"What? Logistics crew's getting the boot back to the village?" Nawaki's voice pitched up in disbelief, his eyes wide as he spun toward Kyuushin, who could only offer a sympathetic sigh amid the morning bustle.
"Spot on—expect the official word from Tsunade-sensei by afternoon," Kyuushin confirmed, clapping a hand on Nawaki's shoulder to steady the younger boy's jittery energy. "It's the smart call; keeps the non-fighters out of the crossfire."
"But what about us? Spill—how do we fit in?" Nawaki pressed, his fingers twisting the hem of his vest, the anxiety bubbling over like a pot about to boil dry.
Kyuushin arched a brow playfully, though his tone stayed even. "Hey, we're support squad too—orders are orders. Unless you've got a wild plan to dodge the recall?" He let the tease hang, watching Nawaki's face cycle through panic to confusion.
Truth was, Kyuushin was pulling his leg. Post-meeting the day before, Orochimaru and Tsunade had pulled him aside for a quiet debrief, floating the frontline slot. He'd jumped at it without a second thought— the heart of the action called louder than safety's whisper.
Nawaki and Minato's spots were trickier knots, though. On raw talent alone, they cleared chunin benchmarks with room to spare—prodigies who could hold their own in a scrap.
War didn't grade on skill curves, though. Even jonin danced with death on a knife's edge, one slip turning titans to targets.
Ninja life boiled down to that brutal truth: offense soared, but defenses? Fragile as fresh ice. A stray kunai in the chaos could fell the mightiest if luck soured.
Still, shipping Nawaki home now? About as feasible as herding cats in a typhoon. After hashing it out, Tsunade and Orochimaru settled on tethering the boys close—under watchful eyes, combat risks minimized where possible.
Nawaki teetered on bolting for Tsunade's tent, his face a storm of determination, when Kyuushin cut in with a grin. "Easy—I'm winding you up. You're in; I've cleared it to stick with the push. You and Minato shadow Orochimaru-sensei for the ride."
The reversal hit like a gust, Nawaki's features nearly crumpling before snapping back. "Wait—you serious? No punchline?"
"Dead serious," Kyuushin assured, his chuckle light but firm. "Bail if you want—I can loop back to Orochimaru-sensei and swap you for a ticket home. Your call."
He pivoted to Minato, who lingered nearby with his trademark calm. "Same offer stands for you, Minato. Opt out, no hard feelings."
Minato's smile bloomed soft and steadfast, shaking his head. "You know my stance—I'm locked in, right on your tail no matter the path."
Nawaki exploded into motion, fist pumping the air. "Count me double in! Let's roll!"
Kyuushin leveled a serious gaze, tempering the hype. "Hold that fire—this plunge into Rain territory amps the stakes sky-high. Enemy heartland, traps everywhere. No heroics, no solo dashes—stick tight and think sharp."
Nawaki thumped his chest with vigor, eyes alight. "You got my word—I'll play it cool, promise."
As predicted, afternoon brought Tsunade's announcement, rippling cheers through the logistics camp like a stone skipped across a pond. Laughter mingled with relieved chatter, packs slung as shinobi prepped for the trek home.
Shikaku wove through the crowd, sidling up with a probing look. "Kyuushin— you pulling out with the support wave?"
"Not a chance," Kyuushin shot back, meeting Shikaku's eyes squarely. "I'm tagging with the assault team—full dive into the fray ahead."
Relief washed over Shikaku's features, subtle but there. Kyuushin seized the opening, leaning in. "Alright, you've dodged me long enough—what was that parting shot back at the mess? Spill now; we're past the veil."
Shikaku's shake came gentle but firm, a shadow of regret in his gaze. "It's not holding back on purpose—some lines I can't cross yet. But hit Rain's soil, and the pieces should click into place. Trust the flow."
Kyuushin bit back the urge to dig deeper, respecting the boundary. "Fair. You three bailing for the village, then?"
Shikaku nodded, glancing back at Inoichi and Choza packing nearby. "Our gig was rear-guard from the jump—frontline heat's premature for us. Better we bow out than snag your momentum."
Kyuushin dipped his head in understanding, the exchange wrapping on that note.
The following two or three days blurred into organized chaos. Konoha shuttled the support ranks homeward in waves, while fresh supply convoys rolled in—crucial payloads greenlit by the village elders after the strategy pitch.
The Third Hokage and council had rubber-stamped Orochimaru's blueprint without drag, dispatching crates of essentials to fuel the incursion.
Hot camp grub had been a staple till now, but Rain's depths meant soldier pills as the mainstay—compact, enduring, if bland.
Storage scrolls brimmed with ninja tools, too; no rear lines meant frontloading every kunai, tag, and med kit to the hilt.
The transition wrapped after another couple days, Tsunade rallying the stripped-down force for the border crossing.
They'd already claimed a modest Rain frontier hamlet—abandoned in haste by the locals, ripe for repurposing. Stone walls and roofs beat tent life, a brief comfort amid the grind.
Tsunade wasted no time, cornering Orochimaru on arrival. "Status on the push?"
"Textbook," Orochimaru replied, his tone laced with wry satisfaction. "Next town's a ghost—they barely contested before vanishing into the mist."
"Jiraiya still out?" Tsunade scanned the makeshift command post, her frown deepening at his absence.
Orochimaru shook his head. "Radio silent on return, but daily drops confirm he's breathing. No sweat."
Tsunade mulled it, then ventured, "Their script calls for severing our pullback once we're committed. What if we bait that—dangle a fake retreat route and ambush their cutters? Might flush Hanzo from hiding."
The core hunch painted Rain dragging them inward, slashing supply veins to starve the beast slow.
Konoha's wrinkle? No veins left to slash—logistics ghosts.
Her gambit: Mimic a lumbering advance, let Rain pounce on phantom tails, then spring the trap—shred their interceptors mid-strike.
Rinse and repeat on the march, grinding until Hanzo blinked.
Orochimaru dismissed it with a measured tilt. "Flawed on two fronts. Timelines are blind—we can't predict their chop without overextending sensors, leaving us exposed.
Plus, our shuffle's no secret; Hanzo's ears caught wind ages ago. Logistics feint? He'd see through it. They'll bide till we're neck-deep, then coil the noose."
Tsunade conceded with a nod, her idea a spur-of-the-moment spark unrefined by the finer edges.
With the adjacent settlement secured, the force lingered only overnight, gearing for dawn's stride onward.
The pattern held for the next ten-plus days—a relentless cascade of hollow victories. Rain squads melted before contact, Konoha's blade slicing empty air with zero toll on their ranks.
Deeper they plunged, though, into Rain's sodden core. If the blueprint rang true, the backlash brewed close—Hanzo's fangs bared at last.
Vigilance ratcheted up, Orochimaru's crew on knife-edge alert. Then, one rain-lashed dawn, a scout burst into the tent, breathless. "Confirmed—main Rain army massing a hundred miles out!"
Orochimaru's pulse quickened, the air thickening with finality. The clash loomed—war's crescendo crashing down.