A lone campfire flickered in the midst of a forest swallowed by night. No moon graced the skies above, just a stretch of oppressive darkness. The flames cast shifting shadows over the three shinobi huddled around it, their faces half-lit and somber.
The forest whispered with the soft rustle of leaves, and somewhere beyond the trees, faint cries echoed in the wind—distant, chaotic, almost too faint to be real.
The silence between the three men was thick with tension.
Elder Uchiha Setsuna, wrapped in his dark robe, slowly opened his mouth. His gaze swept over the two younger men across the fire, and his voice was as heavy as the night around them.
"The true danger of this mission," he began, "lies not in what we were told—but in a sudden change."
He let those words settle for a beat before continuing.
"Half a month ago, the Chinoike Clan submitted their third plea for pardon to the Daimyo of the Land of Lightning."
His tone darkened.
"But the messenger sent to deliver the reply… was ambushed and slain."
A chill crept over the flames as he added, "His body was taken to an underground exchange and traded for a bounty."
Uchiha Seijuro's brow furrowed. The news hung in the air like a curse.
"The Daimyo, furious, ordered the continued imprisonment of the Chinoike Clan."
"But," Setsuna continued, "the Chinoike, realizing that pardon would never come… reached out to the Hidden Cloud."
The fire popped.
"In exchange for rescue, they agreed to become part of Kumogakure as one of their bloodline clans."
Seijuro's eyes narrowed, confusion clear on his face.
"But weren't they already part of the Land of Lightning's bloodline heritage? Why would they turn to Kumo like this?"
Off to the side, Hero's lips twitched in a faint smirk.
He already knew the answer. Or at least, he suspected it—thanks to the memories of his previous life, a different world, where these stories were inked in paper and sold as fiction.
In the chaos of the Warring States era, a daughter of the Chinoike Clan had been married into the Daimyo's family—though only as a concubine. But after the Daimyo died of illness, jealousy bloomed like rot. The woman was slandered, exiled, and her entire clan was cast into the accursed depths of Hell Valley.
The Chinoike had once risen high—tasted nobility.
That fall had burned.
They weren't soldiers by blood. They were aristocrats—once. Becoming part of Kumo meant forsaking all dreams of restoration. Still, they had waited, hoping one day they'd be pardoned. But now… that hope had been ripped away.
So they chose survival.
Even if it meant siding with the brutal shinobi of the Hidden Cloud.
And Hero, in his gut, suspected the obvious truth no one dared speak aloud—the slain messenger might very well have been Kumo's own handiwork. A convenient excuse to push negotiations.
Everything suddenly made sense. The puzzle pieces clicked into place like a trap snapping shut.
Setsuna didn't bother explaining further. His voice was clipped.
"What you need to know is this—Kumogakure is the greatest threat now. That's all that matters."
He stood slowly, his shadow towering in the firelight.
"Our objective remains the same: reach Hell Valley. Reunite with our fellow Uchiha stationed there."
"It's nearly nightfall. Seijuro, Hero—you'll take turns keeping watch. Set traps. Prepare defenses."
"That's it. Move."
He waved a dismissive hand, already turning away.
"….."
Seijuro's face soured, clearly unhappy with the grunt work being dumped on him. He let out a few muttered curses as he stood.
But Hero's eyes glinted with a different kind of light.
He stepped forward, voice thoughtful. "Why not keep moving through the night? Shouldn't we reach Hell Valley as soon as possible?"
Seijuro turned slowly, eyebrows raised in contempt.
"You serious?"
"You haven't read the Shinobi Code, have you?"
His voice rose with mockery. "Shall I recite it for you, genius? Rule One: never march at night. It's prime ambush territory."
[Ding! Uchiha Seijuro has scorned you.]
A familiar notification blinked across Hero's vision, and he sighed inwardly.
Sure, the logic was sound. But if they waited until morning, they'd be walking right into whatever ambush the Hidden Cloud had prepared.
What was the point of all this if he didn't try to die?
He hadn't signed up for safety.
He'd come for three things: action, danger, and death.
And if he was going to gamble on an early grave, tonight was the perfect chance.
He stood and smiled coolly.
"Sometimes, the rules don't apply," he said, stretching his arms casually.
"No moon tonight. Visibility's zero."
"But we're Uchiha, right?" He tapped his temple. "What's the Sharingan for, if not this?"
He wasn't boasting. Just pointing out the obvious.
Even in total darkness, a fully awakened Sharingan could detect chakra flows and track movement with deadly precision. Against them, an ambush was pointless.
And if Seijuro and Setsuna got past the Hidden Cloud's net?
Hero—without a Sharingan—would almost certainly be killed.
It will be Perfect.
A clean death on the battlefield. Insurance guaranteed. Mission accomplished.
Setsuna tilted his head back slightly, watching the thick clouds churn above the treetops.
But Seijuro wasn't done.
With a sharp movement, he stepped forward and grabbed Hero by the front of his shirt, jerking him in close.
His voice dropped to a hiss, cold and venomous.
"One more time, Hero—"
"It's your fault I'm stuck on this mission!"
His teeth clenched, eyes full of disdain.
"You think you're hot stuff? You think you can just challenge the shinobi code—something the Second Hokage himself wrote?!"
"You have any idea how many ninja die each year from ignoring it?"
The night fell into a sharp, breathless silence. The fire's crackle seemed distant.
Hero didn't flinch. He looked Seijūrō dead in the eye, his voice calm.
"Senpai," he said slowly, "shinobi climb walls… because it's easier."
"But if smashing through works better—"
"Then we smash!"
He smacked Seijuro's hand aside.
"You're focused on the method, not the goal. That's your mistake."
A metallic ring burst through the air.
CLANG!
***
Far away, on the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Hot Water…Nestled beneath a towering pine at a mountain pass checkpoint, a second fire crackled quietly.
Two Kumogakure shinobi sat by the flames, meat sizzling on skewers.
They were dressed in standard gear, relaxed and grinning.
But one younger ninja, eyes sharp, glanced toward the shadows of the pass.
"Ramii-senpai, Dotai-senpai… isn't this a bit too relaxed?" he asked.
Ramii, older and long-scarred, lazily handed him a rabbit leg.
"You're too tense, Moroi," he said. "We've got spotters from the Land of Hot Water posted ahead. Any movement—they'll signal us."
"Besides… the Uchiha aren't gods. They've been marching all day. They're tired. They won't walk blindly into a trap."
His voice dropped.
"But Setsuna? He can't be allowed to leave alive. His death is the only guarantee the Two-Tails finishes its sweep of Hell Valley."
Moroi hesitated—then nodded.
With a team like theirs, how could they lose?
One elite jonin. One veteran jonin. And himself—a tokubetsu jōnin from the Barrier Corps.
The odds were nearly perfect.
But these weren't average shinobi.
Ramii—survivor of the Warring States and Second Shinobi World War, had once witnessed the partial transformation of the Gold and Silver Brothers into Nine-Tails hybrids. He was a living relic of war, hard to kill and harder to scare.
Dotai—an elite jonin with one eye and a jet-black uniform. He wielded Lava Release, was trusted by the Third Raikage himself, and had recently served as the main proctor for the Hell Stab technique. His chakra was sharp enough to be felt from across a battlefield.
And Moroi—Captain of Kumo's Barrier Corps Team One. A master of Uzumaki-style sealing techniques. In close quarters, even a jonin could be neutralized before realizing what hit them.
Together, they weren't just strong.
They were overkill.
And this mission—to secure the Chinoike Clan's defection—was too important to risk.
They would wait.
The hawk was coming.
And when he did?
Their death would be long before they became aware.