Chapter 2: The Hidden War
Kozan's new life began in silence.
No celebration. No ceremony. No training scrolls or clan symbols. Mei Terumī didn't anoint him in public or give him a title. Instead, she placed him in the shadows—precisely where power grows in Kirigakure.
His name vanished from the records. His age, academy rank, and prior assignments were all scrubbed. To the village, Kozan became a ghost. But to Mei, he became something far more dangerous: a scalpel for the future.
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The Third Mizukage, Yagura, still ruled, but barely. His eyes were hollow, his presence wrong. Rumors said he was being controlled. Some whispered about a genjutsu so deep it made a puppet dance like a god. Kozan didn't care. Whatever the truth was, it didn't stop the blood from spilling daily.
He quickly learned the true battleground wasn't in open combat—it was behind doors, in whispers, through ink on scrolls that led to graves. Mei's rebellion thrived on this quiet war. And Kozan became her sharpest edge.
His first target was a councilman—an outward patriot, but secretly selling orphaned children to foreign scroll merchants. Kozan waited until the man was alone in his private bathhouse. The fog moved unnaturally that night, curling into vents and cracks.
A flicker of chakra.
A moment of silence.
Then only steam and a heartbeat that never came back.
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"Was it clean?" Mei asked when Kozan returned, still cloaked in mist.
"No trace," he replied. "He won't be found."
She sipped her tea slowly. "You don't hesitate."
Kozan looked at her. "Only with those who might be saved."
She nodded once and said nothing more.
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As weeks passed, rumors began to spread through the alleys and rooftops. They spoke of a shadow that moved through the mist, undoing the old ways, silencing cruel captains, saving academy students who refused to kill. Some called him a ghost. Others gave him a name: Mistwalker.
But Kozan didn't seek praise. He worked alone, striking where the corruption clung deepest.
One night, Mei summoned him to a candlelit war room deep below the Mizukage's tower. Waiting with her were two key allies: Ao, the ever-watchful Byakugan user, and Chōjūrō, shy but skilled with his massive blade.
A map lay before them—marked with red pins and black ink. Bloodline suppression facilities, weapon caches, command towers.
"We strike soon," Mei said calmly. "Swift and clean. We take out the core of Yagura's support before they can respond."
Her eyes turned to Kozan.
"You'll lead the first wave. The Hunter-nin loyal to me already follow your signal."
Ao grunted. "The ghost leads the hunt. Fitting."
Kozan studied the map. He said nothing for a long time. Then:
"I'll need a squad that can vanish like I do."
"You'll have them," Mei said. "By dawn, the Mist will begin to change."
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That night, Kozan stood alone in the upper spires of the village, wind brushing his face, fog rolling below. Somewhere beneath him, loyalists sharpened blades. Blood would flow. That much was certain.
But for the first time in years, the mist did not feel suffocating.
It felt like a storm waiting to break.
And Kozan would be its lightning.
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