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During the three years ,he performed many missions with temporary teams, along with his training and experiments.
Three years of solitude, training, sealing, and endless experiments.
And yet, to the village, he was nothing more than another freshly graduated genin, assigned dull missions and temporary squads.
That was the mask he wore.
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First Year – The Dull Grind
When the sun rose over Konoha, Kirito walked the streets like any other boy. His forehead protector was tied loosely, his posture unremarkable. He gave off the aura of someone still learning, still weak.
That was exactly what he wanted.
Most of his days, he was paired with temporary teams. Chūnin commanders rotated squads frequently to test cooperation, but it made it easy for him to remain unnoticed. Nobody grew close, nobody saw patterns.
His missions were typical C-rank drudgery:
Escorting merchants to nearby towns.
Hunting down rogue bandits who preyed on trade routes.
Guard duty for caravans.
Retrieving stolen livestock from forests.
On paper, it was service to the village. In truth, for him, it was practice in restraint.
When a bandit charged with a blade, he could have ended it in an instant—with chakra-enhanced reflexes, a sealing tag to immobilize, or even a simple burst of compressed chakra that would shatter the man's bones.
Instead, he tripped the attacker with a clumsy sidestep and delivered a weak punch, just enough to knock the breath out of him.
When wild wolves cornered the squad in a forest clearing, his hand twitched toward the seals hidden on his wrist. But he forced himself to stop, fumbling through a basic Katon: Fireball Jutsu, letting it flare just large enough to scatter them. The squad thought he was nervous, his chakra control poor.
He kept his breathing ragged, his movements hesitant. He played the role perfectly.
The truth was, every "mistake" was deliberate. Every miss, every weak jutsu, every moment he appeared tired—it was all part of the mask.
And no one suspected a thing.
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Second Year – The Subtle Tests
By his second year, whispers of his reliability began to circulate. Not his strength—no, nobody saw him as strong. But he was quiet, disciplined, and he never abandoned teammates.
That reputation made him a good filler for squads short on manpower.
During one mission, he was assigned to escort a wealthy merchant to the Land of Tea. The group was attacked by a small bandit gang halfway through the journey.
The chūnin leader barked orders: "Genin, hold the line! Keep the clients safe!"
Kirito obeyed, drawing a kunai, feigning nervousness. Two bandits rushed him, swords glinting.
He stumbled back deliberately, parried weakly, then barely dodged their strikes. To the squad, it looked like he was fighting for his life. In truth, he was measuring them—tracking every breath, every twitch of muscle, his sealing senses picking up their chakra signatures.
At the last moment, when one bandit lunged too far, Kirito twisted just enough to shove him into the dirt. A kunai to the back of the neck finished it quickly, efficiently, but still at a level any desperate genin might pull off.
The squad thought it luck. The chūnin thought it desperation.
But Kirito walked away calm, his mind cataloguing every angle of the fight.
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Nights of Secrecy
While days were spent on missions, nights were his own.
Once back in Konoha, he returned to the cavern hidden beneath the forests outside the Uchiha ruins. His clones filled the space, each working endlessly:
One training in chakra control and healing jutsus
Two practicing sword forms, perfecting speed and precision.
Three experimenting with sealing arrays, creating new defensive seals and testing barrier formations.
Four mastering elemental rasengan infusions.
The rest gathering intelligence, mapping ANBU patrols, or building new safehouses.
When he dispelled them, the flood of memories hit like a wave—hours of work condensed into seconds.
And so the days blurred. By sunlight, he was a dull genin. By moonlight, he was a hidden master growing stronger every second.
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Third Year – The Facade Tightens
By the third year, Kirito's control of his chakra core was absolute. His seals regulated flow so perfectly that he could suppress his presence to nearly nothing. Even sensory-type shinobi had difficulty detecting him unless he allowed it.
That skill alone made his mask flawless.
On missions, he lowered his chakra signature to appear barely above mid genin level. His strikes landed like a genin who has some experience , his jutsu were more refined now than a genin.
The squads saw him as a dependable teammate.Who was as strong as a genin could.
Exactly as he intended.
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The Forest Ambush
The most dangerous mission of those years came near the end of the third.
He was assigned to a temporary squad of three genin under a strict chūnin commander, tasked with clearing out a bandit stronghold deep in the Land of Rivers.
The ambush came at night.
Dozens of bandits—far more than expected—rushed their camp, armed with blades and crude jutsu stolen from missing-nin. The squad panicked, the chūnin barking frantic orders.
Kirito sat still for a heartbeat, calculating.
He could have ended it with a single advanced seal, trapping them all in paralysis. He could have unleashed a storm of elemental rasengan. He could have slaughtered every enemy in seconds.
But that would shatter the mask.
So instead, he fought like a cornered genin. His movements were good ,his fireballs small but perfectly landed on target, his kunai strikes adequate. He took cuts deliberately, letting his blood soak his clothes to appear overwhelmed.
But every strike landed exactly where he wanted. A bandit's hand slipped from his sword hilt. Another tripped into his comrade's strike. Every accident was guided by Kirito's precision.
By the end of the night, the squad was battered, the chūnin injured—but alive. Half the bandits fled, the rest lay unconscious or dead.
No one suspected the truth—that it was Kirito's invisible hand that orchestrated survival.
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The Reflection
After returning to Konoha, he sat in his cavern, his hand resting lightly on the pulsing core in his abdomen.
Three years of shadows. Three years of hiding.
His body was stronger than ever—physique honed by chakra reinforcement, stamina fed by the eternal core. His mind sharper, his fuinjutsu mastery rivaling even the Uzumaki of old.
And yet, the village saw him as a mediocre genin.
A smile tugged at his lips. That was his greatest weapon.
Let them underestimate him.
Let them see only the mask.
Because when the time came to reveal the truth, the world would be unprepared
...