The return journey was a hell of gasps, pain, and constant fear. Daiki, his arm crudely bandaged with strips of his own clothing, carried Hana on his back. Her face was waxen pale, her breath a fragile thread. Kenji limped beside him, each step a stab in his side and shoulder, his mind a knot of extreme alert. The forest, once a refuge, now seemed filled with invisible eyes.
There was no sign of Saito. Nor of the other Takigakure ninja. Only the ominous silence of a mission that had gone catastrophically wrong.
After what seemed like an eternity, the smell of wood smoke and manure led them. A tiny village, barely a handful of huts huddled together beside a stream. It wasn't a medical post. It was a place of poor, frightened peasants.
Seeing the three young men battered and bleeding, an old man with a sun-weathered face ushered them into a tool shed without asking any questions. The old man's wife, with calloused hands and a practical demeanor, brought them water, strong liquor for disinfection, and clean bandages. There were no ninja medics. No chakra sealing. Only rustic healing and pragmatism.
The woman worked on Hana first, pressing on the shuriken wound (which Kenji had carefully removed during their escape), cleaning the torn tissue, and bandaging it tightly. "The arrow didn't hit any vital organs, but he lost a lot of blood. The fever will decide," she murmured, her voice dry. "If he survives the night, he has a chance."
Kenji and Daiki tended to each other in a corner, away from the weak candlelight. The liquor stung like fire on their wounds, but they both gritted their teeth without a whimper. The silence between them was thick, heavy with all that had gone unsaid.
It was when Daiki finished bandaging the deep cut on Kenji's shoulder that he could no longer hold back. His hands trembled slightly. Not from physical pain.
"Kaito," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the dust and the tension. "Your eyes… in the forest. They were… red. With those… black swirls." He paused, swallowing. "They're just like the Uchiha's."
Kenji closed his eyes for a second. The secret was out. Not with an enemy, nor with a sensei, but with Daiki. The impulsive boy, loyal to the core, who had carried Hana and come back for him.
"Why?" Daiki asked, his confusion overcoming his fear. "If you're an Uchiha… why are you hiding? Why aren't you with Sasuke? Why…?" His voice cracked. Reality clashed with everything he thought he knew.
Kenji opened his eyes. He didn't activate his Sharingan. He just looked at Daiki with a seriousness that made the boy shudder. "Because if anyone in Konoha knew there was another Uchiha alive, I'd be dead. Or worse."
Daiki blinked. "Dead? But… you're from Konoha. You're a genin on Team…"
"You think the Uchiha clan massacre was an accident? A madman on the loose?" Kenji's voice was low, icy. "There were orders, Daiki. Interests. Clean-up. I... survived by a twisted miracle. If Danzo Shimura or the Council elders find out, I'll become an experiment on a lab table, or a slave weapon for Root. My eyes will be gouged out and stored. My body, discarded."
Each word was like a hammer blow. Daiki paled even more. He'd heard rumors, dark whispers about Root, about old Danzo. But this... this made it real. Bloody and personal.
"But... we can trust the Hokage..." he tried, weakly.
"The Third Hokage is a weary man who already allowed an entire clan to be sacrificed for 'stability.'" Kenji released a dry humor that wasn't laughter. "No, Daiki. My only safety is anonymity. And now, your silence."
He leaned forward, despite the pain. His gaze was that of a hawk, intense and unwavering. "If you speak, you'll kill me. And you and Hana would probably be killed too for knowing. Secrets of this magnitude... they're swept under the rug. Do you understand?"
Daiki stared at him. In his brown eyes, Kenji saw fear, disbelief, conflicting loyalties. He saw the memory of Hana being pierced, of the brutal fight in the forest, of Kenji returning covered in blood but alive. He saw the comrade who had shielded him, who had fought alongside him.
Finally, Daiki nodded. A slow, steady movement. "I'll never... I'll never tell," he swore, his voice growing stronger. "I promise, Kaito."
An immense weight seemed to lift between them. It wasn't the weight of happy camaraderie, but the weight of a blood pact, a secret that would bind them in the shadows.
They went to check on Hana. She was asleep, her forehead warm but not burning. The old man's wife nodded approvingly. "The body fights. It has a will."
Those words made Kenji reflect. Will. It was all they had.
That night, while Daiki slept fitfully curled up next to Hana, Kenji sat in the doorway of the shed, staring at the cold stars. The pain of his wounds was a constant reminder. Not of the fight itself, but of the scale.
A C-rank mission. A confrontation with chūnin from a minor village. And they had come within a hair's breadth of being annihilated. Saito, an unknown but clearly capable Jōnin, had had to sacrifice his position to give them a chance to escape. Hana, on the brink of death. Daiki, mutilated. He himself, revealing his greatest secret and nearly dying for it.
The Chūnin Exams?
The idea, which had once been a logical stepping stone, now seemed like a grotesque death sentence. The Exams attracted the best (and the most ruthless) from every village. Genin prodigies, clan heirs, monsters with kekkei genkai. And traps. And sanctioned murders. Forests of Death, endless arenas, poisoned jungles.
If a squad from Takigakure had crushed them like that, what would a Kiri team looking to prove their ferocity do? Or a Suna ninja with bone-crushing sand? Or, worse still, some "participant" sent by Root itself to cleanse anomalies like him?
He rubbed his face, feeling the fatigue in his bones. His original plan—graduate, quietly gain power—felt naive. The world wasn't going to wait. The threats were already here, on the edges of the map, moving.
I need more than just survival, he thought, determination solidifying into a core of cold steel in his chest. I need real power. And fast. I can't wait years training in secret.
He glanced inside the shed at the silhouettes of Daiki and Hana. They were weak. They were risks. But they were also… his. The only allies he had in this world that wasn't his own. They had seen his monstrosity and hadn't run away. Hana had cunning and willpower. Daiki possessed a blind loyalty and brute strength that, with the right training, could be terrifying.
A new plan, more ruthless and ambitious, began to take shape in the darkness. It wasn't just about hiding or passing exams. It was about forging a weapon. A team loyal only to him, trained with his methods, prepared for the storms he knew were coming: the Exams, the shadow of Root, the red clouds of Akatsuki on the horizon.
The Chūnin Exams were no longer a goal. They were a field test. A crucible where he would see if Daiki and Hana were worthwhile, if they could be tempered into something useful. And where he would have to move his own pieces on a chessboard far larger and bloodier than he had ever imagined.
The Uchiha boy, the ghost of the Yakuza, gazed into the darkness of the forest, toward where Konoha lay. It was no longer a refuge. It was a battlefield. And he had just decided that, this time, he wouldn't just fight to survive.
He would fight to conquer his own corner of the shinobi hell.