Life as a Genin on Team 11 was, in a word… routine. And for Kenji, after years of paranoia, nighttime thefts, and clandestine training, routine was a strangely delicious luxury.
The D-Rank missions were as boring as he expected: finding lost pets (this time, a particularly grumpy bulldog), painting fences, helping with the vegetable harvest on outlying farms. Nothing that challenged his actual abilities, but perfect for honing his Kaito persona: competent without being outstanding, quiet, a little reserved but reliable.
His team, however, was a puzzle of personalities that never quite clicked.
Hana, the girl with the blue hair, turned out to be an engine of unwavering optimism. "Come on, team! That fence isn't going to paint itself! We can make it fun, like a game!" She was terribly perceptive. Not in the ninja sense, but in the social sense. She could tell when Daiki was anxious or when Kaito was (supposedly) lost in thought. She was the glue of the group, the one who started conversations and remembered the birthdays of the villagers they were helping.
Daiki, the boy, was a whirlwind of misdirected energy. On missions, if something heavy had to be carried, he'd jump in first, often spilling half of it. If the dog had to be chased, he'd launch himself like a rocket, crashing into three market stalls in the process. But Kenji, with his trained eye, saw beyond the clumsiness. The boy had innate brute strength and enviable stamina. His taijutsu, though messy, had pure power. With discipline, he could be a beast.
And then there was Saito-sensei. The man was a specter. He appeared just in time to give instructions, watched from the shadows with those impassive gray eyes, and vanished once the mission was complete. He offered no praise. He didn't lecture on teamwork. She was simply evaluating. Her presence was like an invisible scale, weighing their every move.
One day, after spending six hours unclogging a communal drain (a particularly smelly D-rank mission), Hana decided they needed a "team-bonding ritual."
"Let's go to the public hot springs! We've earned a break!" she announced, ignoring Daiki's feeble protests about the smell and Kenji's calculated indifference.
It was in the steaming water, with weariness loosening their tongues, that the stories began to emerge.
"My parents are bakers," Hana said, leaning back against the stone edge with her eyes closed. "They always say being a ninja is like making bread. You need the right ingredients, patience, and lots and lots of controlled heat." She giggled. "I guess I'm the sugar. To sweeten the gear!"
Daiki, usually boisterous, had become a little quieter. "My old man... was a chūnin. He died on a mission when I was little. My mom works in administration. She... didn't want me to become a ninja." He made a fist underwater. "But I have to. I have to be strong enough so that no one in my family has to... you know."
An awkward silence settled. They both looked at Kaito, the third mystery.
Here it comes, Kenji thought. The story of the refugee orphan. Keep it simple. Tragic, yet generic.
"My parents were merchants from a small village," he said, watching the rising steam. "There was a bandit attack during a journey. They didn't survive. Konoha took me in." He let the silence speak for him. The story was vague enough, common enough in a world of wars and minor conflicts, not to arouse suspicion.
Hana placed a warm hand on his arm underwater. "I'm sorry, Kaito."
Daiki nodded with unusual seriousness. "So… we're a team of survivors, huh? A baker, the son of a hero, and a merchant. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."
The tension broke with a laugh from Hana. And Kenji, to his own surprise, let out a small snort that was almost a laugh. It was strange. These two, Hana and Daiki, were anomalies. They didn't exist in his memory of the world. They were direct products of the "butterfly effect" that their very existence had generated by altering the composition of genin teams. They should be unknown variables, uncontrollable risks.
And yet, in his candor, in his clumsy but genuine determination, he saw something more. Opportunity.
Kenji's original plan—survive, grow strong on his own, remain unnoticed—felt increasingly inadequate. The red clouds of Akatsuki were a continent-level threat. The ANBU could still be lurking. And now he had a team, a visible responsibility he could no longer simply abandon.
He looked at Hana, whose optimism could be a weapon of mass distraction, and at Daiki, whose brute strength could be directed like a battering ram. They were raw. Inexperienced. But they had potential. And, most importantly, they had no ties to Konoha's powerful factions. They weren't a Hyūga, a Nara, or an Aburame. They were… free. Moldable.
A team, he thought, the idea taking shape like a blade of steel in the forge. Not just this facade team. A real group. Loyal. Powerful. They could be the first pillars. The first soldiers in my own shadow army.
Not out of loyalty to Konoha. Not for Hokage dreams. But for the one reason that had always mattered: survival. In the shinobi world, even lone wolves died. You needed a pack.
"Hey, are you two planning on taking the Chūnin Exams?" Hana asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Of course!" Daiki roared, splashing water. "I have to get strong! Stronger than anyone!"
Kenji nodded slowly. "It would be the next logical step." And the perfect testing ground. To see what they're really made of. To see if they're worth the investment.
That night, as he walked alone to his room, Kenji didn't think about the Sharingan, or the Uchiha, or even Akatsuki. He thought about Hana's smile and Daiki's clumsy determination. They were weak links, yes. But all metal was once weak before it was tempered.
Team 11 was no longer just a cover, an annoying consequence of the butterfly effect. It was slowly becoming the seed of something more. The first step in a more ambitious plan: to build his own power from the ashes of a borrowed identity.
And for that, he first had to make sure his two new… associates… survived the hell that lay ahead. The Chūnin Exams would only be the first hurdle.