The fire burned low in the Land of Rivers.

  But the smoke carried far.

  Ken’s destruction of the rogue shinobi cell hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Far beneath the surface of the world, in a water-washed alley deep inside the Hidden Rain, whispers began to stir.

  Someone had carved through three missing-nin with surgical precision—left no traces, no affiliation, and only one seal burned into the floor like a scar.

  風水眼Wind. Water. Eye.

  It wasn’t a signature.

  It was a challenge.

  In Konoha, the fallout hit Hiruzen’s office by the third day.

  The Hokage stood with a report in hand, silent as he read the debrief from Ken’s shadow mission. The result was clean. Efficient. But there was a tone to the execution that spoke volumes.

  Not just “done.”

  Delivered.

  He exhaled and turned toward the man waiting by the window.

  Shikaku Nara, head of the Nara Cn, strategist, tactician, and Konoha’s most trusted mind outside the Hokage’s inner ANBU ranks.

  “He’s effective,” Hiruzen said. “But reckless. Cold.”

  Shikaku nodded. “That’s not the problem.”

  “No?”

  “He’s still young. He hasn’t failed big yet. He doesn’t know what it means to pull back.”

  Hiruzen set the file down. “Can he join ANBU?”

  Shikaku didn’t answer immediately. He stared out over the vilge rooftops, mind likely juggling twenty contingencies at once.

  “Itachi can,” he said ftly. “He’s clinical. Internalized. Loyal to the chain.”

  “And Ken?”

  Shikaku turned back.

  “Ken’s still making his own pybook.”

  “So not yet.”

  “Not yet,” Shikaku confirmed. “But when he is ready... he won’t follow anyone’s lead.”

  Hiruzen sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Daen received the next mission for Squad 9 two days ter.

  This time, it wasn’t political. No shadow work. No hidden directive.

  Just a border report.

  A small trade post on the Fire–River border had gone dark—no contact for four days. No fre signs. No merchant movement.

  Too far from patrol routes to be regur bandits.

  Too quiet to ignore.

  “Officially C-rank,” Daen said as he met the squad at dawn. “But I’m calling it B. Be sharp.”

  Ken adjusted his sword strap. “Full squad?”

  “Whole team. You don’t walk alone on this one.”

  The journey to the border took them a day and a half, weaving through dense forest and fog-thick ravines. The trade post came into view just before dusk.

  But something was off.

  Too quiet. No movement. No smoke. No torchlight.

  Reina frowned. “It’s not just empty. It’s cleared.”

  Daisuke drew a kunai, knuckles tight. “I hate this.”

  Daen raised a fist—signal to halt.

  “Ken. Eyes.”

  Ken activated his Sharingan and scanned the buildings, the trees, the chakra threads in the air.

  After a moment, he spoke.

  “Three signatures. Suppressed. Watching us.”

  Daen nodded once. “Ambush.”

  Then he moved.

  It began with a crack of shuriken against the wooden post.

  Ken spun, already moving toward the right fnk. Reina dropped behind the supply cart, weaving medical chakra into her gloves. Daisuke surged forward to block the first attacker—a rogue shinobi in scavenged Cloud gear, moving with brute force.

  Ken intercepted the second one.

  She was fast—mist style. A former Mist-nin, her fingers slick with needle-thin water whips. She aimed low, slicing toward Ken’s knees.

  He deflected, shifted low, and drove a wind pulse into her ribs.

  She screamed—but didn’t drop.

  He didn’t either.

  Daen handled the third—some kind of rogue from the Hidden Grass. Explosives ced in his sleeves, chakra threads attached to kunai. Trap expert.

  “Daisuke—watch the ground!” Daen shouted.

  Too te.

  An explosion triggered beneath Daisuke’s foot, unching him into the wall with a grunt.

  Reina dashed to him immediately, weaving healing jutsu.

  Ken pressed his advantage.

  He summoned a shadow clone and baited the Mist-nin into overextending. When she shed out, the clone took the hit—and Ken moved behind her in one clean step.

  His bde didn’t need flourish.

  It simply ended the fight.

  The Mist rogue colpsed.

  Across the clearing, Daen had already knocked out the trap-user with a precise nerve strike. The Cloud brute still stood, fists bruised and bleeding—but Daisuke met him again, angrier.

  “Round two, moron.”

  He nded a full-body tackle that cracked the trade post wall—and didn’t let up.

  Fists. Elbows. Knee to the gut.

  Then silence.

  When it was over, Squad 9 stood bruised, tired, but victorious.

  Daen gave the order to bind the unconscious. Reina checked Daisuke’s ribs.

  Ken stood over the body of the Mist-nin, eyes cold.

  Daen walked over, looking down.

  “Kill shot?”

  Ken shook his head. “She’s alive. Barely.”

  “You hesitated?”

  “No. I calcuted.”

  Daen smirked.

  “Good. You’re learning when to send a message... and when to leave one.”

  They lit a fre for cleanup and extraction.

  The mission had been a success.

  But for the first time, Squad 9 had seen true rogue shinobi in action. No tests. No mock drills.

  Just chaos and kill-or-be-killed.

  As the sun set over the quiet ruins of the trade post, Reina asked the question they were all thinking:

  “How many more like them are out there?”

  Ken answered first.

  “Too many.”

  And in his voice wasn’t fear.

  It was resolve.