Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains of his small apartment, spilling across the wooden floor. He woke with a long stretch, body aching faintly from the previous day's training.
Three months had passed since he'd joined his new team, and in those three months, they had put him through a relentless hell. Every day had been bruises, injuries, sweat, blood, and exhaustion. Yet, because of all that, he had grown immensely.
He splashed cold water over his face, the sting bringing him fully awake, then set about cooking breakfast—simple rice, and meat. The meat had been given to him by the team captain. Harvested from the monsters they'd killed inside the Gates.
Apparently, eating monster meat is very beneficial for the physique. The higher the level of the monster meat you eat, the faster your physical growth.
He could only imagine that the bigger clans must all be feeding this type of meat to their children since a young age. Yet another way in which the strong grow stronger which the weak grow weaker.
The motions were mechanical now as he prepared his breakfast, his hands steady and precise from weeks of practice. As the meat sizzled, his thoughts drifted.
Three months already…
The difference was undeniable. His body felt sharper, leaner, honed like a blade that had been tempered in fire. Compared to before when he used to train on his own. The difference was like earth and sky.
His speed had doubled. His strikes no longer wasted motion. His reflexes had reached the point where his body reacted almost before his mind caught up.
He couldn't help but compare himself to the day he had killed that Kobold. Back then, fear had weighed down every movement, and only his reliance on his Academy style jutsu had let him defeat the monster so quickly.
Now, he was certain—if that Kobold stood before him again, he would cut it down without a single technique, just as Neji had done so effortlessly.
The realisation filled him with pride, but also made him bitter. It proved how much a capable mentor—and a strict team—could push him further than solitary training ever could.
Alone, he would have stumbled forward blindly. With them, every weakness had been exposed and hammered away.
Then again, if he had passed the Genin test, then he would've gained Kakashi as his Sensei. And considering how little Kakashi had trained his students, perhaps it was for the best that he failed that test.
And yet… despite all his progress, there was one thing that gnawed at him.
In the past three months, his team had entered three separate E-class gates. Each time, he had asked—sometimes pleaded—to join them. And each time, they had refused him. You're not ready. His team leader had said. Those words stung worse than Haruto's fists.
Instead, the veteran Chunin in charge of him and the other Genins in the genin corp had handed him trivial missions. Cleaning the riverbanks until his back ached from hauling silt. Cutting down overgrown grass under the hot sun. Walking the Inuzuka clan's pack of unruly dogs, who seemed determined to drag him face-first through the mud.
Humiliating errands, the kind of work any rookie fresh from the Academy could handle.
He stabbed at the meat with his chopsticks, chewing with a scowl.
It annoyed him deeply. No—infuriated him.
The reason he had joined this team in the first place wasn't to play errand boy. He had joined because of the gates. Because inside those gates lay the monsters that would give him Experience points.
The monsters that would finally push him to Level 1, unlocking the mystery of his Ideal Growth System. Every gate mission they left him behind, he felt that opportunity slipping further from his grasp.
But he wasn't foolish. He knew why they kept him back. A mix of protectiveness and pragmatism. They weren't being cruel; they were just trying to keep him alive. And, in their eyes, he truly wasn't ready yet. That knowledge calmed his anger, but didn't erase it.
He finished his meal in silence, staring out the window at the bustling village streets below. Children ran by with wooden kunai, merchants shouted over fresh produce, shinobi leapt across rooftops on their morning patrols. His hands curled into fists.
Well… time to go and get started with his daily training. Because only when his team leader felt that he was finally ready would he be allowed to join in on the Gate missions.
—————
The morning mist still clung to the village streets when he made his way toward the training ground. His body moved with the steady rhythm of someone long accustomed to early drills, but his senses were sharp, on edge.
Weeks of relentless lessons had drilled vigilance into him. Always alert. Always ready. Hoshigawa's words echoed in his head. Within a gate, danger never announced itself—it struck from shadow and silence when you were least prepared.
The faint crunch of gravel to his right made his eyes flick. He shifted his weight instinctively, muscles coiling in anticipation.
Movement.
Kazuki lunged from the cover of a narrow alley, a wooden tanto angled for his ribs. The attack was fast, and silent—an ambush meant to leave dark bruises if he hadn't been prepared.
But this time, he was prepared.
His arm snapped up, kunai intercepting the wooden blade with a sharp thud. The steel bit into the wood and he used it to push it away. Without hesitation, he pivoted, springing backward to gain space, feet barely whispering against the ground as he reset his stance.
His pulse raced, but not from fear. His body had moved on instinct. He had survived the ambush.
Kazuki straightened, lowering his blade with a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. He gave a small nod, silent acknowledgment.
The two fell into step together, moving toward the training ground. Eventually, they arrived at the place where the team was already gathered and doing warmups. The quiet shinobi finally broke the silence, his voice low but firm. "He's ready."
The team paused collectively at those words. Shin Hozuki's head snapped up first, his wide grin quick to form. He let out a sharp whistle that drew everyone's attention.
"Well, well," Shin said, eyes gleaming with envy. "You've got it easy, rookie. They put me through the gauntlet for eight entire months before they even thought about letting me into a gate. Eight whole months!" Shin shook his head dramatically, though the grin never left his face.
He blinked in surprise at that bit of info. His gaze slid immediately to Hoshigawa, who stood slightly apart from the others, arms folded.
"Next mission," Hoshigawa said at last. "You'll come with us."
A rush of joy surged through him. He couldn't hold it back—he whooped aloud, fists clenched in triumph. At last, the chance he had been waiting for.
From the side, Haruto's voice cut in like a cold blade. "Don't get too excited, brat." The older genin leaned against a post, arms crossed, a dark smirk tugging at his mouth. "Most rookies who die in gates? They die in their first three. That's the real test of their measure. Survive the first three, and maybe you'll start to get the hang of living."
The words poured water on his fire. His grin dimmed, and he drew in a deep breath to steady himself.
Haruto wasn't wrong. He had seen firsthand how dangerous even a single Kobold could be. And inside a gate, there would be dozens of hem. Each one a potential death waiting to happen.
But danger also meant Exp. Danger meant progress.
He clenched his fists tighter, grounding himself. He wasn't reckless enough to ignore the risk—but neither would he shy from it. His body had been broken down and reforged these last three months. And all because of this.
This was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
The gates were incredibly dangerous. But they were also the only path forward for him.
And he was ready to take it.
—————
Two weeks later, his chance finally came.
The team assembled at the mission counter inside Konoha's administrative hall, where the air always smelled faintly of parchment and ink.
Rows of clerks worked tirelessly behind wooden desks, handing out scrolls, receiving reports, tallying numbers of successful missions and casualties alike.
When it was their turn, the clerk barely glanced up, simply plucking a scroll from a stack, breaking the wax seal, and reading aloud.
"E-class gate. Location: Kurokawa Prefecture. Eight hundred miles northeast. A local lord reported its appearance via a messenger bird. Estimated time since manifestation—three days."
The clerk's voice was flat, disinterested, as though he were announcing the weather rather than a potential massacre. He slid the scroll across the desk toward Hoshigawa, who caught it with practiced ease.
The words "three days" echoed in the his mind. His academy instructors had drilled it into them over and over: gates broke after seven days. No exceptions. When they broke, the monsters inside came flooding out, ravaging the land around them and killing every human on sight until stopped.
He could already picture it—farmland trampled, livestock devoured, families torn apart. Should they fail to clear the gate in time.
He knew about the messenger birds too. Specially bred and trained to endure long distances without rest, with wings strong enough to carry them thousands of miles in a single day.
Every city, town, and village was assigned one, along with a Fuinjutsu tag that let them understand the class of the gate. Their survival often depending on how quickly they could alert Konoha when a gate appeared nearby.
The thought that some farmer or minor lord had rushed to scribble a desperate message before tying it to a bird's leg—it lent a sharpness to the mission he hadn't felt before.
This was real. Not just something he read in a book or heard in a class lecture.
Sometimes, he knew, samurai loyal to the lords could deal with a gate themselves. Other times, black market mercenaries or wandering adventurers handled them. But more often than not, when the stakes were high and the risk too great, the burden fell to Konoha. And this time, for the first time, it fell to him as well.
...
Half an hour later, he stood at the edge of the village, the 200 meter tall reinforced wall looming tall behind him. The forest stretched out ahead, an ocean of green leading toward lands he had never seen before.
This was it—his first step outside the village where he had lived since childhood.
Aya fluttered around him like a mother hen, hands quick as she checked over his gear. "Food pills? Show me." He lifted the pouch, and she counted with a quick glance. "Chakra pills? And don't lie—if you run dry in a gate, you'll die. Kunai sharp?" She inspected one herself, giving a little hum of approval as the blade gleamed in the morning light. She frowned anyway, as if the weapons might suddenly dull of their own accord.
Her nerves were almost palpable. It surprised him at first—she was a veteran, after all, and she'd seen far more dangerous things than this.
But then he remembered the teammates who'd joined the team in the years before his arrival. Teammates who probably died while Aya did her best to heal them. No doubt blaming herself for their deaths.
So he didn't push her away. He let her fuss. Quietly. A part of him almost grateful for it.
"Relax, Aya," Haruto muttered with a scoff from where he leaned against a tree. "If the brat dies, it won't be because of dull kunai." His words earned him a sharp glare from Aya, but he didn't seem to care.
Before the tension could thicken, Shin Hozuki came sprinting up the road, panting heavily, one hand rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry! Sorry, I'm late!" he said between breaths, flashing a sheepish grin.
Aya sighed, muttering something under her breath about hopeless boys. Haruto rolled his eyes. Kazuki didn't so much as blink.
Hoshigawa stood apart from them all, arms crossed, the picture of calm authority. He hadn't said a single word during all the preparations, but when the last of his team had gathered, he finally spoke.
"Enough," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut cleanly through the morning air. "We move out. Now."
No rousing speech. No false comfort. Just the command of a man who had walked into the jaws of death too many times to dress it up with words.
He adjusted the straps of his pack, the weight settling firmly on his shoulders as ran alongside with the team.
This was this. The chance he had been waiting for. Whether he would be able to take advantage of it or not would depend on no one else but him.
—————
They moved swiftly, feet barely disturbing the ground as they crossed forests, rivers, and winding roads. To an ordinary eye, they would have been little more than blurs, the rush of displaced air the only evidence of their passing.
Their pace was relentless—easily five times faster than the fastest man in his old world—and yet, none of them seemed winded. Their strides were steady, their breathing controlled, their bodies honed for endurance beyond human limits.
Eight hundred miles was no small distance. For merchants with oxen carts, it was a journey of weeks. For commoners on foot, perhaps even a month. But for shinobi, it was a matter of days. Two, if they kept a sustainable pace. One, if they burned through their chakra recklessly, though no team worth their salt would take that risk in the field.
Hoshigawa's orders had been simple: travel fast, but not desperate. Vigilance above speed.
He kept those words in mind as he ran with the others, every nerve alert, every sense sharpened. He remembered the lessons drilled into him during training—the warnings that had been repeated again and again.
Gates appeared near human settlements most of the time, but not always. Sometimes they manifested deep in forests, high in mountains, or in abandoned ruins where no one would stumble across them until it was too late.
For all they knew, a gate had broken open in front of them, and an unprepared team won't know until they were in the middle of the horde with no chance of escape.
And so they traveled as though the next step might bring them into an ambush. Hands always close to their weapons, senses stretched to their limits, scanning shadows and tree lines for the slightest sign of movement.
The land passed beneath them in a blur. Villages and small towns dotted the countryside, each one surrounded by high wooden palisades or stone walls.
Those walls would never hold back a horde of monsters forever. Everyone knew it. But they weren't meant to—only to slow the beasts long enough for families to rush into the underground cellars now built beneath every home. By the order of the Daimyo.
It was a grim adaptation of life in this new world, where safety was never absolute.
When they passed through, farmers and guards paused to watch the shinobi team sprint past. Some bowed, some called blessings, others simply looked on with haunted eyes. Every person in the Land of Fire knew that their survival rested on the speed and strength of shinobi like them.
Hours later, as dusk bled across the sky, they crested a rise and came upon a village—or rather, what remained of one.
The wooden walls had been shattered, broken in half as though something enormous had slammed against them again and again until they gave way. Smoke and ash still clung faintly to the air, a bitter, acrid reminder of fire long extinguished.
Within, the houses were little more than husks: roofs collapsed, doors splintered, furniture crushed under claw marks that gouged through wood and stone alike.
His pace slowed, eyes lingering on the devastation. 'Had anyone survived?' He wondered. 'Had the villagers made it into their cellars before the monsters descended? Or had the cellars turned into tombs instead, buried beneath rubble with no rescue in sight?'
"Two months ago, a C-class gate broke near here." Shin Hozuki spoke out, his tone uncharacteristically dark. His usual youthful bravado was gone, replaced with something cold and dark. His gaze swept across the ruins, his eyes filled with rage. "Thirteen villages and two entire towns were destroyed as a result. It took three squads of Jounin and twice as many Chunin to put the monsters down before they could do any further damage."
Shin spat into the dirt, his eyes flashing with raw hatred. "Families, women, children. Eaten alive. And still, those nobles think Gates are just another problem to throw shinobi at. They don't see what we see."
He swallowed hard at Shin's words, forcing his eyes away from the wreckage.
He had read about such situations in his academy books. Every time a monster gate broke open, tragedy followed. Civilians died in droves. But watching the result of one such incident himself somehow made it real for him.
He didn't reply, but his mood had shifted. His earlier anticipation for his first mission, his excitement for the experience points, were now dampened under the weight of the dark reality.
They resumed their pace soon after, leaving the ruins behind.
Two days later, with dawn just breaking, they reached Kurokawa Prefecture. From there, it took only an hour to reach their destination.
The village was small but still standing, its walls intact, guards patrolling nervously atop the ramparts. Relief rippled across the faces of the watchmen when their team appeared, their Konoha headbands catching the light.
The gates creaked open almost immediately, and an old man hurried out, bowing deeply to Hoshigawa.
"You came," the old man said breathlessly, as though he hadn't truly believed they would. His eyes darted toward the northeast, fear stark in his expression. "The gate—it's still there. Please… hurry."
The team exchanged brief looks. There was no need for words.
The real mission was about to begin.