While the villagers of Konoha were already enjoying the sight of this year's first snowfall—
At this moment, the Land of Rain was still filled with the endless, monotonous sound of rainfall.
The leaden-gray sky was weighed down with thick, oppressive clouds, like a massive burial shroud, tightly covering the land and begrudging even a sliver of sunlight.
Yet compared to the earlier drizzle, the rain now had grown colder and heavier, as though it sought to wash the entire country into a sea of mud.
Only the stray dogs without homes huddled in corners, gnawing at unknown scraps of food.
Plip… plop…
The dogs pricked up their ears at the sound, baring their fangs as they peered into the misty rain.
In the distance, through the desolate scenery, several figures emerged from the veil of rain, their footsteps splashing against shallow puddles. The glow of the dim light reflected off the faces half-hidden beneath rain hoods.
At the lead, Hatake Kakashi suddenly raised his hand, prompting the group behind him to halt in unison.
"We've already entered the Land of Rain's borders. Everyone, make sure to keep your identities hidden."
Kakashi's lazy dead-fish eyes swept across the team, pausing deliberately on Hyuga Kumokawa, before reminding him:
"Next, we'll head to populated areas to gather information. Remember—listen more, speak less."
Kumokawa understood full well that this Kakashi-senior was aiming the warning at him. He gave a firm nod in acknowledgment.
"Disperse."
With a crisp command from Kakashi, the squad split into groups of three, each setting off to gather intel.
Kumokawa, however, remained at Kakashi's side. This was as Third Hokage had instructed, which in some sense was also a form of protection.
Together with Kakashi, the four-man unit slipped into the capital of the Land of Rain. Throughout the entire infiltration, they drew no attention, no wary glances from anyone around them.
The reason was simple: the streets were nearly empty. Even the few who did appear moved hurriedly, heads bowed, their forms wrapped in dark raincoats, passing like ghosts through the curtain of rainfall.
The people of this land carried with them the numbness and vigilance carved into their bones by suffering.
Occasionally, masked Rain ninja in dark uniforms appeared, but Kumokawa's squad blended seamlessly into the dreary crowd, attracting no suspicion.
This was Kumokawa's first time stepping into the Land of Rain. From beneath his hood, his pale eyes surveyed the surroundings.
What he saw was a forest of steel—countless pipes of varying thickness crawling up the surfaces of buildings also forged of steel.
These structures were not like ordinary homes, but blocky, rigid, scarred with welding marks. Their narrow windows seemed to repel all warmth, radiating only cold hostility.
Rain streamed down their metallic surfaces, collecting in rusted grooves, forming muddy rivulets that eventually poured into the flooded potholes blanketing the streets.
The entire city resembled a massive industrial graveyard, soaked in rain, letting out a soundless wail of anguish.
The sky—gray.
The steel—brown.
The puddles—murky.
The passersby—draped in lifeless colors.
"So this place… is actually the capital of the Land of Rain."
Kumokawa's pale eyes gleamed faintly under the shadow of his hood as he spoke with a deep, solemn tone.
This place was the absolute opposite of Konoha, and of the thriving Land of Fire.
Kakashi caught his words, but only spared him a sidelong glance before looking away.
Pity?
Such a naïve thought from a junior.
Jingle…
Kakashi pushed open the door of a tavern, the brass bell above jingling in the damp air. Beads of condensation slid down the glass panels, leaving faint wet streaks.
Kumokawa followed. The moment he stepped in, the mingled scents of dampness, rust, and liquor rushed into his nose.
The rain hadn't merely shaped this land's scenery—it had seeped deep into its very soul.
The four of them sat by the window, a position that gave them a clear view outside and the ability to escape instantly if things turned hostile.
"Boss, another drink!"
"Ha! Refreshing!"
At a table further away, several men in shinobi garb drank noisily. No one else dared sit near them—everyone kept their distance.
It was obvious they were Rain ninja. Kakashi's dead-fish eyes narrowed slightly, his ears keenly tuned to their conversation.
"Sigh, that woman at home is nagging again."
One scar-faced ninja took a swig and exhaled, grumbling:
"She keeps complaining that the rations are getting smaller and smaller. If this keeps up, she says we'll starve. She asks me what I'm going to do about it."
Bang!
He slammed his cup onto the table, snarling:
"What can I do, huh? How the hell would I know what to do!"
"Yeah, no kidding." Another, with long hair, scowled as well.
"And the food prices just keep shooting up. They've doubled already."
For shinobi—unproductive in peacetime and especially during war—money was useful, yes, but far less vital than food.
And in the Land of Rain, where agriculture was nearly nonexistent, food was an invaluable, life-sustaining resource.
As for the rations distributed to Rain's shinobi—where did they come from?
Naturally, from the Daimyo. If war cut off trade, and the Daimyo withheld his support, the Rain Village would be left in dire straits.
And where did the Daimyo's grain come from?
No one cared.
Even if they knew the cost was borne by the starving common people of the Land of Rain.
"Hey, did you hear?" one of them suddenly lowered his voice.
"The Land of Fire just declared war on the Land of Lightning. Could this be why?"
The table fell silent for a moment. Finally, the long-haired ninja hesitantly muttered:
"It probably has nothing to do with us, right? After all, in the Third Shinobi War—"
"Bah! What nonsense."
Before he could finish, the scar-faced ninja—drunk and angry—cut him off with a harsh curse:
"The only reason we weren't dragged in last time was because of Lord Hanzō! But he hasn't shown his face in ages, always hiding. For all we know, maybe he's dea—mmmph!"
His words were smothered in an instant. The others had leapt to clamp their hands over his mouth, faces pale.
"Shut up!"
"Are you insane?!"
"If you want to die, don't drag me down with you!"
They cursed him in harsh whispers, eyes darting around nervously.
Some were genuinely angry at his insult toward Hanzō.
Some were terrified of his reckless boldness.
Which mattered more? That was unclear.
The scar-faced ninja snapped out of his drunken haze, realizing the weight of what he had just blurted. His face turned ashen.
Rain Village had its own "ANBU." If such words reached their ears, he would be skinned alive, if not outright killed.
Panicked, he instinctively darted his gaze around the tavern. And then—he locked eyes with a pair of dead-fish eyes that hadn't been averted in time.
"You—what are you looking at, huh?! Dead fish eyes! What the hell are you looking at?!"
He shot to his feet with a roar, the sudden burst of hostility startling the nearby bartender so badly that the tray in his hands slipped. Several full cups crashed to the ground, spilling across the floorboards.
Clatter! Crack!
The jarring sound, coupled with the man's violent aura, froze the entire tavern.
Every patron fell silent.
Those used to this kind of scene knew what was about to happen. But unless truly cornered, shinobi wouldn't normally harm civilians—so the others only cast looks of pity and sympathy toward the four by the window.
How unlucky.
The scar-faced ninja's outburst was less rage than fear disguised as anger.
"…."
Kumokawa, who had kept his gaze lowered the entire time, finally tilted his head, glancing at the Kakashi-senior beside him with the ever-present dead-fish eyes.
Seemingly grasping the meaning behind Kumokawa's look, Kakashi couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.
He hadn't expected that the one to slip up… would be him, the senior.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on whose mistake it was.
Because the scar-faced Rain ninja, radiating killing intent, was already stomping toward their table.