Chapter 4: The King of Bad Reputations
I didn't get a "yes" from the Kazekage, but in this village, not getting a "no" was basically a victory.
The Fourth Kazekage, Rasa, was a man who calculated human lives like he calculated the price of gold dust. As long as I remained a "useful distraction" on his ledger, I had a chance.
Just don't become an 'expendable asset' before the month is out, I told myself, kicking a loose stone down the sun-bleached street.
The problem with being a "dead" ninja who suddenly decided to stop being dead was the paperwork. My old team was full. My old life was archived. I was a ghost in a flak jacket.
"Who are they going to pair me with?" I muttered. "If it's two more idiots, the Chunin Exams are going to be a suicide mission."
I wasn't picky about the Jonin leader. In the Sand, you either had a Bloodline Limit or you were a puppet master. Everyone else was just trying not to choke on the dust. No teacher could give me a power-up in three weeks that sixteen years of training hadn't already provided.
Lost in thought, my feet took me to a familiar sight: a two-story mud-brick house that smelled of lye and steam.
Home.
The first floor was the family laundry shop. In a desert where water was more precious than blood, private washing was a luxury. Centralized laundry shops like ours were the backbone of the village's working class. It was how my mother, Goyō, kept the lights on while I was out playing soldier.
I pushed open the creaking gate. The hall was draped in heavy, damp linens.
"Welcome— Oh! Daimaru?"
My mother froze, a wet tunic in her hands. Her face, weathered by the desert wind but still kind, lit up with a mixture of relief and exasperation.
"I'm back, Mom. Just stopped by between... uh, non-existent missions."
"Perfect timing. Go see your grandfather. He was just asking about you."
I winced. "Grandpa? He usually just asks why I haven't been killed yet so he can stop worrying about the funeral costs."
"He's old, Daimaru. His temper is as dry as the dunes. Just bear with him."
"Got it, got it..." I waved a hand dismissively, though my heart wasn't in the sarcasm.
"Daimaru? You're actually out of the hospital?"
I turned. Two girls were standing by the rinsing vats.
The tall one was Chiyo—not the legendary puppet master, just a girl I'd grown up with. She had her brown hair tied in a practical ponytail, her forehead protector partially hidden by her bangs. She looked like a typical Sand kunoichi: mesh armor, red dress, and a look of permanent skepticism.
Next to her was Yome. She was so tiny that if she weren't wearing a headband, you'd think she was a civilian child.
"That voice... Chiyo. It's been a while," I said, leaning against a doorframe. "And Yome? Sorry, didn't see you down there. You're getting shorter, aren't you?"
Yome's face turned the color of a sunset. She puffed out her cheeks, her twin pigtails quivering with rage. "I'm not short! And I'm a ninja now, you jerk! Stop bullying me!"
Chiyo smirked, crossing her arms. "Still the same mean-spirited brat, I see. You know, Yome actually cried when the news came that you died in the line of duty. Your teasing is a poor way to repay her tears."
I paused, looking at the little one. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll bully you ten percent less from now on, Little Sister Yome."
"Don't call me Little Sister!"
I turned my grin to Chiyo. "And what about you? Did you cry? Or did you throw a party?"
"Neither," Chiyo said flatly. "And for the record, Temari didn't cry either. She just seemed disappointed that the village lost its favorite idiot. She said things would be much quieter now."
Ouch. Right in the pride.
"The 'idiot' part was unnecessary," I muttered.
"I heard about your 'confession' yesterday," Chiyo continued, her eyes dancing with mischief. "The whole village is talking about it. 'Please have my baby'? Really, Daimaru? Even for you, that's a new low."
"I was nervous! It was a slip of the tongue!"
Internal Monologue: It was a total system crash. My brain went 404 Not Found.
"Is that why she sent you through a wall?" Yome piped up, her anger replaced by curiosity. "Are you going to give up now?"
"Give up?" I straightened my posture, pointing a thumb at my chest. "Sincerity moves mountains, Yome. Temari is just... playing hard to get. With a giant metal fan. She'll come around."
Chiyo sighed, picking up a basket of clean laundry. "You're delusional. But I guess that's what kept you alive in the quicksand. Good luck, 'Hero.' You're going to need it."
As they left, the playful atmosphere vanished. My mother stepped closer, her eyes searching mine.
"Daimaru... is it really okay?"
"What, Mom?"
"The Princess," she whispered. "Temari. We are ordinary people. The Kazekage's lineage... it's not for us. I don't want to see you get hurt. Not by a fan, but by the village."
I looked at her tired hands, stained by years of soap and hard work. She was right. In the world of Shinobi, social status was supposed to be irrelevant, but the Kazekage's children were royalty. I was the son of a laundress.
"I have a sense of proportion, Mom," I said softly. "Don't worry. I'm going upstairs."
I climbed the stairs, the wood groaning under my sandals. I checked on my grandfather, Washu. He was snoring, a thin, frail man who looked nothing like the fierce ninja he used to be. I didn't wake him. I didn't want to hear his lecture about how "in his day," they didn't survive quicksand; they just died with dignity.
I retreated to my old bedroom. It was small, clean, and smelled of home.
I stripped off my vest and looked in the mirror.
Short brown hair. Tanned, bronze skin. A face that wasn't exactly 'pretty boy' material, but had a rugged, energetic edge to it. I looked like a typical sixteen-year-old athlete—if that athlete spent his weekends dodging poisoned needles.
"Not bad," I whispered, flexing an arm. "I'm healthy, I'm alive, and I'm growing. If I can just survive the next three months, maybe I'll actually have a shot."
I sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the house pressing in on me.
System... I thought. Show me the status.
The blue screen flickered into life.
[User: Daimaru]
[Current Path: The Misfit's Gambit]
[Warning: New Team Assignment finalized.]
[Teammate 1: The Cursed Sealer]
[Teammate 2: The Sightless Scout]
I stared at the names. They weren't names I recognized from the academy. They sounded like the titles of people the village wanted to bury.
A sudden knock at the front door downstairs made me jump. It wasn't the rhythmic knock of a customer. It was the sharp, heavy rap of a military summons.
"Daimaru!" a voice boomed from below. "Front and center! Your new orders are here!"
I grabbed my headband and bolted down the stairs. My mother was already at the door, looking pale.
Standing there was a Chunin messenger, his face grim. He handed me a scroll sealed with the Kazekage's mark.
"Report to the Northern Watchtower at dawn," the messenger said. "Your team is waiting. And Daimaru?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't bother unpacking. This squad has a ninety percent mortality rate on their first week. Try to beat the average."
He turned and vanished in a swirl of sand.
I opened the scroll. My eyes widened as I read the mission details.
We weren't being sent on a training exercise. We were being sent to the border of the Land of Fire.
The scouts, I realized. We're the frontline bait for the Konoha Crush.
I looked at my mother, who was clutching her apron. I forced a smile, though my stomach felt like it was full of lead.
"Hey, look at the bright side, Mom," I said, tucking the scroll into my pocket. "At least I'll be the first one to see Konoha."
But inside, my mind was racing.
Ninety percent mortality?
Fine. I've already died once. I'm getting pretty good at beating the odds.
I headed back upstairs to pack. The "Red Sand Dust" was going to war.
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[End of Chapter 4]```
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