Chapter 302: A Warrior's Shadow
The battlefield was silent, save for the soft sigh of snowfall settling over ruined walls and shattered weapons. The air was crisp, biting, sharp as it threaded through the barren trees, curling against the thick fabric of Fugai's winter armor.
She was alone.
Not because she needed to be, but because she preferred it.
Her deep blue wolf-pelt cloak draped over her shoulders, heavy with lingering cold. Her steel-reinforced coat, secured by crossing black leather straps, gave her an air of command even in solitude, while her violet eyes scanned the forest for anything—movement, sound, a reason to justify her presence here after the fight had already ended.
She found none.
Not surprising.
She and her knight sisters had done their job well, burned through resistance with efficiency, leaving nothing but the cold aftermath of a war that never truly had a chance.
Now, it was just her, walking the ruins, surrounded by silence.
Until—
Something bit her boot.
Fugai paused, her body going completely still, every instinct sharpening—battle-ready, prepared, expecting danger.
Instead—
She looked down.
And saw a wolf pup.
The little creature was small, barely large enough to fit in her palm, its fur a mix of deep gray and frost-white, mottled with patches of dirt and streaks of dried blood.
Its body bore bite marks, scars along its side, as if it had barely escaped a brutal encounter with older wolves—or worse.
One of its eyes was missing, the wound old but not healed well, leaving behind only a closed scar where its right eye should have been.
And yet—
It barked at her.
Fierce, determined.
Annoyed.
Fugai blinked, utterly bewildered.
The pup wasn't afraid.
It barked again, stepping forward despite its limp, not even hesitating as it followed Fugai when she simply walked past it.
She had no interest in dealing with some wild animal, no patience for distractions, especially not now.
But the pup didn't care.
It tracked her movement, its little legs scrambling through the snow, stumbling slightly but refusing to give up, tail flicking as it barked louder, demanding attention it wasn't owed.
Fugai snarled at it, a deep, commanding sound—
But the pup only barked back, as if mocking her.
She growled again.
The pup snapped its jaws defiantly, not backing down.
Fugai rubbed her temple, irritated but strangely impressed.
The little thing was injured, half-blind, limping, bleeding—and yet, it stood its ground against her like it had already decided she wasn't allowed to leave without it.
She picked it up, its small body light, fragile, but still full of stubborn energy, its one good eye locked onto hers with unrelenting focus.
Without hesitation, she threw it—
Not violently, just far enough to be rid of it.
It landed in the snow with a thud—
And immediately got back up, barking again, sprinting forward, biting her sleeve this time instead of her boot.
Fugai lifted it once more, glared at it, held it by the scruff of its neck, expecting resistance.
Instead, the pup wagged its tail.
Utterly unfazed.
Fugai sighed deeply, her expression twitching with mild frustration as she brought the pup closer, staring into its one remaining eye, trying to understand what it wanted—why it was doing this—why it hadn't given up like everything else she had crushed today.
It blinked at her, tilting its head slightly.
And, without thinking, she pulled it closer to her chest, securing it within the thick warmth of her armor.
The pup relaxed instantly, curling against her as if it had belonged there all along.
Fugai sighed again, heavier this time, before finally turning toward the train.
She wasn't going to deal with this right now.
She had other things to worry about.
But the pup?
It was hers now.
And she had no idea why.
The underground train loomed ahead, its entrance a welcoming contrast to the icy landscape.
Fugai adjusted her hold on the pup, feeling its breath slow, settling into trust it had no reason to offer her.
And though she didn't speak, didn't acknowledge the oddness of this bond, didn't give the moment more meaning than it deserved—
She knew, deep down—
She wasn't going to leave it behind.
Not now.
Not ever.
The underground train station bustled with controlled urgency, loyal Snow ninja ensuring final preparations were handled efficiently, crates of supplies loaded, departure schedules confirmed, and the last remnants of battle secured for the trip back to the capital.
Gen'yūmaru stood among them, weaving through the ranks with calm precision, exchanging nods, offering brief words of acknowledgment, helping where necessary—but never lingering too long.
He played nice, moved smoothly, kept his presence neutral, but the sharp glint in his violet eyes never faded.
His focus remained split—half on the preparations, and half on watching who was boarding the train.
Fugai arrived first, stepping onto the platform with her usual air of authority, her deep blue wolf-pelt cloak draped over her imposing frame, her steel-reinforced coat strapped tightly across her chest.
And beneath it—
A very poorly hidden wolf pup.
Gen'yūmaru immediately noticed the slight shifting movement underneath her thick winter gear, the occasional twitch of fur peeking through her cloak, the faint sound of muffled breathing beneath layers of padded armor.
Fugai walked with confidence, completely unbothered, acting as though nothing unusual was happening—except the moment she stepped onto the train, the wolf pup wiggled, its little head briefly poking out from beneath her collar before she shoved it back in.
Gen'yūmaru watched all of this with amusement, his lips quirking slightly as he chose not to comment.
Fugai met his gaze, narrowed her violet eyes, silently daring him to say anything.
Gen'yūmaru simply nodded in greeting, said nothing, and walked past her.
Fugai let out a low sigh of relief, tucking her new companion further into her armor, before making her way deeper into the train.
Gen'yūmaru smirked to himself.
She wasn't fooling anyone—but he wasn't going to spoil the moment for her.
Kamira boarded next, her bat-like cloak fluttering slightly behind her, her long, silvery-white hair slowly turning back into its blonde catching the dim lighting, her presence regal but effortlessly deadly.
She moved with slow confidence, her crimson eyes scanning the interior of the train, ensuring she had the perfect entrance, never rushing, always timing her movements for maximum elegance.
Gen'yūmaru observed her approach, fully expecting something ridiculous to follow—
And, predictably, Kamira stopped right before crossing the threshold, turning her head slightly, looking directly at Gen'yūmaru, offering a slow, knowing smile.
"Enjoying the view, Tracker?"
Gen'yūmaru rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.
"Just making sure you actually get on the train without turning it into a performance."
Kamira laughed, the sound delicate but dripping with mischief, before finally stepping inside, throwing one last teasing glance his way before disappearing into the train's inner compartments.
Gen'yūmaru sighed.
Why was everyone exhausting?
Ranke arrived last, still wearing her deep purple winter bodysuit, her fur-lined cropped jacket loosely hanging, her boots crunching slightly against the station's metal flooring.
She did not slow down, did not acknowledge anyone, did not wait for conversation—she simply marched forward, preparing to get on the train without a word.
Gen'yūmaru stepped slightly into her path, forcing her to pause.
Ranke glared immediately.
"Move, Tracker."
Gen'yūmaru raised an eyebrow.
"No complaints? No dramatic entrance? Just walking straight inside? Who are you and what did you do with Ranke?"
Ranke huffed, her light-violet eyes sharp, irritated by his presence but not enough to truly push past him.
"I am tired, Gen'yūmaru."
Gen'yūmaru chuckled, stepping aside.
"Miracle. The storm finally calms."
Ranke ignored him and stepped into the train.
Gen'yūmaru watched her go, grinning faintly.
She would cause trouble later.
She always did.
More Snow ninja boarded steadily, moving with professional discipline, securing the last loose ends.
Some pulled traitors into separate compartments, others hauled unconscious prisoners onto designated holding cars, ensuring that every last remnant of rebellion was contained before departure.
Gen'yūmaru observed all of this with silent calculation, cataloging the process, ensuring nothing slipped through unnoticed.
Once satisfied—
He finally saw Malik arriving.
Surprisingly, Malik boarded alone, walking at an easy pace, his gold-and-pink robes flowing slightly, his milk-chocolate skin glowing under the station's dim lighting, his gold-and-pink eyes locking onto Gen'yūmaru's gaze effortlessly.
Without pause, Malik approached, exhaling softly.
"I'll be in the back, maybe asleep."
Gen'yūmaru raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Malik offered a knowing grin, then continued.
"Try—" he sighed dramatically, "—to keep Ranke, Kamira, and Fugai out of trouble. I know how hard that is."
A pause.
"Apologies in advance."
And with that—
Malik stepped onto the train, disappearing into the depths of the private compartments, leaving Gen'yūmaru alone on the platform.
The train whistled softly, the air shifting, the ground humming slightly as the massive transport lurched forward, beginning its steady movement toward the capital.
Gen'yūmaru watched the snowy ruins fade from view, the battlefield now left behind, reduced to memory and lingering consequences.
He took one last glance at the frozen lands surrounding them—
Then, finally, stepped onto the train himself.
The storm had passed.
But the politics ahead would likely be worse.
Gen'yūmaru leaned against the window, his violet eyes tracing the landscape rolling past as the train steadily pushed toward the capital.
The snow-covered terrain stretched endlessly, each frozen expanse untouched, every distant peak gleaming under the moonlight. A world swallowed in cold, yet peaceful in a way that was rare after battle.
The rhythmic hum of the train beneath him was comfortable, grounding, yet his instincts refused to let him fully relax.
Because wherever those three knights were, trouble was likely not far behind.
A group of Snow ninja suddenly exited one of the forward train cars in organized panic, moving swiftly down the narrow hall, exchanging nervous glances as they passed by.
Gen'yūmaru raised an eyebrow, stretching lazily as he pushed himself off the window.
"What did they run from this time?"
He already knew the answer before taking a single step.
Ranke, Kamira, Fugai—one of them had definitely done something to make their existence unbearable to those particular ninja.
And he had a strong suspicion about which one it was.
Gen'yūmaru followed the path of retreat, stepping quietly into one of the dining cars, finding it largely vacant, save for one figure seated at a lone table.
Fugai.
She sat rigidly, as though unconsciously maintaining her battlefield posture, but her focus wasn't on weapons, nor maps—
It was on a wolf pup.
The dining car wasn't active—no staff, no servers—but a good spread of food remained behind the counter, untouched yet available. Nothing extravagant—dried meats, steamed potatoes, leftover rice, thick stew cooling in metal trays—but enough variety for a well-fed soldier.
Fugai had claimed a few select portions, but not for herself.
She was feeding the injured pup, breaking off strips of meat, holding each piece just above its reach, watching as it struggled to grab onto the food with its tiny, toothy grip.
Its one remaining eye gleamed, full of raw, unwavering determination, refusing to be pitiful despite its wounds and exhaustion.
Gen'yūmaru approached the table, pulled out a chair fluidly, and sat across from her.
Fugai barely glanced at him, still focused on the pup.
"I was willing to ignore the fact that you had an animal stuffed into your coat," Gen'yūmaru began casually, resting his chin against his fist. "But then you go and do something like this. Why?"
Fugai continued breaking off pieces of meat, placing them deliberately in front of the pup, watching as it snatched each bite aggressively, chewing as if it had something to prove.
She let a long pause stretch, her fingers idly brushing against the wolf's scruffy fur.
"It bit my boot."
Gen'yūmaru blinked.
"Excuse me?"
Fugai finally looked at him, her violet eyes sharp.
"It bit my boot," she repeated, expression flat, as if that statement alone should explain everything.
Gen'yūmaru sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.
"That's your entire reasoning?"
Fugai's lips twitched, an almost-smirk.
"It followed me. It was stupid enough to challenge me. So it stays."
Gen'yūmaru exhaled slowly, watching her carefully, noting the tiny, nearly imperceptible softness hidden beneath her usual unyielding demeanor.
It wasn't just about the pup's stubbornness.
It was about the fact that it survived despite its wounds, despite its disadvantages, despite every reason to fail.
And that, to Fugai—was worthy of keeping.
He watched the pup tear into another strip of meat, noting its obvious injuries, the way it moved cautiously, its limp worsening as it shifted on the table's surface.
"Why haven't you brought it to Malik yet?" Gen'yūmaru asked smoothly, gesturing toward the pup's wounds. "Healing is literally one of the things he's best at."
Fugai stopped, her expression unreadable.
Then, finally—
"I don't need his help."
Gen'yūmaru arched a brow, tapping his fingers lightly against the table.
"Fugai. It's injured."
She frowned slightly, her gaze shifting downward, watching the pup as it struggled to sit properly, clearly noticing its weakness for the first time in full clarity.
For a brief moment, she said nothing—
Then, finally, she sighed, shaking her head.
"Fine."
Gen'yūmaru smiled slightly.
She would bring the pup to Malik.
Eventually.
The train continued humming steadily, rolling through the depths of the underground passage toward the capital.
Fugai fed the pup another bite, and this time, Gen'yūmaru didn't comment.
She would care for it—her way, in her time, without anyone interfering.
And that, perhaps, was enough for now.
The dining car was quiet—just the soft hum of the train moving beneath them, the occasional rattle of dishes shifting slightly in their storage racks, and the steady breathing of Fugai's newest, most troublesome companion.
The wolf pup had settled somewhat, no longer snapping at every movement, though it still eyed the last bits of meat on the plate as if they might disappear into the void at any moment.
Gen'yūmaru leaned back in his chair, watching the odd pair with detached amusement when, suddenly, the door slid open, and Kamira swept into the car, her presence as commanding as ever.
Her silvery-white hair, which had been fully transformed during battle, was now gradually fading back into its natural blonde, strands shimmering under the dim lighting. She walked with her usual regal poise, the flick of her cloak revealing the effortless elegance behind her every movement.
Without hesitation, she claimed a seat at the table, settling across from Fugai with a knowing smirk, before producing a small bundle from her bag—several makeshift collars, clearly handcrafted, laid neatly onto the table with a deliberate flourish.
"For the little warrior," she announced smoothly.
Gen'yūmaru exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
Of course she would be in on this.
As Kamira reached forward to test one of the collars against the pup's scruffy fur, she grinned.
"Little Haido," she cooed, gently adjusting the fabric, examining how it would sit around the young wolf's thin but growing frame.
Gen'yūmaru paused.
Then gave them both a look—one of pure disbelief, pure accusation, pure recognition of exactly what had happened here.
And for the first time, Fugai and Kamira both blushed just slightly, as if realizing that, yes—this was exactly as ridiculous as it looked.
Gen'yūmaru leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his expression flat but full of unspoken judgment.
"You already gave it a name?"
Kamira smirked, though her faint blush lingered.
"It suits him."
Fugai huffed, returning to feeding the pup, refusing to meet his gaze directly.
Gen'yūmaru sighed, rubbing his temples.
"When you name a wild animal—" he began, his tone half-teaching, half-scolding, "—you're not just deciding what to call it. You're committing to it. You're acknowledging it as yours. Naming something gives it weight, makes it something permanent."
He exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly, watching their reactions.
"So why Haido?"
Fugai and Kamira exchanged a silent look, one full of wordless weight, conveying far more than any spoken answer ever could.
It was a look that said, "It's a long story."
Gen'yūmaru noted it immediately, understood it instantly, and did not push further.
They only offered the briefest of explanations—
"It was his name. It stuck."
And that was all they would say.
Gen'yūmaru nodded, accepting the answer, even if it barely answered anything at all.
Some names weren't given lightly.
And some stories weren't meant to be told.
Without hesitation, Fugai pulled a small stone from her gear—a Stone of Gelel, oval-shaped, gleaming bluish-green, swirling with white-blue tentacle-like patterns that flickered under the train's dim lighting.
Then, without a second thought—
She fed it to the wolf pup.
Gen'yūmaru blinked in confusion, his mind scrambling to process exactly what just happened, while Kamira's entire posture stiffened, her crimson eyes flashing with alarm.
"Fugai."
Her voice was sharp, carrying an edge of true concern, something rare for her.
"Why did you just feed that pup a powerful Gelel stone?"
Gen'yūmaru frowned.
"What is that stone?"
Kamira tore her gaze from Fugai, turning to Gen'yūmaru with exasperation, realizing that, of course—he wouldn't know.
"It's raw power. More than chakra, more than anything ordinary—it transforms whatever wields it. And it took Fugai and me years to adjust to one single stone of Gelel."
Gen'yūmaru's expression hardened.
"And you just fed it to a normal animal?"
Fugai shrugged, returning to feeding the pup.
"It should be fine."
Kamira gawked, pressing her fingers to her forehead as if trying to push away the absurdity of Fugai's casual recklessness.
"I just said it took us years to get used to one, and now you're telling me it should be fine?"
Fugai lifted her chin, unbothered.
"That's the third one it's eaten."
Kamira inhaled deeply, her breath slow, controlled, carefully measured—
Then exhaled sharply, visibly struggling not to drag Fugai across the table for being so careless.
Gen'yūmaru simply watched, his expression neutral, unreadable, his amusement growing at how Kamira had somehow ended up being the responsible one in this situation.
"Since when are you the voice of reason?" he mused.
Kamira glared at Fugai, ignoring him.
"Fugai, for the love of everything, don't do crazy things like this without telling me first."
Fugai rolled her eyes.
"You would've said no."
Kamira huffed, but didn't argue.
Which, Gen'yūmaru noted, meant that despite all of this—
She trusted Fugai.
And trusted that this wolf pup wasn't just any random stray anymore.
The door to the car slid open, and Ranke stepped inside, her presence immediately radiating authority, her movements deliberate as she surveyed the situation.
She took one look at the table—at Kamira's frustration, Fugai's indifference, Gen'yūmaru's detached amusement—at the entire ridiculous mess happening before her.
Then, without saying a word—
She turned and walked deeper into the train, heading straight toward Malik's compartment.
Gen'yūmaru watched her go, smiling slightly.
"Smart choice."