I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

Shuoge stood by the river, watching the water flow past his feet.

Seven days after Jing left. No news.

No secret agents came to inform them of anything, and there was nothing unusual. Everything was normal, as if that person had simply gone on a long trip, as if he might push open the courtyard gate at any moment, walk in, and say with a smile, "You're back."

But Shuoge knew he couldn't wait any longer.

Studying diligently in isolation can only build a foundation.

Jing's words lingered in his mind for three days.

There's a reason for that—he practiced his sword under the waterfall, chopped at ironwood, and honed his skills on the water. He was making progress, improving every day. But the progress was too slow.

What he lacks is not strength, nor skill, but the feeling of walking on a knife's edge.

The feeling of being one inch away from death, one second too late—that's real.

The wood won't fight back. The waterfall won't launch a sneak attack. No matter how strong the opponent on the training ground, it's only a matter of striking briefly. But on the battlefield, no one will leave you an inch.

Shuoge sheathed his sword and jumped back to the bank from the river.

That afternoon, he went into the teachers' office.

Masashi Oda was organizing documents, with several graduation applications spread out on his desk. Lately, more and more students were applying for early graduation—not because they were ready, but because the front lines needed people.

He paused for a moment when he looked up and saw Shuoge.

"Are you applying to graduate early?"

"Yes."

Masashi Oda remained silent for a moment. He didn't ask why, nor did he offer any advice. He knew this day would come sooner or later, from the moment the child sat in the classroom.

"What about the assessment?" Shuoge asked.

Masashi Oda took a scroll from the drawer and pushed it in front of him.

"The graduation assessment has been slightly adjusted."

He paused, then said, "We're short-staffed. There aren't enough examiners to give you practical experience. The assessment is the task—passing means graduation, failing... well, we'll see."

Shuoge unrolled the scroll.

Mission Level: D. Task: Transport supplies to the border transit camp.

—Note: The situation at the front is critical. Although this mission is rank D, the route is close to the border warning zone, and there is a possibility of encountering enemy scouts. Please be sure to follow the instructions of the Chunin leading the team.

He looked up after finishing reading the scroll.

D-level missions are usually just routine tasks, such as finding pets, taking care of children, and weeding.

However, the note on this scroll was clearly added later—the situation at the front was critical, and even the transportation of supplies had become dangerous.

This is far beyond the standard for graduation assessment.

But during wartime, nobody cares about these rules and regulations.

"Is there a problem?" Masashi Oda asked.

"no."

Shuoge picked up a pen and signed his name on the application form.

As I walked out of the faculty room, the setting sun was shining through the corridor windows, turning the entire corridor a dim yellow.

……

……

……

root base.

The candlelight cast flickering shadows on the wall.

A Root member knelt on one knee before Danzo, his voice low and respectful: "Lord Danzo, you have allowed Uchiha Sakugo, whom you have been monitoring, to apply for early graduation. The assessment mission has been arranged—supply transport, the route passes through the border guard zone, and the Chunin leading the team is Morita Kazuo of the Third Supply Squad."

Danzo sat in the shadows, his fingers slowly stroking the dragon head of his cane. The candlelight cast a half-lit, half-shadowed silhouette on his face, and something slowly flowed in his one exposed eye.

"Finally out of the turtle shell?"

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.

That smile was devoid of warmth, like a snake's tongue, ready to be withdrawn at the slightest touch.

—Uchiha Kagami's nephew. A genius of the Uchiha clan. The six-year-old brat who, in Uchiha territory and under the watchful eyes of everyone, humiliated Shimura Danzo.

In all his years of life, he had never suffered such a great loss or lost so much face.

He personally visited, bringing gifts as an apology—though they were a dismissal, a form of charity—but they represented Shimura Danzo's "sincerity."

And what did that brat do?

He walked forward with a smile, shook hands, attached an explosive tag, and blew off the arm of the Shimura clan member. Then, amidst the explosion, he stood there, watching the blood splatter, without even blinking.

—Was that an arm blown off? That was a face with the words "Danzo" blown off!

Danzo tapped his cane with his finger, the sound dull, like the echo of breaking bones.

That brat—

He closed his eyes.

That scene flashed through my mind again.

Takuya's severed arm, splattered blood, and screams of agony.

The mirror was in front of him, and the words "You want to lay a hand on a child?" pierced his throat like a needle. And the brat's eyes—calm as still as a stagnant pool from beginning to end.

Danzo opened his eyes and his gaze fell on Root in front of him.

"The intelligence has been leaked?"

"Yes." Root's voice was flat. "We've received the news from Iwagakure. The transport route, personnel allocation, and departure time have all been relayed through covert channels. They will treat it as a regular supply line and attack it."

Danzo nodded.

He didn't ask "whether it will be discovered" or "whether it will affect other people".

None of this matters.

The important thing is—that brat will appear on that road.

On that road, there will be people from Iwagakure.

Danzo stood up, leaning on his cane, and walked to the wall.

A map of Konoha hung on the wall, with the border line marked in dense red ink.

His gaze fell on the supply line—the border of the Land of Rain, the only route for the Konoha front.

This road is very safe, so safe that only one Chunin will be sent to lead the team.

But if someone sends out intelligence beforehand, then it's no longer a safe route.

That was a trap.

Danzo stared at the thin red line on the map and remained silent for a long time.

"This time..." His voice was low, as low as a snake slithering through the grass. "Without the protection of a mirror."

He didn't finish his sentence. But the meaning was already very clear.

He turned and walked back into the shadows. His cane tapped the ground, one tap after another, like some kind of countdown. Root remained kneeling, not daring to rise without command.

"Go down." Danzo's voice came from the shadows.

"Yes."

The roots disappeared. The candle flame flickered, almost going out, but then stabilized.

Danzo sat in the shadows, his fingers tracing the dragon head of his cane once more. The one eye that was visible was half-closed, and a hint of coldness lingered at the corner of his mouth.

Uchiha Sakugo.

He silently repeated the name in his mind.

—Let him see how long this brat can live.

……

……

……

Before dawn, the main gate of Konoha was shrouded in a gray morning mist.

Uchiha Sakugo arrived almost exactly on time.

He dislikes waiting for others and being waited for, so he usually arrives on time as agreed. This is a habit he has cultivated over many years of practice—every second has its purpose.

Several people were already standing at the meeting point.

No one spoke, no one exchanged pleasantries.

The air was filled with the coolness of the early morning and a certain indescribable stuffiness.

Shuoge's gaze quickly swept around—two teams of four, a total of eight people.

Aside from the two Chunin leading the team, the remaining six were Genin (including Sakugo). Due to manpower shortages during the war, even "prospective students" like him who hadn't officially graduated were squeezed in to fill a Genin position.

The two Chunin leaned against the doorpost, their expressions indifferent.

One of them was smoking, and smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth, only to be dispersed by the morning breeze.

The other one had his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, seemingly looking at something.

A few genin stood scattered around, some checking their ninja tool bags, others leaning against the wall with their eyes closed, resting.

No one spoke, and there was very little eye contact. They didn't seem to be going on a mission, but rather going to work—a routine they had repeated too many times and had become numb to.

—What is most noteworthy is that these people are all quite young, with the oldest being only in their early twenties.

Suddenly, Shuoge's gaze was drawn to a head of silver hair.

The man stood at the very edge of the line, his back against the wall next to the gate, holding a kunai in his hand and twirling it idly.

A headband was worn on her forehead, and a black mask covered her face, revealing only her two eyes—one half-closed and the other half closed.

Kakashi Hatake has changed after a few months.

It's not that my appearance has changed, it's that my temperament has changed.

He has lost some of his naivety and gained more composure.

Those eyes were no longer as sharp as they had been in school; instead, they were restrained, like a sword sheathed. The blade was still there, but it wasn't easily seen.

"Kakashi?"

Sakugo walked over. Kakashi looked up, saw him, paused for a moment with the kunai in his hand, then continued spinning it.

"Um."

Kakashi nodded slightly.

He didn't say much, and Shuoge didn't ask any more questions.

After not seeing each other for several months, the two exchanged no pleasantries or reminisced.

They met at this time and place, and both knew why the other was there.

Saying anything is superfluous.

At that moment, a tall, thin man came out of the guardhouse.

He was wearing a Chunin vest, his face expressionless, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in a long time. He glanced at the people present, his gaze lingering on Sakugo for a second before moving away.

"Now that everyone's here, let's set off."

The sound was very flat, as flat as a still body of water.

There was no mobilization, no instructions, not even the routine "be careful" warning.

There was nothing superfluous in his tone—no enthusiasm, no expectation, no fear.

It's just stating a fact: it's time to go.

The Chunin captain who transported the supplies was named Morita Kazuo.

Shuoge remembered the name.

He turned and walked towards the door, his pace neither fast nor slow, each step the same length, like a machine programmed with a set routine. The others silently followed.

No one asked where we were going, no one asked what we were doing.

They just followed along, like a group of puppets on strings.

Sakugo walked in the middle of the group, with Kakashi in front of him and a genin he didn't recognize behind him.

The genin carried a bundle wider than his body, yet his steps were steady.

His eyes were fixed on the back of the person in front of him, his face expressionless.

It's not indifference, it's numbness—the kind of numbness that comes from spending too much time on the battlefield and becoming accustomed to life and death, where one loses all feeling for everything.

The group passed through the gate and onto the dirt road leading to the border.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the road ahead disappeared into the grayish-white fog. The sound of footsteps was exceptionally clear in the silence—shh, shh, shh, uniform and rhythmic, like some kind of dull drumbeat.

No one speaks.

The wind blew from ahead, carrying the scent of earth and dew.

There was something else—the smell of gunpowder.

It's very faint, so faint you can barely smell it. But it's there.

Shuoge looked up at the sky. The horizon was already turning white; the sun was about to rise. But he felt that there probably wouldn't be any sun today. Or—even if there was, it wouldn't shine on this road.

"This is war!"

He sighed silently to himself.

-

The team sped along the way.

No one spoke; only the sounds of footsteps and breathing echoed on the dirt road.

The further away you are from Konoha, the more strange the smell in the air becomes—it's no longer the scent of earth and grass, but a kind of indescribable oppression, as if the sky is very low and might collapse at any moment.

The five major powers have not yet formally declared war, but everyone knows that it's just a matter of a piece of paper.

The border skirmishes had long since escalated into conflict, with small elite combat units infiltrating like ghosts, specifically targeting supply lines and isolated squads.

No one dares to be careless when walking this road.

Captain Kazuo Morita ran in the lead, his steps steady and his breathing even.

He didn't look back, but his speed was perfectly controlled—not too fast, not too slow, just enough for everyone to keep up without exhausting them. This was a veteran's intuition, an instinct honed through countless missions.

Shuoge followed in the middle, walking on an uneven dirt road with occasional pebbles and tree roots.

He hadn't fully adapted to this high-intensity journey yet—unlike wielding a sword under a waterfall, which was rhythmic repetition, this was continuous exertion.

But he had a very good foundation. His swordsmanship was based on physical skills. Thousands and tens of thousands of sword swings had etched his physical abilities into his bones.

He didn't fall behind, and even had the energy to observe the surrounding terrain.

Some people in the group glanced at him a few more times.

Shuoge recognized that look—it wasn't curiosity, it wasn't concern, it was scrutiny.

A kid who hasn't even officially graduated yet is stuffed into this kind of task. Whether he can keep up or will hold everyone back is a question everyone is thinking about.

Shuo Ge answered with his actions.

He didn't say anything, he just kept running, not missing a single step.

After all, not every kid is named Kakashi Hatake.

Others graduated early because they were forced to, because the battlefield was short of people, it was something they had no choice about.

Kakashi Hatake graduated early voluntarily—the Ninja Academy had nothing left to teach him.

The name itself is a standard, a yardstick for measuring "genius".

Kakashi ran at the front of the group, closely following Morita.

His steps were lighter and his rhythm more steady than Shuoge's, as if he were doing something he had done many times before. In the past few months, he had probably walked this road more than a hundred times.

-

Before we knew it, it was noon.

The sun reached its highest point, and the shadow shrank to a mere ball at his feet. Morita raised his hand, clenching his fist.

Everyone stopped at the same time; no one took an extra step.

"Set up a cordon and rest here."

Morita's voice remained calm.

He glanced at the surrounding terrain—a grove of low trees to the left and a gentle slope to the right, offering a fairly open view.

He pointed to two people, then gestured to the left and right sides. The two people silently dispersed and disappeared into the bushes.

The remaining people sat down on the spot, back to back, facing different directions.

No one speaks.

Some people took out their water bottles and took a sip, some closed their eyes to rest, and some still held kunai in their hands, their knuckles turning white.

A tense silence hung in the air, like a fully drawn bowstring.

Shuoge sat down against a tree, finally having a chance to catch his breath. He glanced down at his legs—the muscles were trembling slightly, but not seriously. Better than expected.

Kakashi sat down next to him.

There was a fist's width between the two men. Neither spoke first. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the sound of leaves and a distant, uncertain atmosphere.

The silence lasted for a while.

What's the situation at the border now?

Sakugo spoke first. His voice wasn't loud, just enough for Kakashi to hear.

Kakashi didn't answer immediately. The kunai in his hand was still spinning, turning intermittently, as if he was thinking about how to say it.

"It's terrible," he finally uttered.

Shuoge awaits the next installment.

Kakashi glanced at him.

Those eyes no longer held the laziness of school; instead, they held something Shuoge had never seen before—not fear, not tension, but something deeper, something heavier.

It's like someone who's seen too much and doesn't know where to begin.

"A small force from Iwagakure has already infiltrated."

Kakashi's voice was very low, only the two of them could hear it.

"Specifically targeting the supply lines. Last month, three squads were wiped out, two of them were logistics teams. The men haven't returned."

He spoke calmly, as if reading a report. But Shuoge could tell that something was pressing beneath that calmness.

"What about this road?"

"It was safe last month. This month..." Kakashi paused, "I don't know."

He didn't continue.

But the meaning is clear—a road that was safe last month may not be safe this month. That's how war is; today's news is outdated by tomorrow.

Shuoge did not ask any further questions.

He leaned against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, but his mind was filled with Kakashi's words.

The small unit of Iwagakure, the supply line, the wiped-out squad. His graduation assessment, the transport of supplies, the route passing through the border security zone—was it all really just a coincidence?

He opened his eyes and glanced at Kakashi's profile.

The man had stopped spinning the kunai, put it back in his ninja tool pouch, and closed his eyes, as if asleep. But Sakugo knew he wasn't asleep. In a place like this, no one could truly sleep.

The wind stopped.

The woods were as quiet as a stagnant pool.

Something was moving in the distance. No one saw it, no one heard it.

But it's there.