Yako had assigned three squads to continue monitoring the Senju clan. He left the village alone to carry out a reconnaissance mission.
His target: a man named Hatake Chōta, 32 years old, a chūnin, and one of Hatake Sakumo's loyal followers. Among Sakumo's circle, he was one of the oldest and never missed a gathering.
A ninja surviving to age thirty-two might not be powerful—but he was almost certainly experienced.
Hatake Sakumo was famously loyal to his comrades, sincere in his dealings, and always turned squadmates into friends after a mission.
He and his friends gathered often—be they from civilian backgrounds or shinobi clans, his reputation was outstanding.
They regularly met at Hatake Sakumo's home, or dined together at barbecue joints and taverns.
To Sakumo, every friend was worth treasuring. After all, the next gathering might be at the Memorial Stone.
At the village gate, Yako spotted the target's squad.
The captain was Sarutobi Senjin, a fourteen-year-old Tokubetsu jōnin. The other three members, including Hatake Chōta, were all chūnin.
By Konoha's standards, this was an elite team.
They soon departed, and Yako followed.
War was on the verge of erupting in the Land of Rivers, and today, many shinobi were leaving through the western gate.
Yako kept to their rear, but it didn't take long before something felt off.
Yako had reached Tokubetsu jōnin at seventeen, and that's after grinding through blood and grit—but Sarutobi Senjin? Promoted at fourteen. A prodigy, supposedly. Yet even now, the boy's breathing was more labored than the other three.
Suspicious, Yako lowered his binoculars and opened his mission scroll while hidden in the treetop canopy, studying the team's details carefully.
Senjin had supposedly completed a high-difficulty capture mission in the Land of Grass—the rest of the squad died. He and the prisoner alone made it back. And it was Mitokado Homura who nominated him for promotion.
From the records, his taijutsu seemed average. Likely a ninjutsu type?
On the roads through the Land of Rivers, countless civilians were migrating with their families.
Rumors of war had reached the people, and many were fleeing south to remote regions.
It was spring—planting season. Fields would go unplanted. Come autumn, famine was inevitable.
The common folk were experienced. They knew shinobi often disguised themselves as civilians to launch assassinations. In the bloodiest phases of war, civilians died too.
Sarutobi Senjin's team crossed the Land of Rivers and entered the desert of the Land of Wind.
They found an oasis near the border. From behind a sand dune, Senjin barked:
"Approach the oasis from three directions. Gather intel!"
The three chūnin exchanged uncertain glances. As the eldest, Hatake Chōta spoke up cautiously:
"Captain, that oasis contains fresh water. It's a natural supply base—and likely heavily guarded.
Shouldn't we take it slow and gather intel in stages?
We could start by observing the Suna supply teams entering and leaving. From the types of goods they move—like the number of puppet joint rotators—we can roughly estimate how many puppeteers are active on the frontlines."
Senjin's expression darkened.
"Are you refusing my orders?"
Refusing a mission or disobeying a direct order was a grave offense in Konoha—sometimes even punishable by death.
From afar, Yako watched through his binoculars as the three chūnin dispersed and infiltrated the oasis.
His heart sank.
'That's suicide.'
'Who designed this tactic?'
Three shinobi approaching from three angles into an oasis with over a hundred Suna-nin?
As expected, danger struck quickly.
Sarutobi Senjin stayed prone in the distance, watching with a strange attentiveness—as if unwilling to miss a single detail.
In Konoha's system, when the captain stops acting human, the team tends to die.
Yako weighed his options in the shadows.
Should he intervene to save Hatake Chōta?
The answer depended on whether Hatake Sakumo was worth investing in.
His investigations had confirmed Sakumo's stellar reputation. He truly cared for his comrades.
But precisely because he valued them, a group had formed around him—without him even realizing the risk.
The Konoha high command didn't fear scattered civilian shinobi. They feared them organized. United.
A village of isolated individuals is easiest to control.
Disobedient shinobi clans and united civilian groups were always on the top of the purge list.
What Sakumo lacked was someone to shield him from the darkness.
Yako clenched fistfuls of sand, over and over, thinking it through.
He himself was part of that darkness. An Anbu of Konoha's underbelly.
And he was dark enough to block it for Sakumo.
Sakumo in the light. Yako in the shadows. Add to that the prestige of the Senju clan…
That combination would be a nightmare for the higher-ups.
Yako even imagined it: someday, setting up a staged scene for Sakumo—'It's getting cold. You should put on a jacket.'
Sakumo, holding the Hokage robes in one hand and the Hokage hat in the other, sighing, "You guys really forced this on me…"
Yes. Hatake Chōta was worth the investment.
Sakumo would walk in the open. Yako would remain hidden. One slow, one fast. One in light, one in dark. Part of Yako's grand plan.
Decision made, he moved.
Fast.
He couldn't just approach Sakumo as an Anbu. The man wouldn't trust him—and rightfully so.
But if he saved Chōta… maybe that trust could be built, little by little.
—
Three Suna squads burst from the oasis, surrounding the Konoha trio.
Separated in three directions, the three chūnin didn't know each other's fate—but somehow, each sped up, hoping to draw out more intel.
Hatake Chōta glanced toward where Senjin was hiding.
'At least let my death be useful…'
Yako sighed from the distance.
'This kind of soldier—wasted under a guy like Senjin. Cruel.'
Three Suna-nin blocked Chōta's path.
"Wind Release: Gale Palm!"
All three summoned fierce winds—not to strike directly, but to churn up the sand.
In an instant, visibility was gone. Dust and grit filled the air.
Blinded, Chōta dove left, hoping to break free.
Just as he emerged from the cloud, a crocodile puppet lay in wait—mouth wide open.
Its jaws were lined with poisoned senbon—tipped in purple-black venom.
Click!
A spear of stone burst from the ground, impaling the puppet's upper and lower jaws together.
Chōta spun around—and saw a shinobi in a fox mask.
'A Konoha Anbu?'
A steel wire-wrapped iron sphere flew in, looped around Chōta's waist, and yanked him backward.
He flew low across the sand, skidding dozens of meters—until the line went slack and he tumbled into the ground.
Scrambling up, he looked back—and saw four puppets surrounding the fox-masked Anbu.
Human-shaped. Beast-shaped. Each one unique.
Human puppets moved logically—predictable. Beast puppets? Far trickier. Their weapons were hidden in erratic spots.
Chōta watched in awe as the fox ANBU weaved between them with fluid precision.
Breaking free of the encirclement, the ANBU formed a hand seal.
"Water Release: Water Severing Wave!"
A high-speed stream blasted forth, arcing through the air—slicing all four puppets cleanly in half.
Shattered limbs and metal organs flew everywhere. Hidden kunai and senbon spilled from their shattered frames.
Chōta was stunned.
'That terrifying puppet squad… wiped out in one strike?'
Yako hurled two kunai to the side, flushing out two hidden puppeteers.
They leapt up—just in time to see the same water arc flying toward them.
It bisected them mid-air. Their pinkish-yellow intestines splattered onto the sand like tempura crust.
The newly learned Water Release: Water Severing Wave had massively boosted Yako's combat prowess.
After swiftly eliminating the few Suna-nin who'd seen him, Yako called out:
"Follow me!"
Chōta didn't hesitate. He ran after him.