Inside Renjiro's room, the four members of Team Zeri sat cross-legged around a low tea table. The soft aroma of freshly brewed tea, brought in by Meri from her own supplies, filled the room with a sense of calm that contrasted sharply with the tension they had grown used to over the past few weeks.
Zeri took a quiet sip of his tea, then exhaled deeply. His gaze moved over his three young teammates—Renjiro, Meri, and Maemon—with a mixture of guilt and pride.
"You know…" He began, setting his cup down gently: "I've been a pretty lousy Captain. I was barely around after our team formed. Just one day together… then I was gone."
A silence settled over the group. The weight of that truth wasn't lost on any of them. Their very first mission had turned into a life-and-death confrontation with enemy shinobi—something no Genin team should have faced so soon. Surviving that ordeal had been nothing short of miraculous.
Zeri gave a faint smile: "But… even if I wasn't there the way I should've been, each of you has surpassed my expectations. In just two weeks, you've grown so much. You're no longer just fresh Genin—you're real shinobi now. I'm proud of all of you."
The three nodded silently, acknowledging his words. They knew how much they had changed. It hadn't come easy—long hours of training, physical exhaustion, and the mental strain of real combat had pushed them far beyond what the academy ever could.
Then, Zeri's expression turned thoughtful as he leaned back slightly: "That reminds me. About your last mission… Originally, it was listed as a D-rank supply run. But after we submitted the report—especially your encounter with the Mist Ninja—Camp Command reviewed it and changed the classification."
He looked at them with a smile and continued after a slight pause: "It's now officially a B-rank mission."
A beat passed in silence—then the reactions hit. Meri's usually composed demeanor cracked with a spark of excitement, and even the calm Maemon's eyes widened. It was rare for a newly formed Genin team to have a B-rank mission on record, let alone survive one.
Mission rankings weren't just bureaucratic details—they were the lifeblood of a shinobi's career. Every mission logged influenced a ninja's future: the missions they could take, the ranks they could achieve, and the recognition they earned within the village.
Renjiro, however, remained strangely unaffected.
Unlike his teammates, he didn't feel the same thrill. To him, it was just data—another line in a system he didn't particularly care for. Having come from another world, he lacked the cultural weight that made those ranks meaningful to native-born shinobi.
Zeri, unaware of the reason behind Renjiro's detached expression, mistook it for composure. His earlier suspicions resurfaced—this boy wasn't ordinary.
From what he'd heard, Renjiro had acted swiftly and decisively in that battle, eliminating an enemy and then shifting instantly to support his team. It wasn't just skill. It was the calm tactical mindset of someone far beyond his peers.
Zeri glanced at Renjiro again, a slow realization and respect appeared in his eyes: "That lazy-looking kid… might just be elite material."
Once the initial excitement had settled, Zeri cleared his throat and continued: "Ahm! Now, about your reward. The mission pay has already been credited to your ninja profiles. You can withdraw it whenever you like."
A ninja profile in Konoha wasn't just for identification—it acted as a comprehensive record and tool: part ID card, part bank account, clearance access, and even a portable medical file.
Renjiro remained calm on the surface, but deep down, he was unimpressed.
"All that danger, and we're only getting paid? What a ripoff." He thought bitterly: "No recognition, no technique scrolls, not even extra training? This system is stingier than the nobles back home."
After giving them a moment to process the information, Zeri suddenly stood up and raised his hand in the same gesture he used when they first met. His voice was light but resolute: "With this, I officially announce—Team Zeri is reassembled!"
The trio exchanged brief glances, then smiled and stacked their hands over his, sharing a moment of renewed unity.
But then Zeri scratched his head with a sheepish grin: "Well… as much I hate to ruin the moment, but it looks like we've got a bit of a pattern here. Seems every time we meet, it's in a rush."
His tone turned more direct: "Let me be blunt—Team Zeri has a new mission."
"Again?!"
Renjiro, Meri, and Maemon groaned in unison, exchanging tired looks. It felt like a curse—every time they caught their breath, chaos found them again.
Not that they were wrong to feel that way. But the truth was more practical than fate: Konoha was critically short on manpower.
The Battle of Kikyo Mountain was raging. Other villages were posturing for conflict, and tensions along the borders flared almost daily. With so many experienced shinobi deployed or injured, even fresh Genin teams like theirs were being mobilized.
Maemon, the calmest of the group, adjusted his glasses and looked toward Zeri and asked in a low, serious tone: "What's the mission, Zeri-sensei?"
Zeri's smile faded. His voice dropped, taking on a gravity that immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room: "This is a war operation. The intel we extracted from the Mist Ninja's mind… it revealed something critical. The enemy is constructing a bridge deep in contested territory. If it's completed, it will allow them to move troops and supplies directly into our flank. We'd be at a massive disadvantage."
He paused, then delivered the mission objective in a serious voice: "The higher-ups have made the decision. That bridge must not be completed. Our mission—"
"—is to destroy it?" Meri interrupted, her voice tinged with both nerves and excitement.
Renjiro and Maemon both sighed and exchanged looks. She still had a bit of that Academy idealism left.
Looking at her, Renjiro shook his head: "Cute, but naive."
Looking at Meri's excited expression, Zeri let out a quiet chuckle: "You think they'd assign us to an S-rank sabotage mission?" He said, raising an eyebrow: "That's far beyond our level."
"Oh…" Meri's eyes widened slightly, and her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. Her earlier nervous anticipation melted into embarrassed silence.
"But…" Zeri's voice shifted, growing firm and steady: "this mission isn't easy either."
He took a step forward, and said with a serious expression: "We'll be joining the main assault force. Our job is to draw the enemy's attention—to create a large enough opening for the real strike team to infiltrate and destroy the bridge. In other words, we're the distraction."
He paused, letting the gravity of that statement settle, then continued: "And that means we'll likely be facing the Mist-nin head-on. The chance of combat is over 90%."
The room fell into silence.
Not the stillness of thought—but the heavy, suffocating kind that clung to the skin like fog. For all their previous training and even their deadly encounter with enemy shinobi, this was different. This wasn't a mission, it was war.
And war… was something else entirely. The Shinobi Battlefields weren't just lines on a map. They were known by many names—the meat grinders, hell on earth, where dreams die and monsters rise. To step into one was to risk everything.
Zeri looked at his team—three young faces full of promise and fear. He opened his mouth, ready to say something reassuring.
Don't worry, kids. I've got your back.
But the words wouldn't come, because he couldn't lie to them.
He was just a Chūnin. A moderately ranked shinobi. On the battlefield, rank didn't matter nearly as much as luck, instincts, and raw power. He might not make it back, and if he fell, he wouldn't be able to protect them.
So instead, he said nothing at all.
---
The mission was scheduled for that very night.
The strike team would target the enemy's bridge under the cover of darkness, relying on Team Zeri and other units to draw out the Mist Ninja forces, it was a coordinated assault.
Zeri gave them a few hasty instructions—logistics, gear, rendezvous points—then offered a short nod.
"Adjust your mindset." He said: "Prepare. We leave after nightfall." And then, he left.
The trio stood there for a moment in silence, each processing the weight of what had just been laid on their shoulders. One by one, they quietly turned and walked back to their respective quarters.
All except Renjiro, he remained seated, staring at the closed door for a long moment. Then, in a low voice only he and the walls could hear, he murmured: "So… it's finally come. The battlefield, huh, Arkain?"
There was no reply. The advanced AI assistant embedded in his system—intelligent though it was—wasn't made for comfort or encouragement.
Renjiro had known this moment would arrive eventually. A shinobi's path always led to war. But he didn't expect it to come so soon. This wasn't even the core warzone like Sunagakure's fronts—it was a border conflict.
Still, it didn't matter, he wasn't the same person he used to be. Not the lost soul who stumbled into this world.
Fear tightened in his chest, but he didn't curse fate, and he didn't wish to run. If this was his reality—if war was inevitable—then he would meet it head-on.
He would fight, and he would survive no matter what.