**Amegakure Outskirts – Dawn**
The medic convoy was exactly where the trader said it would be.
Three Suna-nin, their forehead protectors glinting in the grey morning light, moved with practiced efficiency around their wagon. From our perch in the crumbling sewer tunnel, I counted the supplies—bandages, scrolls, and most importantly, the sealed clay jars of antiseptic.
Konan's breath fogged against the concrete beside me. "They're genin," she murmured. "But the one with the scar is missing a finger on his left hand. That's a war veteran."
I swallowed. My stolen kunai felt slippery in my grip.
We needed those supplies.
We weren't getting them without blood.
---
### **The Ambush**
It started with paper.
Konan's origami birds shot from the sewer grates like a swarm, exploding in clouds of ink and chakra. The Suna-nin shouted, scrambling for weapons—
And then I was moving, lunging for the wagon with a desperation that surprised even me.
The veteran saw me first.
His kunai grazed my ribs before I even registered him drawing it. Pain flared white-hot, but my hands kept moving, tearing at the wagon's tarp.
*Bandages. Medicine. Something for Yuriko's fever—*
A hand yanked me backward by my collar.
"*Idiot!*" Konan's voice was a hiss in my ear as she dragged me behind cover. A heartbeat later, a volley of senkunai embedded themselves where my chest had been.
The veteran's eyes locked onto us.
"Amegakure rats." He raised a hand seal.
The earth beneath us trembled.
---
### **What Paper Remembers**
Konan moved like water.
Her paper talismans wove through the air, intercepting the veteran's earth jutsu mid-formation. But the other two Suna-nin were circling, their wind-release techniques shredding her defenses.
I did the only thing I could think of—I threw my kunai at the wagon's wheel.
The axle snapped.
Jars of medicine crashed to the mud as the Suna-nin whirled toward the sound—
And Konan's final origami bird unfolded itself into a thousand razor-edged sheets.
---
### **The First Death**
The veteran died choking on his own blood.
I stood frozen, watching as his remaining comrades dragged him away, their retreat swallowed by the rain. The wagon lay overturned, its precious cargo half-sunk in the muck.
Konan knelt beside me, her fingers already sorting through the salvage. "We got enough," she said. No triumph. No remorse.
Just fact.
But when she pressed a wad of bandages to my bleeding side, her hands shook.
---