Silence.
It pressed down on the small clearing, heavier than the humid air, thicker than the lingering scent of blood. The only sounds were the incessant dripping of unseen water from the dense canopy above, the faint, ragged gasps of the shinobi whose arm Ryuu had mangled, and Ryuu's own frantic, shallow breathing, which seemed to echo deafeningly in his ears.
Kenta lay sprawled on the muddy forest floor, his eyes staring blankly at the indifferent grey sky, the hilt of the enemy kunai protruding obscenely from his chest. The bright, earnest spark Ryuu had come to associate with the civilian-born boy was simply… gone.
Extinguished. Leaving behind only a cooling vessel, startlingly still.
Izumi stood frozen a few feet away, her Sharingan still blazing, three tomoe spinning wildly as she processed the scene. Her kunai was still extended from where she had finally disabled the last conscious attacker, but her gaze was fixed on Kenta, her face pale beneath the usual composure, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.
Ryuu couldn't move. He couldn't breathe properly. His limbs felt like lead, rooted to the spot beside Kenta's body. The image of the final, desperate lunge, Kenta's surprised face, the sickening thud of the kunai hitting home – it replayed relentlessly behind his eyes.
His fault. The thought was a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs, leaving behind a hollow, aching void. His attack, his ice, his desperate attempt to help, had created the opening. He had hesitated, miscalculated the enemy's desperation, and Kenta had paid the price.
The weight of it was crushing, suffocating.
Genma moved first. The casual Jonin persona was gone entirely, replaced by the grim efficiency of a seasoned shinobi dealing with the aftermath of a lethal engagement.
He moved swiftly to the last attacker Izumi had subdued, checking his pulse, then applying binding wires with practiced speed. He spared only a brief, clinical glance at the shinobi Ryuu had maimed, who was now barely conscious from pain and blood loss, before focusing on the two he had personally dispatched.
His expression was unreadable behind his default calm, but Ryuu sensed a deep, cold anger radiating from him – anger at the attackers, anger at the situation, perhaps even anger at himself for letting a Genin under his command fall on their first C-Rank.
He knelt beside Kenta. A quick check for vital signs – futile, Ryuu knew, but necessary protocol.
Genma gently closed Kenta's unseeing eyes, his hand lingering for just a moment on the boy's forehead, a silent gesture of respect, before retrieving the enemy kunai from his chest with a grimace.
"Izumi," Genma's voice was low, steady, cutting through the shocked silence. "Secure the prisoner. Standard chakra suppression seals if you have them. Check the other two bodies for identification, anything unusual."
Izumi flinched slightly at the command, then nodded sharply, her Sharingan refocusing, the disciplined shinobi overriding the horrified teenager. She moved towards the subdued attacker, her movements stiff but precise.
Genma turned his attention to Ryuu, who was still standing numbly, staring at Kenta's body, the forest floor seeming to tilt beneath his feet. "Ryuu," Genma said, his voice softer than before but still firm.
"Breathe. Focus."
He crouched slightly, meeting Ryuu's wide, unfocused red eyes. "This happens. It's the path we walk. Shock is natural. Panic is lethal. Right now, we need the shinobi, not the scared kid. Can you do that?"
Ryuu looked from Kenta's still form to Genma's serious face. He felt a wave of nausea, the metallic taste of blood thick in his mouth, though none of it was his own. He wanted to curl up, to disappear, to rewind time.
But he couldn't.
This was the reality. This was the consequence. He had failed. And Kenta was dead.
He forced himself to take a shaky breath, then another, pushing down the rising tide of guilt and horror, compartmentalizing it behind the cold, analytical mask he had worn for years.
"Yes... Sensei," he managed, his voice barely a whisper, raw and unsteady.
"Good," Genma nodded, seemingly satisfied with the flicker of awareness returning to Ryuu's eyes. "Help Izumi search the bodies. Carefully. Check for poisons on their weapons, hidden seals, anything identifying their allegiance or objective beyond the obvious."
Ryuu nodded again, numbly moving towards the attacker he had struck down with the ice scythe, the one Genma had finished off. The man lay sprawled awkwardly, his remaining good arm twisted beneath him, his masked face serene in death.
Ryuu hesitated, his stomach churning at the thought of touching the corpse, seeing the damage his ice had wrought up close.
Izumi, having efficiently bound and sealed the chakra coils of the subdued prisoner, was already searching the first body Genma had killed. She worked with clinical detachment, patting down pockets, checking pouches, examining the simple cloth mask. "Standard gear, Sensei," she reported, her voice carefully controlled. "No village markings. Basic supplies. Steel kunai, shuriken... no poisons detected on the blades."
Ryuu forced himself to kneel beside the body he had partially disabled. He avoided looking at the mangled arm, focusing instead on the task. He checked the weapon pouches – more standard kunai, shuriken, a few smoke bombs.
He felt for hidden pockets, ran his chakra-sensitive fingers lightly over the man's simple clothing, searching for hidden seals or compartments. Nothing. These attackers traveled light, equipped for ambush and swift engagement, not prolonged campaigns.
He reached for the man's mask, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled the rough cloth away from the cold face beneath. Generic features, unremarkable, no distinguishing scars or tattoos.
Just a dead shinobi.
Then Izumi, searching the second body Genma had killed, let out a sharp, almost inaudible gasp. "Sensei..."
Genma was beside her instantly. "What is it?"
Izumi pointed, her gloved finger trembling slightly, towards the inside of the dead shinobi's mouth, which she had pried open. Lying inert on the tongue, barely visible in the dim forest light, was a complex, dark marking – three solid lines intersected by two broken lines.
Ryuu felt Genma stiffen beside Izumi. Ryuu recognized the pattern instantly from his meta-knowledge, though he gave no outward sign.
The Tongue Eradication Seal.
Danzo's Cursed Seal. Placed on all Root members to prevent them from ever speaking about Danzo or the organization, inducing paralysis and silence if they attempted to betray him, even after death.
Genma stared at the seal for a long, silent moment, his expression hardening into something cold and dangerous. He carefully checked the mouth of the prisoner Izumi had subdued – the same seal was present.
He then moved swiftly to the body Ryuu was searching, tilting the head, confirming its presence there as well. He didn't check the one whose throat he'd pierced; the damage likely obscured it.
Four out of five confirmed Root operatives, disguised as common bandits or ronin.
The objective flashed clear in Ryuu's mind, Capture the Yuki boy. Eliminate the Uchiha witness and possibly get her sharingan. The attack wasn't random, wasn't simple banditry. It was a targeted operation, likely ordered by Danzo himself, using deniable assets, aimed at acquiring Ryuu and silencing Izumi. Kenta... Kenta had just been acceptable collateral damage.
Genma straightened up slowly, his gaze sweeping over the bodies, then towards the path leading back to Konoha.
His expression was grave, thoughtful, the pieces clicking into place in his experienced mind. He knew about Danzo's ambition, his shadow organization, his interest in Kekkei Genkai. While Minato had officially curtailed Root's power, Danzo clearly still commanded loyal, dangerous operatives capable of operating far outside Konoha's borders.
This attack wasn't just an assault on his team, it was a direct challenge to the Hokage's authority, an attempt to steal a valuable asset right under his nose.
He looked at Izumi, then at Ryuu, his expression carefully neutral again, betraying none of the cold fury simmering beneath. He knew he couldn't reveal the truth about Root to these Genin. It was classified S-Rank information, tied to deep village secrets and political instability.
Telling them would put them in even greater danger, burden them with knowledge far beyond their current rank and understanding.
"Standard suicide seals," Genma stated calmly, deliberately misidentifying the markings for his students' benefit. "Common among rogue ninja groups or those working black ops for minor villages. Prevents intel leaks upon capture or death." He made it sound routine, almost mundane.
"Means we won't get much useful information from the prisoner, even if he wakes up. And confirms these weren't simple bandits."
Izumi nodded slowly, accepting the explanation, though her Sharingan likely registered the unique complexity of the seal, perhaps filing it away as an anomaly. Kenta's death seemed to occupy most of her focus now, her usual composure strained.
Ryuu kept his face impassive, playing along with Genma's lie, but inside, his mind was racing. Root. Danzo had moved against him already, barely two months into his Genin career.
The senile old man was more brazen, more dangerous than he'd anticipated, even under Minato's supposedly tighter control. Coming to Konoha hadn't just put him under scrutiny; it had placed him directly in the crosshairs of one of its darkest internal threats.
His earlier regret intensified into a cold wave of fear.
"Alright," Genma said, his voice regaining its command tone. "Mission takes priority. We secure the scene, collect the bodies – ours and theirs – and proceed back to Konoha immediately. Izumi, keep watch. Ryuu, help me with the storage scrolls."
He produced several large sealing scrolls from his pack. Working together in grim silence, they sealed Kenta's body first, Genma handling the process with quiet reverence, wrapping his student carefully before committing him to the scroll.
The finality of the act hit Ryuu hard.
Then they moved on to the attackers. Genma methodically sealed the three corpses and the unconscious prisoner into separate scrolls, marking each one clearly. "Intelligence Division can pick these apart later," he muttered grimly, securing the scrolls. "See if they can bypass those seals or find any other identifiers."
They did a final sweep of the area, erasing signs of the battle as best they could, retrieving stray weapons, smoothing disturbed earth. The process felt mechanical, detached, a necessary cleanup after brutal violence.
"Ready?" Genma asked, looking at his two remaining Genin. Izumi nodded silently, her eyes haunted but resolute, back to their onyx color. Ryuu nodded as well, pushing down the nausea and guilt, forcing himself into the cold focus required of a shinobi.
"Good," Genma said. "We move fast. Maximum alert. We assume there could be more of them, or that they might report back. No unnecessary stops until we reach the Land of Fire border patrol lines." He turned, leading the way back towards the main road, his pace significantly faster now, driven by urgency and the grim weight of their failed mission and fallen comrade.
The journey back was a silent, high-tension affair. The earlier camaraderie, the mundane rhythm of the D-ranks, felt like a lifetime ago. Now, every shadow seemed to hold an enemy, every sound a potential threat.
They bypassed their planned campsites, moving through the night, resting only in brief, heavily guarded halts. Genma pushed them hard, testing their endurance, their vigilance. Ryuu felt the weight of Kenta's absence acutely.
The team felt unbalanced, incomplete. The easygoing buffer Kenta provided was gone, leaving only Izumi's quiet intensity and Ryuu's own guarded analysis, overseen by Genma's grim competence.
Ryuu's mind replayed the fight endlessly.
His ice scythe. The attacker's scream.
Kenta's wide, shocked eyes.
If he had been faster? Stronger? If he hadn't hesitated after wounding the attacker? If he hadn't used the scythe at all?
The 'what ifs' were a corrosive acid eating away at his composure.
This was the reality of being a shinobi. Failure meant death – sometimes your own, sometimes your comrade's.
He had wanted power, wanted to survive, but he hadn't truly grasped the bloody cost until now.
The ashes of his naive expectations tasted bitter in his mouth.