The dark forest lay silent, as if the fierce battle had never happened. Only faint moonlight pierced the dense canopy.
With three wounded ninjas, the group of four moved slowly, hampered by dim light and exhaustion. Summer mosquitoes buzzed relentlessly.
Rope Tree swatted at them, his eyes darting between Mikoto and Tatsumi.
Tatsumi, leaning on Mikoto's shoulder for support, shuffled forward. Nawaki's staring irked him.
"What are you looking at?" Tatsumi snapped.
"You," Nawaki shot back.
Tatsumi sighed. "You told me to get help. Between you and Mikoto, I'm picking her. Normal choice."
"Tch." Nawaki pulled a face, letting out a mock wail.
"Nawaki, quit acting cute," Tatsumi groaned, fighting nausea. "You're a grown guy with sweaty feet. Disgusting."
Killing hadn't churned his stomach this much.
Nawaki ignored him, gazing skyward at a dramatic forty-five-degree angle. He patted his spiky brown hair and sighed theatrically. "You don't get it. A genius who killed a jonin at nine, another who awakened Sharingan at nine… I just realized I've become this team's weak link."
Tatsumi paused, reaching to pat Nawaki's shoulder in comfort.
But Nawaki pressed on, voice mock-serious. "My brilliance blinded me, made me arrogant."
Tatsumi's hand froze. "…"
Orochimaru, clad in his ninja gear, smirked silently, leading the group.
After a slow trek, they reached Windmill Village—or what remained of it. The village was a smoldering ruin, as if flattened by a demolition crew. Black smoke curled upward, mingling with scattered flames.
Tatsumi surveyed the devastation. He hadn't expected to return here. A simple mission had spiraled into chaos, yet they'd prevailed.
He'd single-handedly razed a village. Not bad.
Orochimaru paused at the door of a house untouched by the explosive tags. He gazed at the shattered village, silent, as the crimson glow of fires painted the night sky an eerie hue.
Mikoto helped Tatsumi to a clean spot to sit. Nawaki, ever the showoff, formed seals and puffed his cheeks. "Water Release: Raging Waves!"
A torrent doused the nearby fires. Nawaki grinned. "Pretty slick, huh? Call me the Water God."
Tatsumi nodded. "Not bad. If ninja life flops, you've got a future as a firefighter."
Orochimaru's hoarse voice cut through. "Your mission isn't over."
Nawaki blinked, confused. "What? The village is toast. How's it not done?"
Orochimaru didn't reply. He sat cross-legged on the ground, his gaze piercing. "What does a ninja need most?"
The question hung heavy. Ninjas needed countless things—ninjutsu, chakra, experience. A thousand answers could fit. But what was essential?
Orochimaru pointed at Nawaki. "You first."
Nawaki scratched his head, hesitating. "Not being too good?"
Silence.
"Because someone too brilliant," Nawaki continued, "stands out like a firefly in the dark—bright, obvious, a target."
In a twisted way, he had a point. Geniuses drew enemy eyes on the battlefield. Orochimaru, however, felt a twitch of irritation. Six years at the Academy, and this is what you produce?
Suppressing the urge to lob an explosive tag at Nawaki, Orochimaru turned to Mikoto. "And you?"
Orochimaru was intrigued by this nine-year-old disciple who'd awakened her Sharingan—a rare feat, even among Uchihas. Even Fugaku, the clan heir, hadn't achieved it as a teen.
Mikoto pondered, then said softly, "Emotion?"
"You're partly right," Orochimaru said. "But too broad. Ninjas are human, not killing tools. Emotions—anger, sadness—are unavoidable, as long as they don't cloud judgment."
He fixed his gaze on Tatsumi. "Your turn, Tatsumi. Answer wrong, and I'll mark this mission a D."
"What's the fallout of a D?" Tatsumi asked.
"You'll likely lose your chance to become a chunin next year," Orochimaru said. "You'll repeat a year at the Academy. Your mindset shapes your battlefield survival. It's your fate."
Tatsumi frowned, thinking. "If Mikoto's answer was too broad, it's a specific emotion. Pity?"
Orochimaru nodded. "Correct. Pity."
"A ninja can feel anger, hate, joy during missions—but never pity. Not for yourself, nor the enemy."
Seeing Nawaki and Mikoto's confusion, Orochimaru continued. "Killing an enemy in combat is easy. But what about a wounded foe, lying helpless? Or unarmed women and children? If a mission demands you slaughter civilians, can you do it?"
"When they're crying, clinging to your legs, begging for mercy—can you strike?"
His voice was a low rasp. "The strong naturally pity the weak. But for a ninja, that's the last thing you need. This is my final lesson."
"There's no time on the battlefield to hesitate. Death leaves nothing behind."
Orochimaru stood, tossing three kunai at their feet. "In that house, survivors—bandits spared by the tags and their families—are bound. Go in and kill them all. I'll wait here."
"If you can't, fine. It's your lives on the battlefield, not mine."
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