Chapter 5: The Weakest Link
Someone was watching him.
Daimaru's muscles burned as he pressed through another set of push-ups. Sweat dripped onto the wooden floor. His arms trembled.
Twenty more.
He didn't look at the window.
Thirty more.
He didn't need to. The presence was there—cold, analytical, judging.
Anbu. Has to be.
Forty.
Rasa's checking on his new investment.
Fifty.
He collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving.
The presence vanished.
Good.
He lay there for a long moment, staring at the water stain on the ceiling.
They're watching me. Evaluating me. Deciding if I'm worth the trouble.
Fine. Let them watch.
I've got nothing to hide.
Yet.
---
The wooden box under his bed held his real secret.
Daimaru dragged it out and opened the lid.
Inside: a human-shaped puppet, the size of a child's arm. The face was still blank—unfinished—but the body, the limbs, the clothing... those were refined.
Months of work.
He ran his fingers over the carved wood.
Missing something.
Right. A fan.
Puppet materials were expensive—too expensive for a genin with his salary. Rare wood. Chakra-conductive metal. All of it hoarded by the wealthy puppet masters who'd been in the business for decades.
So I improvise.
Desert giant scorpions. Quicksand pythons. Their fangs, bones, and scales made decent substitutes.
If you don't mind the smell.
He'd hunted three scorpions last month. Almost died on the second one.
Worth it.
He closed the box and shoved it back under the bed.
I'll ask Kankuro for scraps tomorrow. Saya too.
If they say no... I'm going hunting again.
The Chunin Exams are coming. I need this puppet ready.
---
Three days later.
The notification finally came.
Daimaru stood in Training Ground Seven, waiting.
New team. New captain. New chance.
Or new disaster.
The jonin arrived first.
Messy gray-white hair. Baby face. Late twenties, but looked younger.
Oto Kaze.
Twenty-six. First time leading a genin squad.
Great. An inexperienced captain for a thrown-together team.
Oto Kaze's eyes swept over him—assessing, measuring.
Let him look.
"I'm your temporary squad leader," the jonin said. "The other two members should be here soon."
Temporary.
That word again.
Nobody expects us to last.
---
Then they arrived.
And Daimaru's heart sank.
"Chiyo. Yome."
Of all the genin in Suna...
"It's a small world," Chiyo said, smirking.
She's enjoying this.
Yome just glared at him—still angry about the height comment.
Wonderful.
Oto Kaze nodded. "You know each other. Good. Saves time."
Do I know them?
I know Chiyo's a genjutsu user who can't fight up close.
I know Yome's a sensory type with medical skills and zero offensive power.
I know that puts all the combat responsibility on me.
The jonin continued: "For the next period, I'll be leading your squad. Today's just orientation. Tomorrow, we take our first mission together."
"What mission?" Daimaru asked.
"Eliminate a bandit group on the border between the Land of Wind and the Land of Grass."
Bandits.
Weak. Disorganized. Easy money.
Or it would be, if I had real teammates.
"Be ready at 0600. Dismissed."
---
The moment Oto Kaze left, Chiyo pounced.
"I heard your old team dumped you."
Dumped. Abandoned. Replaced.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"The whole village is talking about it. 'Red Sand Dust' got himself killed, came back to life, and found out nobody wanted him."
Nobody wanted him.
The words cut deeper than she probably intended.
Or exactly as deep as she intended.
Chiyo wasn't cruel—but she wasn't gentle either.
"What about you two?" Daimaru deflected. "Why aren't you on your old teams?"
Chiyo's smirk faded.
"My teammate got seriously injured. Retired. Team disbanded."
Disbanded. Because she couldn't carry them.
"And Yome?"
The small girl looked away.
Chiyo answered for her. "Her eyes—the perception ability—they thought it was a bloodline limit. Overestimated her. Put her on an elite squad."
And?
"She couldn't keep up. They replaced her."
Replaced.
Just like me.
Daimaru looked at his two new teammates.
A genjutsu user with no close-combat skills.
A sensory type who'd already been deemed "not good enough."
And himself—a brawler with bad luck and a chip on his shoulder.
This isn't a team.
This is a pile of rejects Rasa didn't know where else to put.
We're the leftovers.
---
But maybe that was the point.
Daimaru walked home in silence, turning the situation over in his mind.
Chiyo's genjutsu is solid—if she has time and space to set it up.
Yome's perception range is insane. Tens of kilometers. And she can transmit information.
That's not nothing.
That's a early warning system and a communication network rolled into one.
If I can protect them...
If I can keep the enemy off them long enough...
We might actually do something.
The problem was the "if."
I'd have to be the tank. The damage dealer. The front line.
All of it.
While they stand in the back and support.
One mistake. One flank. One enemy who slips past me.
And they're dead.
And then I'm dead.
And the mission fails.
He kicked a rock across the street.
No pressure.
---
That night, he couldn't sleep.
He sat on his bed, the wooden box open beside him, staring at the unfinished puppet.
If I had this ready...
If I could fight at range while they support...
Maybe.
He picked up the puppet and turned it over in his hands.
The joints moved smoothly. The chakra channels were carved correctly—as far as he could tell.
But it's not finished.
And I don't have the materials to finish it.
He thought about asking Kankuro.
The guy thinks I'm an idiot. But he's a puppet master. He has scraps.
And Saya—the neighbor—she's a puppet user too. Mean as a snake, but she has resources.
Maybe I can trade for something.
Or steal.
No. Not steal.
Borrow without asking.
He laughed at himself.
That's stealing, idiot.
He put the puppet back in the box and shoved it under the bed.
Tomorrow. After the mission. I'll figure it out.
---
Sleep came eventually.
But not peacefully.
He dreamed of sand—endless, swallowing, suffocating.
And eyes.
Empty eyes.
Gaara's eyes.
Watching him from the darkness.
"I don't think you'll last a week."
---
0600.
Training Ground Seven.
Oto Kaze was already there, reviewing a scroll.
Chiyo and Yome arrived together, looking nervous.
First mission as a new team. Everyone's on edge.
Daimaru forced a grin. "Ready to show them what the leftovers can do?"
Chiyo snorted. "Speak for yourself. I'm not a leftover."
"You're here with me. That makes you one."
"Maybe you're the leftover and we're the ones stuck with you."
Fair point.
Oto Kaze rolled up the scroll. "Enough talk. Let's move."
They set out at a steady pace—fast enough to cover ground, slow enough to preserve energy.
The border between Wind and Grass.
Three days if we push.
Five if we're careful.
The jonin led. Daimaru took the rear. Chiyo and Yome stayed in the middle—protected.
For now.
---
The first day passed without incident.
Desert. Rocks. More desert.
Yome's eyes flickered—tracking something only she could see.
"Clear for ten klicks," she reported.
Her perception really is impressive.
Daimaru filed that away.
Useful. Very useful.
If we survive long enough to use it.
---
The second day, things changed.
They crossed into the border region—scrubland, sparse trees, the first real vegetation they'd seen in days.
And signs of habitation.
Tracks. Campfire ash. Discarded weapons.
Bandits.
Oto Kaze held up a fist. They stopped.
"The target is ahead," he said quietly. "Small fortification. Maybe fifteen to twenty hostiles."
Fifteen to twenty.
Against four of us.
And two of us are support.
"Plan is simple," the jonin continued. "I'll take the front. Daimaru, you cover the left flank. Chiyo and Yome—stay back. Genjutsu and support only. No direct engagement."
No direct engagement.
Translation: don't get killed.
"What if they have ninja?" Daimaru asked.
"Bandits don't have ninja."
"Bandits with backing might."
Oto Kaze's eyes narrowed. "Then we adapt."
Adapt.
That's jonin-speak for "run if it gets bad."
Daimaru nodded and checked his kunai.
Fifteen bandits. Maybe twenty.
Against one jonin and three genin.
Odds aren't terrible.
Unless something goes wrong.
And something always goes wrong.
---
The sun was setting when they reached the fortification.
A crumbling stone building, half-swallowed by sand. Torches flickered on the walls. Shadows moved inside.
Twenty, maybe twenty-five.
Armed. But not organized.
Oto Kaze signaled.
Daimaru slipped left, circling through the darkness.
Don't make noise. Don't trip. Don't die.
He found a position behind a rock—clear sightlines to the main gate.
Waiting.
The jonin moved first.
Fast. Silent. Deadly.
Two bandits dropped before anyone screamed.
Then chaos.
Showtime.
Daimaru launched himself over the rock, kunai flashing.
The first bandit didn't even see him. Throat.
The second turned—too slow. Chest.
Three.
Four.
Someone shouted. Arrows flew past his head.
Move. Don't stop.
He rolled, came up behind a third bandit, and drove his kunai into the man's back.
Five.
Where's Chiyo?
He glanced back.
Chiyo had her hands together—genjutsu already taking hold. Two bandits stumbled, clutching their heads, screaming at things that weren't there.
Yome stood behind her, eyes wide, scanning.
Good. They're safe.
Now finish this.
---
It took seven minutes.
Twenty-three bandits. Dead or disabled.
Daimaru's arms were covered in blood—none of it his.
First mission as a team.
Success.
Oto Kaze walked through the carnage, checking bodies.
"Clean work," he said. "No casualties on our side."
No casualties.
Because nothing went wrong.
For once.
The jonin looked at him—really looked at him.
"You fight like you've done this before."
I have. A hundred times. In missions that should have killed me.
"Lucky, I guess."
"There's no such thing as luck."
Tell that to my mission record.
Oto Kaze turned away. "We camp here tonight. Head back tomorrow."
---
The fire crackled.
Chiyo was quiet—still processing her first real combat. Yome sat apart, staring at the stars.
Daimaru leaned against a rock, watching the darkness.
We survived.
But the real test isn't bandits.
It's the Chunin Exams.
And the monsters waiting there.
He thought about Gaara's words.
"I don't think you'll last a week."
We'll see.
We'll fucking see.
Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
Or someone.
Daimaru's hand drifted to his kunai.
The desert never sleeps.
And neither should I.
He stayed awake until dawn, watching the shadows.
Waiting for the next disaster.
Because with my luck...
It's always coming.