Morning sunlight stabbed through the gap in my curtains like nature's most annoying alarm clock. I groaned, rolling away from the light and immediately regretting it when pain shot through my ribs.
"Ow, ow, ow," I muttered, carefully shifting onto my back. "Right. Ninja fight. Not a dream."
I stared at my ceiling, cataloging the damage from yesterday. Thigh? Throbbing. Bicep? Sore but functional. Ribs? Angry as hell. Collarbone? A dull ache that promised to stick around for days.
'Could be worse,' I thought. 'Could be dead like those Kumo guys.'
With another groan, I pushed myself upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles protested the movement, stiff from sleeping in one position to avoid aggravating my wounds. The floorboards felt cool against my bare feet as I shuffled to the bathroom.
The mirror didn't offer any comfort. My face looked like I'd gone three rounds with a pissed-off Akimichi. Dark circles under my eyes, hair sticking up in directions that defied physics, and a lovely bruise blooming along my jawline where that jonin had landed a solid hit.
"Gorgeous," I told my reflection. "Truly breathtaking."
I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth, moving carefully to avoid pulling at the bandages around my collarbone. The apartment was quiet this early, the only sounds coming from birds outside and the occasional footsteps of early risers in the building. Sighing, I cleared a space in my living room, pushing the small coffee table against the wall. Then I carefully lowered myself to the floor, mindful of my ribs, and began with basic stretches. Each movement was a negotiation with pain—how far could I push before my body said 'absolutely not'?
Turns out, not very far.
"This is pathetic," I muttered, wincing as I tried to extend my injured leg. The kunai wound in my thigh pulled uncomfortably, the freshly scabbed skin threatening to crack if I pushed too hard.
I switched to arm exercises, avoiding anything that would strain my bicep or collarbone. Planting two fingers of each hand on the floor, I carefully lifted my body until only my fingertips supported my weight.
"Still got it," I grinned, despite the tremor in my injured arm. Even wounded, I could maintain the position longer than most people.
I pushed off gently to float upward, then landed softly on my feet. The movement sent a sharp pain through my ribs, and I hissed, pressing a hand against my side.
"Okay, maybe take it down a notch."
My usual handstand routine would have to wait. Instead, I focused on breathing exercises, channeling chakra through my pathways to help speed up healing. It wasn't medical ninjutsu—not even close—but the controlled energy flow could boost natural recovery.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, closing my eyes and placing my palms on my knees. Breathe in, channel chakra to the wounds. Breathe out, push away the pain. Simple, but effective.
As my breathing steadied, I focused on my chakra network, mapping the flow of energy around my injuries. The damage wasn't just physical—chakra pathways near the wounds were disrupted too. I'd need to be careful not to overtax my system, especially with Academy classes today.
After twenty minutes of meditation, I felt steady enough to attempt breakfast. I pushed myself up and headed to the kitchen.
First things first: coffee. I filled my small clay pot with water and set it on the stove to heat. While I waited, I measured out roasted beans from Tea Country into my wooden mortar and started grinding them by hand. The rich aroma filled the kitchen as I worked the pestle, a small pleasure worth the effort.
When the water began steaming, I dropped a small square of cloth over a ceramic cup and spooned the ground coffee onto it. Carefully pouring the hot water through created a strong, dark brew that would put even Konoha's famous coffee to shame.
The eggs sizzled as they hit the hot pan, the smell filling my small kitchen. I added diced onion and bell pepper, a pinch of salt, some dried herbs I'd bought from the market. Nothing fancy, but better than ration bars.
With breakfast and coffee in hand, I settled by the window, pulling out my current reading material—a collection of recipes from Tea Country that I'd picked up from a traveling merchant. The illustrations were beautiful, detailed drawings of exotic dishes I'd been meaning to try.
The morning sunlight warmed my face as I ate, occasionally glancing out at the village coming to life below. I could see people opening shops, children running to the Academy, shinobi hopping across rooftops on morning patrol.
"Need a good excuse for the face." I took another sip of coffee, then flexed the bruise on my jaw. A training accident, maybe? Walked into a door? Neither sounded particularly convincing.
I finished my breakfast, flipping through a few more pages of recipes. A dish with red chili peppers caught my eye—something Kushina might enjoy. I made a mental note to try it for our Saturday lesson.
The Academy bell would ring in an hour. Just enough time to finish getting ready. I gathered my dishes and placed them in the sink, promising myself I'd wash them later. With one last glance in the mirror to make sure no bandages were visible beneath my clothes, I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.
…
Days blurred together like wet paint in the rain. Classes, tests, training exercises—wash, rinse, repeat. My injuries healed gradually, the bruises fading from angry purple to sickly yellow to nothing. Life at the Academy settled back into its normal routine, or at least what passed for normal.
Except it wasn't normal. Not really.
The signs were subtle at first. Extra chunin patrolling the village. More security at the gates than usual. The way instructors would abruptly stop talking when students walked by. Conversations that died mid-sentence.
Something was happening.
I noticed it in the way Takada-sensei's eyes would linger on certain students a beat too long. In the increased patrol rotations that nobody was supposed to notice. In the tightness around the instructors' faces during their routine evaluations.
But most telling was the way Masako hovered around Kushina like an anxious mother hen. According to Kushina, the woman was still making her favorite foods, walking her to and from the Academy, asking about her day. Very un-Masako-like behavior.
"Can you believe it?" Kushina whispered during kunai practice, rolling her eyes. "She even started washing my hair for me. Like I'm five or something!"
I just nodded, pretending this was normal overprotective caretaker behavior and not the village's way of keeping tabs on their potential jinchūriki.
Three weeks after the Kumo incident—which I definitely had nothing to do with, as far as anyone knew—Takada-sensei walked into class with a stack of folders and a face so serious it looked carved from stone.
The classroom fell silent without him having to say a word.
"As you may have heard," he began, "tensions along our borders have increased in recent weeks."
An understatement. From the whispers I'd caught, skirmishes with foreign ninja had doubled. Missions near Lightning Country were being reassigned or delayed. Something big was brewing.
"In light of these developments," Takada-sensei continued, "the Hokage has decided to accelerate the graduation timeline for your class."
The room erupted in surprised murmurs. Shikaku, two seats over, sat up straight for once, suddenly alert. Hiashi and Shibi exchanged glances. Even Choza stopped munching on his chips.
Takada-sensei held up a hand for silence. "This is not a decision made lightly. Your instructors have evaluated your progress and determined you are ready to serve the village. Graduation will be effective immediately."
More whispers, more shocked faces. This wasn't just unusual—it was unprecedented.
"Troublesome," Shikaku muttered beside me, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Things must be worse than they're telling us."
Takada-sensei spent the next half hour outlining what this meant—immediate integration into the shinobi forces, accelerated training schedules, higher expectations.
"Additionally," he said, consulting his notes, "I've been authorized to announce team assignments. These are final and have been determined based on complementary skill sets and village needs."
He began reading from his list. Some combinations were predictable—Choza, Shikaku, and Inoichi together as the next generation of Ino-Shika-Cho.
"Team Seven," Takada-sensei announced. "Uchiha Mikoto, Inuzuka Tsume, and..." he paused, glancing up briefly, "Shinji."
I caught Tsume's wild grin from across the room, her ninken puppy yipping excitedly beside her. Mikoto turned slightly in her seat, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Team Three," Takada-sensei continued. "Namikaze Minato, Hamada Kenji, and Daichi Shimura."
Minato smiled politely at his new teammates. He caught my eye across the room and flashed a quick, friendly smile. Takada-sensei continued through the list, and I noticed the tension in the room growing with each team announced. Because everyone had realized the same thing:
Kushina's name hadn't been called.
When the final team was announced, she was still unassigned. She sat in the front row, shoulders stiff, staring straight ahead as if she'd known this was coming.
Maybe she had.
Minato's hand shot up. "Sensei, what about Kushina?"
The question everyone was thinking. Leave it to Minato to ask it.
Takada-sensei's expression didn't change, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Uzumaki Kushina will be receiving specialized training under an elite jonin instructor."
The room filled with murmurs again. "Special training" could mean anything—remedial lessons for those falling behind, advanced study for those showing exceptional talent, or... something else entirely.
"Whoa, private training with a jonin!" someone whispered. "Lucky!"
Kushina didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge the whispers.
I leaned back in my seat, keeping my face carefully bored. I knew what this meant. The village was accelerating its plans. Border tensions, rushed graduations, isolating Kushina from her peers—the pieces fit together too neatly.
As class dismissed, Minato tried to catch up with Kushina, but she was gone like a red blur through the door. He looked lost, standing in the emptying classroom.
I gathered my things slowly, watching the reactions around me. Most students were excited about graduation, chattering about their teams. A few, like Minato, seemed concerned about Kushina's absence from the assignments.
As I headed for the door, Mikoto fell into step beside me. We walked in silence for a moment before she spoke.
"You don't seem surprised by any of this," she said casually.
I shrugged. "The village does what the village needs to do."
She studied me for a moment longer. "And Kushina? You're not worried about her being separated from everyone?"
I adjusted my bag, choosing my words carefully. "I think Kushina can handle herself, whatever comes her way."
"That's not what I asked," Mikoto said, her voice low but insistent. "Something's happening, isn't it? First all the extra security, now this..."
I nodded toward where Minato stood at the end of the hallway, looking conflicted. "I'm sure there's a good reason. The village wouldn't single her out without one."
Mikoto followed my gaze. "I hope you're right…"
…
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bummed about our sensei assignment. Actually, more than a little.
"Bet it's some random desk jounin they're forcing back into field work," I muttered, leaning against a tree while we waited at Training Ground Seven.
Mikoto raised an eyebrow. "You sound disappointed."
"Was hoping for the White Fang," I admitted, twirling a kunai around my finger. "Guy's supposed to be a beast with a blade."
Tsume snorted, scratching behind her ninken's ears. "The White Fang? Seriously? Like they'd waste Hatake on babysitting fresh genin." Her puppy yipped in agreement.
She had a point. Elite shinobi like Hatake Sakumo were too valuable to be tied down teaching brats how to walk up trees. Still, a guy could dream.
"Besides," Mikoto added, "I heard he already has an apprentice."
I sighed dramatically. "Great. Some other lucky bastard gets personal training from a legend, and we get..."
"You get me," came a voice that made all three of us freeze.
We turned so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Standing at the edge of the clearing was a woman with blonde hair tied in two loose ponytails. Her arms were crossed over her bountiful chest, and her amber eyes studied us with a calculating look.
'Holy shit,' I thought. 'No way.'
She dropped down, landing without a sound. Not even a dust cloud.
"Tsunade-sama," Mikoto whispered, eyes wide.
The Princess of the Leaf. The most talented medical ninja in the village. And apparently, our jounin-sensei.
"Tsunade Senju," she said, hands in her pockets. "Your jounin-sensei."
Tsume's puppy growled softly, hackles rising.
"At ease, pup," Tsunade said without looking at the dog. "I don't bite. Much."
"Now then," she continued, looking us over. "Uchiha Mikoto. Top kunoichi, fire release specialist, above-average genjutsu aptitude." Her eyes shifted. "Inuzuka Tsume. Tracking specialist, exceptional sensory abilities, feral combat style."
Finally, her gaze landed on me. "And Shinji. No clan name. Normal in taijutsu. Underperforms in written exams." A slight smirk. "Chronically lazy."
I grinned. "You got me all figured out, sensei."
"Hardly," she replied. "Your file is suspiciously thin for someone with your... capabilities."
Something in her tone made me think she knew more than she was letting on. Who am I kidding? She definitely knows I'm sandbagging. Probably knew before she even met me.
"I have to ask," Mikoto said hesitantly. "Why are you... I mean, isn't a genin team usually..."
Tsunade's expression soured slightly. "Assigned to regular jounin? Yes. But apparently someone convinced Sarutobi-sensei that I needed to 'connect with the younger generation' and 'pass on my medical knowledge.'" She didn't sound thrilled. "And when certain people ask for favors, even I can't refuse."
I rolled my eyes, having a pretty good idea who "certain people" might be.
"So," Tsume said, breaking the tension. "What now? Some training?" Her puppy barked excitedly.
Tsunade's smile was all teeth. "Something like that. Attack me."
We blinked at her.
"All of you. Together." She stepped back into the center of the clearing. "Don't hold back."
Mikoto glanced at Tsume, then at me. "Now?"
"Now," Tsunade confirmed, assuming a casual stance. "Unless you're not up for it?"
That did it. Tsume growled—actually growled—and launched forward, her puppy right beside her. "Let's go, Kuromaru!"
I exchanged a quick look with Mikoto. 'So much for planning,' I thought, but there was no time. I darted after Tsume, moving to flank our sensei on the right while Mikoto circled left.
Tsunade didn't move. She watched Tsume approach with an expression of mild interest, like someone observing clouds. At the last second, as Tsume's clawed hand swept toward her face, she simply... wasn't there anymore.
"Too slow," came her voice from behind Tsume, who whirled around only to catch a flick to her forehead that sent her tumbling backward like she'd been hit by a battering ram.
I changed direction mid-sprint, dropping low and sweeping for her legs. She jumped over my kick effortlessly, but Mikoto was ready—a small fireball erupted from her mouth, forcing Tsunade to twist in mid-air.
Perfect. I planted my hand on the ground, using the leverage to launch into a spinning kick that should have caught her mid-dodge.
Should have.
My foot passed through empty air as she substituted with a log. The wood splintered under my kick.
'Classic,' I thought, already scanning the training ground.
"Not bad," Tsunade called from the tree line. "At least you're trying to work together."
Tsume was back on her feet, sniffing the air. "Got her scent," she muttered. "Three o'clock, moving fast."
I nodded, thinking quickly. "Mikoto, can you herd her with fire? Tsume, you and Kuromaru circle behind. I'll engage directly."
We barely had time to nod before Tsunade appeared right in our midst. No seals, no jutsu—just pure, terrifying speed. With a single sweep of her arm, she created enough force to nearly knock us off our feet.
"Scatter!" I shouted, leaping sideways.
What followed was fifteen minutes of us getting our asses handed to us in increasingly creative ways.
Mikoto's fireball was dodged with balletic grace, then countered with a flick to her forehead that left her dazed. Tsume's tracking advantage was neutralized by Tsunade's sheer speed and flawless footwork—years of experience allowing her to appear exactly where Tsume wasn't looking, countering the Inuzuka's senses easily. And me? I got close exactly once, managing to graze her shoulder with a palm strike before finding myself pinned against a tree trunk, her hand at my throat with just enough pressure to make breathing interesting.
"Not terrible," she said casually, as if we were discussing the weather instead of her thoroughly outclassing us. "But not good enough."
She released me and stepped back. "Again."
I rubbed my throat, catching my breath. This time, I gestured for Mikoto and Tsume to huddle up.
"We need a plan," I whispered. The three of us put our heads together, speaking in hushed tones as I outlined a strategy that had both girls raising their eyebrows.
"That's... actually not bad," Tsume admitted.
Mikoto nodded. "It could work."
When we faced Tsunade again, she smirked, "Ready for round two?"
Instead of answering, we spread out in formation. Tsume reached into her pouch and flung a handful of smoke bombs, instantly filling part of the clearing with thick gray clouds. Mikoto and I launched shuriken from opposite sides at specific angles that would force her to move in a predetermined direction.
She dodged exactly as expected, leaping backward—where Kuromaru was waiting, having circled behind during the confusion. The ninken didn't attack directly but barked loudly, causing Tsunade to turn briefly.
That split second was all Mikoto needed to launch a volley of kunai, deliberately aimed to herd our sensei rather than hit her. I dashed forward, timing my approach.
As she landed, Tsume burst from the smoke, clawed hands slashing in quick succession—not wild attacks like before, but careful movements designed to limit Tsunade's space to maneuver.
I slid in low, aiming a sweep at her ankles while Mikoto's second wave of kunai forced her to stay grounded. Tsunade jumped over my sweep and found Tsume's foot already there.
The kick didn't connect fully, but it was enough to take our sensei's attention away from me. I was already moving, flowing into an uppercut followed by a palm strike aimed at her solar plexus. She blocked both, but that cost her the opening she couldn't afford to give. All three of us closed in at once—Mikoto from above, Tsume from the left, me from the right, and Kuromaru nipping at her heels.
For one glorious moment, we had her surrounded on all sides.
Then she smiled—and everything went to hell.
A flurry of movement later, all three of us were sprawled on the ground, with Kuromaru whimpering nearby.
And then, surprisingly, she laughed.
"Enough," she said, straightening her hair. "That was... actually impressive."
The three of us pushed ourselves up as Tsunade studied us with new interest. "Five minutes of sparring, and you went from individual fighters to an actual team." Her gaze lingered on me. "Interesting approach, using all that misdirection and forcing me to move where you wanted instead of just trying to overpower me head-on."
"You complemented each other's strengths," she continued. "Tracking, distraction, coordinated attacks, and timing." She nodded toward me. "And you," her eyes narrowed slightly, "somehow knew exactly where everyone needed to be to get the best results."
I smiled innocently. "Lucky guess?"
She didn't buy it for a second, but let it slide. "We'll meet at the village gates tomorrow at dawn. Pack for a three-day journey."
Tsume blinked in surprise. "Wait, we're going on a mission already? Shouldn't we be catching cats or painting fences or something first?"
"Normally, yes," Tsunade replied. "But given current... circumstances, the village needs every available team in the field. You've demonstrated adequate teamwork. We're being assigned a C-rank escort mission to a logging settlement near the border of Fire Country."
Mikoto's eyes widened slightly. "That's unusual for a new genin team."
"These are unusual times," Tsunade said simply. "Bring food supplies. The farmers and loggers we're escorting will have their own provisions, but I don't trust civilian food to fuel shinobi properly." She turned to go, then paused. "And Shinji?"
"Yes, sensei?"
"Next time, don't hold back quite so much." She vanished in a swirl of leaves before I could respond.
I felt Mikoto and Tsume staring at me.
"What was that about?" Tsume demanded.
I stretched casually, hiding my surprise. "No idea. But hey, C-rank mission on day one! That's gotta be some kind of record."
Still, being cannon fodder is a promotion from being a paintbrush, and I wouldn't be stuck painting fences or chasing demon cat around the village for the next month.
...
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