The four of them gathered in front of the Mission Hall, and Sora's career as a ninja officially began.
Mission distribution was handled by a dedicated office under the direct authority of the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen himself.
It was also, on paper, the single greatest power the Hokage held. Assign an A-rank mission as a C-rank, and you could eliminate anyone you didn't want breathing. Clean, legal, effortless. No one was so tough that a suicide mission couldn't solve the problem. And if they were, well, send them on two.
Need to promote someone? Assign a C-rank mission as an A-rank. Instant career boost for whoever the Hokage favored.
Of course, a responsible Hokage also had to consider fairness and balance. In theory.
The Hokage. How many people chased that dream and never caught it? The visible requirements alone were staggering: be among Konoha's strongest, maintain the widest social network imaginable, build genuine popular support, and earn the approval of the previous generation's power holders.
Every single condition was brutal. Konoha's strongest were always darlings of fate, every last one a household name. Networking relentlessly was hard enough; winning those people's loyalty was harder. Nobody bowed their head willingly. And gaining the approval of the existing power structure meant committing, openly and clearly, to representing their interests.
Sora figured Teju had better odds of becoming Hokage than he did. One in ten million versus two in ten million.
The Mission Hall itself wasn't where missions were actually assigned. It was the processing center, where paperwork got filed. The place was staffed to the brim, clerks bustling everywhere.
A Mission Hall posting was the dream job for anyone with connections. Stable work, a proper rotation schedule, one day on, one day off. Behind every counter sat some young scion of the Sarutobi, Nara, or Hyuga clans.
The most striking difference between the front and back of the counters: the people in front, the ones picking up missions, were lean. The staff behind them were not. Ignore the clan crests on their sleeves and you'd think you'd wandered into Akimichi territory.
Teju figured out the application forms in minutes and picked up the right tone for dealing with the clerks even faster. It was clear who'd be handling this part of the job for their squad going forward.
Their first mission: resupply a guard post on Konoha's outer wall. A straightforward D-rank.
Each of the three genin strapped a large crate to their back and carried two smaller ones by hand. The crates were sealed, not to be opened. Deliver to the wall. That was it.
Up on the wall, Sora waited for the guards to inventory and log the supplies. He turned and looked out over the village, trying to spot his house. The Sarutobi clan compound was easy to pick out, and from there he traced the direction to his own home, diagonally in front of it. Too far to see anything useful. He wondered if he should get himself a telescope, or maybe develop some kind of long-range reconnaissance technique.
The mission wrapped up before noon. Yoshimaru set a time to meet the following day, mentioned he had assignments of his own, and dismissed them.
Each genin received a single 500-ryo note. They agreed to regroup that afternoon, then went their separate ways.
Kurenai headed home. Sora and Teju headed for the commercial district.
Sora was ready to spend. Time to let the marketplace tremble before a man of means.
He was thrilled. He'd earned money. Real money. He'd buy a telescope. A nice pair of shoes for his father. A scarf for his mother. Perfect.
Riding that high, his first stop was a real estate office.
Nobody inside gave him a second look.
Poverty is partly written in your clothes, but mostly in the way you carry yourself. Fidgety and uncertain? Not a buyer.
Sora fingered the 500 ryo in his pocket. Five minutes ago he'd been ready to purchase all of Konoha. Now, ignored by every agent in the room, he drifted awkwardly between the listings on the walls.
A decent apartment: 2,000,000 ryo.
Quick math. At 500 ryo per D-rank, he only needed 4,000 missions. Konoha genin averaged one D-rank every two days. So if he stopped eating and drinking entirely, he could afford an apartment in a breezy twenty-two years.
Senju Tobirama, you magnificent bastard. You built this whole system to bleed us dry, didn't you? Sucked the marrow right out of our bones.
This was going to be hard.
Teju was waiting outside, looking at him the way you'd look at someone who just tried to buy a car with pocket change. "Sora, I thought you were joking before about buying a place. You were serious? Do you understand how funny that is now? Are you laughing?"
"Piss off."
Sora checked the shoe shops. A decent pair: 1,500 ryo. Never mind.
He checked telescopes. 1,200 ryo. Never mind.
He checked scarves. 300 ryo. He slapped the money down and walked out with it.
"Sora, did you see the old lady at the scarf stall freeze for a second?" Teju was still giving him that look. "You didn't even haggle?"
"Piss off."
In the end, Teju treated him to a bowl of noodles. Sixty ryo each. A mercy meal to comfort the wounded.
From the noodle stand, Sora went straight to the bank. He wanted to deposit his remaining 200 ryo. Opening an account cost 100.
He set up a six-digit password.
A six-digit password. Guarding 100 ryo.
Teju decided the noodles had been a waste of charity. The man was hopeless. A hundred ryo and he needed a bank account? Why not buy a safe while he was at it?
The bank was an enterprise of the Fire Country's Daimyo. The Daimyo controlled land, which meant he controlled food. He controlled the banks, which meant he controlled the nation's finances. Military force was contracted out to Konoha. That arrangement formed the balance of power between the Daimyo and the village.
That afternoon, the three genin reconvened at the Mission Hall entrance. They studied the D-rank listings posted inside, picking targets for the days ahead. Tomorrow they'd present their choices to Akimichi-sensei. If he approved, they were good to go.
While they were browsing, other freshly graduated squads filtered through to turn in their own missions. Sarutobi Asuma spotted Sora's team chatting and laughing by the board.
Asuma's instincts, sharp even at his age, zeroed in on the way Teju was looking at Kurenai. His brow furrowed.
Sora tensed. You didn't grasp the full weight of the Sarutobi name until you lived in Konoha. And now Sarutobi Asuma was staring at their group with open displeasure. What do I do? We're ten. This is playground drama. I haven't even figured out how to handle it, and we're already about to have a confrontation?
He hadn't expected this strong a reaction.
Asuma walked over, but he went to Kurenai. Asked how her first mission had gone. They'd been top students together, always seated in the front row. They got along well.
Teju was no fool beneath the clowning. He could see it too. The way Asuma talked to Kurenai wasn't how he talked to other classmates.
Asuma asked Kurenai if she wanted to go walk around the shops. She declined, said she had things to do.
He nodded, exchanged polite greetings with Sora and Teju, and left with his own squad.
Sora's unease lingered. Teju was small, powerless, a nobody. Sarutobi Asuma carried the weight of Konoha's ruling clan behind him. One careless move from the young heir and Teju could get crushed without anyone noticing.
Sora went home. He gave his mother the scarf. She pushed it back, told him no, no, she didn't need anything, he shouldn't waste money on useless things. After dinner, she put the scarf on and went next door to show the neighbors.
His father was back at the mines. Just as well. Sora didn't have a gift for him anyway. A poor family's life, full of small concessions that never stopped adding up.