Chapter 2: When You Hit Rock Bottom, Go See the Boss
Being replaced while you're supposed to be dead.
That stings in a way no kunai ever could.
They thought I was dead. They moved on. Found someone better.
Daimaru stood outside his old team's apartment, the morning sun doing absolutely nothing to warm the ice forming in his chest.
"I'm sorry," Tokishiri bowed again, not meeting his eyes. "We didn't expect you to survive."
Nobody did.
"Komaza's on the team now. You know him—bad temper, thinks he's better than everyone."
"Oh, I know him."
Daimaru's voice came out flat.
The guy who talks down to everyone but can't back it up.
"We all thought you were better," Tokishiri whispered. "But now... it's too late."
Too late.
The words echoed in Daimaru's skull like a death knell.
He forced a grin. "Well. Guess I'll figure something out."
Tokishiri opened his mouth—maybe to apologize again, maybe to offer false hope—then thought better of it. He turned and walked away without looking back.
Daimaru stood there.
Alone.
Four years. Four years of bleeding with these guys. And they couldn't wait two months?
He wanted to be angry. He wanted to punch something.
But deep down, he understood.
If I'd been in their position... I'd have done the same.
That didn't make it hurt less.
---
He walked home in a daze.
The streets of Sunagakure were already crowded—merchants setting up stalls, ninja rushing to mission assignments, civilians going about their day like the world hadn't just tilted off its axis.
What am I supposed to do now?
A solo genin couldn't take missions. Couldn't earn money. Couldn't build reputation.
And the Chunin Exams...
If I can't even get on a team, I can't participate.
The thought hit him like a second fan strike from Temari.
No exams means no Forest of Death. No Forest of Death means no chance to crush Team 10 before they even form.
He saw it so clearly in his mind: Temari laughing with that lazy Nara brat from Konoha. Exchanging strategies. Flirting.
Over my dead body.
But his plan was already crumbling.
In his original strategy, he'd lead his team through the Forest of Death, intercept Shikamaru's squad, and make sure Temari never got within ten meters of that genius slacker.
Maybe humiliate Team 10 a little. Break their confidence before the tournament.
Simple. Clean. Effective.
Now?
He couldn't even sign up.
---
His apartment felt smaller than usual.
Daimaru threw himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Tokishiri said Satetsu-sensei didn't agree at first. But the mission was too urgent.
He couldn't blame his old sensei. The village came first. Always.
So where does that leave me?
He ran through his options.
Option one: beg to rejoin the team. Komaza would never agree. And even if he did, I'd be the third wheel. The spare tire.
Option two: find a new team. Who's going to take a genin with no connections and a reputation for being "the idiot who got himself killed"?
Option three: give up. Not happening.
He sat up.
There's always option four.
Go to the top.
---
The Kazekage's office was a fortress of silence.
Daimaru had waited two hours in the reception area, watching secretaries and advisors shuffle past with papers and grim expressions. No one spoke to him. No one offered tea.
This isn't Konoha. The Hokage drinks with civilians. The Kazekage...
The Kazekage ruled.
When they finally called his name, Daimaru's heart was pounding so hard he was sure they could hear it.
Stay calm. You haven't done anything wrong.
The audience chamber was vast—deliberately so. The high ceiling and empty space were designed to make visitors feel small.
It was working.
The Fourth Kazekage sat behind a massive desk, his straw hat casting his face in shadow. The dust-proof veil over his mouth and nose made him look less like a leader and more like a ghost.
Rasa.
Daimaru had seen him from a distance before. Never this close.
"You are Daimaru?" The voice was flat. Emotionless. "What do you need from me?"
Don't stammer. Don't look weak.
He dropped to one knee—the formal bow of a genin to their Kage.
"Lord Fourth. I've encountered a problem only you can solve."
"Oh?"
Daimaru laid it out: the mission. The quicksand. His "death." The funeral they held while he was still breathing. His recovery. And finally, the bitter truth.
"My team has replaced me. I understand why—they thought I was dead. But now I'm a genin without a squad. No missions. No path forward."
He lifted his head, meeting the shadowed gaze behind the straw hat.
"I had hoped to earn promotion to chunin and serve this village. But without a team, I can't even try."
Silence.
The Kazekage didn't move. Didn't speak.
Say something. Anything.
"You wish me to assign you to a new team?"
"Yes, Lord Fourth."
Please.
"What makes you think you deserve one?"
The question cut deeper than Temari's fan.
Daimaru's jaw tightened. Deserve? I nearly died for this village. They named me "Red Sand Dust" for nothing?
But he swallowed the anger. This wasn't the time for pride.
"Because I'm still alive, Lord Fourth. And as long as I'm alive, I want to serve Suna. That's all."
Another long silence.
Then the Kazekage stood.
Daimaru's breath caught.
Is he going to throw me out? Execute me for wasting his time?
Rasa walked to the window, his back to Daimaru. Outside, the desert stretched to the horizon—endless sand and wind and death.
"The Chunin Exams are approaching," the Kazekage said quietly. "This year's event will be... significant for Suna."
He means the invasion.
Daimaru kept his face blank.
"We need every capable ninja ready. You survived the desert when you should have died. That's not nothing."
Is he... praising me?
"I'll assign you to a new squad. But understand this—"
The Kazekage turned.
"You'll be watched. If you fail, there won't be a second chance."
Yes.
"Yes, Lord Fourth. Thank you, Lord Fourth."
"Don't thank me yet."
Rasa sat back down and picked up a scroll, already dismissing him.
"You'll receive your assignment by tonight. Get some rest, Daimaru. You'll need it."
Daimaru bowed and backed out of the chamber.
The doors closed behind him with a thud that sounded like a cell slamming shut.
I'm in.
He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
New team. New chance. New problems.
But as he walked out of the Kazekage's tower, a cold thought crept into his mind.
Rasa agreed too quickly.
The Kazekage wasn't known for kindness. Or charity. Every move he made served a purpose.
What does he want from me?
And then, at the bottom of the stairs, Daimaru stopped cold.
A figure stood in the shadows of the archway—short, pale, with sandy hair and eyes that held nothing but emptiness.
Gaara.
The One-Tail's jinchuriki stared at him without blinking.
"You were in Father's office."
It wasn't a question.
Daimaru's throat went dry.
Say something. Don't show fear.
"I was."
Gaara tilted his head. The gourd on his back creaked as sand shifted inside.
"He doesn't help people for free."
I know.
"Why did he help you?"
The sand at Gaara's feet began to swirl.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
Daimaru forced himself to smile.
"Maybe because I remind him of someone he used to know."
The lie tasted like ash.
Gaara stared for three heartbeats. Four.
Then he walked past Daimaru without another word, the sand retreating back into the gourd.
Daimaru didn't move until the footsteps faded completely.
What the hell just happened?
He looked back at the Kazekage's tower.
Rasa sends his demon son to intimidate me? Or was that Gaara's idea?
Either way, the message was clear:
You're being watched.
Daimaru started walking home, his hands trembling slightly.
New team. New mission. And now the Kazekage has his eyes on me.
He should have been happy.
Instead, he felt like prey.