A man with a short ponytail and freckles across his cheeks pushed open the tavern door.
The place was loud. Warm. Thick with the smell of fried food and cheap alcohol. He scanned the room quickly before his eyes settled on a group of young men clustered around a low table, chopsticks moving fast as they demolished a plate of takoyaki.
Perfect.
He walked over casually and dropped onto the empty seat beside them like he belonged there.
"Man, these things never disappoint," he said, reaching over without asking and popping one into his mouth. He chewed, hummed in approval, then glanced around the table.
"So," he said lightly, "did you guys hear about Ken?"
The table went quiet.
A few pairs of eyes turned toward him.
The freckled man smiled inwardly. He finished chewing, picked up another takoyaki, and continued as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
"Apparently, he's calling himself the strongest genin."
That got reactions.
A scoff came from across the table. "Strongest? Who the hell is that?"
"Heard he's got a B-rank mission under his belt," the freckled man added, voice casual.
Another laugh, sharper this time.
"Yeah, right," someone said. "What B-rank? Even if he touched one, his jōnin sensei probably wiped his ass the whole way through."
A few heads nodded in agreement.
The freckled man raised both hands. "Hey, hey, that's what I thought too."
Then he leaned forward and raised his voice just a little.
"But that's the thing. He doesn't even have a team."
That did it.
Nearby tables quieted. A few people turned in their seats.
The freckled man straightened under the sudden attention, puffing up slightly.
"From what I heard," he continued, tone edging into arrogance, "he was stuck in the Genin Corps. Completed a hundred D-rank missions. Started taking C-ranks not long ago."
He paused deliberately.
"And in one of them, he supposedly killed a chūnin."
That stirred the room.
Questions started flying.
"No way."
"That's bullshit."
"Who told you that?"
Before he could answer, a loud scoff cut through the noise.
Everyone turned.
At the adjacent table sat three genin. Fresh uniforms. Confident posture. The tallest of them leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"He's obviously lying," the tall genin said flatly. "Taking down a chūnin isn't easy even for us. There's no way some random solo genin pulled that off."
Several faces darkened at that. After all, they were ordinary genin too.
The freckled man's eyes lit up.
"Yeah!" he said quickly, nodding along. "That's exactly what people told him."
He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial.
"But he says he can handle a jōnin-led team easily. Claims he's already beaten a few."
Silence.
Then the tall genin slammed his hand on the table.
"Who the hell is this guy?" he snapped. "Where does he get the guts to say that?"
Around the tavern, murmurs spread like fire through dry grass.
The freckled man just shrugged and reached for another takoyaki.
Similar conversations bloomed elsewhere that night.
In barbecue shops. At ramen counters. Even around dango stalls.
Different voices.
Same name.
Ken.
The strongest genin.
It only took a few days.
Ken's name stopped became a household topic.
Wherever genin gathered, it came up. Sometimes mocked. Sometimes argued. Sometimes whispered with irritation. He heard it in passing conversations, caught fragments of it while walking through the village.
He never corrected anyone.
He didn't need to.
That afternoon, Ken was passing by a ramen shop when someone stepped into his path.
Then another.
Then a third.
He stopped.
The one in front was bulky, broad-shouldered with a thick neck and a self-satisfied grin. The two behind him lingered half a step back, clearly there to be seen but not to lead.
The bulky genin looked Ken up and down.
"You Ken?" he asked.
Ken nodded once. "Yeah."
The grin widened.
"So you're the one," the guy said, sneer creeping into his voice. "The 'strongest genin.'"
Ken sighed softly. "Never said that."
One of the lackeys snorted. "Sure you didn't."
The bulky genin took a step closer. "Funny how everyone's saying it anyway."
Ken glanced around.
People were slowing. A few had already stopped. Curious eyes followed the exchange, pretending not to stare.
He looked back at the bulky genin.
"I don't know what you heard," Ken said evenly, "but I'm not interested."
That only made it worse.
"Oh?" the bulky genin scoffed. "What, scared?"
A few chuckles came from behind him.
Ken tilted his head slightly. "You're trying to make a scene."
The bulky genin's grin faltered for half a second.
"You're trying to get attention," Ken continued calmly. "And if you beat me, you get it."
The crowd murmured.
Ken's voice didn't rise.
"So tell me," he said, meeting the man's eyes, "what do I get?"
That stopped him.
The bulky genin opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes flicked to the gathering crowd, then back to Ken.
"…Tch."
One of the lackeys leaned forward. "You talk big for someone—"
Ken didn't even look at him.
The bulky genin clenched his fists, clearly flustered now that the script had slipped.
"…Fine," he snapped. "We bet."
That got attention.
"Money," the bulky genin said quickly. "If I win, you pay. If you win—"
"I get paid," Ken finished.
Silence.
Then Ken sighed, long and tired, like this was already more effort than it was worth.
"…Alright."
The bulky genin blinked. "You accept?"
Ken nodded. "Sure."
That was all it took.
The crowd shifted immediately, excitement rippling through them. Someone shouted about the training field nearby. Others started moving, already spreading the word.
Ken turned without another glance and started walking.
The bulky genin hurried after him, scowling.
Behind them, the ramen shop was forgotten.
So was lunch.
Everyone followed.