“I’m heading out!”
Sato Fan shouted to his parents, his footsteps light as he dashed out of the house.
The young man’s figure vanished into the alleyway in an instant.
Watching his nimble retreating back, Sato Umeko’s eyes reddened slightly.
She murmured with deep emotion, “That child, in the blink of an eye, he’s already become a Ninja capable of standing on his own.
I still remember when he first started at the Ninja Academy, his schoolbag was bigger than he was, wobbling as he walked…”
Sato Michi, who was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper, glanced up at his wife’s reddened eyes.
He chuckled and teased her intentionally, “How about we have another one?
It’d be a way to contribute to the Village.”
“Why not say it’s for the Will of Fire!
You shameless old man!” Sato Umeko’s face turned red instantly.
She glared at him reprovingly, her eyes filled with bashfulness.
It was just a casual joke, but seeing his wife like this, Sato Michi actually became interested.
He folded the newspaper sharply, slapped it onto the sofa, and leaned over, “Umeko, I think we should really consider this seriously…”
“Stop talking nonsense in broad daylight!” Sato Umeko’s cheeks burned red.
She turned and hid in the kitchen, “I’m going to wash the dishes, I’m ignoring you!”
“The dishes can be washed tonight just the same—”
“Sato Michi!!”
At this moment, Sato Fan, standing in front of the Hokage Building, suddenly shivered for no reason.
A chill ran up his back, and goosebumps spread from his neck to his arms.
He instinctively looked back.
People were coming and going on the street, and the warm sunlight was 灑 on the eaves; everything was perfectly normal.
“Strange, why did I suddenly get goosebumps?
Could someone be plotting against me behind my back?”
He rubbed his numb arm and looked around suspiciously for a few seconds.
Finding no suspicious figures, he turned and stepped into the Hokage Building.
Never mind, perhaps it was just the cold wind he caught when leaving this morning.
The interior of the building was far more spacious than it looked from the outside.
Upon entering, there was a high-ceilinged lobby, and the dark brown wooden floor was polished to a shine by the passing footsteps of people.
On the left was a row of service windows with staff walking in a hurry; on the right were several wooden benches where a few Ninjas waiting to hand over missions were talking in low voices.
The stairs deep in the lobby led directly to the second floor, and portraits of past Hokage hung on the walls.
The portrait of the Sandaime was in the center, his smile kind yet dignified.
Sato Fan walked quickly to the front desk and handed over the file bag in his hand.
Sitting at the front desk was a female Ninja in her early twenties with short hair, wearing thin-rimmed glasses, looking capable and efficient.
She took the file bag, pulled out the documents, scanned them quickly, and then looked up to verify Sato Fan’s identity against his appearance before speaking: “Sato Fan, Genin of Team 15, recommended by Jonin Kusakabe Takashi, assigned to the Logistics Area.”
Once she finished speaking, she registered the information in the thick ledger, put away her pen, and stood up: “The recommendation letter and assessment records are all complete.
Follow me.”
The female Ninja led him across the lobby and onto the wooden stairs to the second floor.
The second floor was far quieter than the first.
Next to the closed doors on both sides of the corridor hung signs like “Mission Management Division,” “Document Archives Division,” and “Financial Audit Division.” The air was filled with the faint scent of paper and ink.
Occasionally, a Chunin wearing a Ninja flak jacket would walk by quickly, eyes straight ahead, with no time to pay attention to anyone else.
The female Ninja stopped in front of the door at the end of the corridor and knocked lightly twice: “Senior Yamada, the new recruit has arrived.”
“Come in.” A lazy male voice came from inside the room.
Pushing the door open and stepping aside to let Sato Fan enter, the female Ninja closed the door gently and left.
This office was not large, with simple furnishings: a desk, two chairs, the desktop piled high with documents and forms, and the bookshelves against the wall were stuffed with various manuals and ledgers, the writing on some of the spines already worn away and blurred.
Sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged man in his forties, wearing a wrinkled Chunin flak jacket, his hair slightly sparse.
This was Section Chief Yamada of the logistics department.
“Sit.” Yamada pointed to the chair opposite him, casually pushing the messy files on the table aside to clear a space.
Sato Fan sat down as instructed, his back straight and his expression respectful.
Yamada looked him up and down, his gaze gentle, without any sharpness, and asked: “Kusakabe Takashi recommended you come here?”
“Yes.”
“He said you have a steady temperament, suitable for logistics.”
“Captain Kusakabe did indeed say that.”
Yamada pulled a job preference form from the drawer and pushed it in front of him, his tone straightforward: “I won’t beat around the bush.
Logistics is divided into four parts.
You choose a direction yourself.”
He leaned back in his chair and counted on his fingers, explaining one by one: “The first is material procurement.
You have to coordinate with suppliers outside the Village, purchasing Ninja tools, medicine, and food.
You have to frequently leave the Village for business trips, responsible for negotiations and inspecting goods.
The advantage is that there are extra perks, the disadvantage is that it’s tiring, and outside the Village is not as safe as inside.”
Sato Fan immediately crossed this position off in his heart.
He had racked his brains to stay in the Village to develop steadily; going out of the Village for adventure was definitely not the choice for now.
He would consider it later when his strength was sufficient.
“The second is material dispatch.
You manage the distribution of materials for each department.
Ninja teams collecting equipment and mission consumables all come under this.
You stay in the office all day, sheltered from the wind and rain, but the affairs are complicated.
You have to deal with all kinds of people every day.
Sato Fan silently noted it down.
The dispatch position involved too much interpersonal interaction, which was not suitable for his plan to keep a low profile.
“The third is warehouse management.
You are responsible for the storage, inventory, maintenance, and reporting of damage for all Ninja tools, explosive tags, and sealing scrolls in the Village.
You stay in the warehouse, don’t need to deal with people frequently, but it requires meticulous thinking.
You can’t make even the slightest mistake.
If materials are lost, you have to bear full responsibility.”
Hearing the four words “weapons warehouse,” Sato Fan’s heartbeat skipped a beat.
This was exactly the position he most favored.
“The fourth is administrative office work.
Managing accounts, making reports, writing work reports.
It looks leisurely, but it’s actually the most tiring.
The forms are never-ending, and Advisor Utatane Koharu will conduct spot checks from time to time.
The margin for error is extremely low.”
After speaking, Yamada picked up his teacup and took a sip, quietly waiting for Sato Fan’s reply.
Sato Fan was silent for a few seconds, weighing things in his mind, and had already made up his mind: The weapons warehouse was located in the Logistics Area, remote and with few people, no need to leave the Village.
The Ninja tools and explosive tags he managed were exactly the resources he urgently needed at this stage, especially the two words “reporting damage,” which hid huge room for operation.
“I want to go to the weapons warehouse.” Sato Fan’s expression was serious, and his tone was firm.
A trace of surprise flashed in Yamada’s eyes.
He raised an eyebrow and asked: “Warehouse?
Are you sure?
This job is very boring.
You face weapon racks every day.
Nowadays, except for the standard equipment for Genin graduates and impoverished Ninjas, few people come to collect standard weapons.
But you still have to repeatedly count and register documents every day, and there’s no one to talk to.
Not many people are willing to do it.”
“I’m not afraid of boredom.” Sato Fan put on a dull and honest look and replied softly, “I have an introverted personality and am not good at dealing with people.
The warehouse work just happens to suit me.”
Yamada stared at him for two seconds.
Seeing his sincere eyes, he didn’t ask any more questions.
He picked up his pen and wrote “Warehouse Management” on the form, then took a bunch of keys from the drawer, picked out a bronze key, and threw it to Sato Fan: “The third warehouse on the east side is the weapons warehouse.
Go find the warehouse keeper, Tanaka Kazuhiko, to report.
He will teach you the specific process.
The first three months are a probation period.
If you do well, you’ll be made permanent.
If you don’t do well, you’ll be eliminated directly.
Not back to your original team, but completely leaving the Ninja system.”
“I understand.” Sato Fan caught the key steadily, the coldness of the metal coming from his palm.
“Also.” Yamada put away his lazy expression, his tone becoming a bit more serious, “Every piece of material in the warehouse has a ledger.
Incoming, outgoing, damage, and scrapping must be recorded clearly.
If the ledger and the actual stock don’t match at the end of the month, it will be thoroughly investigated.
Don’t cause trouble for yourself.”
Sato Fan nodded solemnly: “I will heed your advice, Senior.”
“Go, don’t go to the wrong warehouse.” Yamada waved his hand and leaned back in his chair again.
Sato Fan stood up, bowed deeply, turned and exited the office, walking steadily toward the Logistics Area on the east side.
It was only a ten-minute walk from the Hokage Building to the third warehouse on the east side.
Along the way, there were neatly arranged warehouses, grey walls and grey tiles, seemingly ordinary.
Each door had a colored sign hanging on it, marking the category of materials inside.
Counting the door numbers along the way, the first warehouse stored food, the second warehouse stored medicine, and the third warehouse was the weapons warehouse he was looking for.
The warehouse door was half-open, and rustling sounds came from inside.
Sato Fan pushed the door and entered.
A rich smell of metal mixed with anti-rust oil rushed toward him.
The warehouse was far more spacious than imagined, with towering shelves neatly arranged.
Kunai, shuriken, explosive tags, food pill, and sealing scrolls were classified and stored.
Each category had a dedicated area and number.
Sunlight shone in from the small window high up, falling on the ironware and paper, refracting a cold light.
An elderly man over sixty was squatting on the ground, organizing a box of brand-new Kunai.
He was wearing an old, washed-out Ninja flak jacket, his hair was grey, and his face was full of wrinkles.
On his gullied face, his eyes were calm and waveless.
Hearing the movement, the old man slowly looked up at Sato Fan.
“You’re the new logistics recruit?” The old man’s voice was hoarse, carrying the weight of time.
“Yes, my name is Sato Fan.
Section Chief Yamada sent me to report to you.”
“Tanaka Kazuhiko.
I’ve been watching the warehouse here for twenty-five years.” The old man stood up, patted the dust on his pants, his tone flat, neither enthusiastic nor distant, “You’re the third one assigned to me.”
“What about the previous two seniors?” Sato Fan asked casually.
Old Tanaka looked at him, paused, didn’t continue, just waved his hand: “Don’t mention it.”
Remember clearly all material types, placement locations, and the reasonable error range between the ledger and actual inventory.
If you can’t do it, leave early.”
Sato Fan opened the ledger.
Densely packed numbers and codes came into view, but he didn’t feel complicated at all.
“What do I learn after that?”
“Incoming and outgoing procedures, inventory methods, filling out damage reports.” Old Tanaka picked up a Kunai, weighed it in his hand, and rubbed the blade with his fingertips, “These are all war reserve materials of the Village.
If you lose them, your salary can’t afford to compensate.”
Sato Fan’s gaze fell on Old Tanaka’s hands.
Those hands were as rough as old tree bark, the knuckles were thick, and the web of his thumb was covered with thick calluses.
They were clearly the marks left by holding Ninja tools for many years, definitely not a common warehouse keeper.
“Senior was previously… a combat Ninja?”
“Retired Jonin.
After being injured, I was sent to watch the warehouse.” Old Tanaka interrupted him lightly, his tone as calm as if he were talking about someone else’s affairs, without a hint of sighing.
Sato Fan tactfully didn’t ask any more questions.
Old Tanaka pointed to a small cubicle in the corner of the warehouse: “That’s your temporary office.
One table and one chair.
The thermos is in the corner.
Go to the next warehouse for hot water.
Solve lunch yourself.
Work from 8 a.m.
to 5 p.m.
If you are late three times, Yamada will hold you accountable directly.”
The so-called office was just a small space converted from a storage room, just enough for a table and a chair.
A small window was embedded in the wall, from which one could see a small piece of sky.
The table was covered with a thin layer of dust, clearly vacant for a long time.
Sato Fan found a rag, wiped it clean carefully, put the ledger on the table, and sat down to study it quietly.
The detail of the ledger far exceeded his expectations.
He spent the whole morning reading it from beginning to end, silently noting three key pieces of information: First, there was a tacit “reasonable error” between the ledger and the actual inventory.
When Old Tanaka mentioned this, his eyes were meaningful.
Second, material damage was the norm.
Broken Kunai, deformed shuriken, damp explosive tags, and worn-out scrolls were all classified for centralized processing.
The word “processing” hid great flexibility.
Third, warehouse supervision was far looser than what Yamada said.
Old Tanaka was old and had limited energy, Yamada rarely came in months, and the high-level officials would never set foot here.
Sato Fan closed the ledger, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the blue sky outside the window, the corners of his mouth curling into a very faint arc that only he could perceive.
Seven years of hiding his skills, countless times in the Ninja Academy deliberately throwing shuriken off-target, pretending to form seals incorrectly, faking exhaustion, just to avoid combat positions and hide in logistics to develop steadily.
Now, he was finally standing at his own true starting point.
The sunlight outside the window was just right, and a few sparrows were chirping and playing under the eaves, full of vitality.
At five in the afternoon, as soon as the bell for leaving work rang, Sato Fan packed up and left on time.
Old Tanaka had already left, leaving only the sentence, “Tomorrow at eight, no lateness.”
He walked home slowly along the same path.
When passing by the Hokage Building, he ran into Naruto jumping and running out.
“Sato!” Naruto waved his hand from afar, ran to him quickly, with a confused look, “Why are you here?
Didn’t you get assigned to Team 15?”
“I transferred to logistics.
Managing the warehouse.” Sato Fan scratched his hair lightly, his tone indifferent.
“Logistics?
Managing the warehouse?” Naruto tilted his head, full of confusion, “Isn’t that very boring?”
“I just like it a bit more stable.”
Although Naruto didn’t understand, he didn’t dwell on it.
His eyes lit up, and he patted his shoulder and said: “Then can you give me more explosive tags in the future?
I really need them for missions!”
“It’s not allowed by the regulations.” Sato Fan replied truthfully.
“Then when can you make the call?”
“Wait until I become the Logistics Section Chief.” Sato Fan replied casually.
“Then hurry up and become the Section Chief!” Naruto looked expectant, his tone serious, “When the time comes, when I go on missions, you give me a hundred explosive tags, and I’ll treat you to Ichiraku Ramen!”
After saying that, Naruto didn’t wait for his response, chuckled, turned, and ran away.
After running a few steps, he looked back and shouted: “Don’t forget the hundred explosive tags!”
Sato Fan looked at his lively retreating back and smiled helplessly, but he was secretly calculating in his heart: A hundred explosive tags were just a drop in the bucket.
He thought of Konan’s shocking formation of six hundred billion explosive tags.
His current accumulation had just begun.
The sunset dyed the whole street a warm orange, and the evening breeze blew gently.
Sato Fan gripped the warehouse key in his hand tightly, the coldness of the metal coming through his palm.
He knew clearly that this brief peace would not last long.
The Konoha Crush Plan, Sasuke’s defection, Pain’s attack, the Fourth Shinobi World War… Storms would eventually sweep through the Village.
All he could do was save up enough capital to survive before the storm arrived.
Tomorrow was the day the plan would officially start.