The doors of Konoha's mission reception office were pushed open, and the afternoon sunlight spilled in along with the figure entering, pouring into the sowhat noisy hall.
Konoha naturally had a dedicated mission reception office. After all, there were tens of thousands of official shinobi—there was no way the Hokage could personally handle every single mission. For ordinary missions, the Hokage would only take a hands-on role early on, mainly for newly graduated teams and rookies.
"Yo, Shinichi!"
"Here to pick up a mission, Shinichi? Going solo this ti? Not with Tsunade-sama, Shizune, and Kurenai?"
"Hey, hey—big-shot mangaka! When's the next chapter coming out? When does the legendary cooking utensil arc finally start? I've been itching like crazy waiting for it!"
"Shinichi-kun, that new dango shop you recomnded last ti? It was really good!"
The mont Shinichi appeared at the entrance, enthusiastic greetings rang out from all over the hall. There were familiar chūnin and jōnin seniors, staff mbers who were always stationed at the reception office, and even a few genin who were clearly fans of his manga, taking a break nearby.
A signature gentle smile appeared on Shinichi's face. As he walked inward, he responded calmly to the voices coming from all directions.
His attitude was warm, his responses appropriate—he neither ignored anyone nor lingered too long with any one person. With steady steps, he made his way toward the mission assignnt counter.
Along the way, almost everyone was willing to greet him or crack a harmless joke. The entire reception hall seed to grow more lively and relaxed because of his arrival, clearly showing just how popular he was within the village.
By the ti he reached an empty counter, a middle-aged receptionist with a kind face was already smiling at him.
"Here—this is the latest mission list." The receptionist handed over a thick scroll booklet through the window, speaking in a familiar tone.
"Thanks, senpai." Shinichi smiled modestly as he accepted the scroll, leaning against the counter and quickly scanning through it.
Although he was a mber of Team Ten, as a chūnin—the backbone of Konoha's shinobi system—he had the qualification to independently accept C-rank and B-rank missions, as long as they didn't conflict with his team's schedule.
Over the past few months, he had occasionally used the gaps between team missions to take on short, nearby solo missions. The staff at the reception office had already grown accustod to this pattern.
As for whether going out alone might lead to accidents—or attract ill intentions from certain people?
Go talk to my senpai, the Monkey King Enma, and Katsuyu-nee-sama about that.
Out in the field, backing is everything.
As his gaze swept over one mission description after another, Shinichi casually asked, "Senpai, are there any nearby ones today? Preferably sothing close—sothing I can finish in a day."
"Heh, you're in luck." The receptionist grinned and pulled out a mission sheet he had already set aside, handing it over. "Take a look at this—Tsukimi Village, northeast of here. Sa old problem. Brown bears harassing villagers. Rated C-rank. It's close—at your speed, you'll get there in half a day. Shouldn't be much trouble to handle. If things go smoothly, you might even be back in ti for breakfast tomorrow. Haha!"
Shinichi took the sheet. Seeing the familiar village na and the description "brown bear threat," he couldn't help but smile.
"Tsukimi Village? Them again? Didn't they have a similar request last year? Those big guys in the mountains still haven't settled down after more than a year?"
"Who knows?" The receptionist shrugged, his tone carrying a hint of helpless humor. "Anyway, they report it every year, and we send people every year."
"Alright, I'll take this one. Sorry to trouble you, senpai—please register it for ."
"Got it!" The receptionist swiftly handled the paperwork, stamping it as he spoke. "Shinichi, even if it's just brown bears, be careful. Wild beasts can be dangerous when they go berserk."
"Understood. Thanks for the reminder." Shinichi nodded, accepting the stamped mission scroll and carefully storing it away.
As he left the reception office, another round of overlapping farewells and teasing followed him.
"Be careful out there, Shinichi!"
"Co back soon—we're waiting for the next chapter!"
"Finish quickly—when you're back, I'll treat you to yakiniku!"
Shinichi smiled and waved. His figure quickly rged into the flow of people on Konoha's streets, heading steadily toward the village gates.
...
Night fell, draping the dense forest near Tsukimi Village in deep darkness. Far from the village lights, deep within the mountains, a campfire crackled—its flas the only flickering light in the night.
Above the fire, a simple rack made of thick branches held large chunks of bear at, sizzling with oil and releasing a rich, mouthwatering aroma.
Beside the fire sat a tall, broad-shouldered youth. He looked about fifteen or sixteen, with sharp features and a resolute face. The aura shaped by the wind, snow, and swordsmanship of the Land of Iron made him seem more mature and stern than his actual age.
At this mont, however, he was sitting cross-legged without a shred of decorum, gripping a large chunk of freshly cut, perfectly roasted bear leg at in his hand, tearing into it with big bites—grease running down his mouth, his manner bold and unrestrained.
A small pot beside him simred with a thick soup made from wild vegetables and bear bones, steam rising into the night.
His signature katana, along with a powerful long-handled halberd, leaned casually against a nearby tree trunk. The blades occasionally reflected a cold gleam in the firelight.
At that mont, a faint rustling of leaves ca from the edge of the forest—so subtle it nearly blended into the night wind.
The youth by the fire—Isshin, the clone—did not pause his chewing in the slightest. He didn't even raise his eyelids, as if the sound were nothing more than the wind stirring the trees. His attention remained fully on the roasted at and the soup before him.
Monts later, Higashino Shinichi's figure erged silently from the shadows of the forest.
Though his face bore a slight resemblance to the youth by the fire, Shinichi looked younger and more refined—possessing the lean sharpness of a Konoha shinobi shaped by systematic training, in contrast to Isshin's rugged, battle-worn, almost feral presence.
Shinichi glanced at the clone feasting by the fire, then swept his gaze over the two lifeless brown bear corpses lying nearby.
He walked straight behind Isshin and, quite naturally, reached out to lightly pat his broad, solid shoulder.
The mont his palm made contact, an invisible connection was triggered. Deep within Shinichi's consciousness, the entry representing [Clone (Blue)] flickered, and an interface for adjusting trait allocation clearly surfaced in his mind.
With a thought, like operating a precise instrunt, he swiftly and skillfully adjusted several talent entries on Isshin's body—modifying their proportions and activation states.
The first to be removed was [Diligence Makes Up for Lack of Talent]. Its effect was "increased focus with guaranteed slight improvent," but for Shinichi now, it had indeed beco sowhat lackluster.
That "slight" degree of improvent was almost negligible compared to the leap-like progress brought by entries such as [Genius] and [Clear Comprehension and Thorough Insight].
That didn't an it had no value. Shinichi understood very well that this kind of "guaranteed progress" trait would truly shine in the future—when he hit a bottleneck and found himself unable to advance no matter how hard he tried.
At that ti, sothing like [Diligence Makes Up for Lack of Talent]—steady, incrental, accumulating over ti—might very well beco the key to breaking the deadlock.
But for Isshin, who had fused with the traits of the Monkey King's bloodline—where even doing nothing but sleeping every day would naturally lead to growth—it was temporarily unnecessary. Better to free up the slot for sothing more suitable.
The adjustnt process was brief and silent, completed in an instant.
After finishing, Shinichi withdrew his hand, walked around the flickering campfire, and casually sat down opposite the clone.
Once seated, he reached out, tore off a perfectly roasted slab of bear ribs from the rack, and ladled himself half a bowl of steaming soup. Without ceremony, he began to eat.
For a ti, the forest clearing was filled only with the crackling of the fire, the faint sounds of chewing, and the occasional whisper of wind through the treetops.
There was no conversation.
Because none was needed.
The firelight flickered, illuminating two youthful faces—subtly connected, yet distinctly different.
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