The journey to the Land of Lightning was, in Chusei's esteemed opinion, far too long.
He had spent the better part of a week crammed into a carriage with shinobi he barely knew, enduring endless lectures from the two temporary jonin about Kumo's social etiquette. His attention span, already a fleeting phantom, had evaporated somewhere over the Land of Rivers.
He was jolted awake by a sudden, violent lurch of the carriage, followed by a collective gasp from his companions. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Chusei peered out the window. What greeted him was a sight that momentarily silenced even his rambling thoughts.
Towering, jagged peaks, sharp as broken teeth, clawed at a sky perpetually bruised with thunderclouds.
The Hidden Cloud Village wasn't nestled among mountains; it was the mountains.
Massive structures, carved directly into the rock face, rose impossibly high, their upper reaches disappearing into swirling mist. Lightning, thin and stark, occasionally spiderwebbed across the dark clouds, illuminating colossal, rugged buildings that seemed to defy gravity. The air itself hummed with an almost palpable static charge, a constant reminder of the dominant chakra nature of this land.
"Welcome to Kumogakure," one of the temporary jonin announced, his voice tight with an unfamiliar tension. "Remember your manners, genin. They value strength and directness here. No Konoha niceties unless absolutely necessary."
Chusei blinked, his mouth slightly agape.
This was nothing like Konoha's cozy, tree-lined streets. This was a fortress, a bastion of raw power. Even the air smelled different – ozone and the faint, metallic tang of lightning.
As the carriage rumbled through the outer defenses, the first thing Chusei noticed about the Kumo-nin was their presence.
They were, almost without exception, physically imposing.
Broad shoulders, muscular builds, and a confident but careless gait. Their skin tones varied, but many were darker, their eyes sharp and direct, meeting his gaze without a hint of the subtle deference or veiled suspicion he was used to in Konoha.
His new teammates for the exam, whom he'd spent the last month training with, were already disembarking.
There were nine Konoha genin in total chosen for this festival. Six of them were from Nohara-sensei's reserves: himself, the Bukijutsu Genin whose name still eluded Chusei, and four girls from their cohort. The remaining three were Konoha genin with a jonin, also selected for their team's merits.
"Alright, Carrot," the Bukijutsu Genin said, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the hum of the village. "This is it. Try not to get us disqualified before the first round."
Chusei offered a weak high-five, his mind still reeling from the sheer scale of the village. "No promises, Mouse Maggot. You know how I get when I'm bored."
He could feel the faint, unsettling thrum of the seal on his chest, a constant, low vibration that had settled into his new normal. The brief, terrifying surge of power he'd felt back in Konoha was a distant memory, but the knowledge that it was there, just beneath his skin, was a strange comfort.
He wondered if the Kumo-nin, with their heightened senses for lightning, could feel it too. He quickly dismissed the thought; they'd have been on him already if they could.
Chusei got a glimpse of a massive, open-air arena carved into the side of one of the mountains, its floor a packed earth that looked like it had endured countless lightning strikes.
Banners emblazoned with the Cloud Village's distinctive symbol – two clouds, one above the other – fluttered in the strong mountain winds. This was obviously going to be the venue, where the high-ups would decide whether or not he was worth something.
Other genin teams, from various villages and towns, walked beside them all headed towards their lodging. Their chatter a nervous counterpoint to the village's electric hum.
He threw stray glances at the others ensuring that he didn't stare too long as to attract unwanted attention.
It has taken him surveying three groups before the least favourable circumstance made itself a reality. A collection of reddish brown garbs glared back at him.
They were already staring at his group before he decided to sweep. He didn't need to see their forehead protectors to know they were Rock-nin.
They were everything he imagined them to be. A strangely consistent block shape of hips and shoulders of the same width, tanned skin and dark brown hair. They were extremely textbook.
What did startle him was how pretty the girls appeared to be. Delicate structures matched with suddenly sharp features. Each somehow having a starkly unique eye colour.
Chusei smirked at the thought of their ancestors fully leaning into gender norms to ensure that this physical appearance stayed dominant through generations.
He shrugged absently which angered them even more.
Chusei's new Konoha team gathered at the gate, receiving final instructions from their temporary jonin. "The first phase is a written exam," one explained, "but don't let that fool you. It's designed to test your mental fortitude under pressure. After that, anything goes. They prioritize direct combat and strategic thinking. Show them Konoha's strength."
Chusei sighed, already feeling the familiar pull of boredom. He missed Kobaru's endless questions and Nagisa's sharp retorts.
This was going to be a long week. But then, a thought sparked in his mind: If C-ranks paid this well, imagine the B-ranks. Or even A-ranks.
A wide, familiar grin spread across his face.
He just had to survive.
XxX
The rhythmic thud of Nagisa's fist against the weathered wood of the training post was a constant, dull counterpoint to the buzzing disappointment in her mind.
Each blow was precise, powerful, aimed not just at the inanimate object but at the stubborn feeling of inadequacy that clung to her chest.
Shame.
It had been her unwelcomed companion for days now, a bitter taste that no amount of rigorous training could fully wash away.
She pushed harder, sweat stinging her eyes, forcing her muscles to burn, hoping the physical exhaustion would finally drown out the mental torment.
She was at Outpost Twenty-Seven, the same desolate, run-down camp she'd arrived at weeks ago. The air still carried the faint, unsettling scent of decay, a grim reminder of the recent attack and her own, albeit minor, role in it.
Her group had spent the first few days cleaning, a futile effort given the outpost's perpetual state of disrepair. Now, her time was mostly consumed by endless drills, pushing her taijutsu to its limits, trying to reclaim the superiority she felt slipping away.
Her exclusion from the Chunin Festival still stung.
She was the best, she knew it.
She was faster, stronger, more efficient.
Yet, she was here, meticulously polishing her forms, while Chusei – the loudmouth, the idiot – was off in Kumo, probably making a fool of himself, but at least there. And Kobaru, the little kid, was at another outpost, likely off inventing some new, absurd technique that would further close the gap between them.
A strange loneliness had settled over her since they'd split.
She'd always prided herself on her self-sufficiency, on her ability to thrive in isolation. But the constant, chaotic presence of Chusei's rambling and Kobaru's inquisitive energy had, without her conscious acknowledgment, become a peculiar comfort.
Now, the silence felt heavier, the solitude more profound. She missed their bickering, their unexpected insights, even their sheer capacity for distraction. It was almost as if their combined presence had become a permanent fixture in her personal space, and its absence left a hollow ache.
She drove another elbow strike into the post, the wood groaning in protest.
Focus, Nagisa. This is what you do. This is what you're good at.
She visualized Kobaru's new chakra paralysis, Chusei's unpredictable fire bullet, the way they moved, the way they thought. She needed to be better, faster, more adaptable. She needed to push beyond her current limits, to find that "separation" she craved.
The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the ragged camp, painting the weary shinobi in hues of orange and purple.
Nagisa was preparing for another round of drills when a sudden, sharp whistle cut through the evening air. It was the signal for an immediate, full-camp assembly.
Shinobi, their faces etched with the familiar weariness of outpost life, began to gather, their movements sluggish.
The Chunin in charge, a grizzled veteran with a perpetually tired slouch, stood at the makeshift command post, his expression unreadable. Nagisa joined the small crowd, her own exhaustion momentarily forgotten as a prickle of unease ran down her spine. This wasn't a routine briefing.
The Chunin cleared his throat, his voice raspy.
"Attention! Urgent orders from Konoha. Effective immediately, all personnel are to withdraw from Outpost Twenty-Seven. We are to fall back to Sector Gamma rendezvous point. This is not a drill. Pack only essentials. We move at first light."
A stunned silence fell over the camp. The weary shinobi exchanged bewildered glances.
Withdrawal?
From a border outpost?
It was unprecedented. Their purpose was to hold the line, to be the first warning. Retreat was an admission of a threat far greater than anything they were equipped to handle.
Nagisa's grey eyes widened, the disappointment of her Chunin Exam exclusion momentarily eclipsed by a chilling confusion.
The veteran Chunin, usually unflappable, ran a hand through his thinning hair, his eyes scanning the horizon with a look of profound bewilderment. He didn't understand it any more than they did.
Something massive was happening, something that had forced Konoha to pull back its outermost defenses. The silence of the camp was suddenly thick with unspoken questions, and a growing sense of dread.