Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 92

The month following their A-rank mission should have felt triumphant. Team Shisui had returned to Konoha as heroes, praised for rescuing Lady Aiko and uncovering Orochimaru’s schemes. Their names were whispered in the mission halls with respect.

But the glow of that adventure soon dimmed.


“Another merchant escort?” Naruto muttered under his breath as they stood before the mission desk. His arms were crossed, his Konoha headband gleaming proudly, but his face was a mask of irritation.

The mission clerk looked up nervously. “Yes… Lord Hokage has approved this one. You’ll travel north, ensure safe passage, and return.”

Naruto groaned loudly. “That’s the fourth merchant escort this month! Aren’t there any bandits left in Fire Country?!”

Midori tugged on his sleeve, whispering, “Naruto, stop yelling in the Hokage’s tower. You’re going to get us banned from missions.”

Hinata giggled softly. “Besides, it’s not so bad. We get to travel.”

“Travel?!” Naruto threw his hands up. “We’re not adventurers, we’re shinobi! We should be—” He lowered his voice dramatically, “—rescuing princesses, fighting rogue ninja, saving villages from destruction. Not hauling boxes and watching old men complain!”

Shisui, leaning casually against the wall, smirked. “You’d be surprised how many missions like these turn deadly. And besides, painting fences, walking dogs, and escorting merchants are the foundations of shinobi life. You want glory, Naruto? Earn it by doing the boring work first.”

Naruto scowled. “Easy for you to say, Shisui-nisan. You already did all the cool stuff.”

Shisui’s eyes twinkled. “That’s right. And you’ll get your turn. For now, do the work.”


The team traveled out of Konoha with the merchant caravan. Naruto slumped on top of the wagon, arms folded behind his head, staring at the sky. Hinata walked alongside, her Byakugan occasionally scanning for threats. Midori followed behind, practicing hand seals idly with her fingers, her Sharingan flickering to life and fading again.

The merchant, an old man with a hunched back, chattered on about his goods. “Spices from the south, cloth from the capital, rare teas—very valuable! Without shinobi like you, I’d have lost everything to bandits years ago.”

Naruto rolled his eyes. “Bandits don’t even show up anymore. They must’ve heard Team 11 was coming and decided to retire early.”

Hinata smiled kindly. “That’s a good thing, Naruto-kun. It means people are safe.”

“Safe, but bored,” Naruto muttered.


That night, as they camped near the river, Midori sat polishing her sword while Naruto sulked by the fire.

“You’re restless,” Midori said plainly.

Naruto looked up. “Restless? I’m losing my mind here! We trained our whole lives to fight real battles, Midori. Not babysit merchants. I mean, did you see that last guy? He couldn’t even lift his own luggage! Why are we wasting our time on this?”

Midori studied him quietly. “Because the village needs it. And because we’re still genin, Naruto. No matter how strong we are.”

“But we’re stronger than genin!” Naruto snapped. “We’re stronger than most jonin. Even you get bored, don’t lie.”

Midori’s lips curved faintly. “…Maybe a little. But I don’t throw tantrums about it.”

Hinata, sitting nearby with Nawaki’s tiny toy ball she’d brought from the estate, nodded softly. “Naruto-kun… sometimes being a shinobi isn’t about excitement. It’s about service. People sleep peacefully because we do the dull work.”

Naruto groaned and flopped onto his back. “I hate it when you both make sense.”


The next morning, Shisui led them aside after delivering the merchant safely.

“You three are bored, huh?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Naruto perked up immediately. “Yes! Finally someone noticed!”

Shisui smirked. “Good. That boredom means you’re ready.”

Hinata tilted her head. “Ready for what, Shisui-sensei?”

“Ready to see the truth of our world,” Shisui replied. His voice dropped, serious. “Missions aren’t about glory, or even boredom. They’re about control. The Hokage gives us what we can handle. Right now, the village thinks you can handle merchants and construction sites. If you want more, you’ll have to prove yourselves not just strong… but dependable. Show them you can handle the dull without complaint, and they’ll trust you with the dangerous.”

Naruto frowned. “So you’re saying… endure the chores, and one day we’ll get the exciting stuff?”

Shisui’s smile was faint, almost sad. “Exactly. Endure. That’s the shinobi way.”


That night, lying in his tent, Naruto stared at the ceiling.

“Endure, huh?” he whispered to himself. He thought of Gaara training hard in Suna, of their promise to race toward becoming kage. He thought of Rock Lee, running circles around the village despite being unable to use ninjutsu.

Naruto clenched his fists. “Fine. I’ll endure. But when the real missions come, I’ll show everyone what I can do.”

Outside, Midori and Hinata exchanged a look as they overheard him. Hinata smiled softly. Midori smirked.

Because they knew—Naruto might endure, but when the storm came, he’d be the first to charge into it.


Every night, when they are inside Naruto's magical tent, Naruto reached for his enchanted mirror. The object had become as precious to him as his headband. Crafted by his dad, it was a marvel of fuinjutsu and foreign magic fused together—mirrors connected across distances like the “telephones” Harry once described from his strange past world.

Naruto loved it. Through this little frame, he could see the people dearest to him, no matter how far away they were.


The first thing Naruto always did was call home. The glass shimmered, rippling like water, before Mikoto’s gentle face appeared, Nawaki perched on her lap.

“Naruto,” Mikoto greeted warmly. “You look tired. Did you eat enough?”

Naruto puffed out his cheeks. “Of course I did! We had roasted rabbit today. Shisui-niisan didn’t burn it this time.”

Nawaki squealed, grabbing at the mirror from Mikoto’s arms. “Naa-ru!” the toddler called, his little hands leaving smudges on the glass.

Naruto’s grin softened into something tender. “Hey, little brother. Look! I’m a real shinobi now.” He tilted the mirror so Nawaki could see his headband glinting in the firelight. Nawaki clapped happily, babbling nonsense but repeating “Shino! Shino!” until Mikoto laughed.


After saying goodnight to his mother and brother, Naruto always switched to Itachi’s mirror. His elder brother was rarely home, missions dragging him across the Elemental Nations. Tonight, the backdrop behind Itachi was foreign—dark mountains crowned by a crescent moon, temples half-hidden in mist.

“It’s beautiful there,” Naruto breathed.

Itachi nodded, his voice calm as ever. “The Land of Demons has its own serenity… though serenity is fragile here.”

Naruto leaned closer. “Are you okay? Did the mission go well?”

Itachi’s eyes flickered—Rinnegan glowing faintly. “Naruto. You know I can’t discuss details.”

“Right, right,” Naruto mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry. I just… I wanna know where you are. I miss you.”

Itachi’s expression softened. “And I miss you. Train hard, Naruto. That’s the best way to protect those bonds.”


Finally, Naruto always ended the night by calling Gaara. The mirror shimmered, and there he was—red-haired, pale-eyed Gaara, sitting cross-legged in the little sand hut he built beside the lake Naruto helped him create.

“You’re late,” Gaara said flatly, though his lips twitched in a way Naruto had learned was almost a smile.

“I was busy talking to Nawaki,” Naruto shot back, grinning. “He says my name better than yours.”

Gaara’s brow twitched. “He’s two years old.”

“Exactly! Which means you’ve got competition.”

They both laughed. Their bond had grown beyond friendship—brotherhood forged in shared pain and mutual respect. Yet their conversations carried a risk. Shisui always warned Naruto not to share mission details, reminding him that Gaara, for all his change, was still a shinobi of another village.

Naruto never meant to slip, but sometimes he did. He’d talked about the merchant escorts, about rescuing Lady Aiko, about shinobi with strange forehead symbols. That was how the Kazekage learned Orochimaru was building something in secret.

When Shisui scolded him later, Naruto had only shrugged. “So what? The Kazekage is Hokage-jiji’s ally. Allies help each other, right?”

Shisui’s sigh had been long and weary, but Naruto caught the flicker of pride in his sensei’s eyes too.


Sometimes Temari and Kankurō appeared in Gaara’s mirror as well. Temari teased Naruto relentlessly, calling him “Gaara’s other shadow.” Kankurō grumbled about Naruto hogging Gaara’s time. But even their sharp words couldn’t hide the truth: through Naruto’s stubborn presence, Gaara’s family had started to heal.


That night, as the camp lay silent and Hinata and Midori slept nearby, Naruto stared into the mirror’s dim reflection of his own face.

“Everyone’s counting on me,” he whispered. “My family, my brothers, even Gaara. If they can see me, then I’ve gotta keep shining.”

He clenched the mirror tightly. For Naruto, this enchanted glass wasn’t just a tool. It was proof that no matter where he went—no matter how boring or dangerous the mission—he was never alone.



The Hokage’s office was unusually tense. Reports of Orochimaru’s “hidden village,” Otogakure, were circulating through the ranks. Yet none of the agents sent to investigate had ever returned. The silence was louder than any battlefield roar.

When the lone shinobi stumbled back into Konoha, half-dead, the entire chain of command stirred. His body bore deep lacerations, strange burns, and a lingering chakra signature that unnerved even the medics. Tsunade herself demanded he be taken straight to the Pottaru estate, trusting Harry’s hands more than any other healer’s in Konoha.


Inside the treatment room, the air reeked of herbs and chakra-laced salves. Harry Pottaru’s hands glowed faintly green as he stitched together torn muscle and cleansed poisonous residue. Tsunade stood nearby, her eyes sharp, while Shizune prepared more bandages.

“Stay with me,” Harry urged, his tone steady. “You’ve been through worse than this.”

The shinobi groaned, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I couldn’t save them…”

Mikoto placed a hand on his shoulder. “You brought back knowledge. That alone may save hundreds.”

Hours later, when the worst of the damage was mended, the man sat upright, pale but breathing evenly. Naruto slipped into the room with Hinata and Midori, his blue eyes wide with curiosity.


“Tell us,” Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Hokage, said, having come to hear the report himself. His tone was grim, his pipe left untouched.

The shinobi swallowed hard. “It wasn’t Orochimaru himself who attacked us. It was… an Uchiha.”

Every head turned. Mikoto’s expression stiffened. Itachi’s eyes narrowed like steel. Even Harry froze for a heartbeat.

“Describe him,” the Hokage pressed.

The survivor clenched his fists. “Young. No older than fourteen, maybe fifteen. His Sharingan burned like fire. He moved like a phantom—tore through five jonins as if they were children. I only escaped because… they bought me time.” His voice cracked at the memory.

Naruto frowned. “An Uchiha? But… aren’t they all in Konoha or…?”

The shinobi shook his head. “Not this one. He wasn’t with us. He wasn’t Konoha’s. I swear it.”

Gasps filled the room. Fugaku Uchiha, standing at the back, said nothing, but his jaw tightened, his eyes shadowed with both fury and shame.


Naruto’s fists slammed against the table. “Then let me go! I’ll take him down myself!”

“Absolutely not,” the Hokage thundered. “You’re a genin, Naruto. Sending you into the heart of enemy territory is suicide.”

Naruto glared at him, fire blazing in his eyes. “I’m not some weakling kid! I can handle it. I’ve beaten jonin before—”

Shisui placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but calm. “Naruto. There’s a difference between defending yourself in a fight and infiltrating Orochimaru’s lair. Even I wouldn’t go alone.”

Harry’s voice cut the room like a blade. “And I will not allow my son to throw himself into the snake’s den just to prove his strength.”

“But Dad—!”

Harry’s eyes burned, filled with both anger and fear. “Naruto. You are powerful, yes. But power without wisdom is just recklessness. You will not go. Not now.”

Naruto’s jaw clenched, but the weight in his father’s voice left no room for argument.


The room fell into a heavy silence. Fugaku finally spoke, his voice low. “If what this man says is true, then Akuma Uchiha has been twisted into Orochimaru’s pawn. That alone is a danger to Konoha—and to the Uchiha name.”

Mikoto lowered her gaze, her thoughts heavy with old wounds.

Itachi’s Rinnegan flickered once. “If Orochimaru has truly taken Akuma Uchiha, then this war has already begun. We just haven’t seen the battlefield yet.”

Naruto, however, sat in silence, staring at his hands. His thoughts burned with one single truth: an Uchiha boy, twisted and stolen, had slaughtered five of Konoha’s genin. And Naruto had been told to stay behind.

For the first time in his life, he felt the chains of his age more than the weight of his own strength.