Takuma checked his gear for the n-th time before sighing as he leaned against the large earthen wall constructed from ninjutsu surrounding the village.

“It’s amusing to see you this way, Takuma. I didn’t take you for the type who gets nervous before a mission,” said Daiki, standing beside Takuma. He was similarly outfitted in combat-ready gear.

Of course, he was nervous. He was in an unfamiliar location, accompanying a team with people he barely knew, and they were venturing out of the camp, which was in a conflict-intense region. He had every reason to be nervous because it was the complete opposite of the situation he was used to—he knew the streets of the Hidden Leaf, he worked with a team he had built up from the ground, and he was aware of the power dynamics in the village.

“It’ll pass,” Takuma smiled. He was more comfortable during the missions than the idle time before it.

By the time the rest of the team arrived, Takuma was unknowingly tapping his foot against the ground.

“Excited much?” Iori said to Takuma.

“Sure,” he replied.

Kameko looked around as she commented. “Where’s Anko? It’s not like her to be late.”

“True, I’m not late.”

All five genin flinched and turned their faces to Anko, who was suddenly standing among them. Takuma even had a kunai in his hand from the surprise.

“Everyone’s here, so let’s leave. We have a long day ahead of us; I would like for us to keep on schedule so we can take it easy later on,” she said. “Let’s move out.”

““Yup, yup!””

“Yup, yup,” said Takuma, a full beat later.

Camp Banana was built on a strategic defensive location to halt the enemy’s forward movement into the Land of Hot Water’s territory. The location was chosen with broad coverage in mind. Camp Banana had access to numerous roads and trade routes in the area for quick deployment and shorter travel times. Hidden Leaf was given the responsibility to control the position because of its strategic importance, and because of that, two Hidden Leaf jonin were placed at Camp Banana.

The problem was a fixed infrastructure that couldn’t be destroyed like roads that were very much usable by the enemy forces. To prevent exploitation by the enemy those routes needed to be kept under observation to prevent them from being exploited by the enemy.

For that purpose, hideouts and outposts were built in important places for scouts to keep an eye on and keep the enemy in check.

As the hideouts were being manned by people who required food and water for sustenance, the hideouts needed to be re-supplied with rations periodically.

That’s where Anko’s Team-9 came into play. They were charged to head north to hit a list of watch positions, and restock every hideout with enough rations to last the scouts until the next supply run. And as they visited each hideout, they were to collect detailed reports from each watch position about any activity the scouts had noted from the last visit—carrier birds took time to complete round trips and could only carry so much; as such, they were reserved for the most critical of information.

From what Takuma was told, the risk factor of the mission was low as they weren’t going deeper into the field of combat. But they were still required to be vigilant about tails and ambushes as they visited the hideouts not to give away the positions.

Takuma was pleased to have a supply run as his first mission. Being new to the area, it was a great opportunity to understand the area and points of importance beyond what was specified on maps. Being aware of the terrain and territory was a critical advantage. Plus, the mission was perfect for him to observe his teammates and Anko to see how they operated—they had been working together for a couple of months, and it was expected that he would catch up to speed quickly.

So, he observed.

Because Anko’s team had been a five-man band, they followed a pitchfork movement formation. Rikku and Daiki in the front with Anko between them and a couple of steps behind, forming a ‘V’— behind Anko in a straight line, making up the shaft with Iori in the middle and Kameko as the rearguard. But with Takuma completing the team, they had reverted to the formation Anko preferred for her six-man group. Rikku, Anko, and Daiki made up the front ‘V’ while Kameko, Iori, and Takuma made up the back ‘inverted-V.’ The pitchfork had been a temporary alteration to the ‘mirrored-V’ formation, but Takuma took so long to arrive that it seemed that the team was more comfortable with the pitchfork.

It felt strange being at the back. As the team leader for the Narcotics Taksforce, he was always in the front. Even when he was working with Iruka, he always took the forward position. Being at the back was a new experience, and having his back exposed, an unpleasant one.

But he could see why Anko set the formation in the way she did.

Daiki was in the front because he was the tracker and scout, Rikku because she was one of the main combatants, and Anko in the middle, providing a stable backbone to round out the front, which was more susceptible to attacks. In the back, Iori was protected by being sandwiched between Anko in the front and two combatants, Kameko and Takuma, in the back, who had the responsibility of protecting the group from being hit from behind.

If he were to make a change, Takuma would’ve switched his and Rikku’s positions so he wouldn’t have to match with Kameko. He had told her he would be professional and civil, but he preferred if they kept their interaction to a minimum.

During their travel, Daiki and Anko chatted to each other, with Iori chiming in, and Rikku seemed to be intently listening to them.

However, things were entirely dead on the rearguard.

Takuma sighed. He was bored. He glanced at his companion to the side.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He said, “So…”

Kameko looked at him. “What?”

“I don’t keep up to date with what’s happening with our classmates. I was wondering if you would catch me up,” said Takuma.

Kameko stared at him for a moment. “I thought you weren’t interested. You never showed up for any of the get-togethers and parties,” she said.

‘I didn’t show up because none of you fuckers invited me.’ Of course, those thoughts went unsaid. Takuma awkwardly chuckled, “Unfortunately, I let my personal social life slip away due to work. I am curious how everyone’s doing though.”

“Really? If I remember correctly, you weren’t interested in us during the academy,” she said.

Takuma shot her a look. He wasn’t the only one who showed disinterest; the rest of the class, too, didn’t seem to be interested in him. Why wasn’t she just taking the hint that he was making idle conversation? He narrowed his eyes. No… she did notice the hint; she was just having fun at his expense.

‘The little…!’

“Who do you want to know about?” she asked.

“Well… how about Uchiha Izumi? How’s she doing?” he asked. After Taro and Arisu, Izumi was the person he was ‘closest’ to, even if it was just on the level of classmate acquaintances, much different from the other two, who were his close friends.

‘I wonder if Lady Mikoto got my letter,’ the thought passed through Takuma's mind, but he pushed it away quickly.

“Really? I thought you would run into her with you working in the Police Force and all,” she said.

“If I ran into her, why would I ask you?” he sighed, looking pitifully at the silly girl who was asking redundant questions.

Kameko’s eyebrow twitched. “She’s participating in the Chunin Exams with her team.”

“That makes sense. I guess that most, if not everyone, who got selected by the jonin would be participating in the Chunin Exams.”

“They are.”

“Is it everyone’s first time, or did a team make an attempt last year?”

It had been more than two and half years since Takuma and Kameko’s batch had graduated from the academy. In a few months, both Takuma and Kameko would complete their third year as shinobi of the Hidden Leaf.

She scoffed, “No one takes the Chunin Exam after their first year. There was a team who participated in the last exam,” the Chunin Exam happened bi-annually, “but they failed out in the first round. It’s going to be everyone’s first time.”

Having lived in the world for nearly three years, Takuma was, of course, aware that, on average, most genin participated in their first Chunin Exam after four or five years of service. That average was so because of the Genin Corp. But when only considering jonin-lead genin, many of them had their first attempt after their third year, with a few of the jonin teachers registering their teams right after the second year.

But he astutely remembered that Naruto’s generation did all register for the Chunin Exams right after their first year, and thought that some jonin might have wanted to make a statement with their own genin.

“What about you? Were you planning to participate?” he asked.

Kameko wordlessly nodded.

“Oh.”

Not everyone had the option to defer conscription like Takuma. Even those with connections and access to jonin, people couldn’t escape a conscription order. Escaping the conscription was a black mark on a shinobi’s record, something that would stay with them throughout their lives, being a hindrance every step of the way. It was one of the worst things one could do for their career.

The only reason Mikoto had given him the option was because he had managed the Narcotics Taskforce before the order came. The case for Takuma was that he was needed at the Narcotics Taskforce to ensure its success and that his contribution at the Police Force was equal to or more than he would contribute at war.

Most other people didn’t have that option. No one could reject the conscription just because they didn’t want to go to war. Not even the precious clan scions could reject the order. Any selfish attempt to do so came with heavy scrutiny and punishment if found to be invalid. A shinobi village couldn’t afford their shinobi to be averse to war, so no matter, clan or not, if they were called to war, they had to pack their bags and fight.

Takuma sympathized with Kameko. Having one’s plans thwarted by unforeseen circumstances didn’t feel good.

“Who else?” she asked, moving the conversation along.

“What about the Okubo Momoe?” he asked.

“The golden girl, huh,” Kameko’s eyes narrowed. “If she weren’t participating, no one would.”

Takuma didn’t know the girls well, and nor was he aware of the dynamic between them, but even someone as detached as him knew what was going on. Kameko’s clan, Taketori, was the premier kenjutsu clan in the Hidden Leaf. She was burdened by the expectations that she would be the best with the sword and kenjutsu. It would’ve been true if not for the existence of Okubo Momoe, the Rookie of The Year from their batch, who used the sword as her weapon of choice.

Their swordsmanship was often compared, and because Okubo was overall stronger than Kameko, the prevailing view was that Okubo was better skilled at kenjutsu than Kameko.

Takuma, who had fought both, couldn’t give an opinion as Kameko’s combat style heavily revolved around kenjutsu while it was only a part of Okubo’s combat. Unless they fought each other using only kenjutsu, it was difficult to judge who was better.

He could tell that Kameko was bothered that Okubo, who had a civilian background, was seen as better than someone from a kenjutsu clan like her.

“Well, she probably would make chunin soon even if she doesn’t get promoted right after the exam,” said Takuma. “But those guys sure have it tough, huh, being used as show horses.”

The current Chunin Exam was a popularity contest, a show of strength, between the numerous Hidden Shinobi Villages. It was the ‘alternative to war.’ Every Hidden Village sent their best genin and made them fight each other to see who had the best young talent and thus the brightest future. The Chunin Exam was one big advertisement for the Hidden Villages to attract big clients and gain their confidence that their Hidden Village was the best.

This was why every genin on a jonin-led team was ‘unofficially’ mandated to participate in the exams as soon as their jonin deemed them ready, even if the genin themselves might not want to participate in the exam.

“I would love to be used as a show horse,” she said.

“It’s a win-win for sure.” He laughed. “Taro wouldn’t have liked it at all though.”

“What about you? Did you prepare for the Chunin Exams?” asked Kameko.

“No, I was aiming and hoping for a field promotion,” said Takuma, “but I would have loved to participate in the final round if nothing else.”

The Chunin Exams were altered every iteration to prevent genin from preparing for scenarios so that it would truly be a test of their preparedness. Every host had their own preferences, but because five different villages hosted, the exams were diverse in nature. But the final round was always the same— Arena Combat—the best-of-best duking it out in a tournament format.

It was the only event open to an audience and the main ‘advertisement’ for clients.

“Huh, why?”

“I want to experience how genin from other villages fight. I wonder how different they are from us.”

The underground prizefighter in him wanted to understand how shinobi from other villages fought. What were the key differences in combat philosophies? What was the current popular meta? He wanted to see if he could take something from them and assimilate it into his combat style. The potential of it all excited him.

“Wait… does that mean none of the genin on a jonin-led team are participating in the war?” asked Takuma.

“If the team is younger than four years, they don’t have to,” she said.

Kameko explained that the jonin stayed with the genin for four years, after which the teams were usually turned inactive if not for the jonin and the administration both wanting the team to remain active. The usual case for teams remaining active after four years was when all the genin had been promoted to chunin.

As the Hidden Leaf was an ally helping the Hidden Steam and the Hidden Leaf as a whole wasn’t at war, the genin on jonin teams younger than four years weren’t sent conscription orders.

“That’s shit,” he said.

“We are about to reach the first hideout. Focus up!” Anko said.

Takuma and Kameko stopped talking and focused ahead.