"Since we're all early, let's head out now!" Tōji and Natchi had barely started chatting when Raicho's voice came from a distance.
Tōji turned to see Raicho and Akane walking toward them together. Looked like they'd run into each other on the way.
"Good morning, Raicho-sensei! Good morning, Akane-chan!" Natchi suddenly seemed different—enthusiastic and friendly with everyone.
They didn't linger on the riverbank. Instead, they walked and talked as they went, though it was all small talk unrelated to the mission.
It wasn't until they were well past Konoha's main gate that Raicho began giving a brief overview of the situation around Kikyōyama.
But... he didn't mention Orochimaru at all.
Their main task was to clean up the "trash" in the woods around Kikyōyama.
The group chatted lightly now and then, but most of the time they traveled in silence.
At their pace, it would take at least a full day and night to get there.
Though Tōji was at the back of the formation, it was Akane—second from last—who set the pace the whole squad had to accommodate.
Raicho, leading the way, had already figured that out through several subtle speed adjustments. Probably a little test—team coordination and all.
It made sense for the supervising jōnin to gauge the three rookies' capabilities, especially since they'd skipped the usual squad assessment test.
Ever since the Third Hokage's time, routine tests like the bell exercise weren't just about measuring strength—they were also about evaluating a rookie's inner qualities.
Different eras called for different kinds of tools.
In Tōji's view—
Konoha's requirement for these graduating classes was simple: handle the pressure and grow. If you couldn't take it and ended up with your name carved on the Memorial Stone, well—that was on you.
And even the ones who could take it weren't guaranteed to fit the political needs of their time.
Konoha's White Fang, Sakumo Hatake, had done something against the prevailing political winds during wartime—and was hounded by public criticism until he took his own life.
When war demands masses of tools to fight, those tools are expected to obey without question and cast aside their emotions. Strong or weak, it didn't matter.
Tōji and the other early graduates were the same. National interest came first—everyone capable was dragged out and worked like draft animals.
By contrast, someone like Kakashi's father—powerful enough to influence how most people thought—had no easy way out once he made that kind of mistake. The village leadership had no choice but to condemn him; it was the whole village's sentiment.
Never mind Danzo's meddling behind the scenes. A strong man who valued bonds, emotion, and his own reputation—hounded with that much scorn—simply couldn't go on living.
The strong and the weak alike had no real say in this era. The only difference was how they died.
In the eyes of the village higher-ups—they were all just tools.
So Tōji, as one of the weak, had long since figured it out: strength gives you a foundation. To survive, you don't stand out. You keep a low profile, maintain a decent image, and—most importantly—you don't cling too tightly to your pride. When push comes to shove, you've got to know when to bend the rules.
The battlefield is dangerous. The village is dangerous too!
The only way to survive as a Konoha shinobi in this day and age was to be competent enough, but low-key and pragmatic.
Just like now—Tōji deliberately kept his movement speed just a notch below Natchi's. That way, he figured, Raicho wouldn't see him as dead weight and drop him, but also wouldn't think he was skilled enough to be given the more dangerous assignments.
And so the four of them pressed on, each lost in their own thoughts, leaping through the seemingly endless, monotonous forest. It wasn't until past ten at night that they finally got a few hours of rest.
After a quick dinner of dry rations, they each managed about four and a half hours of light sleep, aside from the hour and a half they each spent on watch duty.
By dawn, they would enter the post-battle Kikyōyama.