Quiet Confessions, Quiet Threats
"Because my father would never lie to me."
Uchiha Jin's face stayed calm. He watched Nara Kazama carefully; the boy's words set his mind racing. He hadn't expected Kazama's family situation. As for lies—impossible. A traditional Nara wouldn't say something that could be so easily pierced.
After a pause Jin finally spoke, his voice low and measured.
"I won't try hard."
"I can't endure hardship. I'm a useless Uchiha."
"If I suddenly tried to be diligent—or acted like a genius—some people wouldn't be able to stomach it."
"As cannon fodder, I have to live up to my image."
"You're smart. You don't need me to spell it out."
Kazama smiled. He didn't need explanations; he could read the situation. He'd already guessed part of Jin's thinking—how Jin's disguise served as a survival strategy. He could also guess why Nara Shikaku had sent him here to watch. If his suspicion was right, the three dead Uchiha were the catalyst, and Shikaku had already turned his attention to Jin.
"Don't worry," Kazama said. "The Nara don't rush into things. We play it safe. If it's true, my uncle will quietly back you. The Nara don't put all their eggs in one basket."
Jin's eyes narrowed for a moment. Shikaku hadn't exposed him in the Hokage's office—good evidence that the Nara didn't intend harm. Jin felt a flicker of relief, and without another word he went to the frontline camp. Kazama followed, muttering once as they walked.
"Jin-kun, are you really an Uchiha?" Kazama teased. "You don't act like one. Maybe you were switched at birth—you look more like a Nara."
Jin's mouth twitched. He didn't expect that, but it fit the pattern.
"You think too much. I do have the Sharingan." He said it lightly. With Kazama's mind, he'd have guessed anyway. More important: Kazama was useful. A clever Nara at his side would make the future steadier. No rush — time was on his side.
That night the moon hung high and cold over the frontline camp. Patrols moved quietly; tents slept under the silver light. Inside Team Seven's tent an uninvited order had arrived.
"ANBU investigation shows Ishikawa Itsuki disobeyed orders and caused the mission to fail. The facts are clear," the Jonin read aloud. "Considering wartime needs, he'll be returned to his original squad to atone. New mission starts tomorrow morning. Act immediately."
Silence followed. The team glanced at Ishikawa, who lay pale and bitter under a blanket. The failed exposure had already frayed them. How could they cooperate now?
Kudo Nobuyuki forced a hard face. He could not refuse the order. He turned to Ishikawa and said coldly, "Learn from this. Don't drag us down again. Get some rest—we move tomorrow."
Ishikawa's eyes burned with resentment. He didn't see himself as wrong. He blamed the others for his failure. "They'll pay for this," he hissed inwardly. "I'll never let them forget."
---
The next morning the convoy moved out under a tense sky. Jin and Kazama rode in one of the carts while Ishikawa's bandages were tended. The mission — not glorious, but vital — took them deeper toward the front.
When they reached the supply line camp three days later, the ordinary routines of war resumed: tents, stretchers, the hum of logistics. Kudo Nobuyuki reported to Jonin Miyamoto Yukie, bowed, and presented the scrolls. Miyamoto read, slammed the table, and cursed. His anger made it clear: in the field, obedience is everything. Ishikawa would be handed to ANBU for questioning; the team would neither be punished nor rewarded.
Kudo slumped back to the tent, exhausted by the bureaucratic tightrope they walked. He smiled with relief—for now. Kazama and Jin merely exchanged looks and said nothing. Survival often required compromises none of them liked.
Days at the frontline slipped by. Missions were scarce. Jin spent mornings lying on a meadow outside the camp, letting the sun warm his skin. Why train when the system did it for him? He had done his calculations: getting stronger without attracting attention was better than showing off and getting pulled into politics.
Kazama returned from training one evening and sat beside him. "You're really strange," he said quietly. "Every other ninja trains if there's downtime. Why do you act like you're on an outing?"
Jin looked at him, amused. "I'm curious about you too. With that power you showed, you could be Class A. Why hide it and end up here?" He added with blunt candor: "You and I—why are we on the same team?"
Kazama hesitated, then told the truth. "My father's name was Nara Shikamei. He and Shikaku were brothers. He failed to get clan leadership and died on a mission five years ago. Before he died, he told us—don't be geniuses. Live ordinary lives. My brothers didn't listen. They were talented and they died. I followed my father's wish. I gave up the prodigy path to survive."
Jin absorbed that quietly. Kazama's confession explained the calm, deliberate mediocrity—an old man's counsel turned into a life-saving choice.
They sat in companionable silence as the sun sank. The frontline hummed elsewhere, but here it felt, for a moment, like a different world. Jin stood, stretched, and looked at Kazama with a half-smile.
"Keep it to yourself," he said. "You won't regret it."
Kazama nodded. For the first time since they'd been thrown together, something like understanding had settled between them. Both guarded their secrets, both learned what it meant to survive—not through glory but through quiet calculation.
Outside, in the still night, a low threat curled up and waited. Ishikawa's anger would not die quickly. War sharpens grudges into weapons, and small men can still make big troubles.
But for now the camp slept under the moon, and two unlikely allies watched over one another in silence.