The next day, in the administration tent.
A bearded Jonin stood before a table, holding a stack of mission assignment books.
The new recruits who had reported yesterday stood in two rows, waiting for their names to be called.
"Akiyama, Kōno, Sano—three-person team. Patrol the eastern sector. Take your ID tags."
The three took their tags and filed out.
"Inoue, Matsumoto—two-person team. Hold the line at Watchtower Seven."
Two more left.
"Nakata's four-person team. Escort the supply line. You leave tomorrow morning."
The tent emptied in groups.
Kitahara Kaede stood in the farthest corner, arms folded across his chest. His name hadn't been called once.
The last group received their assignments, and the tent flap fell shut.
Only two people remained.
The Jonin gathered the books and lifted his teacup for a sip.
Kitahara Kaede waited a few seconds.
He couldn't tell whether the man had accidentally skipped over him or done it on purpose.
He stepped forward.
"Sir, what's my assignment?"
The Jonin set down his cup and glanced at him.
His eyes didn't linger on Kitahara Kaede's face. They swept past and moved on.
The Jonin flipped through the book, then closed it.
"Nothing came up for you. Go help with logistics. Kitchen duty or hauling supplies, either one."
He paused, then added, "Consider yourself lucky."
Kitahara Kaede didn't move.
Logistics paid a fixed daily wage. Even after a full month, it wouldn't amount to much.
He had a five-million-ryō shortfall. At this rate, he'd have to haul boxes for three lifetimes.
"Is there a mission that would suit me?"
The teacup stopped halfway to the Jonin's lips.
I give you a logistics job, and now you're picky?
He studied Kitahara Kaede for two seconds, as if looking at a greenhorn with no idea how little he was