“One moment,” Kakashi’s voice cut through the damp air, stopping the group in its tracks. “Everyone, regroup here. Now.”

They gathered in a small clearing, a circle of eight tense faces under the forest canopy. The genin were breathing hard, not from physical exertion, but from the pressure that had been building since the encounter at the river.

“What is it, Kakashi-sensei?” Sakura asked. “I thought speed was the priority.”

“It was,” he replied, his single visible eye scanning each of them, assessing their condition. “But the situation has changed. Naruto’s information was crucial; it gave us the advantage to cross. But it also revealed our position and our intentions.”

Kurenai crossed her arms. “What Kakashi means is that the element of surprise is gone. They know we’re here, and they know that we know about them. The ambush at the river failed, but it left us with a disturbing piece of information.”

“Exactly,” Kakashi continued. “The wire trap was the work of a specialist. Precise, methodical, designed to incapacitate and capture. But that wave of killing intent we felt earlier… that was something else. Brute force. Savagery. It didn’t come from the same ninja.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as they processed the implication.

“So…” Hinata murmured, her voice barely a whisper, “it’s not just one enemy.”

“At least two,” Kurenai confirmed. “And they’re both elite. This is no longer a simple escort mission. We’re being hunted.”

Kiba let out a low growl, his hand instinctively going to Akamaru’s head, who whimpered softly. “So what do we do? Just stand here and wait for them?”

“Our strategy has to change,” Kurenai said, her gaze fixed on her students. “The primary objective is to get Tazuna to his home safely. Everything else is secondary. From this point on, direct confrontation is our last resort. Evasion and stealth are the new rules.”

“We’ll move fast,” Kakashi interjected, his mind already mapping out a plan. “Speed is our best defense. If we move at a steady, forced pace, we can get through any potential ambush zone before the trap is sprung. A moving target is harder to hit.”

Kurenai frowned. “I disagree, Kakashi. Caution is our best defense. If we run blindly, we could fall into a trap worse than the one at the river. A pitfall with stakes, a large-scale genjutsu… we can’t afford another surprise. We need to let our sensors set the pace, even if it’s slower.”

The disagreement between the two jōnin hung in the air. They were two different approaches, two philosophies forged in different experiences.

Sasuke watched the exchange in silence, his dark eyes shifting from one sensei to the other. Speed versus caution, he thought. Attack is the best defense. Kakashi is right.

Naruto, on the other hand, felt a knot in his stomach. “But if we go slower, aren’t we just giving them more time to prepare?”

“If we go faster, we might not see their preparations until it’s too late,” Shino replied, his voice as monotone and logical as ever. “My kikaichū can detect chakra signatures from a distance, but a detailed analysis of the terrain takes time. A forced pace would limit their effectiveness.”

Kakashi sighed, the sound barely audible behind his mask. “We’ll compromise,” he said finally. “We’ll maintain a steady pace, but not a sprint. We’ll move with our senses on high alert. Hinata, Kiba, Shino, you are our guides. Is that absolutely clear?”

The three members of Team 8 nodded. The seriousness of the task displaced any hint of their usual rivalry. The weight of the group’s safety now rested directly on their shoulders.

“Good,” Kakashi concluded. “Five-minute break. Drink some water. Then we move.”

They resumed their march, but the group’s dynamic had changed. The silence that now enveloped them wasn’t one of concentration, but of a tension that grew with every step. Kiba, relegated to a flank, felt restrained, frustrated. The need to run, to sniff, to hunt, clashed with the methodical, cautious pace. Akamaru trotted beside him, his tail low, letting out small whimpers of anxiety that only added to his master’s irritation.

“This is torture,” Kiba muttered, low enough for only Akamaru to hear. He kicked a root in frustration. “At this rate, if there’s an enemy waiting for us, they’ll have time to build a fortress and put the kettle on before we get there.”

On the opposite flank, Sasuke moved with a predatory grace, each step silent and deliberate. The slow pace didn’t seem to frustrate him; he used it to scan his surroundings with an intensity that bordered on contempt for the rest of the team. His pride was still wounded. The revelation that Naruto’s “idiotic” strategy had been the key to saving them was a hard truth to accept. It was luck, he told himself, over and over. A loser’s lucky break. Luck runs out. Skill remains.

Naruto walked near the center, next to Tazuna, and the friction between everyone was almost physical. He could feel Kiba’s irritation and Sasuke’s icy arrogance. He saw the nervous glances from Sakura and the weight of concentration on Hinata. He felt they were disjointed, and in his new, clumsy attempt to be the leader he thought he should be, he decided he had to fix it.

“Hey, hey!” his whisper was so loud that several heads turned his way. “Come on, lighten up a little! What’s wrong with you guys? We’re a super team of Konoha ninjas! We should be singing a marching song or telling jokes!”

Sakura shot him a withering glare that communicated a very clear threat: “If you start singing, I’ll test my new senbon on you.”

Naruto, immune to her non-verbal warning, decided a more personal approach was necessary. He jogged slightly to catch up with Kiba on the flank.

“What’s with you, Kiba? Is your leash on too tight or something?”

“Shut up, Naruto,” Kiba growled without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the thicket. “I’m trying to concentrate. I don’t like this forest at all.”

“Why? What’s it smell like?” Naruto insisted, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” Kiba snapped, frustrated. “It doesn’t smell like anything. And that’s what worries me. There are no animals, no birds. Just… silence.”

Seeing he wouldn’t get anything more out of him, Naruto switched targets. He veered to the other flank, approaching Sasuke.

“Hey, Sasuke,” he began, trying to sound casual. “That was a pretty good idea Kakashi-sensei had, right? Moving fast. You’re fast. Probably the fastest one of all of us.”

Sasuke didn’t answer. His gaze continued to sweep the forest, impassive.

“I wonder what kind of enemy the other one will be,” Naruto continued, undeterred. “You think he uses swords, daggers, or maybe kunai with explosive tags? Because if he uses explosive kunai, we could use a substitution jutsu to—!”

“Shut up, dobe,” Sasuke cut him off. The words were cold, sharp, and final. He didn’t even bother to look at him.

The rejection was so absolute that Naruto stopped in his tracks. His attempt to lighten the mood had been a total failure. Defeated, he returned to the center of the formation, his usual energy visibly diminished. He fell into step between Sakura and Hinata.

“They’re a couple of sourpusses,” he muttered to himself.

Sakura sighed. “Just leave them alone, Naruto. This isn’t the time for your games.”

While the boys were consumed by their own tensions, the two kunoichi had fallen into a quiet, efficient sync. Hinata, activating her Byakugan in short, controlled bursts to conserve chakra, suddenly stopped with an almost imperceptible movement. She placed a hand on Sakura’s arm.

“Sakura-san,” she whispered, her white eyes fixed on a point ahead.

“What do you see, Hinata?” Sakura responded in a low voice, her attention immediately focused.

“The main path. About twenty meters ahead. The flow of chakra in the ground… it’s unnatural.”

“Unnatural how? Is there a seal?”

“No, it’s not a seal. It’s… like the earth’s chakra is scrambled. Tangled. Like tight threads just below the surface.”

Sakura nodded, processing the information. Her green eyes scanned the terrain. Visually, there was nothing. No wire, no markings, no disturbed earth. But she trusted Hinata’s perception completely.

“A pitfall trap, covered with a low-level genjutsu to hide it,” she deduced in a whisper. “Or just weakened ground, ready to collapse. Good work.” She glanced around quickly. “There’s a cluster of rocks to the east. The ground there looks solid. It’s a fifty-meter detour, but it’s safe.”

Without waiting for approval from the jōnin, who were more focused on the flanks, Sakura made a discreet, pre-arranged hand signal: “danger ahead, detour right.” Kurenai, watching them from the corner of her eye, caught the signal and gave a slight nod, a flicker of pride on her face. Silently, the formation veered from its course, winding through the rocks, avoiding a danger that the boys, consumed by their pride and frustration, hadn’t even come close to detecting.

But the rivalry between Kiba and Sasuke had reached its limit. Kiba noticed the detour and saw Sasuke scanning the rocky terrain. He saw it, he thought, rage and insecurity churning inside him. He must have seen it first, and I didn’t. I have to prove I’m a better sensor than him.

That’s when he heard it. A rustle. The sharp snap of a branch in the undergrowth, about thirty meters off his flank. It wasn’t a natural forest sound. It was deliberate.

Something’s moving! His heart leaped. There it is! This is my chance to show who’s the best!

Without thinking, he yelled, “Kurenai-sensei, I’ve detected something! I’m going to investigate!”

“Kiba, wait!” Kurenai’s command was sharp. “Hold formation! That’s an order!”

“Inuzuka!” Kakashi barked at the same time.

But it was too late. Fueled by adrenaline and the need to one-up Sasuke, Kiba had already launched himself into the undergrowth with reckless speed. Akamaru, surprised but loyal, barked and scrambled after him.

He burst into a small clearing filled with high ferns. He stopped short, his senses on high alert. He saw nothing. He smelled nothing but damp earth.

“Huh?” he muttered, confused. “I could have sworn I heard…”

That’s when he felt it. A subtle but firm tug on his ankle. He looked down and saw a strand of wire, nearly invisible against the leaf litter, pulling taut.

With a whisper of leaves and rope, a net fell from the treetops, perfectly camouflaged with foliage. Before he could react, it enveloped him in a tangle of thick, sticky ropes. The next instant, a cloud of sickly purple dust erupted from small pouches woven into the net, dousing him completely.

“Argh!” he coughed, the dust filling his lungs. He tried to tear the net, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. A heavy, paralyzing numbness spread rapidly through his limbs. He collapsed, completely immobilized, able to move only his eyes in a panic. A sharp, unbearable itch began to spread across every inch of his skin.

“KIBA!” Kurenai’s shout thundered through the forest, filled with fury and concern.

The rest of the team reached the clearing in seconds. Kakashi and Kurenai moved like lightning to secure the perimeter, kunai in hand, expecting an attack that never came. Sakura ran straight to her fallen teammate.

“It’s paralyzing pollen,” she said immediately. She knelt and examined the red rash already blooming on Kiba’s skin. “And from the skin reaction, it’s mixed with some concentrated variety of poison ivy. It’s not lethal, but the paralysis will last for at least an hour, and the itching will be hell.”

Sasuke reached the edge of the clearing and stopped to observe the scene. There was no triumph on his face, only a cold, distant confirmation of what he already knew: recklessness was synonymous with weakness. His expression was a silent, damning “I told you so.” The humiliation burned in Kiba’s eyes, the only thing he could move.

As Sakura pulled an ointment from her medical pouch and began to apply it, Kurenai knelt beside her student. Her face offered no motherly comfort.

“Look at me, Kiba,” her voice was low, controlled, and dangerous. He couldn’t turn his head, so she moved into his field of vision. “I want you to understand exactly what just happened. Because of your pride. Because of your stupid need to compete with Sasuke, you broke formation. You ignored a direct order from your commanding jōnin. And you fell for the simplest, most obvious trap in the textbook.”

She paused, letting the words sink in.

“If this had been a fast-acting poison, you would be dead right now,” she continued, her voice devoid of any softness. “And not only that. You would have revealed our exact position, our composition, and our direction. You would have turned all of us into easy targets. It’s not just your life you put at risk with your arrogance. You put Hinata’s life at risk, Shino’s life, the life of this entire team, and the success of the mission. Do you understand?”

Kurenai’s words were harsher than any physical blow. Kiba couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He could only lie there, paralyzed and ashamed, as he absorbed the hard lesson of consequences.

They arrived on the outskirts of Tazuna’s village as the last light of twilight faded. The journey had been significantly delayed, and they now carried a limping and furiously scratching Kiba, who muttered curses under his breath. But the relief of finally reaching their destination dissolved instantly.

The village was dead.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There wasn’t a single light in the windows. There was no murmur of evening conversations, no crying of children at play, no smell of dinner cooking in the homes. The streets, which should have been bustling with fishermen returning from the sea, were completely deserted. The doors and windows of the wooden houses were shut, and in many cases, barred with planks. The entire village seemed to be preparing for a siege or had already surrendered to one. A deep silence, a silence born of fear, enveloped everything.

“This…” Tazuna whispered, his voice breaking with disbelief and pain. “This isn’t my home. What has Gatō done to them?”

They advanced down the main street, their footsteps echoing ominously in the emptiness. Finally, they reached Tazuna’s house, one of the few that didn’t look like a sealed tomb. A faint light flickered behind one of the windows.

Tazuna approached the door, his hands trembling so much he could barely knock. After a moment of silence, the door opened a crack. An exhausted-looking woman with the same dark blue hair as Tazuna peered out, her eyes reflecting both deep fear and a glimmer of relief.

“Father! You’re safe!” she exclaimed in a choked whisper.

It was Tsunami, his daughter. She hurried them inside, almost pushing them, then shut the door, sliding multiple locks and a heavy wooden bar into place. The sound of the locks clicking home was final and ominous.

The house was modest but warm and scrupulously clean. In the center of the main room, sitting at a small table, was a little boy. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old. He wore a tattered straw hat and looked at the group of ninjas with dark eyes that were completely devoid of hope.

Naruto, ever unable to stand such a grim atmosphere, stepped forward with a forced smile. “Don’t you worry, kid! You’ve got nothing to be afraid of anymore! We’re ninjas from the Hidden Leaf Village! Everything’s gonna be alright, you’ll see!”

The boy slowly looked up from the table. His gaze landed on Naruto, cold and empty, without the slightest flicker of the emotion Naruto’s words were meant to inspire.

“Why do you even bother fighting?” he asked. His voice was flat, monotone, stripped of all childish inflection. “It’s useless. You’re all dead anyway.”

The sentence, so simple and so devastating, landed in the middle of the group with a terrible weight, shattering the fragile sense of purpose they had.

The boy looked back down at his empty plate.

“Heroes don’t exist,” he added, as a final thought.

Naruto was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do.

They had reached their destination. They had completed the first part of their mission. But in that small, warm house, under the gaze of a child with eyes that had seen too much, they understood they hadn’t been hired just to protect a bridge builder. They had been hired to fight an enemy that had already broken the village’s spirit and destroyed the one thing that mattered most: hope.