At seven in the evening, a persistent pounding erupted at my door. Each strike vibrated through my overworked skull like the rhythmic thunder of war drums. With a groan, I finally tore my gaze away from the fuinjutsu scroll I had been dissecting for the past several hours. Rubbing my bloodshot, inflamed eyes, I stumbled toward the entryway to answer the summons.
A silent silhouette stood frozen on the threshold, hidden behind a porcelain mask. ANBU. Without a word, a sealed envelope was thrust toward me. I broke the wax right then and there: C-rank mission. Wall duty at the Konoha perimeter. Shift from 20:00 to 08:00.
"Why wasn't this delivered earlier?" I asked, looking up at the operative. There was barely any time left before the briefing.
"Security protocol," the ANBU clipped out, offering nothing more before vanishing into a sudden whirl of autumn leaves, not bothering with further explanations.
I closed the door and leaned my forehead against the cool wood, exhaling a long, ragged sigh. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion and the dull throb behind my temples, my analytical mind flared to life.
It made sense, in a grim sort of way. If there were a traitor among the shinobi, a single hour wouldn't be enough to establish contact with a courier or leak specific details about which sector a particular man was guarding. By pulling shinobi into assignments at the very last second, command achieved a brutal efficiency in secrecy. The enemy simply wouldn't have the time to adapt to the patrol schedule.
Still, the situation felt taut, like a wire pulled too thin. Wall duty was usually a mind-numbing routine, practically a D-rank chore—unless Konoha was bracing for a strike, or the grading system had shifted in a way I didn't yet understand.
I looked down at my hands. My fingers were stained with ink, and my forearm was etched with the complex, still-pulsing contours of the Empty Shell Seal. The chakra within me resonated with the drawn symbols, creating a faint, ghost-like pressure against my skin.
I had one hour left. "Fine," I muttered, heading to the basin to scrub away the ink.
"Twelve hours on the wall. Cold night air, total concentration... and the perfect environment for a field test." I knew marching into a patrol after a forty-eight-hour library marathon was a questionable move, but the "Shell" on my arm seemed to whisper, urging me to feed it, to begin the filling.
After a quick cleanup and a couple of soldier pills to keep my brain from flickering out, I bolted from the house. I reached the North Gate exactly at 20:00. Nighttime Konoha wore a different face—fewer lights, longer shadows. At the checkpoint beneath the massive stone wall, I was met by a tall shinobi with a scarred cheek and a headband tilted to the side. From his aura and the sharp authority in his voice, it was clear he was the Jonin in charge of this defensive sector.
"Hagane Kotetsu?" He cross-referenced my face with the data on his scroll. "A fresh Chunin, then. Good."
He unfurled a map of the wall section before me. "Listen to the distribution. We have four people per kilometer right now. A group of three Genin and one Chunin as the post lead. The distance between posts is two hundred meters. Your job is to coordinate them and watch the blind spots."
The Jonin stabbed a finger at Sector 4-B, which bordered the dense, encroaching forest. "Your post is the northern protrusion. Manage the Genin if anything happens and keep eyes on the perimeter. It's straightforward; I expect you can handle it."
"Four people per kilometer?" I calculated quickly. "That seems thin for a C-rank."
"For peacetime, it's plenty. For the current climate, it's just enough," the Jonin snapped. "Get to your position. If you spot anything suspicious, blue flare. If there's direct contact, red. Questions?"
"None, sir."
I climbed the internal stairs to the summit. The height was breathtaking, and the wind up here was biting and sharp. My group of Genin was already waiting, looking understandably brittle. I hadn't seen many Genin assigned to guard duty lately, but I decided that wasn't my problem to solve yet.
Taking my position at the center of the stretch, I felt the night air begin to seep into my marrow. From this height, the forest looked like a bottomless black gullet, ready to swallow anyone foolish enough to descend.
Time slowed to a crawl, the silence thickening like cold honey. To keep from drifting into a standing sleep or losing myself in the complexities of fuinjutsu, I decided to at least learn who I was standing with.
"Hey," I called out softly. "Since we're in the same boat for the next twelve hours, we might as well get acquainted. I'm Hagane Kotetsu. And you?"
"Kano," a scrawny boy to my left replied, nervously adjusting his kunai pouch.
"Ryoko," a girl added curtly, her eyes never wavering from the treeline.
"Izumo Kamizuki," said the third, who stood closest to me.
"Wait, really?" The words jumped out of my mouth before I could catch them. I froze, squinting at his face. In the gloom, it was hard to make out the details, but when the moon slipped from behind a cloud,
I saw the familiar lines: the straight nose, the solemn gaze, and the bangs—though not quite as long as I remembered. It really was him. The future partner of "that" Kotetsu from the canon. Fate, it seemed, possessed a very particular sense of humor.
"You know me?" Izumo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsettled by my reaction.
"Heard of you from a friend," I recovered quickly. It wasn't a lie. I had heard plenty, though that "friend" lived in another life, on the other side of a screen.
"How did you become a Chunin at your age?" he asked, his voice a cocktail of envy and genuine curiosity.
"Passed the exam," I shrugged. "Went through the selection and showed what I could do. Haven't you guys tried?"
Izumo shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. "No. We're in the Genin Corps. They have their own rules there—you have to rack up a certain number of completed missions before they even consider a recommendation."
The Genin Corps? I frowned. I didn't recall such a structure existing in the original story.
"When did you join that?" I asked, trying to fish for more details on this anomaly.
"Right after the Academy. It was founded recently," Izumo explained. "They say there aren't enough teachers to go around with so many on the front lines or special assignments. In the Corps, we're under general supervision. They help us settle in, give us group tasks..."
Or they just decided not to waste elite resources on average kids, I thought grimly. Round up all the "mediocre" ones, give them a basic briefing, and stand them up as a living shield on the wall while the elite fight the real war. Convenient. Cheap. And very much in the spirit of wartime.
I looked at Izumo. In my memories, he was always tethered to me. I offered a small smile to break the tension. "Tell you what—after the shift, I'm taking you guys to a diner. My treat."
I needed to ask them more about the training methods in this "Corps" of theirs.