Chapter 14 — The Year of the Team
A year had passed.
They were still children—technically. But no longer the same ones who had first stood opposite each other on Training Ground 47. Back then, they were strangers—closed off, restrained. Now, they were a team. Not perfect, but real.
Their days were filled with missions, training, returns, scrapes, bruises, victories, rare words, and growing trust. Sometimes silent, but solid.
Over the year, they completed more than twenty C-rank missions and even one B-rank assignment. It was an operation to capture a missing-nin from the Land of Earth. Drawn-out, tense—but successful. Jiraiya was pleased. Despite his usual carefree tone, he admitted:
"A big deal. Just some idiot with a smoke technique. But not bad. At least you're alive."
He trained each of them differently, but with equal intensity.
First came the basics: chakra control, walking on trees, walking on water. Kiyemi had already mastered these—she simply refined her control.
Then came chakra nature training.
"Wind and Fire," Jiraiya said, watching her chakra paper burn and tear. "Dangerous combination. Especially if you learn to mix them."
Asuma drew the short straw—only Wind. Jiraiya snorted.
"Well, then we'll squeeze everything out of it. You'll punch through any shield."
Kakashi, just like in the original timeline, had Lightning. He practiced channeling it through his body and blades.
They learned all the standard D- and C-rank techniques, then moved on to B-rank skills. Kiyemi progressed faster than the rest. She absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Jiraiya, reluctantly but increasingly, began handing her more advanced scrolls.
"In your hands, this isn't just ninjutsu. It's a weapon."
What he didn't know—what no one knew—was that Kiyemi had secretly mastered a technique not yet meant for genin.
The Shadow Clone Jutsu.
She discovered the scroll buried in a restricted archive Jiraiya had once carelessly left open. One glance was enough.
It took her weeks to refine it—her chakra control had to be perfect. But when she did… it changed everything.
Each clone trained separately. And when dispelled, their experience flowed back to her.
It was a force multiplier.
She didn't use it in combat. Not yet. That would draw too much attention. But during long nights or early mornings before the others woke, her clones sparred, read, practiced seals, and refined every form and kata.
No one noticed how fast she improved.
Not even Jiraiya.
One evening, after camp had quieted, he called her closer to the fire. He handed her a tightly wrapped scroll.
"These are the basics of fūinjutsu. Seals, barriers, locks. Don't show it to anyone. Not even them."
"I understand," Kiyemi replied softly.
"This isn't just an art. It's a responsibility. And it's between us."
She nodded. Secrets were already a part of her life.
From then on, she practiced fūinjutsu separately—far from the others. Jiraiya inspected her work personally. Sometimes with a frown, sometimes with surprise.
"You're moving faster than I expected."
"I'm just learning," she replied calmly.
One evening at sunset, Kakashi silently approached her. In his hands was an old, worn scroll.
"The Hatake clan's base kenjutsu style," he said. "I don't need it anymore. But you… it might help you more than it ever helped me."
She unrolled the scroll—stances, strikes, chakra flow through the blade. A direct, precise, swift style. Ideal for offense.
"Thank you. I'll adapt it to fire," she said.
"To fire?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I've already started. It doesn't just burn. It breaks."
For the first time in a while, Kakashi smiled—not mockingly, but genuinely.
"Maybe one day, you'll be a real Hatake. Even if your name is different."
She taught Asuma precision. He taught her feeling.
He became calmer around her. Less hot-headed. He tried to joke, to support her.
"Even if Kakashi looks at us like a bunch of kids," Asuma once said, "we're still a team."
"And that's enough for us," she replied.
"For now," Kakashi added, stepping out of the shadows. "But if you start making mistakes—I'll go solo."
They nodded silently. And that silent agreement was stronger than any oath.
Late that same evening, Jiraiya called them to the campfire again. He was unusually serious.
"In a few days, the chunin exams will begin," he said. "And you'll most likely be allowed to participate."
They exchanged glances. He continued:
"You can be strong. Smart. Fast. But if you don't have a head on your shoulders—you're not a chunin. And if you're not ready for responsibility—you're not one either."
He looked each of them in the eye.
"I won't take anyone to the exam I don't trust. No way."
He stood up, brushing ashes from his hands.
"Time's running. Get ready. This is no longer a game."
They stayed by the dying fire. Silent. But each of them knew—this was only the beginning.