Konoha’s Five-Element Ninja

Chapter One: I Really Am Just a Genin

In June of the 38th year of the Konoha Calendar, during the Second Shinobi World War, the entire ninja world was in chaos. Every day, young ninjas announced their strength by taking down well-known warriors, and countless others fell victim to indiscriminate attacks. Yet, none of this concerned Shirakumo Hayama, because he was just a genin.

Here in a forest on the border between the Land of Earth and the Land of Fire, the towering, dense trees blocked out the sunlight, leaving the ground shadowed even at noon. Such an environment was perfect for an ambush.

Shirakumo Hayama lay prone on the ground, concealed within the low bushes, perfectly blending into the surrounding shadows. He remained utterly still, like a statue carved from stone. He was waiting, waiting for his prey to take the bait.

It was hard to say how much time had passed before the prey appeared.

It was a standard four-man Iwagakure team. The leader, clad in a gray combat vest and sporting a Stone Village forehead protector, leaped forward through the trees, followed closely by three similarly dressed Iwa-nin. The moment the leftmost Iwa-nin leapt into the air, the sharp whistle of projectiles slicing through the air sounded out. Three kunai, arranged in a triangular pattern, shot toward the defenseless Iwa-nin mid-jump.

"Clang, clang, clang." Unsurprisingly, such a rudimentary attack couldn't harm battle-hardened veterans. The four Iwa-nin quickly drew their weapons and regrouped defensively, scanning the shadows for the hidden enemy. For a moment, the forest was silent except for the calls of insects.

Shirakumo Hayama sighed quietly. As expected, even low-ranked ninjas weren't easy targets. Still, he had prepared a fallback plan. Without hesitation, he flicked his wrist, sending out several kunai as he sprang from his hiding spot.

The leading Iwa-nin's eyes narrowed. With a quick swipe of his sword, he deflected the kunai, ready to counterattack. But then, he caught a faint, almost imperceptible sound—"fssshhh"—and his face changed. "Explosive tags! Get clear!" he shouted.

"Boom!"

The deafening explosion sent flocks of birds scattering into the sky. When the smoke cleared, a large crater had appeared where the team once stood, and the Iwa-nin's formation was completely disrupted.

...

A few minutes later, Shirakumo Hayama drove a kunai into the last Iwa-nin's heart, ending the ambush. Coldly, he flicked the blood off his kunai before returning it to the pouch at his right hip. His otherwise icy expression softened into a slight smile.

"Captain, you're too cautious. Five explosive tags would've been enough, but you insisted on using ten. Now the quartermaster's going to yell at us again."

"Shut up, Tatsu. If it weren't for the captain, we might've been dead by now. Out of the ten squads we originally sent, only Hayama's squad came back intact."

"Yes, yes, Yura, you're absolutely right…"

Shirakumo Hayama smiled faintly and said, "Your life is yours; the explosive tags belong to the village. Why scrimp and save? Let the chūnin and jōnin worry about conserving resources. Our job as genin is just to survive."

Tatsu scratched his head awkwardly. Turning to Yura, he asked, "Hey, Yura, have you ever seen a genin wearing a combat vest?"

"Sure, the captain right here."

"All right, let's pack up and head back. Who knows if some random genin might ambush and wipe us out."

Though he kept grumbling, Tatsu and Yura quickly retrieved their equipment. The three of them regrouped into a triangular formation and headed back to camp.

The temporary camp housed Konoha's First Battalion, Seventh Company—around two hundred ninja in all. As a combat unit, the ratio of mid-to-high-ranked ninja was astonishingly high, reaching nearly forty percent. Shirakumo Hayama, as captain of the Seventh Squad, still held the rank of genin.

After handing over their spoils of war as per standard procedure, Shirakumo Hayama collected his dinner. It had been another straightforward day on the battlefield. Knowing he'd get a short break back in the village tomorrow, even someone as steady as Shirakumo couldn't help feeling a little excited. But the thought of his impending promotion to chūnin made him frown.

Anyone who had seen Naruto knew that genin were the true powerhouses. With a casual wave of their hands, they could unleash overwhelming jutsu, rendering all opponents helpless. Shirakumo Hayama had survived this treacherous battlefield so far by relying on two things: the reputation of being "just a genin" and a whole lot of explosive tags. Nothing else mattered.

"Shirakumo Hayama, get your ass out here!"

Just as he was pondering how to maintain his genin status, Shirakumo quickly plastered a friendly smile onto his face, surprising his two teammates with the speed of his reaction.

"Coming, bro!"

The man calling for him was none other than the "donkey-faced" quartermaster Tatsu often grumbled about: Nara Rika, who Shirakumo regarded as an elder brother.

"Bro, I got something good today. A genuine Iwagakure chūnin squad leader's command sword, estimated value: one million ryō," Shirakumo said, pulling out a scroll from his left tool pouch and handing it over.

Rika snorted. "You think I'd care about some random sword? I'm not that easily impressed."

With a wave of his hand, Rika used the Nara clan's signature shadow jutsu to snatch the scroll away. His speed left Shirakumo empty-handed and impressed.

After declining Shirakumo's invitation for tea, Rika walked off. Watching his hazy silhouette disappear, Shirakumo could only think, "Wait here. I'll go get you some oranges."

Tatsu, having witnessed the whole exchange, remembered something the captain often said: "Being a ninja isn't just about fighting. It's about relationships." Realizing how little he knew, Tatsu felt a surge of admiration for Shirakumo Hayama—who, at just fourteen, had earned his deep respect.

Seven days later, at the Konoha Village East Gate checkpoint, Shirakumo Hayama stood in line, waiting to enter. During wartime, rules were strict. No one got special treatment unless they had extremely strong connections.

"Next."

Shirakumo silently handed over his travel order, its bright red combat division seal unmistakable.

A guard with one red eye and one white eye scrutinized him for a long moment before waving him through.

On the bustling street, Shirakumo shook his head vigorously, banishing the lingering feeling of being a bug in the forest. Then he strode confidently forward, soon blending into the crowd like a raindrop falling to the ground—vanishing without a trace.

Cloud Street No. 77 was Shirakumo Hayama's home. To be precise, it was his home in this lifetime. That's right—he was one of those cliché transmigrators. Cliché enough that the author didn't even feel like explaining it. In his past life, he had no cheat abilities, just a cautious nature. As a typical office worker, he wanted nothing more than stability. If times weren't so tough, he wouldn't even have become a ninja. A simple, peaceful life running a small business would have been ideal. But life had other plans. With a bedridden mother to support, Shirakumo had no choice but to pursue a fast-earning career. In a nutshell, living in Konoha wasn't easy.

After a quick change of clothes, Shirakumo headed to the hospital to visit his mother. In this life, his mother was only thirty, barely older than he had been in his previous life. But years of overextending her life force on the battlefield had left her severely weakened. This was the fate of a ninja.

"Mother, I'm back," he said simply.

Those few words seemed to act like a healing elixir. The weary woman, lying in bed, suddenly looked more spirited. She clutched his hand, scanning him up and down, murmuring, "It's good you're back. It's good you're back."

Shirakumo felt a pang in his chest but smiled. "Mother, I'll soon be a chūnin. I'm not a kid anymore. I've achieved great merits on the battlefield, making the enemy flee before me."

His mother, Keiko, widened her eyes. "A chūnin? But didn't you only want to stay a genin?"

Shirakumo ran a hand through his hair coolly. "I can't help it. Your son's like a firefly in the dark—too dazzling to stay low-profile. Hahaha."

"You brat. When you get promoted, go tell your father at his grave. Our family's finally produced a chūnin."

"Sure!"

...

After leaving the hospital, Shirakumo went straight to the combat command center. Once his identity was verified, he made his way to the second floor, to the wartime ninja promotion office. Here, he would officially bid farewell to his genin status and become a higher-level cannon fodder: a chūnin.

The office was run by Kenjiro Asaima, a senior ninja whose career spanned back to Konoha's founding days. He'd lost his right arm in battle long ago and transitioned to a desk job—something Shirakumo envied deeply. A steady, desk-bound position was the ultimate goal.

At that moment, Asaima was leisurely sipping tea with his left hand, savoring each sip, occasionally letting out a satisfied "ahh." Across from him, Shirakumo stood with a polite smile.

"Here on business?" Asaima asked.

"I'm here on the command center's recommendation, to be promoted to chūnin," Shirakumo replied.

Asaima paused mid-sip, then set his teacup down again. "Name, age, unit, and achievements."

"Shirakumo Hayama, age fourteen. Assigned to the First Battalion, Seventh Company, Seventh Squad. Currently acting as squad captain. Graduated from the ninja academy in the thirty-third year of Konoha. Completed 91 C-rank missions, 27 B-rank missions, and 7 A-rank missions."

Asaima raised an eyebrow, surprised at the young ninja's patience to finish 91 C-rank missions. This level of steadiness was rare—most young ninjas lacked the temperament for such menial tasks. He leaned back, his expression even colder than before.

"How many enemies have you eliminated?"

"311 bandits, 47 genin, and 43 chūnin."

Asaima choked on his tea. The genin tally wasn't too surprising, but the chūnin count? What was this kid—a chūnin exterminator? Was he an Uchiha in disguise?

Setting his cup down, Asaima "gently" asked, "Any bloodline limits?"

"No."

"Any notable mentors?"

"None."

Asaima felt numb. These kids these days were just something else. Was being a chūnin hunter the new norm?

"Specialty jutsu?" Asaima pressed.

"Sir, I believe that's not listed in the regulations," Shirakumo pointed out.

"It's a new regulation," Asaima shot back.

"Ah, well then—earth release and trap-making."

Asaima's eyebrow twitched incessantly, as if an ant was crawling on it, making Shirakumo secretly worried that the man might have a seizure.

"Promotion to chūnin?" Asaima growled through clenched teeth.

"Yes, sir."

"You're a genin?" Asaima's face contorted.

"That's correct."

Asaima took a deep breath, slammed the table, and leapt to his feet. In a flash, he fetched a chair and graciously offered it. "Please have a seat. I'll handle everything. One moment," he said, then stormed out of the room.

Before long, the entire floor was abuzz. Everyone came to take a look at Konoha's "genin."

Shirakumo was annoyed by the attention but could only sigh. "I really am just a genin."

In unison, the onlookers replied, "We believe you!"

"..."