A Strange Copycat
Inuzuka Ryo looked at Uchiha Mingjing and asked with frustration:
"But now, in order to complete this mission, we're going to have to kill these poor people with our own hands—people who were forced into this. And then we return what we took to the lord's mansion, just so he can keep oppressing and exploiting the people of Iron Stone Town, day after day, year after year. After that? He'll probably just capture another group of villagers and force them into the mines like before."
He clenched his fists.
"Tell me—how is that right?"
Aburame Nami remained silent. She stood still, her bugs quietly buzzing around her, and observed Mingjing with unreadable curiosity.
She, too, wanted to hear what he had to say.
Mingjing exhaled lightly and looked out at the distant mountain village.
"We are shinobi," he said calmly.
"A shinobi isn't meant to be a good person. If you still want to be a good person, then maybe you haven't fully accepted what it means to be a ninja. In our world, there is no such thing as universal right or wrong. A ninja's morality is different from that of civilians."
"But why?" Inuzuka Ryo snapped. "Why should we be different? We're human too! Living, breathing people with emotions!"
Neither of them noticed the transparent figure hidden in the shadows of the nearby woods. A spirit, undetectable by normal means, hovered silently—watching and listening.
It was their sensei, Kato Dan, using his spirit transformation technique. Though he was not physically present, his chakra had manifested in spirit form to observe his team.
Dan's expression was solemn. He knew this mission was a harsh one—but also that it was the type of moral trial every shinobi eventually faced. He remembered his own doubts as a young ninja. He knew his students had talent, but to become true shinobi, they had to overcome this wall.
He was especially curious: what would his prized student, Uchiha Mingjing, say next?
"...Your real opinion, then?" Inuzuka asked quietly.
Mingjing didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked,
"Do you remember Article 23 of the Shinobi Handbook?"
Inuzuka blinked, confused. "Of course. 'No matter what unforeseen circumstances arise, a shinobi must prioritize the mission.'"
Mingjing nodded.
"And Article 25?"
Inuzuka hesitated, but answered: "'A shinobi must not show emotion under any circumstance. Emotion clouds judgment. Shinobi do not believe in tears.'"
Mingjing's voice grew colder.
"Good. Then remember this: both are wrong."
He drew his wakizashi. The silver blade gleamed beneath the pale moonlight, cold and sharp like the truth he was about to speak.
"Maybe shinobi are twisted beings. Maybe that's why the First Hokage tried to end the constant bloodshed of the Warring States period by founding Konoha—to give us a place where children could grow up without having to kill. But not even the man called the God of Shinobi could completely change the core of what we are."
He lowered the blade slightly, looking at the moon overhead.
"To make a real change, you need power—power great enough to challenge the system. Power like the Hokage."
He turned back to the others.
"Do you have that power, Ryo? Do I? No—we're just genin. Even becoming a jōnin feels far away. So until we can stand at the top and truly decide things for ourselves, our job is to obey the system. Complete the mission. Bury your hesitation, follow the orders, and do what everyone else says is right. If that eats you alive, then either rise high enough to change it… or die like countless shinobi before you."
His gaze narrowed.
"Ninja must endure. That's what the word means. Endure pain. Endure guilt. Endure yourself."
He finished speaking. Perhaps he was trying to convince Inuzuka… or maybe he was just trying to convince himself.
Without waiting for a reply, Mingjing activated his Sharingan, blade in hand, and walked toward the village.
Aburame Nami glanced at Inuzuka one last time, then followed quietly, releasing a swarm of kikaichū to surround the area, ensuring no one escaped.
Inuzuka Ryo sighed deeply. He looked at his loyal ninken, Tiewan, who stared up at him with understanding eyes.
"Come on, Tiewan… let's go."
Maybe this is the life of a shinobi. But… he couldn't accept it.
Maybe I'm just too naïve, he thought.
But if what Mingjing says is true—if changing this system requires becoming Hokage… then I'll do it.
Even if the path is full of monsters like Mingjing.
---
The Mountain Stronghold
When they entered the bandits' hideout, Mingjing immediately noticed something strange.
It was empty.
The guard posts were filled with scarecrows dressed in tattered clothing. No signs of life.
Except one.
Thanks to Nami's insects, they located a single chakra signature in the main hall.
There, dozing lazily in the center seat, was a tall, thin, dark-skinned man—his face rough, his clothes ragged.
Mingjing pulled a photo from his pouch and compared it.
It matched.
Ichiro Okamoto, once a mining foreman. Now the leader of this so-called "bandit gang."
"You're finally here," Okamoto said, eyes opening slowly. His voice was calm, as if he had been expecting them.
"You knew we were coming?" Mingjing asked, motioning for his teammates to stay back.
Okamoto didn't answer directly.
Mingjing continued, "You must have had someone in the lord's mansion. That's the only way you could evacuate your people ahead of time. But… why are you still here?"
Okamoto flinched slightly. A tell.
"It's not like I had spies," he replied at last. "But there are people in the mansion who hate Tobita Yuichi as much as we do."
"I see."
Mingjing's expression remained unreadable.
Another piece of evidence against Tobita.
"Then answer this—if you knew we were coming, why didn't you run? Why stay here? Why not fight back?"
Okamoto lowered his gaze.
"If I tell you… will you grant me one request?"