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Twin Demons. Chapter 35
🕑 Added 2025-10-01 21:42:29 +0000 UTCTeam Eleven was leaving their training grounds in full force. This time they were heading for the center of Konoha. Today was an important day—their first official mission. For all three, it sounded almost as momentous as entering the Academy.
Karin walked a little behind, stealing glances at the noisy streets, until she finally gathered the courage to ask:
“Yamato-sensei… what exactly are D-rank missions?”
Menma turned his head toward her and gave her a look as if she had just asked, “What’s chakra?”
[She really doesn’t know something this basic? The more I see, the more I’m worried about Karin’s education. Being a sensor isn’t enough if she lacks the fundamentals.]
Yamato, however, didn’t look fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, his eyes brightened—he clearly enjoyed sharing his experience with his students.
“D-rank missions,” he began, still striding at a steady pace, “are training assignments. Simple and completely safe. Inside Konoha and under my supervision, you’ll be learning the very basics of a shinobi’s work: how to take missions, how to talk with clients, where to receive payment. All of this is as much part of the profession as throwing shuriken.”
Karin raised her eyebrows slightly, adjusted her glasses, and nodded with a thoughtful air.
“Ah… I see.” She paused, then asked almost in a whisper, “And how long does this period last?”
“The length is up to each commander,” Yamato answered calmly. “I need to make sure you can carry out an assignment without mistakes and without shaming the village. That goes double for client interaction.”
He glanced back over his shoulder at Naruko. She, in turn, grinned from ear to ear and shamelessly winked.
“And after…” Karin’s voice faltered, but she forced herself to finish, “…after this training period, we’ll have to take on real missions? Outside Konoha? Where it’s… dangerous?”
“Yes,” Yamato confirmed. His face grew serious, his voice taking on the weighty tone of some action hero: “There is no such thing as eternal safety. A shinobi’s life is always a risk.” But a second later, he softened with a gentle smile. “Don’t be afraid, Karin. Alongside D-rank missions, I’ll be training you in formations and teamwork.”
“Karin-chan!” Naruko grabbed her right hand enthusiastically. “You saw how strong I am! I’ll always protect you!”
“Me too,” Menma added, taking her left hand.
It looked a bit childish, but the effect was obvious: the tension in her shoulders eased, and Karin almost visibly let out a breath.
They turned toward the Hokage’s administration building. But to Menma’s surprise, their path didn’t lead to the all-too-familiar office of “the big boss.” Instead, they went further down the corridor, around a corner, where a line of shinobi was already waiting before an unremarkable door.
“This is where missions are handed out,” Yamato explained, taking his place at the end of the line. “We’ll have to wait a little.”
“Wait?..” Naruko stared at the line, then at the door. Inside, behind a desk, she could see a perfectly ordinary woman in shinobi uniform. “But isn’t Gramps the one who gives out missions?”
“Gramps?” Yamato raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “Ah, you mean the Hokage. No. He only gives personal orders for special assignments. He doesn’t have time for routine work.”
Menma leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
[And there it is—the jinchūriki privilege. Naruko and I can barge into the Hokage’s office anytime and get an audience. Meanwhile, even jōnin wait for months to be seen—and bow after every sentence.]
The line moved slowly, but eventually their turn came. Before stepping in, Yamato gave a warning:
“Today you’ll just observe me. Next time, you’ll try it yourselves and I’ll evaluate you.”
The trio nodded in unison.
The office inside looked like an archive storage. Along the walls stood rows of shelves packed with scrolls. Menma noted that each scroll bore a large letter “C”—which meant higher-ranked missions were kept elsewhere.
Behind the desk sat a stout woman in a shinobi uniform, though without a vest. She stamped a scroll with practiced ease, then used chakra threads to return it neatly to the shelf without even getting up.
“Good afternoon, Sato-san,” Yamato greeted her politely with a slight smile. “Team Eleven has arrived to receive a mission.”
“Eleven…” Sato muttered, running a finger down the list. “Ah, fresh graduates.”
Her gaze swept over the Uzumaki trio, lingering a little longer on each of them than necessary, ending with a noncommittal hum.
“You’re in luck,” she remarked, pulling a small box toward herself, full of scrolls marked with a large “D.” “Other rookie teams haven’t stopped by yet. So there’s still a choice.”
[So none of our former classmates have survived the ‘deadly exam’ yet. Nice to have a sensei who doesn’t turn a simple skills assessment into a circus with fanfare.]
“So we can choose ourselves?” Karin eyed the box suspiciously. “I thought seniors picked for us.”
“In special cases—yes,” Yamato explained evenly. “Like now. While you’re still my responsibility, I decide which missions you’re ready for and which you’re not. But in the future, the choice will be yours.”
He scanned a dozen scrolls quickly. There were plenty more inside, but his attention stopped on the seventh.
“I’ve seen your stamina today, so we’ll take a weeding mission.” He handed the scroll to Sato, who swiftly recorded the assignment and returned it. “We’ll need to get the client’s signature on the scroll as confirmation of the work done, then return here for the reward.”
Team Eleven slipped out of the office in a hurry, avoiding the irritated stares of the shinobi still waiting in line. The crowd followed the rookies with looks that clearly said, “Holding up the line with dumb questions.”
Outside, the fresh air and familiar bustle of the marketplace greeted them. Yamato pulled out the scroll and began explaining on the move:
“Pay attention. Here is the client’s name, here’s the address. Below is the mission objective, and here—the reward. See these new entries? Sato added your names. That’s how it’s recorded who exactly is carrying out the job.”
He carefully rolled up the scroll and tucked it into his vest.
“Guard the scroll like your life depends on it. Lose it, and you lose your pay.”
Karin frowned and bit her lip slightly.
“And if…” she hesitated, but then pushed through: “I complete the mission, but on the way back a missing-nin attacks me. He destroys the scroll, and I don’t get paid. That’s not fair.”
“In theory, that could happen,” Yamato nodded. “But in that case, Konoha contacts the client by messenger hawk. If he confirms the job was done, payment still goes through. It just takes longer. Which is why it’s best not to lose the scroll.”
They didn’t have to walk far. The client’s house stood at the edge of the village—a solid wooden building with a spacious yard. Against the wall leaned neatly arranged rakes, shovels, and other gardening tools.
Yamato knocked, and the door was opened by an elderly man in plain farmer’s clothes.
“Good afternoon, Watashi-san,” Yamato introduced himself politely. “We’re shinobi of Konoha, here to fulfill your request.”
He offered the scroll. Watashi read through every line carefully, checked the signature, and even demanded that Yamato show his forehead protector. After verifying the serial number, he nodded with satisfaction.
“This is standard procedure,” the mentor explained, tying the protector back on. “The client has to be sure we are who we say we are.”
[I’ve already thought up a dozen ways to bypass that kind of check. But we’re not ANBU. For D and C ranks, this is more than enough.]
“Everything looks correct,” Watashi concluded, returning the scroll. “This way, Yamato-san.”
They rounded the house and found themselves facing a huge vegetable patch overrun with weeds. The soil looked as if it had never known a gardener’s hand.
“Notice this,” Yamato said quietly to his students as they walked. “I always speak politely with clients. That’s rule number one. One rude word, and they’ll never call on Konoha again. The village’s reputation matters more than momentary emotions.”
“And what if the client’s an asshole?” Naruko huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m just supposed to put up with their nonsense?”
“Respect should go both ways,” Yamato answered seriously. “But even if you get a rude one, stick to words. Explain the rules of civility—calmly, without fists.”
Naruko smirked slyly, and Yamato frowned, clearly realizing he had just given her the “green light” for verbal skirmishes.
“I’ll bring you gloves,” Watashi said, surveying the weeds. “It’s dirty work. I think you’ll be stuck here for three hours.”
“Five minutes is enough for us,” Menma countered calmly. “And we don’t need gloves.”
Before the farmer could respond, forty shadow clones appeared beside the twins—their current limit.
“Take positions,” Menma ordered curtly.
The clones split the field into zones and rushed in. Weeds were ripped out by the root, the soil loosened and leveled in seconds. Within a minute, the patch looked as though an entire team of farmers had worked it.
“Done!” the clones barked in unison, then dispersed in clouds of smoke.
The farmer walked the rows for a long time, feeling the soil and checking the work. Only once he was sure he couldn’t find fault did he grunt approvingly and sign the scroll.
The return trip passed in silence. The same line, the same office, Sato’s indifferent glance, and a stamp on the document. The reward was symbolic—fifty ryō each.
[Mhm. I make more than that in my sealing shop in a single minute. And here—two hours wasted, most of it just standing in line. Looks like being a businessman really is more profitable than being a shinobi.]
“These are training missions, so the reward is low,” Yamato offered by way of excuse. “I don’t get paid for them at all, for that matter.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Menma waved it off. “We’ve got enough money. And it’s not even lunchtime yet. How about we try some team training?”
“Your enthusiasm is commendable, Menma,” the mentor said with a gentle smile. “But tomorrow would be better. Today I need to analyze your data.”
“No problem.” Menma shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll spend the meantime working with Karin.”
///
The trio returned to the Shinigami shrine. They didn’t go inside, choosing instead to stay in the yard where old training dummies and targets stood.
“Are you hungry?” Menma asked Karin, watching her closely.
“N-no,” she stammered, but her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
“Of course she’s hungry!” Naruko burst out laughing. “She’s an Uzumaki! We’re always hungry!” She winked playfully. “Just a sec, I’ll grab something tasty!”
“Don’t!” Karin exclaimed, but Naruko had already dashed off. The girl looked guilty at Menma. “It’s just… I’m on a diet.”
“Forget that nonsense,” he said sharply. “Eat as much as you want. Whatever extra you gain, we’ll burn off in training.”
Karin looked confused but didn’t argue.
Naruko returned a few minutes later, loaded with bags of chips and two bottles of soda. She ceremoniously dropped the loot onto the grass and immediately tore one bag open with her teeth.
“Ta-dah!” she declared with a smug grin. “I hereby announce the Uzumaki picnic open!”
The trio plopped down right on the grass, unconcerned about dirtying their clothes—they had to wash them after every training session anyway. Sunlight filtered through the trees, the air filled with the smell of warm grass and the spicy tang of chips.
Karin hesitantly reached for a piece, tasted it, and her face softened at once.
“Mmm… unhealthy, but… so good,” she murmured, chewing as if she hadn’t had anything like it in years. “So how are you going to train me?”
“First, I need to gauge your level,” Menma replied calmly, twisting open a soda bottle. The fizz hissed cheerfully.
“Are we fighting again?” Karin asked in surprise.
“No. I’ve already seen your combat skills.” Menma grimaced. “Today’s about chakra control.”
Karin was ready for a serious talk, but then suddenly hiccuped loudly, clapping a hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed red.
“Spicy chip!” she blurted, quickly grabbing the soda and gulping noisily.
“That’s nothing,” Naruko said with a sinister grin. “Wait until you try Uzuramen—then you’ll know what hot really means.”
“Fine,” Karin shrugged carelessly.
[Poor girl has no idea what she’s in for.]
Menma used the pause to steer things back on track:
“By the way, I meant to ask this morning. Where did your sensor abilities come from?”
Karin lowered her eyes and hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to share. Then her voice came quiet but firm:
“My mom taught me. I trained constantly… while I was living alone. In a damp, dark shack.”
Her tone carried both pride and sadness.
“That’s enough,” Menma said, standing up to wash his hands in a water barrel. “Let’s get to work. Run your chakra through your body.”
Karin formed a concentration seal, closed her eyes, and focused. Menma stepped closer, placing his hand on top of her head, carefully listening to the flow of chakra.
“Not perfect, but in the Academy you’d have definitely cleared the first year,” he judged, pulling his hand back. “I’ve already seen you can infuse your body with chakra. Now let’s check external control.”
He handed her a leaf from a nearby tree—the classic beginner’s exercise. And that’s where Karin started having serious trouble. The leaf kept slipping off her forehead. She frowned, stuck it back, but her chakra slipped away like water through fingers.
“Your level’s about the start of the Academy’s third year,” Menma concluded.
“Third?..” Karin whispered, stunned. “But in Konoha the course is six years… That means I’ll need four more years of training just to catch up to you?”
“No,” he cut her off sharply. “First of all, half the Academy curriculum is bloated with useless junk.”
“Like ikebana,” Naruko chimed in, grinding her teeth. “I hate it so much!”
“Second,” Menma went on, ignoring her, “we know how to speed things up.”
And the twins taught her the Shadow Clone Technique.
Karin turned out to be a quick study. Half an hour later, her hands formed the cross-shaped seal with confidence.
“Shadow Clone Jutsu!” she shouted.
A puff of smoke appeared, and out stepped two copies of her.
Karin stared at them, then sighed in defeat:
“Only two… I’m so weak…”
“That’s actually a good result,” Menma snapped. “Most genin can’t make even one.”
“But you two made twenty!”
“That’s because we’re us,” Naruko smirked, bumping fists with Menma. “The coolest brats in Konoha!”
“In any case,” Menma continued, “to create more clones, you need better chakra control. Have your clones work on the leaf exercise. You join them too.”
Karin’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“So I’ll be able to learn three times faster?”
“Even faster,” Menma smirked.
He and Naruko placed their hands on her shoulders in sync. Chakra flowed into Karin’s body—pure, safe, without Kurama’s taint. The girl gasped as the surge of power filled her.
“Again,” Menma ordered.
Karin formed the seal once more. A cloud of smoke burst out, and suddenly twenty-five clones stood beside her. The ground was crowded with Karins, each one immediately settling down with a leaf in hand.
“Amazing…” she whispered, staring at her army.
“Knock yourself out,” Menma muttered, slinging an arm around Naruko as the two of them staggered toward the shrine. Exhaustion was plain on their faces—they had given her almost everything.
Karin watched them, bewildered.
“But you… gave me all your chakra. How will you train yourselves?..”
Naruko glanced back and smiled, warm and a little tired:
“Karin-chan, haven’t you figured it out yet? We chose to sacrifice our own growth to help you.”
Karin’s eyes shimmered. She lunged forward, tackled the twins onto the grass, and hugged them tightly.
At first Menma snorted in annoyance, but Naruko burst into laughter, and he gave in. The sound of their shared laughter filled the shrine’s yard, drowning out the birdsong and the rustle of leaves.
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