( Judai's POV)
I walked back to my apartment in a daze. The cold, calculated words of the man in the office echoed in my head, a venomous whisper that tainted the evening air. Imagine poor little Maki-chan being sent out as a conscript...
My fist clenched involuntarily. They weren't just threatening me. They were using her as a weapon against me. They knew. They knew she was the only person in this godforsaken world I actually gave a damn about.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn't see the figure sitting on the steps of my rundown apartment building. She was huddled against the railing, her arms wrapped around her knees, her pink-purple hair a stark splash of color in the encroaching twilight.
"Machi?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "What are you still doing here?"
She looked up, her expression a mixture of worry and impatience. "The instructor told me not to wait for you at the academy," she said, standing up and dusting herself off. "He didn't say I couldn't wait for you here. What did that chunin want? You were in there for over an hour."
I stared at her, my mind a battlefield. I couldn't tell her. The threat was clear: my silence for her safety. But looking at her now, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, I knew I couldn't lie to her either. Not about this.
"I... I'm hungry," I said, the lamest possible excuse falling from my lips. "Let's go get some meat buns."
She jolted awake, clearly not buying it, Judai in the 4 years she's known him has never suggested going out to eat meat buns with her. She narrowed her eyes, but she didn't push. Not yet. She just nodded and fell into step beside me as we walked to our usual spot.
The shop was quiet, the evening rush having died down. The middle sister gave us a warm smile as she brought over our order, but even the familiar comfort of the savory steam couldn't penetrate the cold dread that had settled in my gut. We ate in silence. I kept replaying the conversation in my head, searching for a loophole, an escape route. There wasn't one.
Machi watched me, her patience fraying with every bite I took. Finally, she slammed her half-eaten bun down on the table, making me jump.
"Spit it out, Shit-head!" she demanded, her voice low but intense. "I'm not an idiot. Something is seriously wrong. You've been acting like a ghost since you came out of that office. So talk. Now."
I looked at her face, at the fierce loyalty burning in her eyes, and the dam inside me broke. I couldn't protect her by keeping her in the dark. The only way we were getting through this was together.
So I told her.
I told her everything. About the shadowy figures in the office. The veiled threats. The talk of our "discipline problems" and failing out of the program. And then, the final, brutal checkmate: the threat of what would happen to her, a merchant's daughter with no clan protection, if she were sent to the Legions as a conscript.
Her face went pale. The anger drained away, replaced by a look of horrified disbelief. Then came the tears. They weren't the loud, angry sobs I was used to; they were quiet, shuddering tears of a person whose fundamental understanding of the world had just been shattered.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "They... they can't do that. Konoha wouldn't... this is supposed to be a safe place."
"It's a hidden village on the verge of war, Machi," I said softly. "There are no safe places."
"But... it doesn't make any sense!" she cried, her voice cracking. She slammed a fist on the table again, this time out of desperation. "Why us?! We're the best in the class! We ace every drill, we beat everyone in sparring, we run the obstacle course faster than anyone! Wouldn't they do this to the slackers? The ones at the bottom who are actually about to fail out?"
I looked down at my hands, the truth a bitter pill. "That's just it," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't think they're trying to weed out the weak. I think they're trying to recruit the strong."
I explained my theory. This wasn't a punishment. It was a test. A twisted, manipulative recruitment drive. They were breaking us down, isolating us, making us feel like failures, all to see who had the will to survive, who could be rebuilt in their image. They weren't looking for the kids who quit. They were looking for the ones who, when pushed to the absolute brink, would do anything to protect what mattered to them.
"They're not trying to get us kicked out, Machi," I finished, the weight of the realization settling on us both. "They're trying to see if we're desperate enough to join them."
The tears stopped. The horrified disbelief on her face slowly morphed into a cold, hard fury I had never seen before. She wasn't just a brawler with a temper anymore. In that moment, sitting in a cheap meat bun shop under the flickering lanterns, she became something far more dangerous. She became a soldier with an enemy.
( Root's Main Office)
Danzo listened to the report from the operative, a flicker of satisfaction in his single eye.
"The subjects have been briefed on the consequences of failure," the Root agent confirmed. "The boy, Uzumaki, was given the choice to comply."
"And the girl?" Danzo asked.
"She was not present, Lord Danzo. As you predicted, the boy's first instinct was to shield her from the threat."
"Good," Danzo rasped. "The bonds of loyalty and affection are the easiest levers to pull. He will believe he is protecting her by cooperating, and in doing so, he will bind himself to us. Continue surveillance. He will be given his first 'mission' soon. Let us see if the cannon fodder has the makings of a true weapon."
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( Konoha Hospital)
The medic-nin looked at the chart with a frown. "His vitals are stable, but he's not responding. It's as if the shock to his system has... severed something."
Sarutobi Hiruzen stood by the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on the still form of Chunin Instructor Ito. The man was alive, but barely. The attack had been precise, brutal, and designed to silence, not kill. A message.
"The other one?" the Hokage asked, his voice low.
"Koga, the administrator, is dead. Multiple stab wounds. It was made to look like they fought each other in the file room, but the wounds are inconsistent. Ito was taken down by a single, expert blow. Koga was killed with frenzied, almost panicked, strikes. T&I believes Ito was the target, and Koga was collateral damage, killed to create a cover story."
"And the files?"
"The drawer containing the remedial class records was covered in blood, but nothing appears to be missing. Whoever did this was interrupted or got what they came for."
Sarutobi drew on his pipe, the smoke coiling around his head like a serpent. Danzō's hand was all over this. The operation was getting bolder, more reckless. He was accelerating his plans. The Hokage looked back at the unconscious form of the chunin instructor.
You flew too close to the sun, Ito-san, he thought grimly. And now my two young genin are trapped in the middle of this storm.
(Judai's POV)
The next week was hell. A special kind of hell where you know the devil is watching, but you have to pretend everything is normal. Every grueling lap, every painful spar, every monotonous drill was overshadowed by the conversation I'd had in that office. Machi and I didn't speak of it again, but we didn't have to. A silent understanding passed between us. We were no longer just teammates; we were co-conspirators in a game we didn't understand.
We moved as a unit, our every action now tinged with a desperate, unspoken purpose. We pushed ourselves harder than ever, not for the instructor, but for each other. Our survival depended on it.
Then, the call came.
I was cleaning my kunai after a particularly brutal taijutsu session when my first instructor—the one who'd lovingly called me "Piss-Bottle"—approached. His face was as blank as ever.
"Judai, come with me," was all he said.
My stomach dropped. This was it. I gave Machi a quick, almost imperceptible glance. Her face was pale, but her eyes were hard as steel. She gave a tiny nod. Be careful.
I followed him back to the same sterile office. The same chair was waiting.
"Sit. Don't turn around."
I obeyed, my heart hammering against my ribs. The door closed behind me, and I heard the footsteps of the second man, the one with the cold, silky voice.
"Judai," the voice began without preamble. "We have a task for you. A problem that needs dealing with. We believe you are up to it."
I stayed silent, my hands gripping the edge of the chair.
"As you know," the voice continued, "you and your friend are on the verge of failing out of this program. A shame, really. But records can be… adjusted. A successful mission has a way of erasing disciplinary problems."
"What if I choose not to help, Sir?" I asked, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.
A dry chuckle echoed behind me. "Then, as we discussed, we will have no choice but to apply those records in full force. Your little friend, Maki... she will fail. And you know what that means."
The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
"What would I need to do?" I finally asked, my voice tight.
"Simple," the voice said. "An act of loyalty to the village. There is a warehouse in the Uchiha district, currently used by the Konoha Military Police Force to store contraband. Inside is an item that poses a threat to the security of Konoha. It was... misplaced. You will break in tonight, retrieve it, and deliver it to a designated location. Succeed, and your records, and hers, will reflect your dedication to the village. Fail... and well, we've already discussed the alternative."
He slid a small, folded piece of paper across the desk, stopping just at the edge of my peripheral vision. It contained a key code, a diagram of a box, and a location marked on a map.
"The choice, as always, is yours, Judai."
I walked back to my apartment through the darkening streets, the piece of paper feeling like a lead weight in my pocket. My mind was a mess. This was insane. They wanted me to break into a secure police facility. It was a suicide mission. But the alternative... the image of Machi being dragged away by Legion soldiers... it made my stomach churn with a helplessness that was worse than fear.
Root making a direct move.