Chapter 1: The Cannon Fodder SquadKonoha, Year 38.
The Second Great Shinobi War had already raged for over a year.
On the battlefields of the Land of Rain, Konoha, Sand, and Rain ninja were locked in a meat grinder of a conflict. Even the academy students, forced into early graduation, had seen their ranks replaced several times over.
In contrast, the front in the Land of Rivers had fallen into a tense stalemate.
Though Konoha and the Sand had reinforced their positions and skirmishes erupted daily, claiming lives on both sides, neither had committed to a full-scale legion-on-legion war. They remained checked, using the Shinano River in the western part of the country as a natural border.
A vast, three-tiered defensive line, built by Konoha and stretching for hundreds of miles along the river, stood as a bulwark against any elite Sand ninja attempting to infiltrate. Sentinel patrols were scattered densely around the garrisons of both armies.
The Umino Patrol Squad was just one of these common, cannon fodder sentinel teams stationed outside the main defensive line.
Their true purpose wasn't to stop an elite Suna team—that would be impossible, they'd collapse at the first touch. Their purpose was to send up a flare, to serve as an early warning system. It was an effective, albeit suicidal, role. Whether you lived or died depended entirely on which patrol zone the enemy chose to break through.
Better them than me, Sasuke Umino thought grimly as he stirred the pot of fish soup. The Tieling Squad's zone downstream was good terrain for a breakthrough. The Qingye Squad's zone upstream had a wide field of vision, but a night raid could easily slip past them.
This sentinel mission, while perilous, was a good assignment for a cannon fodder squad like his. In the midst of a world war, where wasn't it dangerous? Compared to the assault missions, this was practically a vacation. He knew he only had this cushy job because of a "friendly exchange" with the Head of Logistics, a Nara.
As long as they survived their ten-day cycle without incident, it counted as a completed C-rank mission. That was far better than the assault teams. Those poor souls, running on nothing but military ration pills, would risk their lives only for their mission merits to be divided up by their superiors, leaving them with the equivalent of a C-rank reward.
Here, at least, they weren't forced to die on an empty stomach. And if an elite Suna team did choose their zone, they might even die with a full belly.
"Captain," one of his subordinates, a young Inuzuka named Ryo, asked nervously, "are you sure it's okay for us to be making soup and beggar's fish every day? If the mobile patrol team finds out..."
Sasuke cut him off. "And what if they do? We'll just make a few extra servings and share the meal. If they know there's free food to be had, they'll be quicker to support us if something actually happens in our zone."
He didn't give a damn about the so-called battlefield discipline regarding cooking. The aroma was what mattered. He expertly skimmed a spoonful of the milky-white broth, blew on it, and took a sip. The fresh, fragrant taste exploded on his tongue.
So comforting.
The ninja world, nourished by natural energy, produced ingredients with an enhanced, otherworldly flavor. He ladled a bowl and handed it to his subordinate.
"Ryo," Sasuke said, his tone serious, "if you still want to become a jōnin in the future, listen to your senior and eat fewer of those military ration pills." He looked at the naive boy. "Those things... you're better off trading them for a single exploding tag."
Ryo was about to protest, but his gaze fell upon the thick, fragrant soup in his hand.
Gulp.
His mouth watered. How could battlefield discipline compare to this? He filled another bowl and placed it before his ninja hound, Akimaru, who began to wag his tail and bark excitedly. Seeing his partner so happy, Ryo's resolve crumbled.
"Thank you, Captain!" he said, maintaining the last vestiges of his clan's etiquette before taking a small, gentle sip.
"Hmm~."
His eyes lit up. The flavor was so delicious it almost blew his mind. All thoughts of clan etiquette vanished as he began to drink it down greedily.
Sasuke smiled. Ninjas should be the ones to break the rules. Even the great Jiraiya had taught that.
Seeing the stubborn Ryo finally give in, the other two members of his squad, Tekudō and Chōmi, eagerly filled their own bowls. Eating real food instead of ration pills wasn't just for comfort; it was a strategy. A ten-day patrol cycle could save them 40 ration pills—enough to trade for another exploding tag. On the front lines, an extra exploding tag was an extra life.
But there was another, more important reason he insisted they eat real food. This was a lesson he had learned through blood and tears. The ration pills were a double-edged sword. They could rapidly boost a ninja's strength by tapping into their potential, helping a genin survive their most difficult period. But consumed long-term, they slowly eroded that same potential, stunting a ninja's growth.
It was a choice between the future and the present. For most cannon fodder, there was no choice. They needed that short-term boost just to survive long enough to become a chūnin.
The good news for Sasuke was that his transmigrated self had landed in the body of a high-ranking chūnin, a veteran backbone of Konoha, who had already exhausted his potential.
The bad news was that he was on the front lines of the Second Great Shinobi War, just trying to survive until the end.