I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

Under the moonlight, Kakashi quietly watched the figure wielding the sword.

The blade slices through the night wind, again and again, the rhythm never wavering.

Since they sat down, Shuoge has swung his sword countless times. His arms moved like machines, his breathing like the tides, and each swing of the sword was exactly the same as the last.

Kakashi leaned against the tree trunk, his injuries still throbbing, but he was not sleepy.

He watched the knife trace arc after arc in the moonlight for a long time.

Can I ask you a question?

He spoke. His voice wasn't loud, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the sword being swung.

"What?"

Shuoge did not turn around, nor did he stop what he was doing.

Kakashi stared at the blade in his hand.

The silver light flickered in the night, like something that would never go out.

The question he wanted to ask lingered on his lips, but he didn't know how to bring it up.

Why are you so strong?

wrong.

Why are you working so hard?

Not right either.

He had seen hardworking people—Kay ran five hundred laps every day, did a thousand push-ups, and kicked a wooden stake a thousand times.

But Shuoge was different. His efforts lacked that gritted-teeth drive, that sense of urgency of "I must catch up with so-and-so." He was simply doing something he had to do, like breathing, like a heartbeat, like the sun rising and setting every day.

"Why are you like this...?"

Kakashi stopped.

He didn't know what word to use.

He's already a genius. He can't compare to his peers, and even those a few years older might not be able to catch up. Why would someone like that push himself to this extent?

He didn't finish his sentence. But Shuoge seemed to understand.

The swing of the sword paused for a moment. The blade stopped in mid-air, and moonlight slid down the edge, landing at his feet and shattering into a silvery white light.

The pause was brief, and then the knife was raised again.

Why?

Shuoge's voice came from behind, very faint.

"So as not to become a string of cold numbers."

Kakashi was stunned.

Shuoge continued to swing his knife.

one more time.

……

……

……

At dawn, the camp was shrouded in a thin layer of gray fog.

The wounded have already assembled at the camp gate.

A dozen stretchers were neatly arranged in two rows, on which lay the wounded who could still move—those with broken legs, broken arms, and bodies wrapped in bandages.

A number of the seriously injured were taken away last night, and the remaining patients are considered to have "minor injuries," but to ordinary people, every wound is shocking.

Shuoge stood at the end of the group, a long sword hanging on his back, and a mission scroll on his shoulder—his official proof of becoming a genin.

All he had to do was go back to school and go through the process, and his name would change from "student" to "ninja".

Kakashi leaned against a tree trunk, the bandage on his shoulder now fresh. He glanced at Sakugo but said nothing. A tacit understanding existed between them, unspoken yet palpable.

The escort team consisted of twelve people.

Besides Sakugo and Kakashi, there were two Chunin and eight support staff responsible for carrying the stretcher.

The wounded lay silently on their stretchers; some had their eyes closed, some stared at the gray sky, and some gritted their teeth, enduring the pain without uttering a sound.

No one spoke.

Leaving the battlefield was a good thing, but the way they left wasn't what they imagined.

Kazuo Morita stood at the camp gate, holding a list in his hand, checking the names of the wounded one by one.

His voice remained calm. Each time he called out a name, the person on the stretcher would raise a hand or respond. After confirming the last one, he ticked it off the list and nodded to the team leader, a Chunin.

"Set off."

The group slowly left the camp.

The camp gate grew smaller behind them, the flags fluttering in the morning breeze, receding into the distance. Some of the wounded glanced back, while others never did.

Shuoge walked steadily in the middle of the group.

He glanced back at the camp—tents, sandbags, patrolling sentries, and the large tent with the red flag. He had first arrived here three days ago, and now he was leaving.

The next time they come, it probably won't be to deliver supplies.

The road ahead stretched out in the fog, with no end in sight.

The wounded on the stretcher occasionally let out a low groan, while the logistics personnel silently carried the stretcher with heavy steps.

Two Chunin, one in front and one behind, warily scanned the woods on either side. It had taken them most of the day to get here, and returning with the wounded would take at least a day and a half.

The fog slowly dissipated, and sunlight peeked through the gaps in the clouds, illuminating the muddy road.

-

The group walked for about two hours until the fog dissipated and the sun dried the muddy road.

The wounded were jolted along on stretchers, occasionally letting out a low groan, which was quickly swallowed by silence.

The Chunin at the front suddenly raised his fist, and everyone stopped at the same time. Sakugo's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and Kakashi silently approached from the back of the group.

There are footprints on the road ahead.

It wasn't just one or two people, it was many people—messy, overlapping, varying in depth, like a group of people running, some falling down and getting up again, some being dragged along, their heels carving two long furrows in the mud.

Shuoge squatted down and pressed his fingers on the edge of the footprint.

The soil was still wet; the person had just passed by.

The team leader, a Chunin, made a hand gesture, and the two Genin scattered and crept forward along the roadside.

Sakugo and Kakashi stayed where they were, protecting the wounded on either side. A new smell filled the air—not of gunpowder, but of blood, mixed with the stench of sweat and dirt, drifting from the front.

There was a rustling sound coming from the bushes ahead.

"One of us!"

Someone shouted, their voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal.

A person covered in mud stumbled out of the bushes, his headband askew and his vest covered in blood, it was hard to tell if it was his own or someone else's.

He staggered two steps, his knees buckled, and he knelt on the ground. He looked up at the line, his eyes bloodshot.

"Finally... finally I've met someone..."

Several more people walked out from behind him. One, two, three—five people in total.

The youngest one looked no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. His left arm was in a sling, and the sling was soaked in blood and turned black.

The oldest was in his early thirties, with a scar on his face that ran diagonally from his forehead to his chin, the flesh turned inside out and not yet scabbed over.

Another was leaning on his companion's shoulder, one leg dragging on the ground, his ankle swollen like a bun. The other two were supporting each other, their bodies wrapped in tangled bandages, swaying as they walked.

They looked at the wounded on the stretcher with a strange look in their eyes—not relief, not peace of mind, but something deeper and heavier.

It's like a drowning person suddenly finding themselves at the bottom, knowing they can still live.

But that's all it takes to survive.

The team leader, a chunin, quickly went over and helped the kneeling person up.

"Which team are you from?"

"The 17th reconnaissance squad... encountered the main force of Iwagakure. Of the twelve members of the squad, only five of us remain."

The man's teeth were chattering as he spoke; it wasn't from the cold, but from the kind of trembling that comes from someone who's just crawled back from the brink of death and hasn't recovered yet.

"The captain is dead, the vice-captain is dead... We've been taking detours for two days, afraid to take the main roads..."

As he spoke, his voice lowered.

The team leader, a Chunin, paused for a moment, then patted him on the shoulder.

"It's alright. Get back with the group and we'll go back together."

The five people were placed in the middle of the group, with the wounded.

Someone handed him a water bottle, and someone else took out some military rations. The boy with a bandage on his left arm took the water bottle, his hands trembling so badly that he spilled half the water before bringing it to his lips.

I took a sip and suddenly burst into tears.

There was no sound, only tears streaming down her dirty face, leaving two white streaks.

No one around him looked at him or said anything.

In a place like this, there are too many tears to bear.

On the road again.

The line is moving slower than before.

Five routed soldiers could barely walk, and the wounded on the stretcher needed a more steady pace.

No one complained, and no one urged them on.

Shuoge walked at the back of the group, looking at the silent figures in front of him—wounded soldiers on stretchers, routed soldiers, logistics personnel carrying stretchers, and the Chunin leading the group.

They came from different teams, had different names, different numbers, and different faces.

But now they are just a group of people heading in the same direction.

Heading towards Konoha. Heading home.

Behind him lay the battlefield, the dead, and the names that would never return.

Ahead lies the road, the sunlight after the fog has cleared, and the home I don't know if I'll ever reach.

No one looked back.

-

"This is war."

Kakashi's voice suddenly rang out.

It was very soft, as if she were talking to herself.

He walked beside Shuoge, his gaze falling on the fleeing soldiers, and there was something in his eyes that Shuoge had never seen before.

It wasn't fear, it wasn't anger, it was something deeper, something that was being suppressed.

Shuoge's ears twitched slightly, and then he nodded.

He didn't speak, but mentally went over Kakashi's words several times.

This is war.

No, this is not war.

This was just the scraps of war—a few defeated soldiers, a few stretchers, and a string of footprints that left long trails in the mud.

The real war is behind us, in places we can't see.

In the deeper mud, in the stronger stench of blood, in those who cannot even manage a rout.

It will only get worse from here on out.

So far, only genin and chunin have been killed.

Those names can still be read aloud, written into reports, and turned into stacks of papers pressed on the corner of the table.

He will continue to be a Jonin.

The names of those at the top of the ninja ranks will also become words on paper, written together with those of the genin and chunin, with no one taking up an extra line.

Even—at the level of a movie star.

Even those who stand at the highest point can be swallowed up by war, becoming a name on a memorial stone, engraved a little deeper, but it's just a matter of one stroke.

Shuoge gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, then loosened his grip.

The group passed through a grove of low trees.

The trees on both sides became denser and the road became narrower.

The leader, a Chunin, slowed down, scanning the bushes on both sides.

This terrain is ideal for ambushes—with woods on both sides and a narrow path in the middle, the column is stretched out by the wounded and fleeing soldiers, making it impossible for the front and rear to support each other.

"Speed ​​up, we'll rest after we get through this forest."

The team leader, a Chunin, spoke in a low voice, but everyone heard him.

Their pace quickened.

The jolting of the stretchers caused the wounded to groan in suppressed pain, and the fleeing soldiers gritted their teeth and quickened their pace.

Shuoge had already taken his knife from behind his back and was holding it in his hand, with the scabbard facing forward, ready to be drawn at any moment.

Kakashi also reached into his ninja tool pouch, his knuckles turning white.

There's something in the woods.

It wasn't sound, nor breath, but some more subtle change that only intuition could detect.

Sakugo slowed his pace by half a beat, sliding from the back of the group to the flank, his sword sliding an inch from its sheath. Kakashi moved closer in perfect unison, his back to Sakugo, the two forming a tiny defensive circle.

"Someone's there." Sakugo's voice was so low that only Kakashi could hear it.

"Hmm." Kakashi already had his kunai in his hand.

The woods were eerily quiet.

The birds stopped singing, the insects stopped chirping, and even the wind stopped.

Shuoge had experienced that kind of quiet once on the way here—it was the final calm before the battle.

But this time is different.

Last time it was four scouts from Iwagakure, and they couldn't hide their killing intent. This time… he couldn't sense any killing intent. He couldn't sense anything at all. This was what made it even more unsettling.

Fifty meters ahead, at the bend in the road.

The team leader, a Chunin, stopped in his tracks.

He saw something—several broken logs lying across the middle of the road, not like they had fallen naturally. He raised his hand, clenching his fist. Everyone stopped at the same time.

Then, a very faint sound of a branch snapping came from the woods on the left.

"Enemy attack—!"

Before the leader Chunin's voice had even finished, kunai flew out from the woods on the left, not just one, but a volley—as dense as a downpour, accompanied by a shrill whistling sound that tore through the air.

The target wasn't the team leader or the wounded; it was the area in the very center of the group.

Shuoge was standing there.

The sword is drawn.

The blade flashed in the sunlight, and three kunai were cleaved away, clattering as they landed on the ground.

Kakashi attacked simultaneously, his kunai meeting the kunai head-on, sparks flying from the metal colliding.

But there were too many—one of them pierced through the defenses and headed straight for Shogo's face.

Shuoge turned his head. A kunai flew past his ear, severing a few strands of hair and embedding them in the tree trunk behind him. A burning pain shot through the edge of his ear, and warm liquid slid down his earlobe.

—They came specifically to kill him.

The instant the thought flashed through his mind, three dark figures rushed out of the woods.

The speed was astonishing, not the speed of a Chunin—it was the speed of a Jonin.

Three people, three directions, working together in perfect harmony, like a machine that has been running countless times.

One person drew attention from the front, while two others flanked from the sides, cutting off all escape routes. The movements were clean and efficient, without any unnecessary frills, with only one objective—to kill the target in the shortest possible time.

Before Shuoge could think, the knife had already been handed over.

The man's kunai slammed into the sword with the force of a bull's charge. Shuoge was thrown back three steps, his hands went numb, and he nearly dropped the sword.

The gap is too large—this is not an opponent he can handle.

Kakashi charged in from the side, aiming his kunai at the back of the neck of the man on his left.

The man didn't even turn around; he simply lashed out with his elbow, sending Kakashi flying like a kite with a broken string. Kakashi crashed into a tree, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Kakashi!" Sakugo gritted his teeth, holding his sword horizontally in front of him.

The person in front of us came up again.

The kunai pierced straight into the heart.

Shuoge raised his knife to parry, the blade pressed against his chest, the sound of metal scraping together was as piercing as bones breaking.

His arms were trembling, his knees were bending, and his feet were retreating—one step, two steps, three steps.

The knife was pressed against his chest, the tip of the kunai almost touching his clothes.

The gap is too big.

Am I going to die?

Before the thought could take shape, a dark shadow descended from the sky.

The man landed between Shuoge and the attacker, extending one hand to catch the kunai thrust at him. The blade sliced ​​through his palm, blood dripping, but his hand remained motionless.

The attacker hesitated for a moment—and in that moment, the knife was already drawn.

"Uchiha Style - Iaijutsu!"