"Seiran, am I a waste?"
Anko Mitarashi's brown-gray eyes stared up at him, dull and colorless. The question hung in the air like a weight.
Seiran smiled helplessly. "Waste? I don't understand why you'd call yourself that."
"I just... I feel useless." Anko's voice cracked slightly. "You and Rin are so talented. Shibi is famous among all the shinobi. And me? I can't even keep up when you and Kakashi fight. I just run to you for help." She clenched her fists. "I hate that feeling—knowing I'm right there beside you, but completely powerless to do anything."
Seiran fell silent. He understood the weight of those words more than she knew. In another timeline, Anko would have become Orochimaru's prized student—a prodigy in her own right. But here, caught in the shadow of Rin's Uchiha brilliance and Kakashi's raw talent, her own strengths had become invisible. The gap between what she was and what she might have been had only widened.
"Anko Mitarashi." He placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping his voice gentle but firm. "You're already very good. Maybe that's not obvious with us, but that doesn't make it less true. Find what you're strong at, keep pushing forward, and you'll become an excellent ninja. I promise."
She nodded softly, and Seiran made a mental note—he'd talk to Shibi about designing a specialized training program for her once they returned.
With Anko's mood improved, the two resumed their search for the bandit stronghold. Hours passed without success. The ANBU division had only traced the bandits' trajectory to this general area; the actual location remained elusive.
"This is frustrating," Seiran muttered, glancing toward the rendezvous point in the distance. They'd need to head back soon and regroup with Shibi and Rin.
He swept his gaze across the landscape—dense forest, clear skies, a clifside overlooking the sea. Everything was too exposed, too ordinary for a stronghold. Nothing fit.
"Wait," Anko said suddenly, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Why would bandits set up a stronghold here at all? There's nothing here. It doesn't make sense."
The words struck like lightning in Seiran's mind. She was right. If they'd chosen this location, there had to be a purpose.
His eyes snapped to the cliff overlooking the coast. Of course.
"Stay here, Anko. I'm going to check something."
---
At the cliff's base, Seiran activated his Byakugan. The pale eyes revealed what the normal sight couldn't—artificial handholds carved into the stone, iron pitons, and rope anchors running up the cliff face. Following the trail upward, he found it: a massive cavern opening at the cliff's summit.
A perfect vantage point overlooking merchant ships on the sea. A hidden stronghold that wouldn't appear on any map. The bandits hadn't lacked intelligence after all.
Seiran pushed chakra into his legs and began ascending the cliff face, leaping from foothold to foothold with practiced precision. The bandits' strength level was unremarkable—a direct assault would be faster than lengthy reconnaissance.
---
When Seiran emerged from the forest some time later, Anko's worried expression melted into relief.
"Is it done?" she asked.
"The stronghold location is confirmed. Shibi and Rin should handle it from here. We just need to regroup with them."
"Did I actually help at all?" Anko's shoulders slumped.
"You found the key," Seiran said firmly. "Without your question, I'd still be searching blind. Don't minimize that."
They moved through the forest toward the rendezvous point. As they walked, Seiran glanced back at the sea. Storm clouds gathered overhead, dark and brooding. Thunder rumbled in the distance—a flash of white-blue electricity split the sky.
"We should hurry. That storm's moving in fast."
They quickened their pace.
After several more minutes of travel, Seiran stopped dead. His hand shot out, catching Anko's arm. He pulled her close, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.
"Two shinobi ahead. Powerful ones. Don't move."
Anko's breath caught. Seiran's Byakugan activated, pale eyes scanning the approaching figures. What he saw made his blood run cold.
The forehead protectors bore the symbol of the Hidden Mist Village. One figure carried the distinctive curved blade across his back.
"We're retreating," Seiran whispered urgently. "Now. Those are from the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist."
Anko's face drained of color. Everyone knew of them—Kirigakure's most elite warriors, each one a monster in human form. Their reputations for brutality and bloodlust preceded them even across the Land of Fire.
"Both of them?" she managed.
"One's from the Seven. The other..." Seiran's jaw tightened. The unaffiliated swordsman's biomagnetic signature blazed even brighter than Shibi's. "He might be worse. We can't fight them. Not like this."
They began a careful retreat, moving with painstaking slowness to avoid attracting attention. The air felt thick, suffocating. Every footstep sounded like thunder in Seiran's ears.
Then the two figures moved.
Fast. Too fast.
They were converging on Seiran's position, closing distance in seconds.
Seiran's stomach twisted. "Damn it—they've spotted us!"