The green light wouldn't steady.
Tatsuya pressed his palms against the chunin's chest, watching the chakra flicker like a candle in wind. His reserves were dangerously low, had been for hours now, but there were still wounded who needed him, still lives balanced on the edge of what his hands could do.
"Hold still," he murmured, though the man beneath him had stopped moving minutes ago. Shock, probably. The kunai had caught him in the shoulder, missing the subclavian artery by centimeters. Lucky. Relatively speaking.
Around him, the forward outpost hummed with controlled chaos. Shinobi moved with purpose, reinforcing positions, clearing debris, counting the dead. The probe attack had lasted maybe two to three minutes. The aftermath would take hours.
"Meguri."
He didn't look up. "Busy."
"He's stable." Ren's voice, flat as always. "You've been working on him for ten minutes. He's stable."
Tatsuya blinked. Checked his work, the wound was closed, the bleeding stopped, the tissue beginning the slow process of knitting itself back together. Ren was right. He'd been healing on autopilot, his mind somewhere else entirely.
He pulled his hands back. The green light died.
"Takeshi?"
"Evacuation team's prepping him now. Your work held." Ren settled onto a supply crate nearby, moving stiffly. His knuckles were torn, swollen, he'd been fighting bare-fisted at some point, his earth-reinforced strikes powerful enough to shatter bone. "Two others from Team Six need attention when you're ready."
"Give me a minute."
He didn't have a minute. But he took one anyway, letting his head fall forward, breathing through the hollow exhaustion that came from pushing chakra reserves past empty. His hands trembled slightly. Not fear, just depletion. The body telling him it had nothing left to give.
He gave anyway. That was the job.
"First real engagement?" he asked, not quite looking at Ren.
A pause. "That obvious?"
"You're still here. Still functioning. That's not obvious at all." Tatsuya pushed himself upright, joints protesting. "Most people freeze. Or break. You did neither."
Ren was quiet for a moment. Then: "I killed a man. With my hands." He looked down at those hands, broad, calloused, built for violence. "It was easier than I expected. That bothers me more than the act itself."
Tatsuya understood that particular horror. The discovery that killing came naturally, that the human capacity for violence was a feature rather than a flaw. He'd made peace with it. Mostly.
"It gets easier," he said. "That's not comfort. Just truth."
"I know." Ren's expression didn't change. "My father told me the same thing before he died."
Before Tatsuya could respond, Jiraiya appeared at the edge of the medical station. The Sannin's jovial mask was entirely absent now, replaced by a harder expression.
"Meguri. Inoue. With me."
They followed him to the command tent, where other team leaders were already gathering. The space was cramped, bodies pressed close around a rough table covered in maps and casualty reports. Tatsuya found a corner and made himself small, conscious of his rank among these hardened veterans.
Minato was already there, standing at Jiraiya's shoulder. His expression was calm, attentive, but Tatsuya caught the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes kept moving to the tent entrance.
"Scout report came in," Jiraiya said without preamble. "That wasn't a probe. It was bait."
The tent went quiet.
"Iwa has committed a larger force to this sector. Forty to fifty shinobi, moving through the western corridor." Jiraiya traced a line on the map with one finger. "They're not harassing supply lines anymore. They're trying to establish a foothold."
A jonin with a Nara clan shadow stitched into his vest leaned forward. "Reinforcement timeline?"
"Eighteen hours minimum. Probably closer to twenty-four."
"We can't hold this position against fifty for a full day. Not with our current strength."
"No." Jiraiya's smile held no humor. "We can't hold. But we can hit them before they consolidate. They don't know we've spotted their main force. That's an advantage we won't have twice."
Discussion erupted, tactical considerations, force allocation, risk assessment. Tatsuya listened, absorbing the shape of the argument while studying the map. The terrain was rough, forested hills cut by ravines and seasonal streambeds. Good for ambush. Bad for sustained engagement.
His eyes caught on a feature he'd noted during the initial briefing. The western ravine, the one he'd flagged as dangerous for approach. From this angle, looking at the enemy's likely route...
"The ravine," he said.
The tent went quiet again. Every eye turned to the genin who'd spoken out of turn.
Tatsuya felt his face heat but didn't look away. "The western ravine. Their advance route passes through it. If we position forces on the elevated approaches—"
"We discussed that terrain during briefing," a chunin interrupted. "The sightlines work both ways. We'd be exposed to counter-fire."
"Only if they know we're there." Tatsuya stepped closer to the map, pointing. "The northern approach is heavily forested. Dense canopy, minimal clearing. A force could move into position undetected if they went in before dawn. By the time the enemy enters the ravine's kill zone, we'd have elevation and concealment."
"And if they have scouts ahead of the main force?"
"Then we eliminate them quietly. That's what the elevated position is for, we see them before they see us."
Jiraiya was watching him with that unreadable expression again. "You've studied this terrain."
"I study all terrain. It's—" He caught himself before saying survival habit. "It's prudent."
"Prudent." The word came out flat, but something in Jiraiya's eyes had shifted. He looked at the map again, then at Minato. "Thoughts?"
The young jonin moved forward, tracing the route Tatsuya had indicated. "The approach works. Timing would be tight, but achievable. If we commit two-thirds of our combat strength to the ambush position and leave a skeleton force here..." He nodded slowly. "We could break their advance before they consolidate. Turn their strength into a liability."
"Risks?"
"If the ambush fails, we're caught between their main force and any reserves they've held back. And we'd be leaving the outpost vulnerable."
"The outpost doesn't matter," Tatsuya said. "It's a temporary position. The wounded matter. The supply caches matter. We evacuate both before we move."
More discussion. More objections. But the fundamental logic held, they couldn't defend against a force twice their size, so offense was their only option. Better to choose the ground than have it chosen for them.
When Jiraiya finally called for consensus, the plan was approved. Modified from Tatsuya's initial suggestion, refined by more experienced minds, but fundamentally the same shape.
As the tent cleared, Jiraiya caught his arm.
"Good thinking kid" the Sannin praised quietly.
Tatsuya met his eyes. "Thank you, but I'm just trying to survive."
"No." Jiraiya's grip was firm but not painful. "You think like someone who wants everyone to survive. Those are two different things." He released Tatsuya's arm. "Get some rest. We move in four hours."
Sleep wouldn't come.
Tatsuya lay on his bedroll in the cramped shelter he'd been assigned, staring at canvas that was too close to count as a ceiling. Around him, other shinobi slept or pretended to, the particular silence of people preparing for violence, each lost in their own rituals of readiness.
His body ached for rest. His chakra reserves were slowly recovering, the deep pool refilling in increments too small to measure. But his mind wouldn't quiet.
He kept seeing the man he'd killed. The kunoichi with the tantos, her eyes going wide as her arm stopped working. The spray of blood when his sword opened her throat. Quick, clean, efficient, exactly what he'd trained for. Exactly what he'd become.
A few months ago, that would have horrified him. Now it was just... data. His mind was already thinking of more efficient ways he could have dealt with that situation, which was probably even more terrifying that the actual act, he thought.
He rose quietly, slipping out of the shelter without waking the others. The night air was cold, carrying the mineral smell of the mountains and the faint char of extinguished cooking fires. Stars wheeled overhead, impossibly dense away from the village's light pollution.
He found a spot at the perimeter, close enough to be within the watch rotation's coverage, far enough for the illusion of solitude. Sat with his back against a tree and tried to meditate, to sink into the chakra circulation exercises that were supposed to accelerate recovery.
The exercises helped. The meditation didn't.
"Can't sleep either?"
He didn't startle, had sensed the approaching presence before the words came. Minato emerged from the shadows, moving with that economical grace that made him seem to flow rather than walk. He settled against a neighboring tree, close but not crowding.
"Tried," Tatsuya said. "Didn't take."
"The night before battle." Minato's voice was soft, contemplative. "I've never gotten used to it. The waiting. Knowing what's coming and having to sit still anyway."
"Does it get easier?"
"No." A slight smile, barely visible in the darkness. "But you get better at functioning through it. That's not the same thing."
They sat in silence for a while. Tatsuya found himself studying Minato's profile the strong jaw, the unruly hair, the way his eyes never quite stopped moving even in rest. This was the man who would save the village someday. Who would die doing it, if history held its course.
Unless something changed.
"Can I ask you something?" Tatsuya said.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Why did you become a shinobi?"
Minato was quiet for long enough that Tatsuya thought he might not respond. Then: "Because I could."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one." Minato shifted, his gaze lifting to the stars. "I was orphaned young. The Academy took me in, one of many war orphans they processed through those years. I didn't choose to become a shinobi. It was simply... what happened to children like me."
"But you stayed. You excelled. That's a choice."
"Yes." The word carried weight. "Somewhere along the way, I realized something. I had strength. Speed. Talent, if you believe the instructors. And there were people who had none of those things, civilians, children, the weak. People who would be crushed by the violence that shinobi live in." He paused. "I could protect them. Not all of them. Not always. But more than if I'd chosen differently. So I chose this."