The door slid open.
Ayame stood there with her arms crossed, hair tied back, expression calm—
—but her eyes were doing that thing they only did when she was trying not to show too much at once.
Behind her, Jairo sat in the living room like he always did—relaxed posture, tea nearby, like he'd been waiting all day without ever admitting it.
And leaning against the wall, arms folded and smiling like a man who'd been allowed into the "real family" circle—
Taro.
Raizen blinked once.
"…Why do you all look like someone died?" he asked, stepping inside.
Ayame scoffed, but it didn't have any bite. "Shoes off."
Raizen kicked his sandals aside and walked in, still reading the room like it was a sparring match.
Taro pushed off the wall and came forward immediately.
"Welcome home," he said—simple, steady, warm.
It was such a normal phrase it almost made Raizen pause.
Because it hadn't always been normal between them.
Before transmigrating… Taro had treated him like a lord he couldn't breathe around. Always formal. Always careful. Always scared of saying the wrong thing—because the old Raizen made everything feel like punishment.
Now?
Now Taro grinned at him like a brother who'd watched him take hits and get back up.
And Raizen grinned back without thinking.
"What's this?" Raizen asked. "Family meeting?"
Jairo finally set his tea down.
"Raizen," he said, tone light—words heavy. "Raitaro informed us your team will be taking their first C-rank mission tomorrow morning."
Something in Raizen's chest tightened—not fear.
More like the click of a door locking behind him.
He nodded once. "Yeah."
Ayame's smile appeared, small and proud—and Raizen caught the way her fingers flexed at her side. Like she wanted to reach out and check him for injuries out of habit.
Like she wanted to say don't go.
But she didn't.
Because she was Ayame Tsukihana.
And she'd raised a shinobi.
"So," Taro said, voice suddenly brighter—trying to keep the room from going too quiet, "we organized gifts."
Raizen blinked. "Gifts?"
He couldn't help the laugh that slipped out.
"I already have everything," he said. "Kunai. Shuriken. Wire. Tags. Scrolls. First aid—"
"Not everything," Ayame cut in, walking past him toward the low table. "Sit."
Raizen sat—mostly because her tone made it clear it wasn't optional.
Taro moved first.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a compact scroll case—simple on the outside, but the sealwork on the cap was clean and dense, like it had been rewritten until it was perfect.
He set it in Raizen's hands like it mattered.
Raizen looked down, immediately recognizing the structure.
This wasn't a normal storage seal.
This was keyed.
Personal.
"Open it," Taro said.
Raizen pressed his thumb to the seal.
The scroll responded like it recognized his chakra—warm for a split second, then obedient.
Inside was a tightly packed kit wrapped in waterproof cloth: bandages, antiseptic vials, sutures, a small splint bundle, antidote basics, painkillers, a couple fresh barrier tags, and—
Raizen's eyebrows rose—
a tiny set of sterile scalpels.
He looked up slowly.
Taro scratched the back of his head, suddenly awkward.
"…You always had supplies," he admitted. "But your kit was… genin."
Raizen stared at the kit again.
"Are these keyed to me?" he asked quietly.
Taro nodded. "Only your chakra opens it fast. If someone steals it, they waste time breaking the seal."
His gaze sharpened, just for a moment.
"Time you won't have."
Raizen's throat tightened in a way he didn't expect.
This wasn't flashy.
This was love disguised as preparation.
"This is…" Raizen exhaled, searching for the right word. "…insane."
Taro's smile returned. "Good. Because dying for lack of gauze is stupid."
Jairo let out a quiet huff that might've been a laugh.
Ayame sat beside Jairo and slid a long cloth bundle across the table.
Raizen's eyes went to it immediately.
The shape was unmistakable.
His spear.
Or… something pretending to be his spear.
"Open it," Ayame said.
Raizen undid the ties carefully.
The cloth fell away.
And for a second, he just stared.
The spear shaft was darker than wood—still lightweight, but reinforced with chakra-conductive bands along the grain. Subtle lines fused into the material like it had been built for chakra, not modified after.
Near the spearhead, tied cleanly beneath the blade, was a strip of Tsukihana fabric—deep violet with a pale moon motif stitched into it.
Not decoration.
A marker.
This is ours.
Raizen ran his hand down the shaft slowly.
It didn't feel dead like wood.
It felt… responsive.
Like it could carry chakra without fighting him.
Jairo spoke quietly.
"Wood breaks," he said. "And it breaks at the worst time."
Ayame's voice was softer—but it hit harder.
"Your spear is your distance," she said. "Your distance is your life."
Raizen swallowed.
"…Chakra metal?" he asked.
"Not a full chakra metal spear," Jairo said, shaking his head. "You're not a jōnin. You don't need an ego weapon."
Raizen snorted, but the sound came out rough.
"It's reinforced where it matters," Jairo continued. "Conductive. Stable. Strong enough to survive your bad decisions."
Ayame leaned in slightly.
"And the fabric," she added, eyes holding his, "is so when you're far from home… you remember you have one."
Raizen's grip tightened on the shaft.
He didn't trust his voice for a second.
So he just nodded.
Taro leaned forward, tapping near the grip.
"And I added something," he said quickly, like he needed to lighten the air again.
Raizen looked down.
A wrap—textured, tough, slightly tacky. Reinforced grip designed for rain, sweat, blood—anything.
Taro cleared his throat. "So it doesn't slip. And so when someone grabs it—"
Raizen's eyes sharpened.
"So when I use Grip Breaker," Raizen finished.
Taro smiled, satisfied. "Exactly."
Raizen breathed out, slow.
For a moment he just sat there—spear across his lap, medic scroll in his hand—feeling like the people in this room were quietly armoring him from every angle.
Then—
A knock.
Not polite.
Not careful.
A knock like someone didn't believe doors had the right to exist.
BAM-BAM-BAM!
Raizen's head snapped up.
Ayame's eyes narrowed instantly. Jairo didn't move, but his chakra presence shifted—subtle, warning.
Taro looked confused. "Who—?"
The door slid open before anyone answered.
And Daigo Yotsuki walked in like he owned the house.
"MOONWIRE!" he boomed, voice filling the room like thunder. "WHY DOES YOUR HOUSE SMELL LIKE RESPONSIBILITY?!"
Raizen blinked.
"Daigo?!" Taro yelped.
Ayame's stare sharpened to a blade. "This is a private home."
Daigo waved a hand like privacy was a rumor.
"YES, YES, BEAUTIFUL HOME, VERY THREATENING AURA," Daigo said, nodding at Ayame like he was complimenting a weapon. "HELLO, JAIRO—still alive. GREAT JOB."
Jairo sipped his tea. "Daigo."
Daigo squinted at him. "Right. JERRO. OR JAREN. SOMETHING LIKE THAT."
Jairo didn't correct him.
He didn't need to.
Daigo finally looked at Raizen properly.
Then his grin spread.
He strode forward, leaned down, and—without permission—grabbed Raizen's face between both hands like he was checking the ripeness of fruit.
Raizen recoiled. "HEY—!"
Daigo ignored him completely.
"Mmm," Daigo hummed. "Eyes clearer. Breath steadier. Skin… less breakable."
Ayame's eyebrow twitched. "Let go of my son."
Daigo let go instantly—then yawned mid-motion like he might fall asleep standing.
"…Mm." He blinked once, twice.
Then snapped back awake.
"RIGHT," Daigo said, clapping. "GIFTS. I BROUGHT A GIFT."
Raizen rubbed his cheek. "You brought—"
Daigo reached into his vest and pulled out something small.
A knot of thread.
Not Tsukihana fabric.
Yotsuki.
A thick, dark cord tied into a simple loop-and-return knot—like a circuit made physical.
He tossed it lightly.
Raizen caught it.
Daigo pointed at it like it was obvious.
"Put that on your spear," Daigo said. "Or your wrist. Or your belt. I don't care."
Raizen frowned. "What is it?"
Daigo's grin sharpened.
"It's a reminder," he said, suddenly quieter. Almost serious. "Loop returns. Always."
Raizen's chest tightened.
Daigo leaned closer, voice dropping into that tone he used when he was teaching without announcing it.
"And if you're about to do something stupid on your first C-rank…"
His eyes gleamed.
"…touch the knot first."
Raizen stared at him.
"…That's your gift?" Raizen asked.
Daigo yawned again.
Then smiled like a menace.
"No," he said. "That's the polite gift."
Raizen's stomach dropped slightly. "What's the real gift?"
Daigo straightened.
"I'm showing up tomorrow morning," he said cheerfully.
Ayame's head snapped toward him. "Absolutely not."
Daigo waved both hands. "NOT ON THE MISSION. I'm not stealing Raitaro's job. I'm not suicidal."
He pointed at Raizen.
"But before he leaves? I'm hitting him."
Raizen blinked. "What?"
Daigo nodded, delighted. "One clean strike. Not enough to injure. Enough to test if his Full Body Circulation holds under surprise."
Ayame stared like she was about to throw him out through the wall.
Jairo spoke calmly. "Daigo."
Daigo pointed at him immediately. "YOU GET IT, JAIRO."
Raizen exhaled through his nose.
"…So your gift is trauma."
Daigo beamed. "EXPERIENCE."
Taro covered his mouth like he was trying not to laugh.
Ayame looked like she was deciding which pressure point would drop an old man fastest.
And Raizen—
Raizen looked down at what he'd been given.
A keyed medic scroll.
A reinforced spear with Tsukihana colors.
A grip wrap that solved a real weakness.
And a Yotsuki knot that felt like a warning and a blessing at the same time.
He looked up at his family.
At Daigo.
At the people who'd decided—each in their own way—that tomorrow wasn't just a mission.
It was a threshold.
Raizen's grip tightened around the spear.
"…Thanks," he said, voice low.
Ayame's expression softened just enough to be dangerous.
"Come back," she said simply.
Jairo nodded once. "Come back smarter."
Daigo squinted at him. "WHATEVER YOUR NAME IS—YES."
Taro grinned. "Come back and brag."
Daigo yawned.
Then smiled like thunder behind a cloud.
"Come back," he said, "or I'll drag you back myself."
Raizen huffed a laugh.
And for the first time since hearing the words C-rank mission…
he didn't feel alone in it.