Three days later, at dusk.
Kitahara Kaede lifted the flap of the logistics tent.
He had no wounds, only a little dirt on his clothes. That was all.
The bearded Jonin was bent over the table, writing. A personnel roster lay open before him, his pen hovering over one of the lines.
Kitahara Kaede glanced at it.
His name was on that line, beside two unchecked boxes—one marked "Missing," the other "Killed in Action."
"Sir."
The Jonin jerked his head up.
The pen slipped from his fingers, rolled to the edge of the table, and fell.
He stared at Kitahara Kaede. His expression wasn't one of surprise, but of someone who'd seen a ghost.
Kitahara Kaede didn't give him time to process it. He set a sealed scroll and a map case on the table.
"Mission C-47, solo reconnaissance. The infiltration routes through the southwestern Land of Wind, the positions of the visible and concealed sentries, and their troop rotations are all in there."
The Jonin didn't respond. His eyes swept over Kitahara Kaede.
No limp, no staggering, no missing limbs.
Not even a bandage on him.
The Jonin picked up the scroll and broke the seal, at first giving it a cursory glance.
Then his expression turned serious.
He spread the scroll flat on the table and read through it page by page.
Three infiltration routes had been marked in red, each with timing estimates.
Concealed sentry positions were marked with circles and crosses, with brief notes beside them: blind spots, shift intervals, and camouflage types.
One page detailed the Sunagakure patrols' shift schedule, accurate to the hour.
The Jonin looked up at Kitahara Kaede, opened his mouth, then swallowed his words.
He rolled the scroll back up.
"I can't assign a rank to this intelligence..."
His tone was