The training grounds were quiet when Shibi Aburame called Seiran's team together. After weeks of grinding D-rank missions, they'd finally earned their shot at something real.
"Your target is a supply convoy moving through the Land of Grass," Shibi explained, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Iwa shinobi. They're gathering materials near the border. Your job is to intercept them before they cross back into Iwa territory. Do you understand?"
Anko raised her hand, her usual confidence tempered by uncertainty. "But Shibi-sensei, isn't B-rank a bit steep for our first real mission?"
"If I went alone, I'd have it finished in an hour," Shibi replied flatly. "This is training. Prepare your gear. You leave in thirty minutes."
Anko's mouth twitched at the bluntness, but she didn't argue.
Seiran's mind was already elsewhere. Iwa shinobi scouting the border meant only one thing—the Hidden Stone Village was preparing for something bigger. And if war was coming, every day counted. He needed to grow stronger, faster.
Rin didn't hesitate. "I'm in."
---
Three days later, Seiran crouched on a high branch, his Byakugan extended to its maximum range. Over the past year, he'd pushed the limits of his sight—now it stretched nearly three kilometers in every direction.
"They're coming," he said quietly. "Three kilometers out, moving from the northwest. Five targets total. Four chunin and one genin."
Anko swallowed hard. "Just five? That's... actually doable."
"With Shibi-sensei here, we should be fine," Seiran said, glancing back toward where their teacher had been positioned moments ago.
The branches were empty.
"Where did he go?" Anko's head whipped around frantically.
Seiran sighed. "He's probably observing from somewhere else. Which means we're handling this ourselves." He pulled out a kunai. "Listen up. They'll pass through the thicket in about ten minutes. Here's what we're doing..."
Anko and Rin gathered close as Seiran outlined the plan. It was simple—hit them hard at the moment they're vulnerable, eliminate the strongest first, then adapt.
---
Iwato led the convoy with quiet confidence. After weeks of travel through the Land of Craftsmen and the Land of Grass, they were nearly home. The supplies hidden beneath their dust cloaks would earn them commendations from the Tsuchikage himself.
As they approached the thicket, a kunai shot from the bushes.
Iwato's reflexes were sharp—he raised his own kunai to block. But the projectile suddenly curved mid-air, an impossible arc that bent around his defense and drove straight into his throat.
His eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but only blood came out.
The world tilted sideways.
"Captain!" one of his men screamed. "Earth Release!"
The remaining four shinobi tore away their disguises, revealing combat gear. Cover blown, they had seconds to react before—
Three figures exploded from the grass.
Seiran moved first, closing the distance to the tall Iwa shinobi with quick, measured steps. Kunai clashed against kunai. The man was strong, broad-shouldered, and fast—but predictable.
"You killed the captain with a curved strike," the shinobi growled, his eyes narrowing. "Byakugan trajectory manipulation. Clever. But not against me."
Seiran didn't waste breath on a response. He threw shuriken in rapid succession, watching as the Iwa shinobi batted them aside. The element of surprise was gone. If he dragged this out, his teammates would falter.
Nearby, Rin was locked in a brutal dance with a swordsman. Her kunai parried his strikes, but she was losing ground—swordsmen were her weakness. She needed reach she didn't have.
Anko was worse off. Her opponent was a seasoned chunin, overwhelming her with experience and raw power.
I need to finish this. Now.
The tall shinobi seemed to sense his impatience. He formed hand seals, and his body began to shift.
"Earth Release: Rock Armor!"
Stone erupted across his skin, layering over muscle and bone until he became a living giant. When he opened his mouth, his voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"You're a Hyuga. I knew close combat was a risk. But armor like this? Your Gentle Fist means nothing." He charged, a massive fist of rock rising like a meteor.
Seiran didn't step back.
Instead, he crouched low, planted his palm against the giant's flank, and pushed a concentrated pulse of electrical chakra outward with surgical precision.
The boom was dull, almost anticlimactic.
The Iwa shinobi's eyes rolled back. When he looked down, there was nothing left of his side but a smoking, blood-red cavity. He fell without another word.
Seiran straightened, already moving toward the next threat.
---
The fight turned in seconds.
With their captain down and their muscle incapacitated by Seiran's grotesque counterattack, the remaining Iwa shinobi lost their nerve. Rin capitalized on the swordsman's hesitation, driving him back. Anko, empowered by momentum, finally turned the tide against her opponent.
Within minutes, three of the four remaining enemies lay on the ground, either dead or unconscious. The fourth—Taiseki, the guard posted at the supply carriage—bolted toward the forest.
"Let him run," Seiran said, breathing steady. "We got what we came for."
Shibi emerged from the canopy then, dropping down to inspect the scene with characteristic detachment.
"Efficient," he observed, eyeing the corpses and the supplies they'd secured. "Though your finisher was unnecessarily brutal."
"It worked," Seiran replied.
Shibi's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—maybe approval. "Get the carriage ready for transport. We head back to the village."
As they began to work, Seiran felt it—that familiar rush of growth. He'd crossed a threshold today. The Railgun wasn't just a technique anymore.
It was a weapon.