Konoha’s Five-Element Ninja

Chapter Six: The Secret Gathering

The exhaustion of a night's hard fighting finally overtook Hayama, and he drifted into a deep sleep. In his dream, he saw himself as the leader of a Konoha organization, commanding legions of shinobi who sacrificed themselves at his call. They conquered nations and became the unrivaled masters of the world...

When Hayama awoke, he stared blankly at the ceiling of his tent, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. The idea of a nearly forty-year-old man still daydreaming like a teenager seemed absurd, but there it was. Maybe the spirit of adolescent delusions never truly faded.

Shaking off the remnants of his dream, Hayama stepped outside, noticing that the sky was already darkening. It was late afternoon. Just as he was deciding what to do next, his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in nearly a day. With that, he headed toward the camp's mess area. Before he got far, he ran into his teammate Tatsu Yamashiro.

"Captain, I saw you were sleeping so soundly that I didn't wake you. I brought enough for two; let's eat together," Tatsu said, holding up a food container.

Hayama nodded. "Sure, let's eat inside."

Even on the front lines, the standard rations were as bland as ever. As he sat in the dim light, eating the coarse food, Hayama found himself reminiscing about hotpot. Rainy days always seemed to pair perfectly with a steaming pot of hot soup.

When he finished, Hayama wiped his mouth, set his empty tray next to Tatsu, and pulled out a scroll. Under the flickering light, he began reading it.

Tatsu glanced at the scroll's title and was surprised to see it was an academy-level book, The Basics of Chakra Manipulation. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he asked, "Captain, is that book really worth reading?"

Without looking up, Hayama replied, "What you're really asking is whether it's useful, right?"

Tatsu scratched the back of his head sheepishly. It was always straightforward dealing with someone as sharp as his captain.

Hayama's interest seemed piqued. He pointed to a passage and said, "Look at this—'Compressing and refining chakra can increase the power of release techniques by ten percent.' Now that's intriguing."

"But, Captain, isn't chakra something that just gathers in your abdomen and only gets drawn out when needed? How do you compress or refine it?"

"No idea."

Tatsu was momentarily stunned into silence.

After a pause, Hayama elaborated, "It's true that chakra can't be easily manipulated once it's inside you. But have you noticed? The same technique costs different amounts of chakra depending on who's using it. A jōnin can perform a jutsu with far less chakra than a genin."

Tatsu rested his chin on his hand, thinking it over. "Could it be because jōnin have higher proficiency or better elemental transformation?"

"Neither," Hayama said. "I think it's the purity of their chakra. Proficiency only makes casting faster, and elemental transformation changes how the technique behaves."

"Changes how it behaves?" Tatsu repeated, confused.

"Exactly. For instance, Wind Release makes techniques sharper. Fire Release increases their heat. Lightning Release improves their piercing power. Water Release raises their pressure."

"What about Earth Release?"

Hayama gave Tatsu a peculiar look but didn't answer.

It only took a moment for Tatsu to realize the answer was "hardness," and his face flushed slightly with embarrassment. Years of fighting Iwa-nin, who practically embodied earth itself, had made it obvious.

Frustrated at being unable to figure out how to purify chakra, Tatsu gave up and left, taking their trays with him.

...

The rain continued unabated, and by late night, strong winds joined the downpour, causing the canvas tents to flap noisily. Hayama slowly opened his eyes in the darkness but remained still. He carefully listened to Tatsu's breathing, confirming that his teammate was still asleep, before quietly slipping out of the tent. Moments later, he vanished into the rainy night.

To the northeast of the Konoha encampment lay the field where corpses were stored. To prevent water contamination, this area was situated a full ten kilometers away from the main camp.

By a small creek, its sound almost drowned out by the rain, two Konoha ninjas stood guard.

"Working corpse duty is a blessing," said one, a man in his early twenties. "No front-line combat, plus you still rack up decent merit points. Hey, did you hear about the big shake-up at camp recently?"

"Oh? What kind of shake-up? The Iwa-nin didn't break through, did they?" the other man asked, playing along with the banter.

"Pfft, those rock-heads could never manage that," the first man scoffed. "According to a distant relative of my aunt's seventh cousin, about twenty elite ninjas were completely wiped out."

"That's impossible. It's gotta be fake news. I've been on duty here all week, and no way could they sneak in that many bodies without me noticing."

"You don't know a thing," the first man said disdainfully. "Clan ninjas' bodies don't get stored here. They're sealed into scrolls and sent straight back to the village. After all, they've got connections."

The two men finished their conversation and walked back toward their post, still arguing faintly as they disappeared into the night.

Emerging from the creek, Hayama silently made his way onto the shore. His face was grim, and he muttered a few curses before heading off.

Deep in a forest, several figures lurked in the shadows, still and silent as stones. Hayama joined them, blending into the darkness as they waited for something—or someone.

Not long after, a stern-faced ninja appeared, standing on a boulder. He gestured quickly, and the group began to gather.

The rain poured harder, lightning slicing across the sky. For a brief moment, the flash illuminated the gathered shinobi. They were a diverse group in terms of height and build, but all wore the standard Konoha flak jackets. The only commonality in their features was a cold, determined expression.

The last arrival scanned the group, his raspy voice grating as he said, "Eleven. Two less than last time."

His voice was rough, almost painful to hear, as if his throat had been badly injured. But no one reacted to it. They were all used to the sound. After a pause, a tall, lean ninja spoke up: "The Iwa-nin's attacks are getting fiercer. Losing people is inevitable. Let's move on to today's topics."

"Right. I'll keep it brief," the raspy ninja said. "First, the usual: jutsu exchanges. Second, a reminder to stay vigilant. The Sand ninjas may join the fray."

This last remark caused a stir, and the forest was filled with muttering voices.

"Silence!" the tall ninja barked. "This is a secret gathering. Questions will be addressed in turn."

The group quieted down. Hayama raised his hand, and after receiving a nod, he asked, "Master Okata, do you have any specifics—timing, scale, location?"

The lean ninja, Okata, seemed to appreciate the directness and replied, "No."

Hayama blinked. "...Understood."

After a brief hesitation, Okata explained, "The information came from a spy in Sunagakure. They noticed a significant stockpile of waterproof gear—oilcloth tents, rain cloaks. That's how we got the tip."

The group fell silent, the implications sinking in. The Land of Wind, dominated by desert, rarely saw rain. Stockpiling waterproof supplies could mean only one thing: they were preparing for prolonged operations in the rain-soaked Land of Rain.

At present, nearly ten thousand Iwa and Konoha shinobi were crammed into this small country. If the Sand joined the fray, the situation would spiral further out of control, likely devolving into chaotic, small-scale skirmishes. In such a scenario, the chances of survival would plummet.

Seeing their spirits dampen, Okata frowned. But before he could speak, the raspy-voiced ninja interjected, "Enough. Life and death are in the hands of fate. Train harder instead of worrying."

...

Sneaking back into his tent, Hayama was conflicted. If the Sand joined the war, it would be shinobi like him—commoners on the front lines—who bore the brunt. Worse, if Konoha's forces broke down, the Land of Rain could become a slaughterhouse for his fellow shinobi. And yet, there was nothing he could do. His only hope was that the commanders would find some advantage amidst the chaos.

Still, the gathering wasn't a total loss. Inside Hayama's tool pouch lay a finely crafted scroll—containing the Earth Release: Hardening Technique he'd long coveted. Joining this clandestine group now seemed like one of the smartest decisions he'd ever made.

Back when Hayama was still a genin, Okata had personally invited him to join this unnamed organization. Its mysterious founder, the raspy-voiced ninja, was likely a member of the ANBU, possibly someone high-ranking. As for Okata, he was a legend among commoner ninjas. Despite his humble background, he had risen to chūnin within a year of graduating and had killed over a hundred enemy elite shinobi with his impeccable swordsmanship and earth-style techniques. He had even earned his jōnin rank by taking the head of a renowned Iwa ninja. Okata was a symbol of raw, undeniable strength.

This unofficial "Commoner Shinobi Alliance" had a straightforward mission: to break Konoha's monopolistic system of jutsu inheritance. Periodic gatherings allowed members to share intelligence, exchange training insights, and most importantly, trade jutsu.

Participation in these secret meetings was dwindling. Many members had perished in battle. And acquiring a new technique didn't always mean trading one jutsu for another—sometimes it meant completing a mission assigned by another member. This time, Hayama had agreed to a task set by Okata in exchange for the coveted Hardening Technique. The details of the task were still unknown.

Normally, Hayama would never take such a risk. But this jutsu was crucial. If mastered, it would significantly improve his survival chances. Thinking of this made even the ever-composed Hayama feel a surge of excitement.

Suppressing his turbulent thoughts, Hayama forced himself to fall asleep.

On the final day of June in the 38th year of Konoha, 14-year-old Shirakumo Hayama was still just a nameless chūnin. He had no famous family name or powerful mentor. All he had was a fierce determination to survive and a steady, methodical approach to life. But the wheels of fate would not stop turning. They would keep rolling forward, leaving behind anyone who couldn't hold on.

The rain kept falling. It never stopped.