When the wooden door creaked open, a sturdy man with a deep scar running across his face stepped out.
He gave a brief nod to the Chunin standing nearby—recognition flashing in his eyes—before his gaze shifted to the three young shinobi led by Uchiha Hayashi.
Noting their youthful faces, his brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing. Instead, he gestured for them to come inside.
Once they entered, the scarred man glanced around warily before shutting the door. The room dimmed instantly, the faint light swallowed by shadows.
Hayashi felt someone grab his arm—it was probably Mikoto. But before he could react, another hand latched onto him.
He blinked. Nawaki, clearly uneasy, was clinging tightly, practically pressed against his side.
Hayashi's expression twitched. The boy's grip only tightened, and he could practically feel his skin crawl. He decided it was best not to move.
"Were we followed?" came the scarred man's gruff voice from the front.
"Relax," the Chunin named Mijo replied confidently. "You know my skills. No one tailed us."
"Mm." The scarred man grunted.
After a brief pause, he added sharply, "The captain's report said we needed experienced shinobi. No one here wants to babysit."
Though his words were calm, the irritation in his tone was unmistakable. Hayashi couldn't see his face clearly, but he could imagine the scowl behind the voice.
It wasn't surprising. Three Genin, normally handled D-rank missions, not assignments near the warfront.
"I know," Mijo replied quietly. "But Iwa-nin have been putting pressure on the main camp. We're short on manpower."
He leaned closer to the scarred man and whispered, "Besides, their instructor is Orochimaru-sama."
That name silenced the man immediately. Everyone in the camp knew Orochimaru—one of the Legendary Sannin, disciple of the Hokage, and a commanding officer in this war. Not someone you wanted to question.
Hayashi exhaled quietly in the dark.
Apparently, they were being treated as privileged kids sent by someone with influence.
He wanted to shout that Nawaki was the one with connections—he himself relied on skill and talent, not nepotism.
The tense silence stretched until a faint scraping sound echoed from beneath the floor—like fingernails scratching wood.
Then, with a creak, a section of the floor split open. A shaft of light shot upward, and a pale hand emerged from below.
Moments later, a woman in her twenties with cropped black hair climbed out. Her calm, steady gaze swept across them.
"Come down," she said softly, her tone composed yet firm.
One by one, everyone—except the scarred man, who stayed on watch—descended into the underground passage.
The chamber below was surprisingly bright. Three tunnels stretched in different directions.
"Is this all the support we're getting? Just these three brats?"
A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, walked toward them. His face was pale, and his movements sluggish—he was clearly injured.
"We lost three Chunin last time we ran into Iwa Jonin during recon. What is the main camp thinking? What can these kids possibly do?"
Hayashi observed him quietly. So this was supposed to be a simple training mission? People had actually died?
Could it be that Tsunade had changed their assignment halfway?
The short-haired woman frowned. "Ryuji, the higher-ups have their reasons."
"Reasons?" Ryuji scoffed. "Sending three kids is worse than sending no one! They'll just get in the way."
The woman—Yura—sighed and shook her head. "My brother isn't very thoughtful. Please forgive him."
She turned back to them. "You must be tired from the journey. Go get some rest first."
Hayashi and the others nodded. They weren't offended by Ryuji's words.
There were three tunnels in total—front, left, and right. Yura led them down the right one.
After a short walk, they reached an area with several small rooms, each containing a single bed and little else. Spartan conditions, to say the least.
"Though it's not ideal, I ask that you adapt quickly," Yura said. "As Ryuji mentioned, Iwa-nin have been active in this area. We've lost many comrades lately, so stay alert. I don't want you to be next."
She stopped in front of one of the rooms and gestured toward it.
"Thank you, Yura-neechan," Nawaki said brightly, trying to lighten the mood. "So… what exactly are we supposed to do?"
Yura's expression didn't change.
"Kill people," she said plainly. "The enemy has a soft spot for cute little kids like you."
Nawaki froze, his smile stiffening.
Yura chuckled. "I'm kidding. Mostly. Our main task is reconnaissance—reporting enemy movements to the main camp. But sometimes, yes, that involves taking lives."
Her gaze darkened slightly as she looked at them. "You've killed before, haven't you?"
The three nodded quietly.
"I see," Yura said softly. "That's good. The first time I killed someone, I was so terrified I couldn't even perform a Clone Technique."
Hayashi blinked. He couldn't help but question Konoha's education system. How had someone this air-headed survived the war this long?
"Alright," Yura said with a faint smile. "Rest for now. Someone will brief you on the details later."
After she left, the trio entered their room.
It was small, with only three beds and nothing else.
"Hey, Hayashi," Nawaki said, setting down his backpack from the Land of Hot Water. "Why are they so unfriendly to us?"
"Because they think you're here through connections."
"What!" Nawaki snapped, clearly offended. "I'm a ninja with strength and good looks, not some spoiled kid!"
Hayashi gave him a sidelong look. "Oh really? Then tell me—how did you win the Konoha Cup Special Award?"
"Huh?" Nawaki blinked in confusion.
"If you're not connected, how did your first-grade painting—'My Hokage Grandpa'—win that award?"
Nawaki fell silent instantly.
Hayashi smirked and lay back on his bed.
---