The missions weren't glamorous.
No bandits.
No missing-nin.
Just torn fences, wandering pets, and irritated merchants with missing goods.
But Kurenai had chosen them with precision.
And Team Eight… was growing stronger.
<<<< o >>>>
"Found the scent," Kiba said, crouching over a broken crate. "It's flour mixed with old leather. Really weird."
"It's bait," Shino observed. "Deliberately placed to throw off trackers."
Hinata stepped forward. "Over there. That footprint—it's real."
They followed it around the side of the building, Kuro sniffing quietly. Moments later, she barked once, low and sharp.
A child emerged from a storeroom, covered in flour, holding a stolen toy.
Kurenai, watching from the rooftops, said nothing.
But she was pleased.
<<<< o >>>>
That wasn't their only challenge.
Another mission brought them into the woods at dusk, chasing a runaway hawk.
Kiba climbed trees while Akamaru barked above. Shino released a swarm to map the branches ahead. Hinata coordinated from the ground, directing paths with signals and tapping trees with her staff, linking them from beneath. Her signals weren't orders. They were threads—guiding without pulling.
The hawk was agitated, circling wildly.
"Leave it to me," Hinata said softly.
She stepped forward, moving slowly, humming under her breath—a rhythm she couldn't name, It wasn't chakra. It wasn't jutsu. Just presence—soul in motion, humming the shape of peace.
The hawk calmed.
It landed.
Kuro stood still beside her, tail swaying lightly.
"Okay," Kiba said later, "that was creepy and awesome."
<<<< o >>>>
In moments between missions, something changed.
The silence that once surrounded Hinata began to open.
She spoke.
She asked questions.
She laughed—softly, but genuinely.
One afternoon, while resting near the training grounds, Kiba tossed a twig for Akamaru and Kuro to chase.
"Kuro's gonna win again," Hinata warned playfully.
"You're that confident?"
Hinata gave the smallest of smiles. "She's fast. And she doesn't bark before jumping."
Kuro pounced—caught the twig midair—spun in place.
Akamaru rolled into a bush.
Shino watched the dogs calmly. "I believe Kuro is responding to your body language more than commands. It's… remarkable."
Hinata nodded. "She just… understands me."
Kiba grinned. "You're turning into a real ninja."
Hinata blinked. "I-I mean… I'm trying."
<<<< o >>>>
Later that week, Kurenai asked Hinata to stay behind after training.
"You're adapting quickly," she said. "But there's more in you than what I'm seeing."
She formed a seal.
Reality shimmered—the light bent, the sounds warped, the wind slowed.
Hinata breathed in, focused…
And dispelled the genjutsu almost instantly.
Kurenai smiled slightly. "You broke that faster than I expected."
Hinata looked uncertain. "Is that… bad?"
"No," Kurenai replied. "Your spiritual power is overwhelming. Most genjutsu can't take root because your mind simply refuses to yield."
"But doesn't that mean… I can't use genjutsu either?"
"Not quite. It just means we need the right one."
She handed her a scroll.
"This technique disrupts all five senses. It doesn't rely on illusion—it overwhelms perception. And with your spirit, it can become… devastating."
Hinata held the scroll, hands trembling.
Then, after a moment of silence, she added:
"When I meditate… I sometimes hear a song. Soft. Warm."
Kurenai tilted her head.
Hinata began to hum—a gentle, broken tune.
Halfway through, her voice cracked.
Tears welled up. She couldn't explain why.
"I… I don't understand…" But it was hers. The tune. The sorrow. As if someone had sung it into her soul before she had words to sing it back.
Kurenai knelt beside her and touched her shoulder.
"You don't need to. Some memories live in the soul, not the mind."
<<<< o >>>>
That night, Michel walked beside Hinata's dreaming form in the Silver World.
She trained with Kuro beneath silver lanterns, blending clone technique with movement drills.
"She's faster," Michel noted aloud. "Sharper."
Hinata struck a phantom with the quarterstaff, then spun into a low stance.
"She learns when I do," she said. "Even if I forget… she remembers for me."
Michel watched Kuro move—unhesitating, fluid.
"Maybe… that's why you'll remember too," he murmured .
<<<< o >>>>
The next day, another mission. Another challenge.
A merchant claimed to have lost a set of high-value documents during transit. The scrolls had chakra seals and had to be retrieved without setting them off.
Shino analyzed pollen traces and tracked a faint scent signature from one scroll.
Kiba checked scent saturation and identified a disturbance pattern in the mud—"Too clean. Someone dragged their foot intentionally."
Hinata moved quietly, marking positions with chalk. Kuro followed her cues without words.
Together, they retrieved all scrolls without triggering a single trap.
Even the mission captain gave a quiet nod of respect.
<<<< o >>>>
That evening, Kiba walked beside Hinata as the sun set.
"You're not as quiet as you used to be."
Hinata blushed. "I-I hope that's… good."
He shrugged. "I mean, yeah. You're weird, but smart. And Kuro's a beast."
"She's my friend," Hinata whispered.
"I know. That's why you're different from the rest of your clan."
The words stung—but Hinata didn't flinch.
"I guess I am."
<<<< o >>>>
But even peace has edges.
When the team disbanded for the night, Kiba went west toward the Inuzuka compound. Shino vanished into the shadows of the insect gardens.
Hinata turned toward the eastern walls.
The road home.
<<<< o >>>>
The Hyūga compound loomed quiet, austere.
She passed the gates without a word exchanged. The guards didn't greet her.
A servant from the Branch Family walked past without meeting her eyes.
Kuro's tail lowered.
They entered a separate wing—cold, clean, silent.
No sign of her father. No sign of Hanabi.
She placed her staff against the wall, sat on the futon.
Kuro curled beside her with a low breath.
Michel stood in the upper corner, arms crossed, watching.
"They erased her warmth here," he thought.
"But she found it elsewhere."
She pulled the scroll from her sleeve—the sensory distortion genjutsu.
And for a moment, she hummed the tune again, barely audible.
Her voice didn't crack this time.
But her eyes still glistened.