The western border of the Land of Fire, the main camp's supply station.
Kitahara Kaede walked into the registration tent with his pack on his back and joined the end of the line.
There were three people ahead of him.
He casually glanced at the man seated behind the registration desk, then paused.
Someone he knew.
Square face, bushy beard.
The same Special Jōnin from last time—the one who, after three missions had ended with his teammates dead, had slammed the table and yelled at him, "Kitahara, were you born to bring bad luck to your teammates?"
Kitahara Kaede looked away, his expression unchanged.
He didn't hold a grudge against the man.
After all, putting himself in the other man's shoes, if he had a subordinate whose teammates died on every mission while he alone returned completely unscathed, he'd feel uneasy about having a "living jinx" like that around, too.
"Next."
The person ahead of him collected his military tag and hurried out. It was his turn.
Kitahara Kaede stepped forward and handed over his transfer orders.
The bearded Jonin took the document and opened it without looking up, all business.
"Name?"
"Kitahara Kaede."
The hand turning the pages stopped.
The bearded Jonin raised his head. When he saw who was standing before him, he froze for a beat.
Then he lowered his head and flipped through the document much faster, barely glancing at it.
He brought the official stamp down with a thump and registered the military tag in one smooth motion. The whole process usually took at least five minutes, but this time it was over in less than one.
He pushed the tag to the far edge of the desk, just as far away as he'd pushed the pouch of payment last time.
"Take it and go."