I woke before my alarm, adrenaline already pumping through my veins. Today wasn't just any day—it was the day of our first real mission as official ninja of the Hidden Leaf. I bounded out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet in my excitement.
"First mission day!" I announced to my empty room, pulling on my clothes with record speed. I adjusted my blindfold-like headband over my Six Eyes, securing it perfectly.
Dad was already gone—typical—but he'd left a note on the kitchen table: "Don't be late. Remember the basics." How inspirational.
I wolfed down breakfast, imagining all the possibilities awaiting us. Would we be escorting a feudal lord through dangerous territory? Recovering a stolen scroll with forbidden jutsu? Maybe even taking down a rogue ninja who'd been terrorizing a nearby village?
Whatever it was, I was ready to show everyone what I could do. No more Academy exercises or Yamato's controlled training scenarios. This would be the real deal—danger, action, and the chance to finally unleash my abilities without holding back.
I practiced a few hand signs while brushing my teeth, nearly choking on toothpaste when I accidentally activated a small chakra pulse that knocked over everything on the bathroom counter.
"Oops," I muttered, hastily cleaning up before racing out the door.
The morning air felt electric as I sprinted toward our meeting spot. I pictured Yuna and me fighting back-to-back against enemy ninja, her Sharingan and my Six Eyes making us an unstoppable duo. We'd return to the village as heroes, and even Sasuke would have to acknowledge how awesome his sister had become.
I spotted Yuna already waiting at the bridge, her posture rigid and perfect as always.
"Today's the day!" I called out, skidding to a stop beside her. "Our first real mission! I bet Yamato's going to give us something challenging—maybe an A-rank if we're lucky!"
Yuna raised an eyebrow. "You do realize we're genin, right? We'll probably be walking someone's dogs or picking up trash."
I waved away her pragmatism. "No way! Not with our skills. They'd be wasting our talents on D-rank missions. I'm telling you, we're getting something epic today."
I practically bounced all the way to the Hokage Tower, ignoring Yuna's warnings about keeping my expectations in check. When we arrived at the mission desk, Lord Third sat there with his pipe, scrolls neatly stacked before him, and Yamato standing at attention.
"Team 8 reporting for our first mission, sir!" I announced, standing tall and proud.
The Hokage's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Ah, Kazami. Eager as always."
Yamato cleared his throat. "We're ready for our assignment, Lord Hokage."
I leaned forward slightly, heart racing with anticipation as the Hokage reached for a scroll. This was it. Our first step toward greatness.
"For your first mission," he said, unrolling the scroll, "you'll be cleaning up Konoha Central Park. There was a festival yesterday, and it's quite a mess."
My smile froze on my face. "Cleaning... the park?"
"Yes," Yamato said, taking the mission scroll. "Trash collection, specifically."
I blinked several times, waiting for the punchline. When none came, I sputtered, "But—but we're ninja! With actual skills! I can manipulate space! Yuna has the Sharingan!"
"All genin start with D-rank missions," the Hokage explained patiently. "It builds character."
I glanced at Yuna, who wore the faintest hint of an I-told-you-so smirk.
The next three hours were spent picking up discarded food wrappers, paper lanterns, and other garbage. By noon, my excitement had completely evaporated, replaced by sweaty frustration.
"This is what we trained for?" I grumbled, stabbing a candy wrapper with my trash spike. "I could've done this when I was five."
The following days were no better. Tuesday: finding some old lady's cat that kept escaping—probably because she dressed it in ridiculous outfits. Wednesday: delivering groceries to elderly villagers. Thursday: babysitting triplets who thought it was hilarious to use me as target practice for their toy shuriken.
By Friday, when we were assigned to pull weeds from the Academy garden, I'd reached my breaking point.
"This is pointless!" I threw down my gardening gloves. "I didn't become a ninja to be a glorified handyman! When are we going to do something that actually matters?"
Yuna just kept methodically pulling weeds, seemingly unbothered by the mundane tasks.
"I could be training right now," I continued, pacing angrily. "Learning new jutsu, perfecting my techniques. Instead, I'm pulling weeds that'll just grow back next week!"
After Yamato finally dismissed us from weed-pulling duty, I hung back while Yuna left. She didn't even seem bothered by these ridiculous assignments. How could she be so calm about wasting our talents?
"Yamato-sensei," I called, crossing my arms. "When are we going to get a real mission? Something that actually requires ninja skills?"
Yamato turned to me with that infuriatingly patient expression. "These are real missions, Kazami."
"Real missions? We've spent a week doing chores any civilian could handle! I didn't train for years just to become Konoha's cleanup crew."
"Every ninja starts this way," he said, kneeling to pack up his gear. "Even the Hokage himself pulled weeds and found lost pets as a genin."
I scoffed. "But we're different! You've seen what Yuna and I can do. We're wasting time that could be spent developing our skills."
"Are you?" He stood, meeting my gaze. "Have you learned nothing about patience? About completing tasks thoroughly no matter how small they seem? About working within a team structure?"
"We learned all that at the Academy!"
"No," Yamato shook his head. "You learned the theory. Now you're putting it into practice. Building trust with the village, showing you can handle responsibility before we trust you with more dangerous assignments."
I threw my hands up. "This is ridiculous! My father was a jonin by my age!"
"Different times," Yamato replied calmly. "Different circumstances. Your path is your own, Kazami."
I stormed home, slamming the door behind me. To my surprise, Dad was actually there, reading on the couch.
"Bad day?" he asked without looking up.
"These missions are a joke! We're ninja, not janitors!" I paced across the living room. "Can't you talk to someone? Get us assigned something worthwhile?"
Dad lowered his book, his visible eye crinkling with amusement. "Ah, the D-rank blues. I remember those days."
"This isn't funny! I'm serious!"
"So am I." He set his book aside. "I hated those missions too. Thought I was too good for them."
"You were ANBU by thirteen!"
"And before that, I picked garbage from the river and painted fences." He shrugged. "Everyone starts somewhere, Kazami."
"But—"
"No shortcuts. Not even for my daughter." He picked his book back up. "Especially not for my daughter."
I slumped against a tree, watching Yuna meticulously sort through the compost pile we'd been assigned to turn. Another day, another pointless D-rank mission that any civilian could handle.
"You missed a spot," I called out lazily, not bothering to get up and help.
Yuna didn't even look my way. "If you spent half as much energy working as you do complaining, we'd be done by now."
"What's the point?" I twirled a twig between my fingers. "We could be learning advanced jutsu or sparring with jonin, but instead we're shoveling rotting vegetables."
The sun beat down mercilessly as Yuna continued working without complaint, her movements efficient and focused. How could she just accept this? She was an Uchiha, where was All the pride they are famous for crying out loud. She should be as frustrated as I was.
"Doesn't this bother you?" I finally asked, tossing the twig aside. "Being wasted on these missions?"
Yuna paused, wiping sweat from her brow. "Nothing is wasted if you approach it with the right mindset."
"That sounds like something Yamato-sensei would say," I muttered, reluctantly picking up my shovel and halfheartedly turning a small section of compost.
"Maybe he's right." Yuna's voice remained neutral, but I could hear the subtle judgment in it.
Later that week, we were assigned to repaint an elderly couple's fence. I showed up late, intentionally "misunderstood" the instructions, and managed to get more paint on myself than on the fence.
"Are you even trying?" Yuna finally snapped, her usually composed demeanor cracking.
"What's the point?" I shrugged, flicking paint onto the grass. "This isn't what being a ninja is about."
"No, it's about discipline and following orders," she retorted. "Something you clearly lack."
Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. What irritated me most wasn't the menial work—it was how Yuna excelled at everything without complaint. Each task, no matter how trivial, she approached with the same dedication she'd give a life-or-death mission.
Yamato-sensei noticed too. "Excellent work, Yuna," he praised, examining her section of the fence. Then he turned to my sloppy, half-finished portion. "Kazami, I expect better from you tomorrow."
I rolled my eyes as soon as his back was turned, but something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach. For the first time, I wondered if maybe I was the problem, not the missions.
I kicked a pebble down the path, watching it bounce and skitter ahead of me. Another day, another stupid D-rank mission completed. We'd spent the morning helping a farmer harvest his crops—work that any civilian could do, but somehow qualified as "ninja business."
"Kazami, wait." Yamato-sensei's voice stopped me before I could storm off.
I turned, not bothering to hide my frustration. "What? Do we need to go back and sweep his barn too?"
Yuna shot me a disapproving look, but Yamato just gestured to a nearby bench. "Sit. Both of you."
I flopped down dramatically while Yuna took her seat with perfect posture. Show-off.
"I understand your frustration," Yamato began, his expression softening. "You're talented, ambitious, and eager to prove yourself. These missions seem beneath you."
"Finally, someone gets it," I muttered.
"But," he continued, "being a ninja isn't just about flashy jutsu and combat. It's about serving your village in whatever capacity is needed."
I rolled my eyes. "By picking vegetables?"
"By building relationships with the people you're sworn to protect." Yamato's voice took on a serious edge. "That farmer now knows the faces of the ninja who might someday save his life. He trusts us more because we helped him with something important to him."
I hadn't thought about it that way.
"These missions teach patience, problem-solving, and responsibility," he continued. "Skills that will save your life when the stakes are higher than a lost cat or an unpainted fence."
"But—"
"Did you know Lord Fourth used to deliver mail as a genin?" Yamato cut me off. "He said it taught him the layout of the village better than any map could—knowledge that later helped him develop his Flying Thunder God technique."
That caught my attention. I'd never considered these mundane tasks might actually serve a purpose beyond torturing new genin.
"I still think we could be doing more," I said, though with less conviction.
Yamato nodded. "And in time, you will."
As if on cue, a messenger hawk circled overhead before landing on Yamato's outstretched arm. He read the small scroll attached to its leg, his expression shifting.
"Well," he said, looking up at us. "It seems the timing of our conversation was fortuitous. We've been assigned a C-rank mission."
My heart skipped a beat. "Seriously? Not another D-rank?"
"The Hokage has tasked us with locating a missing Chūnin team. They were supposed to return from a village near the border three days ago. No communication since."
Yuna sat up straighter. "A search and rescue mission?"
"Potentially," Yamato nodded. "Pack for a week-long journey. We leave at dawn."
I couldn't contain my grin. Finally, a real mission!
Excitement and Nerves – Kazumi is ecstatic to finally get a real mission, but as the seriousness of the situation sinks in, she also starts to feel nervous. Missing ninja teams usually mean danger, and this isn't just another errand.
I raced home, feet barely touching the ground. A real mission! Not delivering groceries or finding lost pets—an actual, dangerous mission where we'd get to use our skills. I burst through the front door, startling Dad who was, for once, actually home early.
"We got a C-rank!" I announced, already pulling out my travel pack from the closet. "Search and rescue for a missing Chūnin team!"
Dad lowered his book slightly. "Is that so?"
"Yes! Finally something worthy of our abilities!" I started tossing supplies onto my bed—kunai, shuriken, smoke bombs, soldier pills. "We leave at dawn tomorrow. I need to pack everything."
Dad watched me with that unreadable expression of his. "A missing team, huh?"
"Yeah, they were supposed to be back three days ago. No communication." I paused, realizing how that sounded. The excitement in my voice faltered slightly.
"Three days of silence isn't a good sign," Dad said quietly.
My hands slowed as I sorted through my equipment. "They probably just got delayed. Maybe bad weather or something."
"Maybe."
I continued packing, but my earlier enthusiasm had dampened. Missing ninja. No communication. The border region. The pieces started fitting together in a way that made my stomach tighten.
"Dad?" I asked, my voice smaller than I intended. "What usually happens to teams that go missing?"
He set his book down completely. "Sometimes they get lost. Sometimes they encounter unexpected obstacles. And sometimes..."
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. I knew what he wasn't saying.
"This isn't like picking weeds or painting fences, is it?" I sat on the edge of my bed, suddenly aware of how inexperienced I really was.
"No," Dad said simply. "It's not."
I stared at the weapons laid out on my bed. Just hours ago, I'd been complaining about not getting to use them. Now the thought of actually needing them made my hands shake slightly.
"What if we find them and they're..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Then you'll handle it," Dad said, his voice firm but gentle. "Because that's what ninjas do."
Dawn painted the sky in watercolor streaks as I double-checked my pack for the third time. Kunai, shuriken, wire, explosive tags, rations, water, first aid supplies—everything a ninja needed for a real mission. My heart hammered against my ribs, an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension making my hands slightly unsteady.
Dad stood in the doorway, watching me silently.
"What?" I asked, securing the last buckle on my pack.
"Nothing." He shrugged, his visible eye crinkling slightly. "Just remembering my first C-rank."
I hoisted the pack onto my shoulders, adjusting the straps. "Let me guess—you were perfect at it?"
"Far from it." He chuckled softly. "I was terrified. Tried not to show it, of course."
That caught me off guard. The legendary Copy Ninja, terrified? "You?"
"Every ninja worth their headband feels fear, Kazami. The difference is what you do with it."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Dad wasn't one for heart-to-hearts, so this moment felt significant somehow.
"I should go," I said finally. "Yamato-sensei and Yuna will be waiting."
Dad stepped aside, then surprised me by placing his hand on my shoulder. "Trust your instincts. Trust your team. Come back safely."
The weight of his hand felt heavier than my fully-loaded pack.
At the village gate, Yuna was already waiting, her pack neatly organized, her expression focused. Yamato-sensei arrived moments later, reviewing our mission parameters one final time.
"We'll head northeast toward the border. The team was last seen in Tanzaku Village. Questions?"
Neither of us spoke. This was it—no more weed-pulling or fence-painting. A real mission with real consequences.
As we passed through Konoha's massive gates, I took one last look at the village behind us. The morning sun glinted off windows, vendors were just setting up their stalls, and the Hokage Monument watched over it all. For the first time, I understood what we were protecting with all those "pointless" D-rank missions.
"Ready?" Yuna asked quietly, falling into step beside me.
I nodded, facing forward again. "Ready."
We leapt into the trees, the familiar weight of my headband suddenly feeling different against my forehead. Not just a symbol anymore, but a responsibility. The true beginning of my journey as a ninja.