SGM - Chapter 3

The next five days passed faster than I thought they would. Then again, what did I expect when I threw myself so ruthlessly into completing D-Rank Missions?

I could have lied to myself and claimed that my sudden and all-consuming determination to hammer out these frustrating and meaningless jobs stemmed from the slurry of willpower-based perks I’d gained from James Beckham, but one of my ‘Thinker’ powers made it practically impossible for me to fool myself. Truthfully, while things like Invictus and Chad Grindset made for an easy explanation, I - on a more personal level - felt frustrated at my previous self’s directionless lack of ambition.

The fact that I was a part of the Genin Corps, and thus lacking in both a sensei and teammates, was a moot point. An excuse. It was true that D-Rank missions were assigned with full teams in mind, being team building exercises in their own right, but it had been my own lack of passion and focus that held me back from effectively completing them independently. They paid well, for what was basically manual labor, and a lot of my monetary issues could’ve been solved if I’d just… locked in.

Only now, I know that me being poor was some predestined, metaphysical inevitability designed by ROBs unknown instead of any purposeful fault of mine, but-

Long story short, I was now determined to make up for lost time.

From the moment I’d dropped groceries off at home, until today, three whole days later, I’d become a one-man laboring machine.

Though, to get a better idea of it all, knowing more about the Genin Corps is important.

The Genin Corps is, to quote Ibiki Morino’s ‘orientation’ speech, ‘The Place Careers Go to Die’. We were Genin who failed the ever-sacred exam given to us by our assigned Jonin-sensei - only, instead of taking the ‘gracious’ hand offered to us by our superiors and going back to the Academy for two years of remedial lessons, we lowered our heads, gritted our teeth stubbornly, and said ‘no, I’m not going back!’

As expected, the people in charge didn’t respect that sort of foolishness.

That wasn’t the only way to join our dysfunctional and highly unskilled family, however. If you piss off the wrong commanding officer enough, or you’re straight up too old (16-18) to go back to the Academy after failing the Jonin test, there’s a hole they like to toss you in. Our hole. And climbing out is… extremely hard to do, even with chakra.

There were two known ways: getting scouted by an interested Jonin and given a chance to pass their test, in which case you’re a ‘Genin Apprentice’, or somehow get pushed into the Chunin Exam by on-high and impress the world enough to be promoted. For a group of Genin failures given practically no guidance, training, or notable experience for as long as they’re in the Genin Corps… well, it’s damn near impossible.

Arguably the worst part of this hole is the aimlessness. For someone like me, without a clan, family, friends, teachers, or literally any sort of support, growing powerful and skilled enough to catch a Jonin’s eye, or pass the Chunin Exams, was an exercise in failure. Not anymore, obviously, but a week ago? No wonder I’d been drinking myself into a stupor and forgoing training. 

Without even realizing it, I had given up.

We were allowed to team up - us Genin Corps rejects - but we were already limited to the shittier D and C rank missions because of our glaring lack of training and skill, so most of our number didn’t even bother doing that. Instead, they opted to either cry about it at the local dive bar the other rejects frequented, or try their shitty luck at completing C-ranks and end up dead or missing because of the before mentioned glaring lack of training and skill. 

We were examples of what not to do. Our failure taught the ‘good eggs’ that going back to the Academy wasn’t all that bad, and to not piss off your superiors or otherwise fuck up, because there truly were things worse than being forcibly retired in a world where most ninja don’t make it past thirty-five. We weren’t given drab uniforms or jester hats, but it was obvious in the dark bags beneath sunken eyes, the frayed clothing, the dull and lackluster equipment.

Not too long ago, I had that exact same gaze. Dragging my feet, barely pushing out two missions a week. But not anymore.

Now? I was determined to fly past my station. So high into the clouds that no one dared to look down on me ever again.

On the very first day, I’m ashamed to say that I was only able to complete a single mission. My body had been more exhausted than originally expected from the morning’s training, and after stopping by the Mission Center - and, by proxy, the Academy - I found my body wanting to sleep instead of work. Of course, my willpower was undeniably the strongest thing about me now, so I powered through and got it done.

Babysitting.

A grandma needed help taking care of her daughter’s eight hyperactive brats for the day, and put in a request to the Mission Center. I spent six hours being jumped on, drooled on, pissed on, pooped on, prodded and poked and questioned, as the grandmother, Kayori, watched from her rocking chair and smiled with no teeth.

Six fucking hours.

By the time the daughter had gotten back, I had bubblegum and lollipops stuck in my hair, mascara running down my cheek from playing ‘dress-up’ with the granddaughters, and teething marks on my forearm from Chompy Chozu, the boy who’d only just gotten his teeth in. I wasn’t a very social person despite what James Beckham may have wanted from me, and although my charisma helped significantly, my battery had been completely and utterly drained.

The only upside to the mission had been the bonus ryo the mother had given me for assisting, although I felt it was less my performance and more so the slight blush she had on her chipmunk-like cheeks when she’d passed the tip to me.

Nicely thick though I liked my women, she was many sizes too large for my tastes. I’d bid them a fast farewell and left to confirm with the Mission Center.

After that, and a long night’s sleep, my efficiency grew. I began waking up at 6 AM on the dot, cooking myself a small, yet highly nutritious and protein-packed breakfast, and bento box for lunch, before heading out. The second day I got assigned a fence-painting mission from the Nara Clan, which only took me a couple hours of intense labor in the blaring heat. Taking it as the physical challenge it was, I leaned into my Chad Grindset to quicken and broaden my brush-strokes, tensing my arm muscles with each swipe and performing squats between each section.

All the while, I Multitasked by sticking leaves to random parts of my body. The middle-aged couple who assigned the mission watched curiously from their porch, and the scarred Nara man with the goatee even gave me a few pointers for how to make the Leaf Concentration exercise even more challenging by slowly rotating them with your chakra.

I proceeded to try it out on my next mission, which I picked up after a quick lunch break later that day. 

Turned out it was a lot harder, especially with me dividing my attention with wall-walking. The mission was to assist a handyman with laying down shingles on a new general store’s roof, and I refused to use the provided ladder if I could get more use out of my Chad Grindset. Who knew manual labor could substitute as training?

That was probably when I got a little crazy with the ‘grinding’.

Day three saw me waking up at 5 AM to take three D-rank missions, one after the other; chasing Madame Shijimi’s demonic tabby, Tora, across the city, pulling roots from Old Man Tobin’s turnip garden (he owned two fucking acres of land), and cleaning one of the many Inuzuka kennels. My chakra control training had gone from slowly rotating leaves on my body to spinning them like spin-tops on every inch of skin I could as I worked. I easily ignored the odd looks I received, and focused more on conditioning my steadily improving chakra.

It made those long hours cleaning up dog shit many times more bearable.

By day five, I was getting ready to try my hand at pulling and juggling five D-ranks, and, if I had time afterwards, try my hand at Water-Walking at Training Ground 32.

Had I become a bit obsessed with the progression? Maybe. But give a poor, friendless orphan his first real taste of consistent money, an unbreakable will, and tangible evidence of his day by day improvement, and then see what he manages to scrounge up. 

He’d topple the entire fucking global economy.

These thoughts flitted through one part of my brain as I briskly made my way towards the Mission Center at 5:48 AM. Another partition of my multitasking mind was calculating the ryo expenditure for this week’s groceries, since I was planning on baking cinnamon brownies for Mina. And when I stepped into the large, ornate room, ceasing all conversation with my arrival, that final slice of consciousness prepared itself for negotiation.

The Sandaime Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, peered at me through a thin, hazy cloud of smoke, chewing thoughtfully on the stem of his wooden pipe. At his sides were Chunin Extras 1 & 2 - usually he was joined by Iruka-sensei in the afternoons, and replaced entirely by the scarred Academy teacher in the evenings once classes ended. 

Why he opted to spend hours of his morning doling out missions, I had no clue. At the end of the day, he paid my bills.

“Igarashi-kun,” the old man hummed, an odd casualness to his gritty voice. He smiled that warm, grandfatherly grin, and I felt the unconscious tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly. “Back early in the morning again, I see. They do say the early bird catches the worm.”

“They, sir?” I asked wryly, coming to a halt a few feet away from the desk. My clasped hands went behind my waist, shoulders straight and calm blue eyes staring directly into the Hokage’s own piercing gaze. Before, it would have taken me everything inside to muster the courage to do such a thing. Now? He was just another man. An exemplary one, and the leader of my village, but human.

Invictus made it hard to put anyone on a pedestal.

The Sandaime’s chuckle was quiet, yet jovial. “The mice who sleep in and snag the cheese, my boy. But enough of my old man’s jokes. May I ask you a question, before we move onto your mission assignment?”

“Of course, Hokage-sama.”

I was confused as to why he was even bothering to speak to me in the first place. This was new.

“It isn’t often that Genin actively seek out the completion of D-rank missions, especially a member of the Genin Corps. You had only completed three D-rank missions in the fifteen days after your induction into the Corps, before this week. In the past four days, that ‘three’ became ‘thirteen’. An unnatural increase for other fledgling shinobi your age.”

He took a moment to breathe out another cloud of dark gray smoke, dark eyes watching me with clear consideration. “To be blunt, Igarashi-kun, your motivation confuses me. I’ve received reports of you training during these missions, as well. Chakra control, it seems?”

A chill went down my spine, but my face retained its impassiveness. This wasn’t outright suspicion, from what little of his expression I could decipher. It was curiosity, and maybe a little bit of wariness. If he was truly suspecting of me being some sort of urchin spy, I imagine I would’ve already been placed in a holding cell by now.

Against my better judgment, a small, sardonic smile formed on my lips. “As you’ve said yourself, Hokage-sama; I’m a part of the Genin Corps. I’ve failed my Jonin’s test, and refused to try again. I’ve recently learned that fodder like me can’t afford to snag the ‘cheese’, so I scramble for what scraps I can. D-ranks pay bills.”

D’s get degrees. A saying from the old world.

The Sandaime hummed again, his expression going slack in such a way that there was no hope of me deducing his thoughts. Spurred on by the Grindset, my eyes blinked between each minute facial twitch, checking the eyes, lips, nose, and ears - but nothing stood out. Unsurprisingly, the God of Shinobi was unreadable to a simple career genin like myself.

“And how has your chakra control training been going?”

The sudden question brought me up short. For a moment, I debated minimizing my progress and trying to lie, but common sense dictated that, in the same way I couldn’t read his expression, the wizened old man could most likely read mine as easily as a newborn baby’s. 

Shrugging, I responded, “Decently well, Hokage-sama. I’ve mastered the Tree Walking exercise, and the more difficult forms of Leaf Concentration. I’ll be moving onto Water Walking this evening.”

The Sandaime’s eyebrows quirked up slightly at my easy admittance, but it was the portly, gray-haired Chunin sheafing through papers at the desk beside him that actually responded - with a scoff. He placed the documents face-down on the table before sending me a glare that I’d already grown accustomed to; condescending, and holier-than-thou. Before, I would’ve just bowed my head and ignored it.

The flush of anger such a look gave me, now, nearly took me by surprise. As it was, I met it with a cold stare of my own.

“Two weeks out of the academy, no sensei, and you’re one of Ibiki’s crippled dogs? Stop trying to impress the Hokage, brat. Figuring out how to climb trees using your chakra is one thing, but achieving true mastery is another. You kids throw that word around without even knowing what it means, and I’m tired of the younger generation acting so high and mighty! I’m sorry, Hokage-sama, but he’s full of it.” 

My cheek twitched. “Does that bother you?”

“Huh? What, that you’re lying to save face? It does - back in my day, we actually had to back our boasting up.” The Chunin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, proud of his ‘quick wit’.

I smirked, but there was no amusement in the expression. “No, old man, I don’t care about your golden days. Does it bother you that I, an unskilled, fresh-faced genin failure, hold more talent in my feet than you do in your entire body?”

…

SLAM!

“You arrogant little-!”

“Enough.”

The Chuunin paled, sordid glare widening to the point of near bug-eyedness as he fell back into his chair with a choked gasp.

It took me a second too late to realize that I was supposed to react similarly.

Killing Intent was such a curious thing.

I was aware of what it was, of course; any fledgling shinobi was taught about how your mere intent to harm another human being could be honed and developed into a paralytic weapon all on its own. It wasn’t something you could really learn without becoming an accomplished killer yourself - unless you were me, that I’d - but for those who wetted their kunai enough for the blood to seep into their very glare, KI was a dangerous and effective tool indeed.

The Sandaime must’ve slaughtered countless men in his long life. I could only imagine how potent even this small burst of Killing Intent must be. Unfortunately for me, I’d already failed to react in time, and attempting to deceive the old man after the fact would be both insulting and extremely suspicious. 

I was thankful, then, that my second stream of consciousness had already devised a quick and dirty plan of attack.

Smile and fucking wave.

“I apologize for the sass, Hokage-sama. I forget myself,” I bowed my head beneath the wizened shinobi’s heavy, inquisitive stare.

The silence was more stifling than the old man’s KI.

Fortunately, it only lasted a couple seconds.

“Raise your head, my boy. It wasn’t your fault. Toga here seems to have forgotten his manners somewhere between now and the last time he and I spoke of him rudely interrupting me during meetings.” The Sandaime’s dark eyes became flinty, and ‘Toga’ audibly swallowed saliva.

I resisted the urge to smirk. 

“H-Hokage-sama, this wasn’t a meeting! I didn’t think-”

“And that is your problem, Toga. You do not think, in an occupation where your own brain can either be your greatest strength, or your biggest weakness,” The Sandaime shook his head like a disappointed grandfather, taking a moment to inhale the tobacco in his pipe as the Chuunin beside him fumbled and stuttered over his words. “You’ve become complacent and fat in your academic position. Leave now, and report to my office tomorrow morning for reactivation.”

Toga choked on his own saliva, shoving his chair back and slamming his hands down on the mission desk, hard enough to rattle and displace the organized scrolls. His eyes were wide and fearful as he unintentionally loomed over the old man. “B-but Hokage-sama-!”

I didn’t even see them move.

One moment, I was standing there stoically, watching the rotund Chunin get chewed out and treated like he was merely a failure of a Genin like me. The next, a gentle gust of wind fluttered past my left and right shoulders, leaving behind the pleasant scent of sweet mint and something more citrusy… lemon, maybe?

Between me blinking a single time, two shinobi had already appeared on either side of Toga’s stiff, pale body, gloved hands firmly gripping each of his shoulders. They were both wearing dark clothing girded by a silver-gray vest, and their faces were covered by white masks swiped with crimson paint to denote some sort of animal. The one on the left was a man, with spiky brown hair flowing out the back of his cat-like mask, but the other one was clearly a woman, judging by her slim stature and the way her vest curved over her modest chest.

Long black hair, a curvaceous, athletic-looking body, and a mask that looked vaguely like the face of a weasel. My nose still twitched with the memory of her scent. They were ANBU, and for some reason… her masked face was staring dead at me.

“Take him away,” The Sandaime exhaled the tobacco smoke from his lungs, not even glancing towards the stuttering and horrified man. “Maybe the night in a cell will teach Toga-kun some humility and respect.”

“Wait! Hokage-sama, please! You- you fucking brat, this is your-”

But Toga’s complaints were only a lingering echo, because in that next second… they were gone. Like ghosts, floating invisible in the wind.

I found myself releasing a held breath I didn’t even remember myself holding. Though I was immune to Killing Intent and other such abilities that negatively affected my mind or emotions, the silent gaze of the Weasel masked woman had stolen my breath in a way that was completely and wholly mundane in nature. It wasn’t something as cheesy and unrealistic as ‘love at first sight’ or anything, considering I couldn’t even see her eyes, but moreso the… intensity that her mere presence exuded.

The Sandaime watched me with a small, mysterious little smile on his lips, eyebrows drawn up in a way that seemed distantly unprofessional. I could feel my right eye twitch. “... Right. Hokage-sama, I’d like to take five D-rank missions today.”

Water-Walking was calling for me, and there was nothing better than training my chakra to exhaustion after a full day of hard, laborious physical exercise!

… Yeah, Chad Grindset was definitely fucking with my brain.

“Hmmm…” The Sandaime leaned back in his chair, his features slackening back out into an inscrutable poker face as he watched me. Idly, he reached up and refilled his pipe with a subtle flick of his wrist, stuffing the hole with his finger before lighting it with the same one.

After a short, thoughtful drag, he let out a low sigh that smelled purely of burnt herb. “Ryoto-kun, do you remember the established Mission Stipulations you agreed upon as part of your Genin Corps contract?”

Hesitantly, I nodded. “All members of the Genin Corps, due to lack of successive training, teammates, and guidance, are limited solely to D-rank and C-rank missions assigned to them by the Mission Assignment Desk. Unless I’m missing something, Hokage-sama, there is no limitation to the amount of D-rank missions obtainable.”

“You aren’t wrong about that,” he nodded approvingly, though his lips drew down into a frown. “But it’s the wording there, ‘assigned to them by the Mission Assignment Desk’, that is prevalent now. You, my boy, are asking to take on five D-rank missions - missions that are fundamental for crafting the leadership, teamwork, and problem-solving skills of our newest batches of Genin. An average Genin squad takes on a single D-rank mission a day, and generally, they only take them a few times a week. Other days are used for training.”

The other half of my Multitasking brain had already drawn the unfortunate conclusion the old man was guiding me towards. I shifted where I stood, a surprisingly sharp stab of frustration shooting through my stomach. “I understand, Hokage-sama.”

But he continued.

“Truthfully, I should not have given you as many of them as I have, but after the second day, I found myself curious. Who was this Genin Corpsman, a fresh one at that, working himself to the bone day after day with numerous D-rank missions? Doing the work of entire Genin squads multiple times over, and training in the interim?”  The Sandaime’s hands moved across the desk as he spoke, his eyes drifting downwards to glance over each and every scroll he pushed out of his way.

I frowned, hating how petulant my frustration felt. “With all due respect, Hokage-sama, but I don’t understand the point here. Am I being frozen from taking missions? Because I took too many at once?”

His finger stopped on one scroll in particular - small, weathered, and yellowing - and the old man smirked over the stem of his pipe. “Patience is a virtue, my boy. Here; read this.”

He flicked the scroll towards me, a simple flick of his wrist, and I caught it deftly in my right hand. Though confusion ran freely through my mind, I unfurled the wrinkled parchment, brought it up to chest height, and began reading the small, fancy writing.

Mission Rank: C

Estimated Duration: One to two weeks.

Type: Border Patrol - Fire/River

The Daimyo is requesting a small (three man) squadron of shinobi to supplement and assist the Daimyo’s soldiers with patrolling the borders between the Land of Fire and the Land of Rivers. Civilians have reported an increase in bandits, poachers, and highwaymen, with possible dens scattered across dense forests. All additional intelligence to be dispensed verbally post-acceptance.

A C-rank mission… Border Patrol, at that. 

I’d heard all about these types of missions. Anyone who’d visited the ‘infamous’ Corpsman dive bar has. Decent enough ryo, and little to no actual danger considering the Daimyo’s men were well-equipped enough to take out most small-time scoundrels. Apparently he just needed shinobi to scout the heavier forests along the Land of Fire’s borders since his soldiers were too heavily armored and clumsy, so the vaunted ‘play’ was to keep your mouth shut, map out any of the rats hiding amongst the bushes, and give them the intel.

As long as you were fast, quiet, and unobtrusive, it was supposed to be nothing more than annoying, sweaty, and exhausting busywork. It rewarded multiple times the pay of your standard D-ranks, and it looked good in your Mission History.

The thing was, most Genin Corps dogs didn’t start getting C-rank missions until, minimum, at least half a year into their dead-end career.

I’d only been doing this a couple weeks.

I looked up at the Sandaime, the unasked question plainly displayed in my arched brows.

“Hm? Ahhh. Ryoto-kun, we cannot afford having you complete every D-rank mission we have on file; not so soon after graduation.” He chuckled, the noise surprisingly warm. “But I am not so cruel and unjust as to stifle the smoldering embers of a young, promising shinobi’s Will of Fire. Accept this mission, go beyond the pale with your performance, and see opportunities previously shut begin to crack open. This old man has a good feeling.”

That… was frighteningly cryptic. 

But this offered me an opportunity. One to two weeks outside of the village, patrolling and scouting along the countryside and taking out bandits along the way? It sounded like the perfect way to gain experience, both in live combat and with working in a team. While I doubted that there’d be powerful ninjutsu to study or ancient taijutsu techniques to learn, every little bit for most people was a huge step for a potential monster like me.

Tersely, I nodded my head. “Fine. I accept. Though, the scroll says here that it requires a squadron of three. Are there other Genin Corpsmen attached to this mission?”

Setting his pipe down on his desk, the Sandaime leaned forward once again, steepling his fingers beneath his goatee and smiling. 

I did not like that smile.

“You’ll be meeting your temporary teammates at 10 AM sharp, in front of the village gates,” the old man said, tilting his head towards my torn, threadbare clothing. “If I were you, Ryoto-kun, I would spend the next few hours wisely. Use some of your D-rank pay to invest in more travel-ready clothing, and replace your kunai and shuriken if they require maintenance. Camping supplies, rations, and scrolls to seal them in as well. There are not many places to purchase shinobi equipment outside of Hidden Villages, you know.”

“Hn.”

I did not know, actually - but why was he suddenly giving me advice? Who was that ANBU woman? Was it just me, or was everything suddenly moving so fast?

…

Eh. Who was I kidding? Somehow I liked my life’s new pacing. It sure beat depression and drinking myself into a stupor every fortnight.

“Understood, Hokage-sama.” I bowed my head gratefully, and the old man waved his hand.

“Prove that my instincts have not gone dull, Ryoto-kun. Dismissed.”