I emerged from Tsunade's tent with a yawn that felt like it started somewhere near my toes. Medical ninjutsu training wasn't physically draining, but concentrating that hard before dawn ought to be classified as cruel and unusual punishment. My chakra reserves were fine—it was my brain that was begging for another hour of sleep.
Dawn had fully broken now, bathing the camp in a soft golden light that would've been beautiful if my eyes didn't hate everything they were currently looking at. The mist had burned away, leaving behind a crisp, clear morning that smelled like wet earth and leftover stew.
"Look who's finally came out," came a teasing voice.
I blinked, trying to locate the source. Mikoto sat cross-legged near the dead fire pit, already dressed and alert, looking far too put-together for this hour. The jacket I'd draped over her earlier was folded neatly beside her.
"Morning," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair, which likely resembled a bird's nest.
Her eyes tracked me as I shuffled toward the fire pit, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "So... Tsunade's tent, huh?"
I dropped down next to her with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. "Not what you're thinking."
"And what exactly am I thinking?" She raised an eyebrow, that smile growing wider.
"Something scandalous involving our esteemed sensei and her poor, innocent student." I rubbed my face, trying to jumpstart my brain.
She snorted. "Innocent? You?"
"I can be innocent." I paused. "On national holidays. Sometimes."
Mikoto handed me my jacket. "What exactly were you two doing so early in the morning, anyway?"
"Medical ninjutsu." I stretched my arms overhead, trying to shake off the mental fog. "Turns out I have the chakra control for it. Who knew?"
"Everyone," she said flatly. "Literally everyone knew that."
I gave her a look. "If it's so obvious, why haven't you asked her to teach you too? I mean, your chakra control's pretty solid. I think you could handle it."
Mikoto's expression shifted slightly. "Several reasons. For one, I'm an Uchiha."
"And that matters because...?"
"Clan politics," she said with a small sigh. "The elders would rather I focus on our traditional techniques. Learning medical ninjutsu from a Senju?" She shook her head. "They'd see it as... diluting my focus."
"That sounds incredibly stupid."
"Welcome to clan life," she muttered, giving a half-hearted shrug. "Even if she did agree to teach me the basics, it wouldn't go far. Not with how things stand between our clans. I'd never be allowed to master it."
"So you're not interested at all?"
"I think it's better to excel at what I'm naturally suited for rather than be mediocre at everything." Her eyes met mine. "I'll leave the healing to you. Just don't let me down when I need patching up."
The small smile she gave me made my chest do something weird, and I found myself grinning back. "Well, when you put that kind of pressure on me... I'll just have to make sure you never need patching up in the first place."
She let out a quiet laugh, her smile brightening the whole conversation. "My own personal bodyguard? I could get used to that."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and I became aware of the camp stirring to life around us. Most of the villagers were still asleep, huddled under tarps and blankets, but a few early risers moved quietly about their morning routines. The big guy who'd helped butcher the boar was stacking firewood nearby.
"You want coffee?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Her eyes lit up. "You can make coffee? Here?"
"I can make coffee anywhere. It's my superpower." I stood up, brushing dirt from my pants. "Give me five minutes."
I rummaged through my pack, pulling out a small metal container sealed with wax. Inside were dark coffee beans, ground coarsely and mixed with a special blend of spices I'd prepared back in Konoha. Next came a small metal pot I'd "borrowed" from the camp supplies.
"What's that?" Mikoto asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Coffee magic."
I filled the pot with water from a nearby bucket, set it over the remains of last night's fire, and began rebuilding the flames with twigs and kindling.
"Need a hand with that?" Mikoto asked, already forming a hand sign.
"If you burn my coffee, we're no longer friends."
She rolled her eyes but lowered her hands, instead helping me arrange the wood and strike the flint until the kindling caught. A small flame flickered to life, gradually growing stronger.
"Thanks," I muttered.
"You're welcome."
As the water heated, I added the coffee grounds, stirring with a stick and watching the water darken. The rich aroma began to fill the air, drawing curious looks from the few villagers who were awake.
"So," Mikoto said, voice dropping lower, "how's our mystery chunin doing?"
"Sato? Alive, thanks to Tsunade. Still touch and go, though." I kept stirring the coffee, letting the familiar motion ground me.
"And the mission?"
I glanced at her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on them, eyes fixed on the fire. The morning light caught in her dark hair, turning it almost blue.
"Officially? We're still escorting civilians to their new settlement." I pulled the pot away from the fire and let it sit. "Unofficially? I think we're walking into something a lot messier."
"Tsunade-sensei mentioned the mission was escalating yesterday," Mikoto said. "You think it's getting even worse than she anticipated?"
"Yeah." I ran a hand through my hair. "River Country attacking Konoha patrols? Doesn't add up."
She frowned. "Why not? Borders get contested all the time."
"Sure, but River Country's tiny. They don't pick fights with major hidden villages unless someone's backing them... or they've completely lost their minds." I reached into my pack and pulled out two tin cups, pouring the coffee carefully. "And they definitely don't take shots at Konoha unless they've got a damn good reason."
"You think someone else is behind it?"
"Maybe," I said, handing her a cup. "If Iwa or Suna wanted more access to trade routes or a convenient puppet state, River Country would be a decent choice. Quiet, small, easy to manipulate."
Mikoto took the cup with both hands, brought it to her lips, and took a small sip. She blinked, then gave a quiet nod. "It's good."
"Told you," I said with a grin. "You never know when you'll need to impress someone with decent coffee in the wilderness."
"Is that what you're doing? Trying to impress me?" She smiled over the rim of her cup.
"Is it working?"
She hesitated just long enough to make me wonder, then gave a soft, "Maybe."
I leaned back against a nearby log, letting the warmth of the cup settle in my hands as I watched the camp stir awake. Villagers were beginning to move, stretching beneath blankets or tending to morning chores, unaware of just how close things might be to spiraling.
"This mission's probably about to jump a few ranks above our pay grade," I said quietly.
"Tsunade-sensei will adjust our strategy accordingly," she said confidently. "If she thought we couldn't handle it, she would've sent for backup already."
"Maybe," I said, glancing toward the edge of camp. "But the mission was supposed to be a simple escort job. Get civilians to their settlement, make sure no one gets eaten by wild boars or bandits. If we suddenly find ourselves stuck in the middle of a war, that's not what three genin signed up for."
I looked back at her, meeting her eyes. "Nobody's going to blame us if we can't save everyone when the mission's difficulty triples without warning."
Her expression grew thoughtful, but with a hint of concern. "I understand what you're saying, but..." She hesitated. "That's not really how we're trained to think, is it? We're supposed to complete the mission, whatever it takes."
"I'm not saying abandon the mission," I replied. "I'm saying there's a difference between completing the objective and throwing ourselves into a meat grinder. If we die trying to save everyone in an A-rank situation, we've failed anyway. Nobody gets helped if we don't make it out."
"I know," Her voice dropped slightly, not in doubt, but in something quieter—something more personal. "But these are real people, Shinji. Not just mission parameters. I couldn't live with myself if I left someone behind because I decided my safety was more important."
"That sounds very noble," I said with a small smile. "Also very Uchiha of you."
She rolled her eyes, but returned the smile. "Maybe. But it's also just who I am. I'm not planning to throw my life away recklessly, if that's what you're worried about."
"Good. Because I'd have to come save you, and that would be very troublesome."
"Heaven forbid you be inconvenienced," she said with a light laugh. "I appreciate the concern, though. Really."
We lapsed into another comfortable silence. Around us, more villagers were stirring. Someone had started collecting the leftover cooking gear. The old woman from last night—Kaori—was organizing a small group to reheat the stew from yesterday.
"How are they doing?" I nodded toward the villagers.
Mikoto followed my gaze. "Better after last night. Your cooking helped. Gave them something to settle into."
"Nothing brings people together like shared hunger and the promise of food."
"And when that wears off?" she asked, watching as two villagers who'd been arguing yesterday now worked together to pack supplies.
"Then we find another common thread," I said, taking a long sip of the warm coffee. "That's all community really is—finding enough shared pieces to outweigh the differences."
She studied me. "You've been thinking about this."
"I've been thinking about a lot of things," I admitted, tapping my fingers against my cup. "Like why River Country would suddenly turn aggressive when they've been neutral for decades."
"You really don't think it's them acting alone?"
"Small countries survive by being useful to big ones, not by picking fights with them." I set my empty cup down.
Mikoto considered this, absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "So what are we really walking into?"
"I think River Country's being manipulated. Either they're being forced into aggression, or someone's impersonating their shinobi to provoke a response from Konoha."
"But why would—" Her eyes widened. "River Country sits between us and both Suna and Iwa."
"Exactly. Control River Country, and you control key trade routes. Plus, you get a convenient staging ground for future operations."
"That's... worrying."
I nodded. "And way above our qualification level."
"So what does Tsunade-sensei think?" she asked.
I hesitated. "She hasn't shared her full thoughts, but she's preparing for the worst. That's why she's pushing us harder with training."
"Is that why she's teaching you medical jutsu?"
"Partly. Extra medical support never hurts on a mission that might involve combat."
"You think we'll see fighting?"
"I think we should be prepared for it." I paused, then added more casually, "How's that jutsu coming along?"
"Good enough to roast anyone who gets too close." A small, fierce smile played at her lips. "And my shuriken jutsu is even better."
Before either of us could say anything else, Tsunade emerged from her tent. She scanned the camp, spotted us by the fire, and made her way over. Up close, she looked tired but focused, her honey-colored eyes sharp despite the early hour.
"Coffee?" she asked, eyeing our cups.
I wordlessly poured her a third cup and handed it over. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, took a sip, then gave me a measured look.
"At least you're good for something in the morning," she said, but the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth took the sting out of her words.
"Someone's grumpy before their second cup," I replied with a lazy half-smile.
Tsunade threw back half the cup in one go, like it was sake instead of scalding coffee. "Both of you, help round up the civilians. We're moving out in thirty minutes."
"What about Sato?" I asked.
"Stable enough to travel. We'll put him in the back of the cart." She fixed me with a look. "I'll need you to check on him periodically. And keep working on what we started this morning. Sato might make a good practice subject for your training."
I nodded, suddenly serious. "Yes, sensei."
Tsunade drained her cup and handed it back to me. "Get moving," she said, then raised her voice to address the camp. "Alright everyone, up and at 'em! We've got ground to cover!"
Her voice carried across the camp, rousing the last few sleepers. Villagers began scrambling to pack up their meager belongings, stuffing gear into bags and dismantling shelters.
I caught Mikoto's eye as we stood up.
"Time to see if yesterday's dinner unity holds up on the road," I said, packing away my coffee supplies.
She nodded, tightening her weapon pouch. "Let's hope it does."
All around us, the camp burst into frantic activity. The farmers quickly rolled up their bedding, while the loggers dismantled the temporary shelters. Kaori and her group packed up the cooking equipment, carefully storing leftover stew in sealed containers. Tsume appeared from somewhere, hair wild and eyes still half-closed, grumbling about the early hour as Kuromaru bounced excitedly at her heels.
Two of the burlier men carried Sato on a makeshift stretcher, following Tsunade's precise instructions on how to handle him. The wounded chunin was awake but dazed, his face pale but his eyes tracking movement.
I slung my pack over my shoulder, gave my weapon pouches a final check, and spotted an elderly man struggling with his bags. Without thinking, I moved over and took the heavier one from his hands, nodding when he gave me a grateful look.
Within twenty-five minutes—five ahead of schedule—the entire camp had been packed. Blankets rolled. Gear secured. Stew sealed tight. All that remained was flattened grass and the ashen remnants of last night's fire.
As the caravan began to form up, I took my position near the rear, just behind the last wagon. From here, I could see the trail we'd leave behind, every footprint pressed into the damp earth.
And just like that, we were on the move again.
…
The shogi pieces caught the lamplight with a muted sheen, laid out in a formation as tangled as the thoughts clouding Shikaro Nara's mind. His study was silent, save for the soft click of wood on wood as he moved a piece, paused, then set it back with a sigh. This wasn't a match against anyone else. It was a game against himself—a reflection of the political mess he couldn't stop turning over in his head.
Three days had passed since the last council meeting, and sleep hadn't come easy. Something was off.
He picked up the king, letting it roll between his fingers. The board in front of him looked too orderly. Too smooth. Like a play unfolding along a script where every move had already been decided. All they were doing was acting out the parts.
"Too convenient," he murmured, setting the king back down.
The intelligence reports Danzo had provided were compelling on the surface. Reports of River Country reaching out to Iwa and Suna. Border patrol logs showing increased activity. Witness testimonies from wounded shinobi. But when examined closely, inconsistencies emerged like hairline fractures in porcelain.
The dates of certain communications didn't align. The patrol routes documented didn't match standard procedures. Small details that most would overlook, but to a Nara's eye, they formed a pattern.
A troubling pattern.
He'd tried raising these concerns subtly during the council session, but the momentum had already built too much force. The clan heads were unified in their desire for action, the elders were backing Danzo, and even Hiruzen had ultimately yielded.
Shikaro nudged a silver general forward, then back to its original spot. It was pointless to keep pushing now. The choice had been made. Troops were already on the move. Outposts were being fortified. Covert missions had been authorized.
"The rice has already become gruel," he muttered, an old saying his father had been fond of. Once things reached a certain point, you couldn't reverse the process.
Still, he wasn't ready to fold the board just yet.
Maybe he couldn't stop the pot from boiling over, but he could still figure out who had turned up the heat.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter," he called, not looking up from the board.
His wife slid the door open. "You have a visitor," she said quietly. "Masao is here."
Shikaro nodded. "Send him in."
Masao was a cousin, twice removed—a senior officer in Konoha's intelligence division with access to information flows that most jonin couldn't dream of seeing. More importantly, he was someone Shikaro trusted implicitly.
The man who entered was lean and sharp-featured, with the trademark Nara ponytail and calculating eyes. No pleasantries were exchanged—none were needed between them.
"You asked to see me, Elder," Masao said, shutting the door with a quiet click.
"I have a troublesome request," Shikaro replied, gesturing to the cushion across from him. "One that requires discretion."
Masao knelt, his gaze briefly taking in the shogi board before returning to Shikaro's face. "I assumed as much when I received your message."
Shikaro sighed, leaning back. "What do you know about the River Country situation?"
"Only what's been officially shared. River forces attacked our patrols. We're reinforcing positions and expanding surveillance."
"And does that strike you as strange? River Country attacking us?"
Masao's brow furrowed slightly. "They lack both the manpower and strategic incentive. Unless they've secured backing from a major village."
"Which is precisely what Danzo's intelligence suggests," Shikaro said, watching his cousin's reaction closely. "All very convenient."
A flicker of understanding passed through Masao's expression. "You think the intel's been fabricated."
"I suspect it warrants verification." Shikaro said, nudging a knight piece forward with a quiet tap. "Through sources outside the elders' reach."
The younger Nara's expression remained carefully neutral, but his fingers twitched slightly—a nervous habit Shikaro had noticed years ago. "That's... a significant accusation."
"Which is why I'm not making it publicly." Shikaro leaned forward. "I need you to track certain patterns. Resource allocations. ANBU deployments that don't appear in official records. Unusual money flows. Anything that doesn't follow standard protocol."
"You're asking me to investigate the elders."
"I'm asking you to follow the evidence, wherever it leads." Shikaro's voice remained level. "If everything is legitimate, no harm done. If not..." He let the implication hang.
Masao was silent for a long moment. "There are rumors," he finally said. "Nothing substantial. Whispers about intelligence reports that don't match field observations. Patrol logs that were filed days before the actual missions took place. Small discrepancies in timing and details."
"That's a start." Shikaro nodded. "I need more than whispers."
"This could be dangerous."
"More dangerous than walking into a war based on false intelligence?"
Masao didn't answer right away. He sat with the question, turning it over in his mind before giving a small nod. "I'll need help. People I can trust."
"Use only Nara. Three at most." Shikaro's expression hardened. "And keep this between us for now."
"And if we find evidence? What then?"
That was the question that had kept Shikaro awake all night. If some elders had indeed manipulated intelligence to push the village toward conflict, taking that evidence directly to Hiruzen might not suffice. The Hokage and the elders had too much history—too many years as both comrades and friends.
"One step at a time," Shikaro said at last. "Before we make a move, we need to understand exactly what we're dealing with."
Masao nodded, then rose to leave. "Understood. I'll begin tonight."
"Be careful," Shikaro warned. "If someone is orchestrating this from within, they won't appreciate interference."
Once the door closed behind Masao, Shikaro turned back to the shogi board. He shifted a few pieces, rearranging them into a new formation that better reflected the path ahead. The situation was delicate, but not beyond saving. Not yet.
He sincerely hoped they would find nothing—that his suspicions were merely the paranoia of an aging strategist. Because if he was right, if the threat to Konoha was coming from within rather than without, then the village faced a danger far greater than border skirmishes with River Country.
With a quiet sigh, he reached out and cleared the board, sweeping the pieces into their starting positions. His fingers moved automatically, laying out the new game.
Black and white. Opposing sides, poised to clash.
Just like the forces already stirring beyond Konoha's walls.
…
The caravan crawled through the valley like an old caterpillar—slow, sluggish, and stopping way too often. Every bump in the road or leftover puddle from yesterday's storm turned into a reason for someone to fiddle with their load or complain about a squeaky wheel. At this pace, we'd be lucky to reach the settlement before my hypothetical grandkids graduated the Academy.
I'd fallen into step near the back, keeping an eye on the wagon carrying Sato. He wasn't exactly thriving, but he wasn't dead either—which counted as a win in my book. The pale look had faded from his face, replaced by a mild flush of lingering fever. Not great, but better than before.
Speaking of our illustrious team leader, she appeared beside me shortly after our third rest stop of the morning, falling into step as if she'd been there the entire time.
"Bored yet?" she asked.
"Me? Bored? Nah. Just because we're moving slower than tectonic plates and I've memorized every pebble on this road? I'm having a blast."
She snorted. "Most genin would be thrilled with an easy escort mission."
"Most genin haven't spent three days listening to the same guy complain about his bunions every twenty minutes." I kicked a pebble, sending it bouncing ahead. "So, how much longer to this so-called settlement?"
"At this speed? Give or take two more days."
I groaned. "Kill me now."
"I've considered it," she said dryly. "But the paperwork would be a nightmare."
We walked in silence for a while, our footsteps crunching softly against the dirt, the steady creak of wagon wheels filling the quiet like background music. Ahead of us, Mikoto was helping an elderly woman over a particularly muddy stretch, while off to the side, Tsume and Kuromaru moved along the edges of the trail, scanning their surroundings as they went.
"So," I said finally, "this chakra resonance thing. What's it actually for?"
Tsunade glanced at me. "Meaning?"
"I get the whole 'match your chakra to mine' exercise, but what's the point? Besides the obvious joy of holding hands with my esteemed sensei, of course."
Her mouth twitched slightly. "It has many uses. But for you, it's primarily about developing sensitivity to foreign chakra fields—a crucial skill for any competent healer."
"How so?"
"When you can accurately sense another person's chakra network, you can detect injury points, chakra irregularities, blocked pathways." She held up her hand, examining her own fingers as she spoke. "With enough practice, you can diagnose an internal injury through chakra contact alone."
"Huh." I considered this. "So instead of poking around blindly, you're basically getting a chakra roadmap."
"Exactly. It's like having a diagnostic tool built into your hands." She lowered her arm. "Which is why you'll be practicing it for the rest of the day."
My mood immediately brightened. "More hand-holding? You spoil me, sensei."
"With Sato," she clarified, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Consider it live training."
My face scrunched up in disgust. "Wait, I have to hold hands with... guys?" I shuddered dramatically. "Maybe learning medical ninjutsu wasn't such a brilliant idea after all."
"You'll survive," she said dryly.
I was about to make another crack at her when I noticed her posture shift. It was subtle—just a slight stiffening of her shoulders before she slowly relaxed them.
My hand crept toward my weapon pouch without thinking.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
She said calmly, "We have company."
I tried to reach out with my senses, but whatever she'd detected was beyond my range.
The civilians kept moving, heads down, too caught up in the slow march to notice anything out of place. Mikoto, however, had noticed our alertness. She caught my eye, hand hovering near her kunai pouch. I gave a tiny head shake. Wait.
Then, in a blink, six figures appeared around the caravan. They moved fast, too fast for the civilians to track—just brief blurs before solidifying into shinobi, spaced in a loose circle around us.
Gasps broke out. A few of the villagers huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling.
I let out a breath when I spotted the headbands. The symbol was familiar.
Konoha shinobi.
The leader stepped forward—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar that curved from his temple to his chin. His vest marked him as a jonin.
"Tsunade-sama," he said with a nod. "I am Hideki, captain of Jonin Squad Eight. We've been sent to escort you the rest of the way."
Tsunade nodded slowly. "I was wondering when backup would arrive. The situation must be deteriorating faster than anticipated."
"Direct orders from the Hokage, ma'am. Given recent developments at the border."
"I see. And what exactly are these 'developments'?"
Hideki's eyes flicked briefly to the civilians, then back to Tsunade. "Perhaps we could discuss the details privately?"
"Of course." Tsunade turned to me. "Shinji, ensure the caravan continues moving. And check on Sato."
"You got it, boss." I gave her a lazy salute that I knew would annoy her.
As Tsunade and Hideki moved away for their private chat, I wandered back toward Sato's wagon, trying to look casual while scanning our new escorts. They'd taken up positions around the caravan—two at the front, two at the back, and one on each side. Standard protection formation.
Professional, experienced, and very alert.
Mikoto fell into step beside me. "Reinforcements?" she asked quietly.
"Looks like it."
"You seem concerned."
I gave a small shrug. "Surprise backup usually means things are going downhill."
"But they're here to help," she pointed out.
"That's what makes it concerning," I murmured. "When Konoha sends a jonin squad to escort civilians, it means whatever's happening at the border is serious enough to justify the expense."
We reached Sato's wagon. The wounded chunin was awake, propped against some blankets with a water canteen within reach. His eyes were clearer today, though pain lines still etched his face.
"How's our star patient?" I asked, hopping up onto the wagon bed.
"Alive," he said, voice hoarse. "Thanks to your sensei."
I crouched beside him, keeping my tone casual. "Think you're up for a bit more poking and prodding? Sensei says I need the practice."
He eyed me warily. "What kind of practice?"
"Nothing invasive. Just want to check how your chakra's flowing. Diagnostic stuff." I held out my hand. "May I?"
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.
I placed my hand on his forearm, concentrating on the chakra resonance Tsunade had taught me. It was harder than it had been with her—his chakra flow was erratic, disrupted by injury and exhaustion. But I could feel it, pulses of energy moving through his network, some areas bright and active, others sluggish.
"Your left side is still struggling," I said, eyes closed in concentration. "Feels like there's congestion near your third rib."
He shifted slightly, wincing. "Yeah, that's where it hurts the most."
"The chakra flow is disrupted there. Probably from internal bruising." I opened my eyes. "Healing up nicely though. Should be much better in a few days."
"Good to hear." He settled back against the blankets. "How long have you been studying medical ninjutsu?"
"Just started, actually. Tsunade-sensei thinks I have the control for it."
"You're lucky. Not many shinobi get trained by Konoha's best medical specialist."
I nodded, then decided to satisfy my curiosity. "So those River ninja—was it really as sudden as you told Tsunade?"
His expression darkened. "Completely out of nowhere. We'd been patrolling that route for weeks without incident. River Country forces usually avoid that area entirely."
"Weird timing then."
"Very weird," he agreed, though his tone suggested he didn't have any theories about why.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Tsunade and Hideki making their way back. Whatever they'd discussed, their faces didn't show a hint of it.
"We'll reach the settlement by tomorrow evening," Hideki announced to the group. "My team will ensure your safe passage until then."
The civilians visibly relaxed, murmurs of relief spreading through the group. Having six more shinobi had boosted their confidence.
Tsunade approached the wagon as I finished with Sato. "How is he?"
"Stable," I said, knowing she'd understand the double meaning. "No surprises in his condition."
She nodded. "Good. Looks like you've been practicing."
"It's trickier with actual injuries," I admitted. "His network's a mess around the trauma sites."
"That's normal. With practice, you'll learn to distinguish between different types of trauma." She glanced at Sato. "Get some rest. We still have a long journey ahead."
As she turned to leave, I followed. "So, our new friends...?"
"Confirmed what I suspected," she said, voice low. "The Hokage's authorized increased patrols, establishment of buffer zones, and reinforcement of border outposts. They're converting that border settlement into defensive base."
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the one we're headed to?"
She glanced at me. "Among other things. For now, we stick to the plan. But stay alert."
"When am I not alert?" I asked with a grin.
"Do you want that list alphabetically or by date?"
Before I could argue in defense of my spotless record, she was already striding ahead, heading toward the front of the caravan where the new squad had taken position.
I lingered by Sato's wagon, watching as our expanded group continued its slow trek through the valley. The jonin squad had integrated seamlessly into our formation, professional and vigilant.
Mikoto reappeared at my side. "What did Tsunade-sensei say?"
"Konoha's militarizing the border. Converting our settlement into defensive outpost."
She frowned. "That sounds serious."
"Very." I watched as Hideki scanned our surroundings. "When they start building military installations, it usually means they're expecting a war."
"And we're caught in the middle of it," she said quietly.
"Looks that way." I bumped her shoulder with mine. "But hey, at least we've got front-row seats to history in the making."
She gave me a look. "Your optimism is disturbing sometimes."
"Hey, someone has to stay positive around here."
The conversation faded as we walked. Overhead, the sun climbed higher, burning through the last traces of mist. The valley opened up ahead, quiet and calm beneath the blue sky.
At least, for now.
...
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