In the Land of Rain, within Fukasuta Village, panicked voices echoed through the narrow streets. Cries overlapped one another, sharp with fear and desperation. Several shinobi moved through the village, their attire making it unmistakably clear that they belonged to Kumogakure. They went from house to house without hesitation, tearing open doors and collecting whatever they could lay their hands on—food, money, supplies—anything of value. It was nothing less than outright robbery.
Begging filled the air.
"Please don't take our money, please… this is all we have."
The pleas repeated again and again, breaking under sobs, spreading through the village like a desperate chorus.
Fukasuta was a civilian village, not a ninja settlement. There were no trained defenders, no shinobi to stand against the invaders. As a result, there was no organized resistance from the villagers. Still, a few men—hot-blooded and driven by desperation—tried to protect what little they had. Gripping swords, farm tools, or sickles meant for harvest rather than combat, they rushed forward in futile defiance. They were cut down almost instantly by the Kumogakure ninjas. The gap in strength between trained shinobi and ordinary civilians was overwhelming, and those who resisted paid with their lives.
The squad of Kumogakure ninjas raiding Fukasuta Village numbered no more than thirty. Yet despite its size, it was far from weak. The unit was led by a Jonin, with five ninjas among them possessing special Jonin–level strength. From a civilian's perspective, the squad was terrifying—disciplined, ruthless, and vastly overpowered. To the villagers of Fukasuta, it felt less like a raid and more like an unavoidable calamity descending upon them.
But just as these Kumogakure ninjas were indulging in the robbery of the villagers of Fukasuta, two of them stopped outside a small house. One of them shouted coldly toward the interior, "Honestly, give us all your money and food, or you will face the consequences." Their voices were casual, almost bored, as if this were nothing more than routine.
Inside the house, a trembling family pleaded desperately. "We don't have many resources ourselves. We're barely surviving with what we have. Please have mercy… please let us go." Their words cracked with fear as they hurriedly gathered what little they could. Moments later, grains and a small pouch of money were placed in front of the door. "This is half of the food and money we have. Please accept it. Please don't take everything from us."
The Kumogakure ninjas showed no interest in mercy. One of them shifted his stance and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, metal scraping faintly as it moved. The other reached into his ninja pouch and drew out a kunai, the blade catching a dull glint of light. The ninja with his hand on the sword hilt spoke again, his tone sharp and threatening.
"Do you want to die?"
But just as his voice fell, both Kumogakure ninjas froze in place. A thin red line appeared across each of their necks, almost delicate in its precision. A heartbeat later, their heads slipped free and struck the ground with dull thuds.
The family offering the food screamed in terror at the sudden, brutal sight. Their cries barely had time to echo before both headless bodies ignited, blue flames bursting forth and consuming them in moments. The fire crackled briefly, then died down, leaving nothing behind.
A few steps away from the house, a young man—seventeen, perhaps eighteen—walked calmly down the street. His expression was composed, his breathing steady, as he slid his sword back into its sheath, worn horizontally at his back waist.
Benimaru.
Elsewhere in the village, on another street some distance away, the air itself felt frozen. The ground was glazed with ice, and the silence there was unnatural. When Benimaru turned his gaze in that direction, he saw a boy younger than himself—around sixteen or seventeen—walking forward at an unhurried pace. All along that street, Kumogakure ninjas stood frozen in place, their bodies locked in ice.
Todoroki.
As Todoroki reached the end of the street, the frozen Kumogakure ninjas shattered behind him, collapsing into fragments that scattered across the ground. He stepped into the alleyway where Benimaru stood and glanced toward him.
"Onii-san, these Kumogakure ninjas are quite weak. Not enough to fight."
Benimaru shook his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. "It's just that we're strong."
Without another word, they began moving toward the centre of the village. That was where the true leaders of the Kumogakure squad were stationed—the Jonin and the special Jonins. Unlike their subordinates, they had no need to go door to door looting resources. That work was beneath them.
It was not as if the Kumogakure lacked resources of their own. This was simply how war worked. Robbing small villages and minor countries had become routine for these ninjas, an easy way to gather extra riches under the excuse of conflict.
The Jonin and the special Jonin remained behind, waiting calmly for reports from their subordinates. Once the looting was complete, they planned to withdraw from Fukasuta Village without delay. Atop the largest house in the village stood a man clad unmistakably in a Jonin's uniform—the captain of this Kumogakure squad. From his elevated position, he surveyed the entire village.
Then he noticed it.
Bursts of smoke in several locations. Sheets of ice spreading unnaturally across different streets.
His expression hardened as shock and vigilance struck at the same time. Without hesitation, he raised two fingers to his lips and released a sharp, piercing whistle. The sound cut through the air, loud enough to echo across the entire village.
The signal was not merely a warning of intruders. It was a command.
In less than a minute, the remaining Kumogakure ninjas gathered, appearing on the rooftops of the surrounding houses near their commander. When the movement finally stopped, only ten figures stood there. The sight made the Jonin's face grow grim, anger simmering beneath his controlled exterior. The same emotion was reflected in the eyes of the others.
If only this many had answered his call, then the meaning was obvious.
Only these ten—including the Jonin captain himself—were still alive. Among them were five special Jonin, with the rest being Chunin. The remaining twenty members of the squad had undoubtedly met a terrible fate somewhere within the village.
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