In the forty-seventh year of the Hidden Leaf, the Western Front suddenly eased.
Sunagakure was facing a crisis at ho. The Third Kazekage had been missing for months, and with a vast number of the village's elites deployed on search missions, their defensive lines had beco riddled with holes.
Seeing their window of opportunity, the Cloud Village swept through the heart of the Land of Wind, cutting straight through Sunagakure's supply lines.
Caught between two fires, Sunagakure was forced to abandon its offensive against the Land of Fire and retreat across the board.
The war had ground to a halt.
Inside his tent, Kitahara Kaede dumped out his coin purse and counted his earnings.
Three hundred and fifty thousand Ryo.
Combined with his previous savings, he now had one million eight hundred and fifty thousand.
He was still three million one hundred and fifty thousand short of his five-million goal.
With Sunagakure retreating, the high-paying missions on the Western Front would dry up. To fill that remaining gap, he would have to find a new way to make money.
That afternoon, the assembly horn sounded.
The camp's shinobi lined up in neat formations on the open grounds. Dan Kato stood at the front, holding a roster in his hand.
"The main force of Sunagakure has retreated. By the Hokage's orders, the Western Front will transition to a defensive posture effective imdiately. Forces will be rotated back in batches. Those whose nas are called next will be part of the first group returning to the village for recuperation."
As the nas were read aloud, Kitahara Kaede found himself positioned toward the middle-back of the list.
It was expected.
In nearly five months, he had completed eight high-difficulty missions. Whether calculating by casualty rates or sheer fatigue, he belonged in the first rotation.
The mont the order to dismiss was given, the tension in the camp visibly vanished. For those on the front lines, returning to the village for rest was no different from a holiday.
***
At dusk, in the command tent.
As Kitahara Kaede pulled back the curtain and stepped inside, he found Dan Kato hunched over his desk, organizing a thick stack of docunts.
Hearing him enter, Dan looked up and pointed to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Kaede complied.
Dan took an envelope from the desk and slid it gently between them.
"This is the recomndation letter for the Chunin promotion exam. Once you're back in the village, deliver it directly to the Hokage."
Kaede's gaze fell on the letter, and he reached out to take it.
Dan leaned back against his chair.
"Given your mission records and the quality of your intelligence over the last five months, the exam will be a re formality. Once you attain the rank of Chunin, your mission authorization and pay ceiling will both jump to a whole new level."
He paused for a mont.
"You told before that you take high-risk missions for the money. As a Chunin, the sa level of risk will yield a much higher reward. No matter how you crunch the numbers, it's a winning deal."
Kaede stood up and gave a formal, respectful bow.
"Thank you for your guidance over the past few months, Lord Dan."
Dan waved it off.
"You earned that recomndation yourself. There's no need to thank ."
Kaede tucked the envelope into his clothes and turned toward the exit. But a split second before lifting the curtain, his footsteps paused almost imperceptibly.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the man who had already returned to his paperwork.
Gentle in tone, thorough in execution, and neither harsh nor biased toward his subordinates. After five months of working together, Kaede had ford a very objective opinion.
Dan Kato was indeed a flawless boss.
And he was, truly, a wonderful man.
It was only natural, then, that the Tsunade of this world would choose him.
Kaede pushed the thought aside and walked toward the camp gates.
At the entrance, just as Kaede hoisted his pack and took two steps forward, a voice called out.
"Senior Kitahara! Wait up!"
There was the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. He turned to see the young ninja he had once kicked out of harm's way to save.
The boy ran up to him, panting heavily, clutching a cloth bundle. He thrust it into Kaede's hand.
"Eat this on the road. I made it myself—my skills are diocre, so don't complain!"
With that, he turned and bolted. After a few steps, he screeched to a halt, turned back, and yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Senior! Be careful on the way!"
Then he vanished in a flash.
Kaede looked down at the bundle and squeezed it.
It was hard as a rock. The boy must have packed the rice balls incredibly tight.
He tucked the bundle into his coat and set off on his journey.
***
At the Hidden Leaf Hospital.
Tsunade signed the final post-operative record, set her pen down, and leaned back into her chair. Her temples were throbbing.
She had handled two grueling surgeries back-to-back today; her arms ached from her shoulders down to her fingertips. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.
By her count, nearly five months had passed since she had knocked on the door of Kitahara Kaede's apartnt.
At the beginning, she had been a bit obsessive. She had gone to the Hokage's office to demand archives and spent mornings staking out his door, nearly mobilizing the ANBU just to find a man she had "seen in a dream."
Eventually, she had perford a complete self-diagnostic—chakra pathways, cerebral ridians, ntal health indicators—all of them were normal. There was nothing wrong with her.
She convinced herself that she was simply overworked and had suffered a montary lapse in judgnt.
She told herself to stop searching.
And yet, images from the dream continued to surface from ti to ti. They ca every few days, without any particular pattern.
Once, while washing her hands at the hospital, she watched the water flow between her fingers. Suddenly, a pair of hands flashed through her mind, placing a die in her palm, the fingertips brushing against her own.
She had turned the faucet up and splashed cold water on her face to clear her head.
Another ti, she woke up in the middle of the night and kicked her blanket aside. As she lay in the darkness, a small patch of light appeared before her eyes—she saw herself sewing sothing, the stitches crooked and uneven.
She had rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The next morning, that side of the pillow was damp.
She didn't think much of it. She had experienced far worse on the battlefield; a few fragnted images weren't going to break her.
It was only that occasionally, in the middle of a surgery, as the needle pierced the skin, her mind would wander for a fleeting second.
*Knock, knock.*
"Co in."
A nurse entered, carrying several files.
"Lady Tsunade, these post-op observation records need your signature. Also, the prescription for bed three needs to be adjusted."
Tsunade took the docunts and began to sign. The nurse waited beside her, hesitated, and then spoke again.
"By the way, a batch of wounded soldiers from the Western Front was transported back to the village this afternoon."
Tsunade's pen didn't stop; she finished one page and flipped to the next.
"Their injuries aren't severe—mostly light wounds and fatigue-related trauma. They've already been assigned to the first and second floors."
Tsunade handed the signed docunts back.
Silence lingered for two seconds.
"Let see the casualty distribution list. I want to verify if there are enough beds."
Her tone was strictly professional.
The nurse didn't think twice and pulled the list from the bottom of the folder, placing it on the desk.
Tsunade didn't take it imdiately. She first made two corrections to the prescription for bed three. Only after finishing did she reach for the list, scanning it from top to bottom.
Quickly.
The list was placed back on the desk. There were no issues with the beds. She pushed the prescription and the list back together.
The nurse gathered the files, then rembered one more thing.
"The Western Front is rotating troops in batches, so more people should be arriving gradually."
"Mm."
Tsunade picked up her tea and took a sip. She set the cup down and looked out the window. The sky was darkening.
"Right, Lady Tsunade, regarding the dical record for Operating Room 3 that you took ho last week—the scheduled surgery is the day after tomorrow."
Tsunade paused.
The dical record?
She had indeed taken it, but she had forgotten where she put it...
"I'll go get it."
She stood up, grabbed her coat, and walked out the door.
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