A year slipped by in the blink of an eye.
At the training grounds of the Ninja Academy, a group of students stood at attention, eyes fixed on Instructor Nishimura's stern face. The man's dark expression softened slightly as he handed a forehead protector—symbol of a true Leaf shinobi—to Mikoto Uchiha.
Mikoto tied the protector around her forehead with a graceful motion before stepping down from the stage.
"Next, Uchiha Hayashi."
Hayashi grinned and walked up, but the instructor's expression hardened again. Without much care, Nishimura tossed the forehead protector his way. The obvious difference in attitude stung a little, but Hayashi kept his composure.
At least Nawaki hadn't received any better treatment. After all, the two of them had accidentally ruined the instructor's sixth blind date last week. The fact that Nishimura hadn't made them run laps for it was already merciful.
Nawaki, however, was beaming with pride. Becoming a Genin meant he was now two steps closer to his dream—becoming Hokage. But the excitement lasted only a moment before he dramatically dropped to his knees at the Academy gate, clutching his forehead protector.
"I, Nawaki of the Leaf Village," he declared loudly, "swear to uphold the Will of Fire, protect the Hokage's ideals, obey every command, and dedicate my life to the safety of Konoha and its people!"
If Hayashi hadn't noticed the Third Hokage standing nearby, he might've actually believed Nawaki's speech was sincere.
Their lives as Genin began immediately. It was the height of the Second Shinobi World War, and new squads were being sent to the frontlines in the Land of Rain.
According to Nawaki—still proud of his "performance" earlier—the once-prosperous Rain Country had been reduced to ruins within a year. The Land of Fire clashed first with the Land of Rain, then the Land of Wind joined the conflict, eager to seize advantage. Finally, the Third Tsuchikage of the Land of Earth joined under some flimsy pretext, completing the cycle of destruction.
Now, three of the Five Great Nations used the Rain Country as their battleground. The Lands of Lightning and Water watched from afar, waiting for their chance to join in and claim a share.
Such was the tragedy of small nations—surviving not through strength, but because the great powers needed somewhere to wage their wars.
Even a so-called "demigod" could not change that. In this world, the fists of the great powers dictated the truth.
As the war escalated, the alliances between Fire, Wind, and Earth quickly broke down. The entire Land of Rain became chaos incarnate.
Konoha needed every capable hand, even newly graduated Genin like them. Fortunately, Hayashi and his teammates had already seen battle during their training. They wouldn't freeze when blood spilled.
A week later, the returning Konoha forces arrived from the Rain battlefield, led by Orochimaru and the White Fang of Konoha—Hatake Sakumo.
Hayashi had heard of Sakumo countless times. After all, that man's son would one day be known across the world—Kakashi Hatake.
Sakumo's presence was striking. His signature white hair was tied back into a simple low ponytail. He wore a flak jacket over dark attire, and a short blade rested on his back—the famed White Fang short sword, destined to become a legend of the shinobi world.
That same sword had claimed countless lives… only to be broken years later by his own son. Hayashi couldn't help but think, What a waste.
Upon returning, the veterans' first task was to honor the fallen.
In the past, Academy students like Hayashi weren't allowed to attend the memorial rites. But now, as a full-fledged Genin, he stood beside Orochimaru before the black stone monument.
The air was heavy. Orochimaru didn't speak; he simply gazed at the engraved names. Perhaps some belonged to comrades he'd once fought beside. His pale skin—washed colorless by the endless Rain Country storms—seemed almost ghostly under the morning light.
After mourning the dead and resupplying, Orochimaru was tasked once again with leading a new generation of Genin to the frontlines. That was the rhythm of war—fight, lose, return, repeat.
Three days later, dawn crept across the village. Hayashi, Mikoto, and Nawaki walked together toward the assembly point. Under the shade of a great tree, Minato Namikaze was already waiting.
"Good morning, Hayashi, Nawaki, Mikoto," Minato greeted warmly.
"Why are you the only one here, Minato? Where's your squad?" Hayashi asked.
"They should be here soon," Minato replied with an awkward chuckle, scratching his head.
"Are they easy to get along with?" Hayashi pressed.
"They're fine," Minato smiled. "Quiet types, really. Good kids."
Hayashi smirked. "After spending so much time with Nawaki, I'm surprised anyone is still a good kid."
"Hey!" Nawaki protested, crossing his arms.
Minato laughed softly. "Yesterday, my teammates even treated me to ramen. They said I should take care of them."
Hayashi grinned. "Sounds like they paid you protection money. So, Boss Minato, who are we supposed to rough up first?"
"..."
Minato could only sigh.
Moments later, the rest of the ninjas arrived, gathering into formation. Both Hayashi's and Minato's teams were assigned to the Rain battlefield.
As for Kushina Uzumaki, she wasn't allowed to go. No village would risk sending its Jinchūriki to war unless absolutely necessary. Keeping her within Konoha's sight ensured her safety—and the village's.
"Alright, each squad, form up!"
At Sakumo's command, the chatter died instantly. Rows of shinobi stood in perfect lines, the morning wind carrying the faint clink of their forehead protectors.
A soft cough drew everyone's attention. From the top of the Hokage Building, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, looked down upon them.
"I won't say much," he said firmly. "All I ask is that you fight with honor and return in victory."
"YES, LORD HOKAGE!"
The unified shout shook the air, echoing through the Hidden Leaf like thunder—filled with unyielding determination.
Orochimaru and Sakumo turned without hesitation.
"Move out! Destination—the Land of Rain!"
And with that command, hundreds of ninja surged forward, marching out of the village like a crimson storm.
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