Naruto: Strogest taijutsu specialist

The forest was quiet as the group trudged back to the safehouse under the cover of darkness. Despite their success, the tension lingered, each member too aware that a single misstep could have led to disaster.

Shinji walked at the rear, his sword resting across his back. His body ached from the intense battle, but the familiar pulse of growth coursed through him, as if the fight had unlocked yet another layer of his potential. Yet, it wasn't a relief. The power felt heavier with each use, a burden he couldn't shake.

Kenji broke the silence, his tone light. "Well, that went smoother than I expected. No offense, but I figured at least one of us would be crawling back."

Rina shot him a glare. "You have such faith in your comrades."

Kenji grinned. "I call it optimism. The fact that we're all here proves me right."

Shinji allowed himself a small chuckle. "You can call it luck. I'll take that over optimism."

Daichi, walking ahead, turned his head slightly. "Luck or not, we did our job. That depot won't be supplying anyone for a while."

---

When they finally arrived at the safehouse, Hiroshi and the other team were already waiting. Hiroshi's sharp eyes scanned them, quickly assessing their condition.

"You're late," he said, though his tone wasn't accusatory.

"We ran into some resistance," Rina replied. "But the depot is destroyed."

Hiroshi nodded, his expression softening. "Good. The intelligence team gathered critical information on their movements. It seems the Iwa forces are planning a large-scale counteroffensive within the week. We've bought ourselves some time, but not much."

Kenji sighed, leaning against the wall. "So much for a break."

"You'll have a few hours to rest," Hiroshi said. "Make the most of it. The next phase won't be any easier."

---

Shinji found himself in a corner of the safehouse, sitting on the floor with his sword resting across his lap. His mind replayed the fight at the depot—the way his strength had surged with each enemy he faced, the ease with which he cut through their defenses.

He clenched his fists. It felt... wrong. His strength was supposed to be a blessing, but it was starting to feel like a curse. Every battle brought him closer to the edge, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he crossed it.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Shinji looked up to see Kenji sitting down beside him, holding two small cups of tea. He handed one to Shinji and took a sip from the other.

"You're always brooding after a fight," Kenji said with a smirk. "You're making me look like the carefree idiot here."

"You do that well enough on your own," Shinji replied, though his tone was light.

Kenji laughed. "Fair. But seriously, you okay? You've been quiet—even for you."

Shinji stared into his cup. "I don't know. Every fight feels… heavier. Like I'm losing something, even when I win."

Kenji's smile faded. "That's war, Shinji. You're not the only one who feels it. But the difference is, you're making it count. Every time you step up, you're saving lives—ours, and the people back home. That's not nothing."

Shinji nodded slowly, though the weight in his chest didn't lift.

---

Later that night, Hiroshi called the group together for a final briefing. He spread a map on the table, marking several points of interest near the border.

"Our next target is the Iwa stronghold itself," Hiroshi said. "We're not going in for a direct assault. Our goal is to disable their defensive measures and delay their counteroffensive."

The room fell silent. Even Kenji's usual grin faded as the gravity of the mission sank in.

"This will be dangerous," Hiroshi continued. "They'll be on high alert after the depot attack. Stick to the plan, and don't take unnecessary risks. We can't afford to lose anyone."

Shinji's jaw tightened. The weight of responsibility settled over him once more.

---

As the group prepared for the mission, Shinji found a quiet moment to himself. Standing outside the safehouse, he gazed at the stars, their distant light a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded him.

He thought about his old life, the simplicity of it. He had no extraordinary power, no war to fight—just the quiet, ordinary struggles of a normal man. Now, that life felt like a dream.

What am I really fighting for?

The answer remained elusive, but one thing was certain: as long as he had the strength to fight, he would keep moving forward. The shadows of war wouldn't claim him—not yet.