War did not just rage at the borders.
It seeped inward.
Like damp rot inside wood.
Konoha still stood tall. The gates still opened at sunrise. The academy still rang with children's voices.
But something subtle had shifted.
Mission boards filled faster than they emptied.
Funeral smoke rose more often than cooking smoke.
And shinobi who returned from the front carried silence with them.
During the Second Shinobi World War, strength was no longer optional.
It was currency.
And Izumi had decided she would not be poor.
Three days after the forest incident, she walked through the civilian district at dusk.
Not in Uchiha attire.
No clan crest.
No red-and-white fan.
Just neutral fabric and controlled chakra flow.
The Uchiha compound stood slightly removed from the heart of Konoha — structured, disciplined, proud.
But the real pulse of the village lay elsewhere.
In places without symbols.
Without honor.
Without history.
She moved past market stalls closing early. Merchants whispered about ration reductions. A weapons vendor complained that steel shipments from allied territories were delayed.
War strained everything.
Strained systems broke.
Broken systems created gaps.
She intended to live in those gaps.
There was a street behind a tea shop most civilians avoided.
Not because it was dangerous.
Because it felt unnecessary.
The lights were dimmer. The walls older. The buildings leaned inward like conspirators.
Izumi stopped at a wooden side door.
Two knocks.
Pause.
One knock.
Silence.
Then a sliding peephole opened.
A single eye examined her.
"You're early," a voice muttered.
"I wasn't given a time."
The door opened halfway.
The man inside wore no forehead protector. His posture suggested former shinobi. His hands were scarred.
He stepped aside.
"Don't cause trouble."
"I don't intend to."
She stepped inside.
The room wasn't chaotic like she had imagined.
It was organized.
Carefully.
Scroll racks labeled in coded markings. Maps pinned to walls. Weapon crates stacked by type. Small tables where quiet negotiations occurred in low voices.
No loud criminals.
No dramatic villains.
Just people who understood supply and demand.
War inflated both.
A black-market node inside Konoha.
Unofficial.
Unacknowledged.
But tolerated.
Because even villages needed unofficial arteries during war.
Izumi walked slowly, pretending to browse.
In truth, she was studying behavior.
Who watched the door too closely.
Who kept their back to the wall.
Who hid injury.
Who carried confidence.
At the far end of the room sat a shinobi with a scratched forehead protector — not fully destroyed, but marked enough to signal exile.
Missing-nin.
Lower rank.
Probably abandoned during retreat.
He was drinking weak tea with steady hands that didn't quite stop shaking.
She approached without hurry.
"You're from the River border," she said quietly.
His eyes sharpened.
"And you're either observant or stupid."
She didn't respond to the insult.
"The soil on your boots contains iron-heavy sediment. River Country terrain."
He studied her.
"You're young."
"You're tired."
That made him smirk.
"Everyone's tired."
She took the seat across from him.
"I want information."
"Information costs more than weapons."
"I'm not buying weapons."
That interested him.
"What kind of information?"
"Deployment patterns. Casualty misreporting. Patrol inconsistencies."
He stared longer now.
"You planning something?"
"I'm planning to survive."
That answer satisfied him.
Because it wasn't patriotic.
And it wasn't idealistic.
It was honest.
He leaned back.
"River front is unstable. Reinforcements under-supplied. Squads sent in four-man teams without jonin oversight. Sometimes without proper sensors."
He tapped the table.
"Bodies burn quickly in that humidity. Records don't always match."
Meaning:
Disappearances could be absorbed by war.
She absorbed every word.
"ANBU presence?"
"Minimal. Too stretched."
"Medical evacuation?"
"Delayed."
Perfect.
High chaos.
Low supervision.
High fatality.
She stood.
"Thank you."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You haven't paid."
She placed money on the table.
More than required.
He looked surprised.
"You're not normal."
"No," she agreed softly.
And left.
Outside, night had fallen fully.
Above the rooftops, masked silhouettes moved between shadows.
ANBU.
Village-wide surveillance had increased since the unexplained forest disturbance.
Orders had come directly from Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Not targeting anyone specific.
Watching everything.
War required vigilance.
Izumi lowered her chakra signature instinctively as one passed overhead.
She did not resent the system.
She simply intended to move where it could not see.
Back at the Uchiha compound, tension simmered quietly.
Lantern light spilled from a meeting hall where elders debated.
Recognition.
Sacrifice.
Political positioning.
Some argued that Uchiha contributions at the front should earn greater authority within Konoha's military chain.
Others warned against appearing power-hungry during wartime.
Pride warred with caution.
Izumi walked past without stopping.
Clan politics were loud.
But loud things drew attention.
She preferred silence.
Inside her home, she spread a map across the floor.
River border.
Supply routes.
Mission checkpoints.
Distance calculations.
She didn't seek glory.
She sought efficiency.
Her ability required proximity.
Contact.
Struggle.
The closer to death someone stood…
The stronger the transfer.
War created those moments repeatedly.
But she could not appear reckless.
Recklessness invited scrutiny.
Instead, she would choose missions with:
Moderate risk.
Small teams.
Limited witnesses.
Unstable terrain.
River Country satisfied all conditions.
Three days later, mission postings updated at dawn.
Reinforcement squad.
River border investigation.
Four-man team.
Chunin leader.
No jonin supervision.
She stepped forward calmly.
"I volunteer."
The clerk barely looked up.
War needed volunteers.
Names were written quickly these days.
Behind her, two other shinobi signed up without enthusiasm.
They thought it was duty.
She thought it was opportunity.
That night, as she lay awake, she did not feel guilt.
Not yet.
Only calculation.
This would be the first time she chose the outcome.
Not survival.
Not accident.
Deliberate growth.
Outside the system.
Outside loyalty.
In darkness.
End of Chapter 7.