Ken sat cross-legged in the corner of his apartment, scrolls unfurled across the floor.

  His Sharingan spun slowly—tracking every curve of every inked seal.

  He’d copied the patterns by hand: suppression tags, chakra-flow circuits, detonation lines, containment spirals. His clones surrounded him, three deep, each tasked with replication drills, experimentation, and real-time feedback.

  One clone burned out trying to compress too much chakra into a micro-seal. Another fizzled attempting an unstable expansion array.

  Ken absorbed each mistake. Learned. Adapted.

  He wasn’t just reading fuinjutsu.

  He was teaching it to himself.

  And his Sharingan, for once, didn’t just observe.

  It memorized.

  By noon, he had four working tags:

  One for temporary chakra suppression

  One for directional marker tracking

  One for single-use storage

  And one experimental seal designed to destabilize a basic barrier technique

  He tested them again and again, making his clones run the drills until every line was clean and every activation was seamless.

  The seals weren’t powerful.

  But they were precise.

  And precision was power in the right hands.

  He didn’t get to study long.

  Maito Guy found him at the training grounds the next day—bright, grinning, and holding matching weighted vests.

  “Ken! Time for round two of the Body & Spirit Training Circuit of Eternal Fire!”

  Ken blinked. “I didn’t agree to—”

  “Exactly!” Guy cheered. “True growth only comes when you are ambushed by challenge!”

  Before Ken could argue, a vest was already strapped to his chest.

  40 kilograms.

  Guy ran them through hill sprints, tree climbs, handstand pushups, and shock-absorption impact drills until even Ken’s chakra began to slip under the strain.

  And still, Ken pushed.

  Not because he liked it.

  But because he wanted more.

  What neither of them expected was Daen appearing the next morning—arms crossed, smirking like a man who just found the world’s best source of caffeine.

  “So this is what you two have been doing,” he said.

  Guy, unashamed, pointed proudly. “He’s the fme of tomorrow, Morita-san! He pushes harder than any youth I’ve ever trained!”

  Daen raised an eyebrow. “Even Lee?”

  Guy’s smile faltered. “...equal youth.”

  Daen looked over at Ken, who was mid-squat with chakra weights and a sword banced across his shoulders.

  “New rule,” Daen said. “This isn’t just his training anymore.”

  Reina and Daisuke were summoned that same afternoon.

  Squad 9 endured a full week of Guy-approved drills yered with Daen’s battlefield refinements.

  It broke them.

  Daisuke puked after the third day. Reina swore her arms wouldn’t stop shaking. Ken bled from his knuckles every night but never once fell behind.

  And when it ended, Daisuke pointed at Ken with a shaking finger.

  “This is your fault.”

  Reina nodded through clenched teeth. “You brought this on us.”

  Ken, wiping blood off his palm, replied dryly: “I never asked you to keep up.”

  That did not help.

  The very next morning, a bck-sealed scroll arrived at Ken’s door. Personal delivery. No name. No sigil.

  Just one word.

  “Come.”

  He stood before Hiruzen within the hour, once again alone in the tower.

  This time, the old man didn’t bother with tea.

  He handed over a single scroll.

  Shadow-Level Mission AssignmentTarget Region: Land of RiversObjective: Investigate and neutralize a rogue shinobi cell recruiting missing-nin.Status: Unsanctioned. No vilge fg. Operate under false identity.Authority: Direct.

  Ken unrolled the scroll further. It included a list of known threats—at least three missing-nin, one from the Hidden Grass, one from Hidden Mist, and a former Hidden Rain demolitionist.

  Then at the bottom:

  “This is not a test. This is a message. Make sure they receive it.”

  Ken said nothing.

  Hiruzen simply nodded. “You leave tonight.”

  The Land of Rivers was neutral territory—technically.

  But every major vilge watched it like hawks, always ready to swoop.

  Ken crossed the border under false papers, wearing a dull cloak and no vilge headband. His sword stayed hidden. His chakra was kept low.

  For two days, he observed.

  He found the cell quickly—disguised as a trade caravan group operating out of an abandoned mill by the water.

  They moved quietly, but not carefully.

  Ken noted their pattern: two guards on rotation, one lookout, interior seals guarding a central vault.

  The perfect nest for something bigger.

  That night, he approached the mill.

  Two clones circled wide, pnting marker seals.

  Ken activated his Sharingan and approached alone, stepping softly on the edge of the river, moving under mist.

  His first strike was silent—a wind-bde that slit the throat of the perimeter guard before the man even reached for his kunai.

  The second died with a fuinjutsu tag that silenced his scream as it burned into his chest.

  Inside, the remaining two were waiting.

  Ken walked in through the front.

  No mask. No illusion.

  Just a sword drawn slowly from the dark.

  “You’re not from any vilge,” the leader said, stepping forward. “What do you want?”

  Ken didn’t speak.

  Instead, he flicked his fingers.

  Boom.

  The marker tags outside ignited in sequence, colpsing the only exit paths.

  “Wait—!”

  Ken dashed forward, Sharingan glowing.

  He didn’t kill to survive.

  He killed because this message had to be clear.

  The Mist rogue tried to form seals.

  Ken severed three fingers.

  The Grass shinobi unched a wave of needles.

  Ken sidestepped it, wrapped water around his bde, and cut through his ribs in one pass.

  The final man—the Rain demolitionist—begged.

  Ken stared at him with calm, empty eyes.

  “You trained to destroy vilges. You sold that knowledge.”

  He slit the man’s throat before he could reply.

  He left no survivors.

  No names.

  Just a small tag pnted in the ruins.

  One seal, burned into the floor:

  風水眼Wind. Water. Eye.

  A mark.

  Not for fame.

  But for memory.

  For fear.

  Ken returned two days ter. No wounds. No words.

  Daen met him at the training grounds.

  “You finished it?” he asked.

  Ken nodded.

  Daen stared at him for a moment.

  “Did it feel good?”

  Ken’s voice was quiet.

  “No. But it felt right.”