The clamor of the summer festival faded, leaving the "Fitness for All" project team with a wrecked stall and more than a dozen thoroughly battered souls.
The next morning, at the Third Training Ground.
A group of elite jonin with dark circles under their eyes listlessly cleaned up the "battlefield debris" left over from the night before, a mixture of batter and sauce.
The taijutsu ninja renowned for his fearlessness in battle stared at the sticky rag in his hand, his expression even more despairing than when he faced the Third Raikage's spear hand.
"I'd rather fight Iwagakure's Explosion Corps again," he muttered, his voice full of doubts about life itself.
"Shut up," the lightning release ninja beside him snapped. Every so often, an uncontrollable spark still shot from his fingertips, burning a little hole in his rag. "The moment I smell soy sauce now, I want to unleash Kirin."
Minato Namikaze smiled bitterly. He felt as though his enhanced mental strength had been worn down to nothing the night before by dozens of little terrors and over a hundred demands to hurry up with the orders.
He finally understood why Kushina sometimes suddenly flew into a rage over something trivial. It was the ultimate ninjutsu called "life," built up from an endless pile of petty chores.
Just then, familiar footsteps, accompanied by a hissing sound, approached from the distance.
Everyone's bodies went rigid. Their movements stopped in perfect unison, and they stared in horror at the newcomer.
Orochimaru was back.
Today, he had changed into a beige trench coat that made him look even more scholarly. He still held that thick report, and his face wore that same "kindly" smile, like a benevolent teacher about to lead his students on a spring outing.
"Everyone, it seems yesterday's 'immersion therapy'