"Haven't you carried out an A-rank mission yet?"
In the forest of the Land of Fire, Uchiha Tatsumi glanced over at Minato with a raised brow as he posed the question.
The little sun, still officially a Genin, naturally wasn't eligible for A-rank missions. Missions at that level often involved opponents on par with or above Jonin, and no sane mentor would send a Genin to handle that kind of heat.
Jiraiya might be eccentric, but he wasn't Orochimaru—he wasn't out here trying to use his students as live bait.
"This mission might get bumped up to A-rank," Tatsumi added with a hint of mischief.
Minato just nodded. Even if Jonin-level enemies awaited him, he wouldn't hesitate. War, after all, was a brutal teacher—but it taught fast. Less than a year ago, he'd been a greenhorn fresh out of the Academy. Now, he was a bona fide killing machine in the making.
Still, despite the resolve, a sliver of doubt crept in. Ever since he joined Tatsumi's team, peace seemed to have packed its bags and left. He was starting to suspect that his "good friend" had roped him into something far beyond what he'd signed up for.
Seeing Minato's frown, Tatsumi gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Minato, don't look so grim. It's your first time. Let it out if you're uncomfortable."
"..."
At that moment, the two of them were crouched on a high tree overlooking the main forest road. They were preparing for two things: an ambush on the incoming Sand ninjas, and any suspicious activity emerging from the capital.
None of the four team members had top-tier sensory abilities, but that gap was filled by Dabai and the swarm of snakes he'd summoned.
Those snakes had spread throughout the forest like a living net, covering a wide area near the Daimyo's mansion. Any anomaly within that range, and Dabai would relay it back to Tatsumi immediately.
Ambushing an unknown enemy isn't as simple as it sounds. The intel said the Sand ninjas would arrive in three days—but didn't include a time. All they could do was lie in wait.
Minato, never one to waste time, took the opportunity to hone his ninjutsu. Wind Release wasn't easy to master, especially when it came to shape and nature transformation.
But if there was a chakra technique more fitting for him, it was the Rasengan. And if one Rasengan was good, two were better.
Tatsumi knew the process. The original method from future texts was embedded in his mind, and he'd had it down early. Now, it was time to lead Minato down the winding path of Rasengan creation.
In fact, this had started way earlier. Back when Tatsumi was six and tinkering with the Super Strength Kunai, Minato had joined in for a while. Though he couldn't control chakra as precisely as Tatsumi, the foundation laid during that time would later become the springboard for Rasengan mastery.
Just then, a sleek white snake slithered out of Tatsumi's collar. Dabai flicked his tongue twice and nudged Tatsumi's ear.
"What is it?" Minato asked, stopping his training mid-flow.
"There's movement. Get ready."
Without another word, Tatsumi dropped from the tree, vanishing into the underbrush with soundless grace.
Mikoto and Nawaki leapt from their own vantage points and tailed him immediately.
According to Dabai, ninja activity had been detected at the fringe of the snake formation. Based on the chakra signatures, it wasn't anything too threatening—otherwise, Tatsumi wouldn't have advanced.
A good leader must always be clear-headed. Strength matters, sure—but a captain's judgment can be the difference between life and death.
That was something Yura, now gone, had taught Tatsumi with his final breath.
The team moved with disciplined precision. No rustling leaves, no broken twigs—just four shadows melting through the forest.
They formed a tight column: Tatsumi at point, followed by Mikoto, then Minato, and Nawaki bringing up the rear.
The snakes had marked a wide swath of territory. The group had to travel nearly ten kilometers before they reached the point of interest.
When they arrived, Tatsumi dropped down and inspected the ground. Ashes. A fire had recently been extinguished. Food scraps lay scattered—a team had eaten here not long ago.
He touched the embers with a finger. Still warm. They'd just missed them.
Nawaki crouched beside him and started sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Under the dappled sunlight, his focused expression made him look like a true tracker. He poked at the leftover food, took another whiff, and muttered:
"Malt syrup. Sweet scent."
In Tatsumi's head, the automatic translation kicked in:
This guy's about to take a bite and say, "Come, taste my original candied sweet potato crap."
Tatsumi had to resist the urge to knock some sense into him.
"There's definitely a female ninja on their team," Nawaki concluded with absolute confidence.
That calm, certain tone gave Tatsumi pause. He squinted at Nawaki suspiciously.
"…Nawaki, you're not in love, are you?"
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