Early morning light passed through the leaves of the trees in the Grass Village. Ryūzetsu woke with the sun, as was her custom. She stretched, taking a moment to appreciate the stillness of her surroundings. The serenity of the morning always brought her a feeling of calm.
Sighing, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and slipped into her usual Anbu attire—a dark kimono-like garb that was fit for stealth. Her white mask hung casually at her side.
As she stepped out, she sniffed the familiar scent of a food stall nearby. Today they were going to serve teriyaki chicken.
The Village Hidden in the Grass had been her home for as long as she could remember, and she took a moment to enjoy things before heading off to work.
As peaceful as it all seemed, her mind remained elsewhere, contemplating her duties as an Anbu—a role that often required her to be vigilant.
Being an Anbu was quite demanding. Their days began early, typically before the sun rose, and often started with physical training to keep their reflexes, stamina, and agility all in peak condition.
Hand-to-hand combat, obstacle courses designed to test their speed and endurance, and weapon training were integral parts of this demanding regimen. They were skilled with various weaponry, from the traditional kunai and shuriken to swords and specialized tools unique to their missions.
After their physical training, they would delve into intelligence gathering and analysis. Because they were essentially the eyes and ears of the village, they had to constantly monitor potential threats, both internal and external.
This often involved studying enemy tactics, analyzing intelligence reports, and debriefing with other Anbu who had returned from missions.
They would always plan their own operations, considering every detail, from infiltration routes and escape plans to the potential reactions of their targets.
Midday often brought the most critical part of their routine: mission execution. These missions could vary wildly in nature, from high-risk assassinations and covert operations in enemy territory to protecting key personnel and maintaining internal security.
Anbu were expected to operate with the utmost discretion, often blending into the background in their own village.
They were to possess exceptional stealth and infiltration skills regardless of the personal cost.
Upon returning from a mission, Anbu would participate in detailed debriefings, documenting their findings, analyzing any encounters, and extracting even more intelligence for later operations.
Even if a member was highly talented, if they couldn't handle debriefings well, then they would be deemed ineffective to their organization.
Ryūzetsu was no different than her counterparts.
Her evenings, like many, were dedicated to recovery and maintenance for more demanding missions. They also had to maintain their gear to prepare for the next day's challenges.
While the typical desk worker remained untrained, those in the military would continue undergoing their daily training. The Anbu were akin to the military.
Maintaining secrecy was paramount for them due to how much information just one person could know. Because of that, they were trained to operate in the shadows, concealing their identities behind masks.
And if there's one thing Ryūzetsu knew about her role, it was that she was like a silent guardian of her village, operating in the shadows to protect its interests, even at great personal cost.
Upon arriving at headquarters, she spoke briefly with her team leader, a rather authoritative figure.
He explained that she was being dispatched on a mission to provide backup for a squad that was traveling through particularly perilous territory.
A dangerous band of rogue shinobi had been reported in the area, and the squad deemed it prudent enough to have additional support.
"Stay alert," he reminded her. "We can't afford any errors. You know the stakes."
She nodded, scanning the room for her partner. When he finally emerged—tall and confident, with a relaxed demeanor—she felt a sense of ease.
It was good to have a partner who balanced her level-headed nature with his more cavalier attitude.
As they prepared to leave, she adjusted her green bandana, the one she wore in memory of her childhood friend Muku.
Although the fabric was only a small piece of their shared past, it often reminded her of the responsibilities she carried, not only to herself but to him.
"You ever gonna tell me about that bandana of yours?" her partner asked.
"It's special to me," she answered after fixing it. "That's all you have to know."
He chuckled, knowing that even after his thirtieth time asking, he wouldn't get an answer.
The journey to their destination took a day and a half.
The forest gradually gave way to more rugged landscapes, and Ryūzetsu kept her senses keen. Yet, as they finally arrived at the meeting spot with the Grass shinobi, they found the team in high spirits.
"We're glad you're here!" one of the shinobi shouted after she and her partner approached them. They had more smiles than frantic looks. "We didn't know what we'd do if rogues caught us."
"You mean there weren't any attacks or ambushers?" she wondered.
"Not that we're aware of," their group leader answered.
She was ready to berate them for calling for backup, but she knew that wasn't the right thing to do. What if the attackers were simply biding their time?
"We'll scout the area ahead," she stated. "If we encounter trouble, we'll send a warning signal."
Both the group and her partner responded with nods of agreement. It was always a relief to see teamwork in action, something that had seemed elusive on bad missions.
The group moved forward, and Ryūzetsu and her partner flanked the others.
It didn't matter if things looked alright; their eyes were peeled for any signs of movement. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs didn't go unnoticed.
They covered ground quickly, checking their surroundings every so often. It was a task they took seriously, knowing their comrades depended on their diligence.
Yet on the ground, those same comrades were quite chatty. They were just a rambunctious group, not even looking for any threat that could be lurking nearby.
Such was the difference between average ninjas and Anbu.
Uneventfully, hours passed. As they finally turned back toward the Grass Village, there was a sense of accomplishment. They had executed the mission smoothly, returning the squad safely without encountering any trouble.
Compliments followed, most of them directed at Ryūzetsu.
'But I didn't even do anything,' she wanted to say.
Even her teammate congratulated her on a job well done.
"Great work as usual, Ryūzetsu," he said after that shinobi group left.
"We had no enemies," she stated flatly, dismissing his praise.
But he smiled at her, insisting, "You were smart to stay ahead and ready. That's what makes you an exceptional Anbu."
His encouragement brought a rare smile to her features. She didn't often let herself be praised, preferring the quieter validation of her actions.
As they reached headquarters, the team leader commended them for their success. While her partner beamed, Ryūzetsu felt the familiar itch of longing for more action. The everyday missions that kept the village safe were important, but inside, a part of her yearned for something more electrifying, something that would truly challenge her abilities.
Unbeknownst to her, this desire would soon manifest in ways she could not imagine.
Days followed filled with monotony.
Ryūzetsu kept busy training, maintaining her skills, and remaining an ever-watchful protector of the Grass Village. She improved her ninjutsu, practiced her taijutsu, and even took time to meditate, allowing her to keep her mind as sharp as her body.
Yet, despite the physical exertion, a restlessness had settled deep within her.
As night came, she returned to her home from yet another boring mission. The familiar contours of her room at least felt comforting.
She donned her plain white kimono, slipping into bed, hoping sleep would find her tonight.
However, it was not meant to be.
She twisted and turned beneath the sheets, planting her face into the fabric only to turn back. Her mind was too active to want to fall asleep.
Had she still done enough today? Were there hidden threats lurking in the shadows of the village? It wouldn't hurt to at least make sure, right?
'No,' she thought to herself, 'I'll just try to get some rest.'
After what felt like hours, her weary resolve broke. With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet onto the floor. She then donned her Anbu attire once more.
Deciding on a nighttime patrol felt instinctual, almost essential. The village was quiet, its inhabitants sleeping away while she patrolled the perimeters to ensure their safety.
Ryūzetsu took to the shadows, encapsulated by the silence that only darkness could offer. With every passing second, she attuned herself to the night, listening for disturbances and feeling the pulse of the village.
She climbed to the branches of the trees, navigating the limbs and leaves that created a natural barrier.
As she climbed higher, her eyes scanned the outskirts for any signs of trouble or malicious intent. It was here, where few dared to tread during the witching hours, that Ryūzetsu found her solace.
The moon reflected her white hair as it illuminated her village. This was her time—free from the burdens of her thoughts. Here, she belonged.
'I wish you could see it, Muku…'
As she continued her vigil, she eventually descended from the tree branches, resting her feet against the pavement.
Minutes turned into hours, and she kept working, moving through the common nooks of the village, surveying every corner.
Just as she felt as though she might start to get lost in the routine, a nearby movement caught her attention. She quietly observed from the shadows, deciphering whether the motion belonged to friend or foe.
As if on cue, a pair of shadows drew near, their forms becoming clearer as they came into view. It was a trio she unmistakably recognized—her fellow Anbu partners.
Friend or foe? What was she thinking?
There hadn't been an attack on the village in ages. She had clearly let her duties get in the way, over her head.
"Ryūzetsu?" one called out softly, stepping closer. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep," she replied. "I thought I'd work on my patrols. Make sure everything was secure."
"Typical of you," another remarked. "You're always too determined for your own good. You know it's not healthy to overwork yourself, right?"
"Yeah, you need sleep like the rest," the last one chimed in. "What time is it anyway?"
"Three," she answered before anyone.
She couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad one. Bad because her Anbu member couldn't even determine the time of day by looking at the sky.
Their light-hearted banter continued, momentarily dispelling any tenseness. She couldn't help but smile at their teasing amity.
"I appreciate all your concerns," she replied, "but I felt like working tonight. I promise I'll get some rest—once I feel tired."
They exchanged puzzled glances before one finally shook their head.
"You always say that, don't you?" he asked. "But since you promised…"
"Yes," she reminded, "I promise…"
"How long have you been at this tonight?" one wondered. After hearing that she'd been patrolling for six hours already, the member became a little concerned. "I think you've done more than enough tonight."
"How 'bout we get a drink instead?" the last one offered.
Friendship and teamwork were what Ryūzetsu felt inside.
"Perhaps just for a little while," she said, considering the offer. "It might help me gather some energy for tomorrow."
"See? Now you're speaking sense!"
As they moved through the night, Ryūzetsu knew her commitment to the Grass Village had already granted her purpose, but at this moment, she found clarity in companionship—and it reminded her that she was still part of a greater whole.
With her teammates at her side, the darkness began to wane, and her heavy thoughts drifted into the background. And maybe, just maybe, she'd finally find restful reprieve.