They nodded, and we climbed back into the trees. We were moving with noticeably more confidence now—both Tokara and Tsubaki. There were still mistakes, but their movements had gained clarity, a desire to keep up, to stay on the same level.
"Hey, Kotetsu," Tokara finally broke the silence. "What if someone was using it? Like, as a tool? You can push chakra into an animal, right?"
"You can," I replied, not slowing down. "There are Genjutsu techniques for mind control. And there are those who simply experiment. Animals are easier—they don't complain, and they don't ask questions."
Tsubaki was quiet for a moment, then said:
"Then it's not just a boar. Someone was behind it. Someone dangerous."
"Possibly," I nodded. "But we don't have proof. That's why we're bringing it back to the village. Let the Analysis Division work on it. Maybe they'll extract the chakra or find sealing remnants."
This time, we reached Konoha in under an hour and a half. We moved quickly, almost without breaks—partly due to training, partly due to the lingering tension from what had happened. The forest flew past like smeared streaks of green and brown. We barely spoke—each of us thinking about the boar, the strange incision on its head, and what might be behind it.
When the familiar village gates came into view, Tokara exhaled with relief, and Tsubaki slowed slightly, as if reluctant to return to the usual bustle. I, however, still felt a low hum of unease inside.
"Report first," I said without turning around. "Then we'll decide what to do next."
They nodded silently.
We passed through Konoha's gates, greeting the on-duty chunin with brief nods. One chunin carefully inspected our belongings, paying particular attention to the scroll containing the boar's sealed body.
"Straight to HQ?" Tsubaki asked, catching up to me.
"Yeah. The specialists need to take a look. This is beyond the scope of a typical C-rank mission," I replied, heading toward the administrative building. "There might be more than mutated chakra here. That incision on the skull… that's no wild predator's doing."
Tokara walked beside me in silence. It was clear he was processing everything he had seen. This wasn't something you encountered every day.
When we entered the building, I went straight to the shinobi on duty at the mission desk.
"Field team. Requesting expert analysis. Suspected interference with the animal's structure via chakra or other methods."
He gave me a focused look, his gaze lingering on the scroll in my hands, then gave a short nod.
"Follow me."
"What about my teammates?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder at Tsubaki and Tokara, who were watching the conversation curiously.
"Let them write the report," he waved it off, already turning down the corridor. "Good practice if they want to become real shinobi."
I exhaled slowly and nodded to the others.
"Write what happened. Brief, but clear. Catch up later."
"Got it," Tsubaki nodded, already pulling a scroll and ink brush from her bag. Tokara silently joined her.
I followed my escort—a chunin in the standard village uniform. He led me through the corridors of HQ until we stopped in front of a metal door labeled Special Research Division.
"In you go," he said, opening the door.
I stepped inside. The room was sterile, brightly lit, with a massive table at the center and several ninja in lab coats and Konoha headbands. One of them looked up and nodded.
"You brought the sample?"
"Yeah," I nodded, removing the scroll. "Sealed boar. It attacked a farm near the border. Extremely aggressive and… there's a strange incision on its head. Looks like someone opened the skull."
One of the shinobi stepped closer, carefully took the scroll and turned it over, checking the seals.
"How old are you?" asked another unexpectedly—he wore glasses and looked like he was in charge.
"Almost seven," I replied.
"War spares no one," he said quietly.
"And how did you figure out it wasn't just an animal?" he continued.
"Boars aren't born with surgical scars."
The man gave an approving nod and gestured to a colleague to begin unsealing. I watched as the scroll began to glow, and the massive body of the creature materialized. The room filled with the scent of blood and soil.
"Interesting…" murmured one of the researchers as he approached with tools. "Look at this—chakra traces on the bones. And these stitches… This wasn't done by medics. Looks more like experimentation."
"Dangerous?" I asked, feeling a rising tension inside.
"Hard to say yet. But someone clearly tried to enhance or alter the creature. Could have been a test subject…" He fell silent, exchanging glances with his colleague.
I clenched my fists.
This wasn't just a farm defense mission anymore. Someone had been experimenting on living beings—and releasing them into the world.
"What now?" I asked.
"Immediately," the senior shinobi replied. "As for you… return to your team."
"Wait," I said as I reached the doorway. "Since we discovered this… are we getting any kind of credit?"
The man in glasses, still examining the body, raised an eyebrow at me, then smirked.
"Oh, clever one, aren't you? Already thinking about rewards?"
He looked at his colleague, shared a brief look, then added, a bit softer:
"If we find something truly valuable—mutation, interference traces, a chakra source—we'll note it in the report. You'll get military points."
"Thanks," I said flatly, turned, and bowed properly.
"Go on," he waved me off. "Kids these days… always scheming."
As I closed the door behind me, I felt a bit of the tension ease. We hadn't just killed a boar—we might have uncovered the beginning of something bigger. And now… now I had to get back to the team.
They'd probably already handed in the report. Hopefully without mistakes. Though Tsubaki would definitely make sure—it's in her nature to be thorough.
As I walked, I opened my notebook with military point records and did a mental count: with this mission, I'd already earned around four points. Two C-rank missions—two points each. Military points are usually awarded only for missions outside the village, especially those involving risk.
The distribution scales exponentially by threat level. C-rank — two points. B-rank — eight. A-rank? A full twenty-four. And that's just officially. Sometimes, a lower-ranked mission turns out to be way more dangerous—but it still stays in its original class on paper.
The cost of training, jutsu, or access to specific scrolls depends on the village's internal classification. There's no strict structure—most things are regulated by complexity and uniqueness. So there's no real accuracy here—it all comes down to demand, rarity, and personal connections.
Even with points, the situation wasn't exactly bright. The techniques in the general library were, for the most part, disappointing. Mostly simple, low-rank, with limited effectiveness. Any Academy graduate could learn them with a bit of time and chakra. And few shinobi were willing to contribute their own unique jutsu to public access.
The reason was simple: why give away something you spent years perfecting? That could give your rivals an edge or just devalue your effort. That's why the library had almost no truly advanced techniques—except for those donated by the Hokage.
One of the previous Hokage, they said, tried to set an example—donating several of his own jutsu to encourage sharing. "Contribute, shinobi, and the village grows stronger," or something like that. But the results were underwhelming. The idea remained noble, but few followed. Everyone guarded their own.
Aside from those techniques, the real value of military points lay elsewhere—in access to advanced shinobi data, personal courses, or closed sections available only by special permission. That's where real power might be hidden. (Though I couldn't say for sure.)
Either way, stockpiling points was worth it.