold enough to frost the rain.
"If you're done, keep moving. We don't have the time or energy to waste here. If you die in this mud, what good will the answers do you? Are you going to go to the Pure Land and brag to the First Hokage about it?"
Nawaki winced, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"Don't forget your dream, Nawaki," Hatani added, softening his tone just enough to act as a motivational booster. "At all times, keep your eyes on the goal and give everything to reach it. As for your curiosity... no matter how much it burns, you must have the will to cut it away and focus. Right now, the only mission that matters is reaching the front-line camp."
"I... I understand," Nawaki muttered, shamed into silence. "I just... you're so different from how you were in the village. I couldn't help but ask."
He kept his pace up, sticking close to Hatani. He didn't say another word, closing his mouth and focusing entirely on following his teammate's lead.
What Nawaki didn't know was that Hatani was internally breathing a massive sigh of relief.
Back in Konoha, Hatani could afford to hide his unique traits to avoid the prying eyes of the "Black-bellied" Danzo, the "Mad Scientist" Orochimaru, or the master of political manipulation himself, the Third Hokage. But here, in a war zone where one wrong step led to an early meeting with the ancestors, hiding his strength would be like lighting a lantern in a latrine—just plain asking for it.
Hatani was a transmigrator, and since birth, he had been bonded to a DOTA 2 System.
The system allowed him to spend "Gold" to purchase Hero Templates and equipment. Based on his years of experience, there were two ways to get gold. The first was his "Salary."
He earned one gold coin per day. It seemed insignificant, but over twelve years, it had accumulated to over 4,000 coins.
The second way was through "Kills." When he and Nawaki had taken down that Ame Genin, the enemy had "dropped" 8 gold—roughly the bounty of a low-level neutral creep. He could only hope that Chunin and Jonin were worth a bit more.
These mechanics—passive gold and last-hitting—were easy enough to understand. But just as he was getting excited about using the skills of 121 heroes to dominate the world, reality had doused him with cold water.
The heroes weren't free. He had to buy the templates, and the price was based on his innate elemental affinity. Even the cheapest ones cost thousands.
Furthermore, a template was just that—a template. It didn't come with pre-packaged skills. He had to meditate, practice, and realize the abilities himself.
This was a far cry from the "Free-to-Play" DOTA 2 he remembered. He had spent thousands in his past life on skins, couriers, and wards, but the heroes had always been free! The system had clearly learned some bad habits from those "pay-to-win" gaming giants back on Earth.
Unfortunately, the system was silent, and the "All Rights Reserved" clause was baked into its core code. He was just a lowly transmigrator; he had no choice but to enjoy the service.
The most he could do was mutter a few curses. After all, he was getting a DOTA experience more realistic than any VR. Who was he to complain about the lack of a "bicycle" when he'd been given a Ferrari?
So, Hatani had played the role of an ordinary child, patiently waiting for his daily gold.
It wasn't until he was eight years and three months old—having saved 3,000 gold—that he finally unlocked the hero most compatible with his natural wind affinity: The Windranger.
As a child favored by the winds of nature, a Windranger is naturally attuned to the atmosphere. The wind makes her faster; it infuses her arrows with sharp, piercing power; it even lends her the destructive force of a gale to sweep away her enemies.
For Hatani, however, that power was a goal, not a starting point.
When he first unlocked the template, he had to start from zero. He spent an entire year standing in the various corners of Konoha, just "feeling" the wind. He had to understand its temper and its flow until he could sense a breeze even inside a sealed, windless room. Only then did he truly step over the threshold.
In the second year, he learned to "call" the wind—becoming its friend and earning its trust.
By the time he was ten and a half, he was officially a practitioner. Though he hadn't tested it in combat, he had a feeling that he was already immune to crude techniques like Wind Style: Great Breakthrough. To him, wind was wind, regardless of who channeled the chakra. It wouldn't hurt its friend.
He could also read the wind's "emotions." He wasn't sure if the wind itself felt things, but he knew for a fact that the wind carried emotion. He realized this the first time he felt the crushing grief the wind brought back from a household where a shinobi had just died on a mission.
Refining this sense, he eventually learned to decipher the information the wind carried. This was how he had detected the paper bombs and the hidden puppet-masters.
Another year passed. After graduating and being assigned to Team 13, he finally stepped fully into the role of a Windranger, capable of actively requesting the wind's aid. Even on a sweltering, stagnant summer day, he could ask the wind to cool him.
And in this pitch-black, rainy night, he could ask the wind to scout the path ahead, ensuring they stayed on track toward the base camp.
But that was his limit for now. He was far from the level of the in-game hero who could use a bow to bind enemies or fire a Powershot to pierce through ranks. The best he could do was wrap the wind around his feet to increase his speed and agility.
He still had a long way to go to become a true Windranger.
Of course, DOTA 2 isn't just about heroes; it's about items. However, much like the hero selection, the shop had been heavily "nerfed."
Consumables that would be game-breaking in the real world—like healing salves or clarity potions—were gone. He couldn't even buy a Bottle for 675 gold to get three sips of magic water. Even the Town Portal Scroll, his ultimate "get out of jail free" card, was nowhere to be found.
Fortunately, the core equipment remained, and the prices matched the game.
After spending 3,000 on the template, Hatani was left with 1,536 gold. Before setting out on this mission, he had toyed with the idea of saving for a Divine Rapier, but sanity (and fear) prevailed. He decided to spend his life savings on survival.
He eventually settled on Phase Boots for 1,500 gold.
Unlike the game, these weren't an icon in an inventory slot. They were a pair of physical boots that appeared before him, fitting more perfectly than any custom-made pair from a master cobbler.
While they didn't actually let him "phase" through solid matter like a ghost, they provided a massive boost to his speed. The active ability gave him a burst of momentum that had saved him during the fights with the Ame Genin and the Suna puppets.
Even now, it was because of these boots that he could walk steadily through the mud and slush, unlike the poor kid behind him who was currently looking more like a "Mud-tree" than a "Nawaki," occasionally coughing up muddy water.
As the eastern horizon began to glow, signaling the end of their exhausting night trek, Hatani turned back to look at the bedraggled, miserable state of his teammate.
An idea struck him. Perhaps, with a bit of caution, they could afford to make some progress during the day after all.