The problem with surviving quietly was that, eventually, someone noticed the quiet.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it was reliable.
---
Team Nineteen became routine.
We took missions no one argued over. Finished them on time. Filed reports that were clean, readable, and blissfully uninteresting.
No heroics. No disasters.
In Konoha, that made us useful in a very specific way.
---
Our mission requests stopped being random.
Still D-ranks.
But the same administrators started assigning them. The same signatures appeared at the bottom of the scrolls. The routes overlapped.
Patterns formed.
Patterns were dangerous.
---
Morita-sensei noticed before I did.
"They're testing predictability," he said one morning, adjusting his flak jacket. "Not strength."
"Why?" Riku asked.
Morita-sensei shrugged. "Because predictable teams can be planned around."
I didn't like the sound of that.
---
The missions themselves stayed dull.
Escort. Patrol. Inventory check on a supply depot that smelled faintly of blood despite having no reason to.
I noted it.
I didn't write it down.
---
Hana grew sharper.
Not stronger—sharper.
She started walking half a step ahead without being told. She began stopping us for reasons she couldn't always explain.
"It feels wrong," she'd say.
Morita-sensei listened.
That was leadership.
---
Riku improved too.
Not in combat.
In preparation.
He double-checked gear. Counted rations. Asked boring questions that prevented interesting deaths.
I approved silently.
---
We were sent on our first C-rank at the end of the season.
Border patrol.
Light resistance possible.
Morita-sensei read the scroll twice.
Then a third time.
"We don't engage," he said. "We observe, we confirm, we withdraw."
No one argued.
That worried me more than arguing would have.
---
The border was quiet.
Too quiet.
No animals. No wind.
Hana signaled to stop.
We did.
Nothing happened.
Minutes passed.
Then we left.
---
The report was short.
No contact. Area clear.
It was a lie.
Not because we'd seen anything.
Because we hadn't.
---
Back in Konoha, the mission was marked satisfactory.
No follow-up.
No questions.
I felt cold.
---
Mika came by that night.
She didn't smile.
"We got an influx," she said. "Border cases."
"From where?" I asked.
She named the same region.
I nodded.
We drank tea that tasted like nothing.
---
"You didn't see anything," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"No," I replied.
That was also not a lie.
---
After she left, I reviewed the report again.
I thought about adding a sentence.
I didn't.
---
The next week, our mission assignments didn't change.
Same routes. Same expectations.
Routine held.
For now.
---
Morita-sensei stopped me after training.
"You're careful," he said. "That's good."
Pause.
"Just remember—careful people still choose. They just choose quietly."
I nodded.
I understood.
---
That night, I added another rule.
Rule Six: If you are predictable, someone else is planning ahead of you.
I lay awake listening to the village.
Somewhere beyond the walls, plans were unfolding.
I wasn't part of them.
That was the danger.