A few days later.
What Renjiro feared the most happened, the war had erupted once again.
Konoha's forces were stretched thin. While the current conflict was officially limited to Sunagakure, the other Hidden Villages had begun to stir—watching like vultures, waiting for the right moment to strike. Tensions crackled across the Shinobi World, like dry grass before a wildfire.
To hold the line and discourage opportunistic aggression, the Third Hokage began mobilizing large numbers of troops, sending them to reinforce border regions and strategic chokepoints.
And so, without ceremony or warning, Renjiro—along with the rest of his graduating class—received their first assignment.
A direct order from the Hokage's office:
> Deploy to the Land of Waves
Mission: Strategic deterrence against possible aggression from the Land of Water.
Renjiro couldn't have been more reluctant. One piece of bad news followed another, dragging his morale deeper into despair.
This wasn't a joke—it was the battlefield. Although full-scale combat hadn't yet erupted between the Land of Fire and the Land of Water, the border tension was razor-sharp. It wouldn't stay quiet for long.
In the Shinobi World, especially during times of war, a direct order from the Hokage was absolute. Refusal was not an option—it would mean swift and silent execution. Renjiro had no choice but to comply like other Konoha ninjas.
Even so, he was determined to prepare as thoroughly as possible before departure.
This wasn't a video game—this was real life. In war, people died so quickly they often didn't even know who had killed them, or how.
One extra layer of defense, one more tool at his disposal, could mean the difference between life and death. With only a single day remaining, the clock was ticking. But for someone like Renjiro, it was enough.
Though he was an orphan, he wasn't entirely penniless. His parents had left behind a modest sum, supplemented by Konoha's orphan pension and a small income he'd earned from selling his stories to an old writer. It wasn't much—but it was something.
His first stop was the blacksmith's. Initially, he'd hoped to commission a full suit of armor—but that fantasy was quickly dispelled. Full-body plate armor didn't exist in the shinobi world. And even if it did, it would severely limit mobility.
After considering his options, he settled on commissioning a custom-fitted half-body chainmail vest—light, flexible, and easily concealed. It cost him half his savings, but the blacksmith promised personal delivery before his departure, which eased Renjiro's mind.
Next, he hurried to the Ninja Tools Shop. There, he stocked up on ration pills, explosive tags, and other basic supplies. While such items were usually distributed by Konoha to all shinobi participating in the war, Renjiro wasn't naive—he was a low-ranking Genin. He couldn't afford to rely solely on what the village might provide.
The village would probably hand him a basic supply pack—and that would be it. Better to be overprepared than caught off guard.
Fortunately, when the shopkeeper learned, Renjiro was heading to the front lines, he offered a generous 5% discount and completed the order quickly.
As Renjiro made his way home, he passed a clothing store and acted on impulse. He stepped inside and traded his standard-issue shinobi sandals for a pair of sturdy deerskin boots. There was no way he was going into battle wearing those ridiculous open-toed shoes. No grip, no protection—just an accident waiting to happen, he didn't need that on the battlefield.
"Ahh… all my savings are gone."
By the time he finished his shopping, most of his money had vanished. That was when Renjiro truly understood: wars weren't just deadly—they were expensive.
On his way back, the rich aroma of broth lured him toward the famous Ichiraku Ramen stand.
"The legendary Ichiraku Ramen… I have to try it. Besides, I'm starving."
After all the walking and planning, exhaustion and hunger had caught up with him. He gave in and ordered a bowl of the legendary noodles.
It lived up to the stories—rich, fragrant, and soul-warming. The only letdown? The server wasn't the cute ramen girl he had pictured, but a stern-faced young man.
"Probably the future owner." Renjiro thought, eyeing the man behind the counter with mild amusement.
After the meal, Renjiro returned home and retrieved a small wooden box from his bedside drawer. Inside lay a single, worn scroll—his most treasured heirloom, left behind by his parents.
Its contents weren't particularly impressive: a collection of handwritten notes, basic jutsu theory, and physical training insights passed down through his family.
The rarest technique among them was a lone C-rank jutsu his father had mastered during his lifetime:
Lightning Style: Thunder Ball Jutsu
"So, my Lightning Affinity came from my father…" Renjiro murmured, piecing together a part of his legacy.
Renjiro's mother, according to his memories, had only mastered the Three Basic Techniques. She had been a sensory-type with potent spiritual energy—remarkable for a civilian—but far from an elite shinobi.
He carefully studied the scroll, almost engraving every word to his memory. Then, he spoke firmly: "Arkain, store all scroll contents and update it to the main database."
[Beep! Mission Established! Archiving Scroll Data… Completed.]
"Next—establish a permanent mission: Ninjutsu Training. Grant full access to the database and analytical tools. Evaluate and optimize all stored jutsu in my brain. From this moment forward, I want round-the-clock training support." Renjiro said in firm and resolute voice.
[Beep! Mission Established! Permissions Granted... Simulation Process Initiated…]
Renjiro paused for a moment, then added: "Within the 'Ninjutsu' task, create a Lightning Release branch. Add a sub-task: Thunder Ball Jutsu. Enable virtual simulation mode. Use my profile to calculate the most efficient learning path."
[Beep! Mission Established! Data Acquisition Completed... Simulation Initialized…]
"It's getting late. I should sleep now." After getting everything in order, Renjiro murmured.
With everything set, Renjiro let out a long yawn. Dawn was only a few hours away, and tomorrow promised to be a long and trying day. He lay down early, though he knew he might not sleep at all.
---
By sunrise, Renjiro stood at the Konoha village gate, wearing his newly delivered black light armor, a compact backpack slung over his shoulder.
His eyes shone with determination and fighting spirit, but the dark circles beneath them betrayed his exhaustion. He'd had a long, restless night.
And he wasn't alone, nearly every fresh graduate around him wore the same fatigued expression. It was obvious none of them had slept well—not with what lay ahead.
"Renjiro! You're early."
He turned at the familiar voice and found himself face-to-face with Maemon—the brown-haired, bespectacled boy with a kind, soft-spoken manner. One of the few real friends Renjiro had at the Academy.
Renjiro had never been popular. He was quiet, withdrawn, a loner with his nose always buried in books and stories. He wasn't rebellious enough to draw attention, nor social enough to win affection.
The few who gravitated toward him were calm and thoughtful—boys like Maemon, who liked silent and quiet atmosphere like himself.
"You didn't sleep either?" Renjiro asked, noting the heavy dark circles under Maemon's eyes.
"Tch! You're one to talk." Maemon scoffed, rolling his eyes. A classic response—dry, familiar. The kind that only came from a true friend.
"Hehe!" Renjiro smirked
Technically, he was a full-grown man on the inside—his emotions more tempered than most—but teasing Maemon was his small way of easing the tension.
Boom!
Before he could say anything else, a puff of white smoke burst forth in front of the group. In a flash, several figures appeared out of thin air.
"Body Flicker Technique!"
"Look—it's the Uchiha Clan!"
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd. There they were—the legendary clan marked by the fan crest. Their presence cut through the morning air like a cold blade. Each of them wore the same stoic, impassive expression: proud, aloof, untouchable.
Boom!
Another sudden arrival shook the formation. This time, the new group wore flowing traditional robes, their pale, moonlight-colored eyes gleaming with quiet intensity.
"The Hyuga Clan…"
Now, the two most powerful bloodline clans of Konoha stood face to face: Uchiha and Hyuga.
Tension crackled like static between them. Crimson eyes locked with pearly white in an unspoken contest of lineage and pride.
Renjiro stood further back, too far to hear everything clearly, but fragments of whispered arguments floated his way:
"They are late…"
"…Not in accordance with protocol…"
"…Reckless as always…"
"…Clan decorum…"
The words were subtle, but barbed—polite venom wrapped in formality and smug smiles.
Fortunately, neither side allowed it to escalate. After a brief but pointed exchange, both clans turned and began to move, with measured footsteps.
The rest of the rookies exchanged wary glances before silently falling into formation behind them.
Renjiro found himself near the rear, leaping through the forest shadows alongside the others. His new armor shifted with each stride, its weight constant—but it didn't slow him down. If anything, he welcomed it.
Every step with added weight was just another form of training.