STIN: Chapter 77/80

Chapter 77: Awakening

The overcast sky that had hung all morning finally allowed a thin ray of sunlight to break through, spilling lazily across the vast expanse of the Third Training Ground.

A few withered leaves spiraled down, landing on the dew-damp earth, only to be swept away again by a passing chill wind.

Tsunade stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, her brows furrowed in habitual irritation.

It had only been a few days since she had finished handling her grandmother Mito's funeral, followed by Hiruzen's endless roaring lectures. The restless agitation in her chest had yet to fade.

Her eyes drifted over to where Kushina was clinging to Ryo, chatting animatedly about who knew what. Tsunade shot them a sharp glare.

Her gaze finally settled on Mikoto, standing neatly in the center of the training field.

Tsunade had to admit, the girl's bearing was exceptional.

Her raven hair was tied back with a silk ribbon embroidered with the Uchiha clan's fan crest, revealing a smooth forehead and a slender neck.

The modified dark high-collared training uniform outlined the budding elegance of youth, her movements infused with that innate Uchiha nobility carved deep into her bones.

Composed expression, lips curved in a polite smile.

A textbook noble lady.

Tsunade snorted inwardly.
Delicate little doll like this… Her eyes flicked from Mikoto's slim limbs to her own increasingly violent little sister Kushina, and then to that freakishly strong "apprentice" Ryo.

The battlefield isn't a temple fair.

Kushina's endless pestering, plus that old fox Hiruzen's attempt to "make amends" by shoving this girl into Ryo's team… Tsunade rubbed her throbbing temples.

Life and death are fate. If Mikoto dares to be a ninja, she had better have the resolve that comes with it.

Clearing her throat, Tsunade spoke, not loudly, but with that commanding presence only a top-tier shinobi possessed. It immediately silenced Kushina's chattering.
"Nawaki, step forward."

Nawaki, who had been fidgeting with excitement and sneaking glances at Mikoto, jumped to attention.
"Yes, sis!"

His face glowed with barely contained enthusiasm, his cheeks even flushed red.

"You." Tsunade pointed at Mikoto, her tone brisk and decisive. "Spar with her. Let's see what you've got."

Nawaki spun to face Mikoto, took a deep breath, trying to sound steady, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness.
"M–Mikoto, please take it easy on me."

He could feel his heart hammering behind his ribs.

His long-time crush, the perfect girl in every sense: face, figure, poise, talent.
That gentle, refined aura so unlike his violent older sister—it was lethal to a boy who had grown up under Tsunade's rule.

Mikoto dipped her head gracefully. "Nawaki-senpai, please go easy on me."

Her stance was textbook-perfect, eyes focused, completely ignoring Kushina's silly winks from the sideline.

Tsunade didn't even bother raising an eyelid. She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Begin."

Nawaki's blood surged. He roared to psych himself up, drove his foot into the ground, and charged—a full-force frontal attack.

Powerful, aggressive, but predictable.

Mikoto reacted instantly, sidestepping and raising both hands.

Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!

A flurry of kunai flew out at impossible angles, sealing Nawaki's path forward.

Classic Uchiha shuriken technique—her fundamentals were solid.

Nawaki gasped, abruptly braking his charge and tumbling awkwardly into a roll, spraying mud all over himself.

Embarrassing, he groaned inwardly, hastily weaving signs.

"Earth Release: Mud Wall!"

The wall rose, but before he could catch his breath, Mikoto had already finished her own sequence.

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"

A blazing orange sphere the size of a basin roared forward, smashing into the earthen wall with a thunderous boom. The wall shuddered and crumbled, scattering burning fragments that forced Nawaki to retreat several steps.

Wiping the sweat and soot from his face, Nawaki was both awed and anxious. She's good—really good. No backing down.

"Water Release: Wild Water Wave!"

He inhaled sharply and unleashed a torrent.

Mikoto, calm and poised, danced lightly across the wet ground, moving like a butterfly through flowers. The water hissed past as her shuriken continued to harass Nawaki with uncanny accuracy.

The exchange quickened—fire, water, steel, and shouts colliding in the air.

Nawaki had more chakra and brute force, but lacked flexibility. Mikoto's movements were refined, her ninjutsu fluid, her shuriken work deadly precise.

Flames flared, water splashed, metal clashed, it looked impressive enough.

But to Tsunade and Ryo, it was little more than two rookies flailing.

Tsunade nearly yawned. Ryo didn't even bother focusing on the match; his eyes occasionally drifted toward Kushina, who was busy digging at the dirt with a rock.

"Stop, stop, stop." Tsunade finally waved her hand, impatience dripping from her voice. "Enough. You've been floundering for half a day, my nap's over already."

Both combatants immediately halted, breathing hard.

Nawaki looked crushed, so much for impressing his crush.

Mikoto's face was flushed from exertion, strands of hair clinging to her cheek, making her appear even softer, but her stance remained steady.

Tsunade stepped between them, her sharp eyes landing first on Nawaki.

"How many times have I told you? Growing taller doesn't mean growing smarter. Charging headlong without thinking, keep that up and you'll be cannon fodder on the battlefield."

Nawaki winced, shrinking under her glare, face burning with embarrassment.

Then Tsunade turned to Mikoto. Her tone eased a fraction, though still cool.
"Your basics are solid. The Uchiha upbringing shows. Good with weapons, passable taijutsu, average ninjutsu."

She paused, studying Mikoto's calm yet expectant dark eyes, deciding bluntness was best.

"Girl, I'll be honest with you."

Mikoto's heartbeat stuttered. Her practiced smile stiffened slightly.

"Frankly," Tsunade folded her arms, "a delicate girl like you should've gone into medical training."

Her eyes flicked toward Kushina, who had perked up instantly, nervous as a cat. Tsunade's lips twitched.

"But my foolish little sister wouldn't stop crying and clinging to my leg, begging me to take you in. Well, even fools get lucky sometimes. It's rare she's found someone who treats her like a true friend."

Tsunade's words struck Mikoto's heart like a hammer.

Her noble composure cracked; the serenity in her eyes shattered into shock, disbelief, and then overwhelming gratitude.

Kushina… it was really because of her…?

Tsunade didn't pause. Her gaze deepened slightly, her voice lower, edged with weary realism.

"Besides, there are people in the village stirring things up, some political mess."

She meant Hiruzen's maneuvering.

Tsunade didn't elaborate. There was no need for a girl Mikoto's age to hear how the elders had shoved her into Ryo's team as "compensation" for clan politics.

"It's done. No point dwelling on it." Tsunade flicked her hand, brushing off the matter like dust. "Since you're in my Squad Eight now, you follow my rules. The battlefield isn't a playground. Understood?"

"Yes, Tsunade-sama." Mikoto answered clearly, voice trembling but firm.

"Dismissed."

Nawaki drooped as Tsunade dragged him off by the ear, lecturing the whole way.

Kushina bounded toward Ryo, full of excitement, proudly boasting about how she had "helped her best friend" join the team.
Ryo let her tug his arm, his face as unreadable as ever, listening silently to her cheerful chatter.

No one noticed the storm quietly brewing in Mikoto's eyes.

The last rays of sunlight vanished behind a blanket of gray clouds, pressing down on Konoha with a suffocating weight.

The long street of the Uchiha compound, filled with the faint scent of old sandalwood and the cold air of proud isolation, now felt to Mikoto like a lonely, endless prison corridor.

Tsunade's words—"Kushina clung to my leg, crying and begging me to take you in"—seared into her mind like a hot iron.

Kushina's face, always smiling so openly, so trustingly, rose vividly in her memory. She had always treated Mikoto as her dearest friend. Since their academy days, that had never changed.

Her joys, her troubles, her silly infatuation with Ryo, all had been shared without reservation.

Even those ridiculous "how to win Ryo's heart" plans, they had designed together.

Guilt surged through Mikoto's chest like an icy tide, drowning her instantly.

What have I done?

Her grandfather's voice echoed in her mind like a curse.

"Power is a woman's nourishment. The wife of the Hokage, Uchiha will rise over Senju."

"Kushina's fate is tragedy. She's a Jinchūriki, a prisoner for life."

"That Ryo boy is your ladder to the top. Use your bride training to control him."

That cursed "bride training"… every time she had helped Kushina devise ways to charm Ryo, every time she had watched his reactions under the guise of helping her friend, she had merely been rehearsing how to steal him.

Rehearsing how to take her best friend's beloved for herself.

For the sake of power.
For the sake of her clan's ambition.

Shame. Betrayal. The thrill of forbidden desire. Guilt as thick as poison vines wrapped around her heart, choking her breath.

Ryo's image burned in her mind.
Cold. Powerful. Unshakable as a mountain.
And yet, he showed that rare, tender indulgence only toward Kushina, enough to make Mikoto ache with jealousy.

The Hokage's wife… Uchiha's glory… my own ambition…

Her grandfather's expectations, her clan's burden.

That forced destiny, that feeling of being used as a bargaining chip, it all boiled over again.

Her thoughts tangled into chaos, her mind a battlefield of colliding armies.

Gratitude and betrayal tore at each other.
Duty and desire clashed violently.
Her secret longing for Ryo warred with her guilt toward Kushina.
Anger at being manipulated and shame at being exposed churned together.

All of it fused into one molten, explosive surge within her chest.

"Ugh—" She stumbled at the Uchiha gate, nearly falling against the cold stone steps, nails digging into her palms.

At that instant, something inside her shattered.

The world suddenly shifted.

Color drained from her vision. Everything dissolved into stark black and white—cold, jagged outlines of stone steps, twisted door frames, and the faded Uchiha crest above.

Then from deep within her eyes, a searing crimson light burst forth.

Like a drop of blood falling into still water, spreading outward.

The Sharingan had awakened.

A single black tomoe slowly took form within the red, spinning faintly in her eye.

Mikoto clutched her face, warm tears slipping silently through her fingers, while her other eye burned cold, the tomoe whirling in eerie stillness.

The monochrome world before her seemed frozen and distorted, her heart pounding violently in her chest.

The storm of emotion still raged within her, but now, the newborn power of her Sharingan suppressed it, sealing the chaos beneath a layer of icy calm.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 78: Special Training Before Going to the Battlefield

"Water Release: Wild Water Wave!"
Nawaki's shout carried desperate determination as his hands blurred through seals so fast they nearly tangled.

A surge of chakra exploded from his body, then a roaring jet of water shot from his mouth, racing straight toward Ryo on the far side of the field.

The torrent was so fierce it looked ready to sweep the entire training ground away.

Ryo didn't even bother lifting an eyelid. With a faint motion, he grasped the air with his left hand and flicked it casually.

An invisible wind blade formed instantly.

Shhh!

The water column split midair, bursting apart into a fine mist that drifted harmlessly across the ground. Ryo's pants didn't even get wet.

Nawaki froze in his sealing stance, strands of wet hair plastered to his face. He stared blankly at the muddy mess before him—and at the man opposite, who hadn't even moved an inch.

A wave of crushing defeat seized him, his fingernails digging into his palms.

"Fifteenth time," Ryo said evenly, voice flat as still water. He didn't spare Nawaki another glance. His eyes slid past the drenched boy to the red-haired girl standing tensely at the sidelines.

"Kushina."

"Y–Yes!" Kushina jolted upright like a startled cat, fists clenched tight.

Ryo's gaze settled on the faint blue chakra glow pulsing in her palm.

"The Rasengan's stability reflects your will. Six hundred and ninety-three chakra cycles. It scattered. Start again."

"Ugh, fine…" Kushina puffed her cheeks in frustration, and the blue sphere instantly fizzled out.

Her eyes darted toward the front line. Ryo's going to the battlefield soon…

A sharp ache bloomed in her chest, sour and anxious. Her nose burned.

Not far away, Nawaki wiped the water and dirt off his face, muttering under his breath, "Same thing again… I can't even make him move… Am I useless? Did none of Grandpa's blood come through—"
He swallowed the rest of the words, voice trailing into a bitter growl.

"Save it, Nawaki." Tsunade crossed her arms as she walked up, flicking him sharply on the forehead. "At your current level, the only thing you'll do on the battlefield is provide target practice for the Suna shinobi."

Ignoring Nawaki's flushed embarrassment, she swept her eyes over the group.
"From today on, training intensity doubles."

Her sharp gaze lingered on Nawaki's pale face before shifting to the silent figure of Uchiha Mikoto.

The past ten days had been nothing short of hell under Tsunade's relentless regimen.

Nawaki's body was a map of bruises and scrapes. Mikoto, however, was Tsunade's personal target—forced through three-hour sessions of nonstop weapon precision drills, with even the slightest mistake punished by twenty laps of weighted endurance running.

Mikoto's hair clung to her sweat-slick cheeks, her face pale. Yet her dark eyes remained still as a frozen lake. Only occasionally, when they flickered toward Ryo and Kushina, did a trace of complicated emotion ripple beneath the surface.

"Hey! Focus!"

Tsunade's bark snapped Nawaki out of his daze just in time for him to dodge a shuriken that whizzed past his ear.

He shook his head violently, trying to banish thoughts of Sis's favoritism or Mikoto's glance at him.

"Water—!"

He gritted his teeth and forced chakra to gather once again.

On the other side, Kushina stood with both hands extended.

A pale blue sphere of energy spun violently in her palm, its unstable rotation drawing the surrounding air into a low, howling vortex. Sweat streamed down her temple.

"Hold it steady! Don't let it explode!"
Ryo's deep voice rumbled beside her ear, his breath stirring her hair, sending a faint tremor through her body.

Kushina's cheeks flushed scarlet. She bit her lip and anchored her mind to the storming energy in her hands.

"Don't… burst."

Just as the sphere began to tremble, on the verge of detonation, a dry, steady hand covered hers.

Fwoom!

The violent energy froze, compressed, collapsed inward, then reformed.
In place of chaos, a smaller, brighter orb hovered in her palm, perfectly stable, glowing with a soft, mesmerizing blue light—like a miniature star.

"Like that," Ryo said, withdrawing his hand.

Kushina stared at the obedient Rasengan resting in her palm, her heart still pounding from the near explosion. But beneath the adrenaline came a deep, swelling sense of safety and warmth.

Ryo merely grunted. "Keep it stable. On the battlefield, it might save your life."

Kushina gazed up at his sharp profile. His words fell into her heart like pebbles dropped into still water, small ripples spreading wider and wider.

He was leaving her soon…
Leaving her behind in the grand old Senju estate that Grandma Mito had left her—a golden cage that suddenly felt emptier than ever.

A sour lump rose in her throat. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to focus on compressing the chakra sphere even tighter.

The condensed ball hummed faintly in her palm, glowing blue, its light trembling like her heart.

Time slipped away like sand through fingers, impossible to grasp.

The day of departure arrived.

A deep, grim trumpet call split the silent dawn, echoing coldly through the air from the direction of the Hokage's building.

The chilling note hammered against every heart, brooking no defiance.

Kushina stumbled out of bed, rushing onto the veranda.

In the distance, near the village gate, she saw crowds gathering—countless figures moving in formation. Her heart clenched painfully, as though gripped by an invisible hand.

The sunlight broke through the clouds, but it brought no warmth.

The long street leading from the Senju residence to the village gate was lined with silent onlookers.

Mothers clutching their children. Husbands forcing smiles at their wives. The eyes of old men clouded with worry.
Soft sobs drifted through the heavy air like a muted background hum.

Nawaki, now in a brand-new chūnin vest, stood tall beside Tsunade, scanning the anxious, tear-streaked faces around him. The excitement of youth going to war warred with the weight of fear pressing on his chest.

Tsunade's sharp gaze flicked toward her brother. His Adam's apple bobbed, betraying his nerves despite his forced composure. The sight made her sigh inwardly.

Then her eyes fell on Mikoto.

The girl walked quietly, head bowed. In the pale morning light, her face looked almost translucent, like a sculpture of ice.

Tsunade frowned.

That girl had been like this for days now.

Ever since the last training session, when Tsunade had bluntly told her that Kushina had cried and begged her to join the squad, Mikoto had grown quieter and colder.

Those elegant Uchiha eyes now carried a depth that even Tsunade couldn't read.

"Keep up," Tsunade ordered curtly.

Nawaki responded instantly, quickening his pace.

Mikoto lifted her head. Her gaze slid past the crowd and locked onto the tall, solitary figure at the front of the column.

The man her grandfather Uchiha Shana had called "the only ladder worth climbing," the one she had been told to control at any cost—Ryo.

The Hokage's wife… the glory of Uchiha's rise…

The words drummed in her head like poison.

But when her eyes drifted to Kushina, clinging tightly to Ryo's arm, her eyes brimming with unrestrained attachment—something molten and venomous erupted inside her, burning through her chest, her lungs, her fingertips.

She turned away quickly, unable to look any longer.

"Really leaving?"

Kushina's voice came out muffled, thick with the traces of recent tears. She rubbed her cheek against his arm like a forlorn kitten.
"Can't you… stay just a few more days?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 79: I’ll Reward You When You Come Back

Ryo halted and turned toward her.

The shadow of his tall frame almost swallowed her whole.

"The battlefield won't wait."

He raised a hand and, with the lightest brush of a calloused fingertip, wiped away the damp trace at the corner of her eye. The motion was clumsy but focused.
"Remember what I told you."

Kushina nodded hard, reddened eyes fixed on him without blinking. "I'll... I'll check the seal space every day, keep my chakra steady, and I won't embarrass myself. Also..."

She counted rapidly on her fingers, as if grabbing hold of something slipping away. "You promised you'd come back to see me often! Using that... Flying Thunder God!"

"Mm."

Looking at his familiar, hard-edged profile, Kushina felt a tiny sting at the tip of her heart, as if a small bug had taken a bite.

She sniffed sharply, forcing the tears to retreat.

The next second, she rose on tiptoe and leaned toward his ear.

Her warm breath, tinged with the clean, sweet scent of soap, brushed his neck; her red hair tickled his skin.

"Then you have to promise me too, come back alive!" Kushina's voice was low and urgent, words tumbling out as her cheeks flushed as red as a ripe tomato. "I... I'll... I'll reward you when you do!"

Not far away, Tsunade's ears pricked. She snapped her head around, golden brows lifting in dangerous angles; the air around her seemed to crackle.

A storm front of mixed emotions, shameless little brat colliding with that punk better keep his hands off my pretty little Kushina, lowered the pressure around her in an instant.

Kushina darted back, skittish and pleased like a mischievous little fox that had gotten away with something. She dropped her burning face in a hurry.

Ryo's expression, however, remained composed, as if he wasn't the one who had just been given such a bold promise.

"All right! Haven't you finished saying your goodbyes?"

Tsunade's irritable bellow cracked like thunder, drowning out the murmur of muffled cries around them. "Form up! Roll call! One second late and I'll mark you as deserters!"

Her gaze slashed toward Nawaki and Mikoto.

Nawaki jolted, instinctively wanting to keep watching Kushina and Ryo, and to catch the farewell drama with his crush, only to wrench his legs mid-step and dart like a startled hare to Tsunade's spot at the front.

Mikoto withdrew the last complicated glance she had sent toward Ryo, pressed her lips together, straightened her back, and walked quickly and quietly to the assembly point.

As she passed the edge of the crowd, something gaunt and shadowed flickered in her peripheral vision.

Uchiha Shana.

He stood like a specter in a deeper pocket of shade at the street corner. Through a gap in the crowd, those clouded old eyes locked on Mikoto, glittering with a greedy fervor, as if they could see the moment power returned to its throne.

His gaze met hers, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a blade-cold curve, something only Mikoto could notice.

His wrinkle-mapped fingers made the barest, most concealed motion against his chest, a slow, deliberate squeeze.

The meaning was carved in bone. Crush your useless scruples; seize your ladder to the heavens; Uchiha's glory is in your hands.

Then his withered fingers spread like talons and clenched into a heavy fist.

Mikoto's breath hitched.

Her grandfather's silent signals splashed over her like a basin of blood-water filled with ice.

The guilt and betrayal she had only just managed to tamp down erupted again under this naked command.

Reminder? Warning? No, the cruelest goad. Sharp emotions rammed through her chest; her vision swam.

Deep in her eyes, that trace of crimson rose unbidden and began to turn.

She jerked her head away, refusing to look in Shana's direction again.

Her steps stumbled as she squeezed into the front ranks, ending up right behind Nawaki.

Neck craned, he had been nervously trying to sneak peeks at Ryo and Kushina, and her slightly frantic movement bumped his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Sorry..." Mikoto murmured, her voice carrying an uncontrollable tremor.

She kept her gaze down, fixed on the cold seams between the stone slabs beneath her feet, as if sheer force of will could pin her in place.

Ryo gave Kushina one last, deep look.

In that look was room for all her confusion, grievance, and reluctance.

He reached out; rough knuckles brushed gently at the dry corner of her eye.

"Wait for me to come back."

Kushina's nose stung; her stubborn courage collapsed all at once. Tears spilled in heavy drops without warning, splashing hot against the back of Ryo's hand.

She nodded hard. Her throat closed so tight she couldn't make a sound. All she could do was clutch his vest with everything she had, like someone clinging to driftwood before the flood of fate swept it away.

At the front, Tsunade watched, and the irritation of the coming campaign tangled with the annoyance of having a team stuffed with headaches by old man Hiruzen, coiling into something more complicated.

She drew a breath and tore open her voice like ripping the sky. It crashed down with iron finality.

"Time's up! Move out!"

The long line of shinobi began to move toward the village gate.

Boots thudded on blue stone, each step landing heavy on the chests of those who stayed to see them off.

Kushina watched as Ryo turned with crisp precision, his back straight and solitary as a spear, and merged with the flowing human tide.

That familiar blaze of red hair shone in the sea of green flak jackets, so vivid yet quickly receding.

"Ryo!"

Kushina couldn't hold it back anymore. The cry tore out of her, ragged and hoarse with tears.

Through her blurred vision, Kushina could only see that solitary silhouette growing smaller and smaller, until it vanished beneath the shadow of the village gate.
Her tears streaked her cheeks and fell silently into the dirt at her feet.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 80: A Mess on the Front Line

Rain.

Pouring, icy, seemingly endless rain.

Murky water, thick with mud, hammered against forehead protectors, sluiced down dark-green flak vests, and finally bled into the uneven brown sludge underfoot.

The air reeked of wet earth, rotting plants, and the faint, metallic tang of blood.

The ground, pitted by countless footprints and ceaselessly washed by rain, had become a maze of ruts and rivulets.

Under a gray, sagging sky, Konoha's relief column pushed forward with difficulty.

"Ugh!"

Nawaki's foot skidded. He pitched headlong into a water-filled pit, splattering his brand-new chūnin vest with mud from collar to hem.

Grumbling about this "damned place," he scrambled up under Mikoto's worried glance, cheeks burning.

Mikoto's fine brows knit slightly. Rain had soaked her bound black hair, pasting it to her pale cheeks. Chakra flowed steady at her feet, her light, measured steps spoke of excellent fundamentals.

At the very front, Tsunade's crimson jacket with the giant "Gamble" character was soaked through, clinging to her powerful frame. Water dripped in steady beads from her golden bangs.

Her eyes, sharp as blades cutting through the rain, swept the rolling low hills and sparse, dead woods around them.

At the slightest stir of grass, every nerve in her body drew taut.

Ryo walked beside her, tall. Short, flame-red hair plastered to his brow, water traced the severe lines of his face.

His calm gaze slid across the porridge-soft ground and the blurred curtain of rain beyond. His brow creased, just a fraction.

"This damned place…" Nawaki wiped his face again, repeating himself with more feeling. The rain distorted his voice.

Ryo's voice was low but carried cleanly through the deluge, edged with chill. "Worse than expected. Why isn't the main camp on the Fire Country border?"

Tsunade didn't hide her annoyance. She shot him a look, temper suppressed but audible. "Because the commander ordered it."

She didn't need to say who. Everyone in earshot knew, Shimura Danzō.

Ryo said nothing more.

Rain slid along his brow and down his cheek.

Setting the main base where the supply line would bog into mud and the wounded had no chance to recover?

Danzō's field command defied description.

Orochimaru would have done better.

The comparison flickered across Ryo's mind. Orochimaru might be crueler, but in jungle terrain he would at least choose higher, drier ground for a camp.

"How's the situation?" When Tsunade reached the outer sentry line, she asked the air directly.

Orochimaru seemed to seep out of a crack in the rocks. His pallid face looked even more somber in the rain. Gold serpentine pupils glinted, not with Danzō's paranoia, but with pure contempt for inefficiency and incompetence.

"Not ideal," he said evenly, eyes cold, mind clearly racing.

He had a dozen plans, faster and perhaps harsher, but under Danzō's rigid, dead-handed command they were worthless.

That old fool…

"I never thought Amegakure would be this strong," Jiraiya muttered nearby, voice drained and touched with lingering dread.

He slumped against a slick boulder, white hair matted like seaweed, spattered with mud and gods-know-what. The swagger was washed out of him by cold, ceaseless rain.

"The old man's right. If we let Hanzō keep growing, he'll be a serious threat."

Tsunade joined them, heavy with the scent of herbs and damp earth.

She didn't spare Jiraiya a glance. Her eyes drilled into Orochimaru. "And the intel you gathered doesn't match the strength Amegakure is showing. What did you miss?"

Jiraiya pushed himself upright, scratching at the mud in his hair with a bitter smile. "Ask our commander, why don't you? I'm the errand boy." He leaned hard on the words "commander."

Tsunade snorted, arms crossed. Rain traced the tight lines of her shoulders, clenched with anger. "Hmph. I'd rather fight out here than go back and look at that face." The words found their target, Danzō, and the floodgate opened. "I've finished the antidote formula for salamander toxin and handed it to the head medic in the infirmary. They can handle follow-up casualties."

"But…" Jiraiya glanced at her stormy expression, then asked carefully, "Is it okay to walk out of the primary battle zone like this and come straight to our outer line? Danzō will—"

"What's not okay?" Tsunade cut in, voice like a blade. "I'm a doctor, and a combat ninja. I've seen enough of his face. Out here I can counter Hanzō's raiding parties and reinforce you at once."

The subtext was crystal clear. Stay far from Danzō. Free to operate.

Tsunade's pissed? Orochimaru's pissed?

Of course. Danzō's been disgusting people for years.

Only Jiraiya, thick-skinned as leather, could still force a grin.

"I heard you left your student in the village."
Orochimaru turned to Jiraiya. The grin on Jiraiya's face froze. He sprang up, cursing, "And who are you to talk, didn't you leave Nawaki back in Konoha too?"

"Heh."

Orochimaru's laugh rasped. His golden eyes lingered on Jiraiya with malicious amusement.

"Laugh all you—" Jiraiya started, then every hair on his back stood up. A killing intent like a sheet of ice dropped over him.

He turned stiffly.

Tsunade stood behind him, expressionless.

Her pretty almond eyes held no warmth. A pale-blue chakra aura wreathed her clenched fist, blazing, terrifying against the gray rain.

The air thrummed, low and heavy, with pressure.

Jiraiya's scream sliced the rain. BOOM!

He hit the boulder like a battering ram smashing a wall. The rock webbed with fractures. Jiraiya stuck at the center like a grotesque fresco, limbs askew, unmoving, save for a slow, bloody trickle mixing with the rain down his brow.

Orochimaru's pupils narrowed, then smoothed. The faintest curve touched his lips, almost pleased.

Nawaki gaped at the human-shaped dent, mind blank.

Mikoto lowered her eyes.

Ryo merely cast a brief glance at the embedded silhouette, confirmed the life force was intact, then looked past them into the deep veil of rain.

He didn't much care about Jiraiya's bruises, but that surge of power from Tsunade, that he filed away.

Tsunade slowly unclenched her fist. The chakra halo faded.

She exhaled hard, as if spitting out the sticky irritation clogging her chest, disgust at Danzō, at this bog of a battlefield, at the feeling of being hobbled.

She turned to Orochimaru. "How's the camp? The supply lines are a river of mud."

"Enormous pressure," Orochimaru said, flat but barbed. "Transport losses skyrocket in this weather. Rations barely hold at the front. Medical stores exist, but they're burning fast. As for the wounded, in this environment, infection rates are staggering."

Danzō's incompetence, another ankle weight dragging them down.

Tsunade's frown deepened. "No response from Danzō?"

"Him? He's considering moving the command post into a drier cave." Orochimaru's sarcasm all but steamed in the rain, voice as cold as the mud.

At that moment, a courier in a standard dark vest, face smeared with fatigue and muck, splashed up and bowed deeply to Tsunade, chest heaving.

"Tsunade-sama! By order of Commander Danzō, report to headquarters at once for urgent war council!"

The tone brooked no dispute.

But "urgent war council," in this suffocating gloom, sounded especially suspect.

Fury flashed in Tsunade's eyes. She drew breath to snap, but thought of the collapsing lines, the men dying in filth, the chain of command snarled around Danzō's ego.

She clenched and unclenched her fist, then said coldly, "Understood."
She looked back at the team she had brought, Nawaki, still half-caked in mud, Mikoto, quiet and tired but composed, Ryo, impossibly calm.

"Move." Her order to Nawaki, Mikoto, and Ryo was clipped and iron-hard, pure battlefield command.

Then she turned to Orochimaru and to Jiraiya, who had just pried himself out of the rock and was rubbing a lump visibly swelling on his head. "The perimeter is yours. Any anomaly, summon me."

"Count on it," Orochimaru nodded.

"Y-yeah, ow, got it, got it!" Jiraiya winced, hand cupping his throbbing skull.

Tsunade led Nawaki, Mikoto, and Ryo after the courier toward the main encampment.

Nawaki tried to stand tall, but the mud and rookie jitters showed through.

Mikoto kept her silence, guarding her poise.

Ryo remained a silent reef in the storm.

The rain thickened. Sight shortened. The mud sucked at their steps, demanding more strength with every pace.

Nawaki gritted his teeth, matching Ryo's unbothered stride as best he could.

At last, through the heavy gray of rain, the outline of a sprawling camp wavered into view.

Not the expected fortress of high palisades, but a sprawling, hasty encampment thrown up along the edge of slightly higher marshland.

Crooked wooden chevaux-de-frise sagged in blackened, waterlogged soil.

Cloaked sentries slogged along, spiritless, like sleepwalkers in a wet nightmare.

In the center of the muddy tracks lay rows of wounded, shrouded in tarps or strapped to rough stretchers. Pained groans and suppressed coughs blended with the rain into a dirge of despair.

The stench hit them, sour armpits, blood, and the foul tang of waste that couldn't be washed away in the damp.

Med-nin hurried between stretchers, vests stained with suspicious smears, faces drawn and numb.

The air was thick with the odor of herbs, but it couldn't mask the rot and reek of death.

Near the rear, against a rock face, several larger tents marked the core area.

One black command tent, hung with a banner, stood out, deliberately solemn, out of tune with the chaos around it.

"This way, Tsunade-sama."

The courier brought them to a massive tent labeled as the temporary infirmary. "Danzō-sama orders that you settle your subordinates, then report to the command tent immediately."

Tsunade stared at the canvas heavy with the stink of medicine and muffled moans, and remembered the antidote formula she had prepared, the instructions she had left.

Danzō's intent couldn't be clearer, dump the mess on Tsunade and walk away.

Not happening.

She drew a long breath. Her cold anger felt almost solid.

Ignoring the courier, she strode forward and ripped open the reeking, sodden flap of the infirmary tent.

(To be continued.)