Research and Exploration

Sabaku spent hours testing out every jutsu the original Sabaku mastered. It was just too much fun, messing around with chakra.

Most of his time was spent playing around with Henge… one female superstar and anime character after another.

Quietly, secretly, in the corner of the tent.

But of course, he did it purely for training.

And for research purposes.

Cough.

Cough.

And naturally, any accidental touching of his transformed body was completely unintentional.

'Wow, chakra is just amazing! Bunshin no Jutsu!'

He created a clone of himself and, for the first time, got a good look at himself.

He was relatively small for his age—at least compared to thirteen-year-olds from his old world.

His facial features were sharp, too defined for someone his age. The scars of war were written all over him. He looked older than he actually was. No Shanks-style scar, but instead, a deep, diagonal one across his nose—Iruka-style. His messy brown hair stuck out wildly, clearly never having had the luxury of proper shampoo.

His midnight-black eyes looked… empty. Dead, almost. But Sabaku wasn't sure if that was just the imperfect reflection of his Bunshin or if his eyes truly held no emotion.

He was dressed in simple brown linen clothes, woven from rough fabric. His right hand was wrapped like a mummy in dark cloth strips. And his left hand… well, that was missing, as already established.

He wore a long black linen scarf around his neck. And around his forehead was the typical forehead protector bearing the symbol of Suna.

It felt strange being in this body. It didn't feel foreign per se, but it was wierd. Even though he was now half a meter shorter and about half his previous weight, it didn't feel unnatural.

'Did I struggle to control my body at first because my soul hadn't fully settled into it yet?' he wondered.

Sabaku was lean—almost wiry. Likely a bit underfed, with sun-kissed, caramel-colored skin.

'Mmmh… different from my old life, but I can definitely work with this. With time, I could pull off that ruggedly handsome look.'

Slowly, he started to feel the strain of overusing his jutsu. Maintaining most long-lasting jutsu didn't constantly drain chakra, but his subconscious had to keep them active, which was mentally exhausting.

Also his chakra reserves were already running dangerously low from all his 'research', so he decided it was time to explore the camp instead.

Fujin had mentioned earlier that he was free to leave the hospice once he had rested enough.

Well, he wasn't exactly rested. But thanks to healing jutsu, his severed arm stump had already closed up almost completely.

That was good enough for him.

Sabaku stepped out of the tent, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the glaring desert light.

The air was dry, filled with the scent of sweat, blood, and something metallic. Thousands of different noises blended into a hum, like a modern metropolis.

Front Camp Number 2 looked nothing like the clean, neatly arranged war camps from the anime or fanart.

'This place is a fucking mess.'

The ground was uneven, littered with discarded bandages, broken weapons, and empty ration packs.

The so-called "roads" between the tents were nothing more than trampled paths in the sand, uneven and worn down by the footsteps of hundreds of shinobi passing through.

Even the tents weren't uniform. Some were large and reinforced, likely meant for officers or medics, while others barely held together, patched up with scraps of fabric. Some even had visible bloodstains on them.

'Yeah… this is definitely not the clean, efficient war machine they showed in the anime. This is a barely functioning survival camp.'

He walked past a group of shinobi sitting in a semicircle, sharpening their weapons. Their uniforms were worn-out, some missing sleeves or damaged armor plates. A few of them had makeshift bandages wrapped around their limbs.

None of them spoke. They worked in silence, eyes empty—men who had seen too much.

One of them, a Chunin judging by his vest, with a nasty scar running down his jaw, briefly glanced at Sabaku's missing arm before looking away.

No pity, no curiosity. Just a momentary acknowledgment.

'Right. Losing an arm is probably nothing special here.'

Sabaku kept walking, passing by a supply tent where shinobi were unloading crates of water and dry rations.

One of them eyed him for a moment before tossing him a waterskin.

"Here! You shouldn't be walking around in this heat without water!" he called out before turning back to the crates.

Sabaku nodded in thanks and took a long drink.

The water tasted sandy and dirty. It ran down his throat lukewarm. It wasn't much, but he was grateful. The desert sun was merciless, and even this short exploration of the camp was exhausting.

Then, he reached the training grounds—or what passed for one.

No neatly arranged wooden dummies, no carefully prepared practice areas.

Just an open stretch of sand, littered with kunai, shattered targets, and the occasional bloodstain.

A few Genin were practicing their throws under the sharp gaze of an older Jonin. Every time they missed, he barked at them.

'No second chances here, huh?'

One boy, no older than ten, struggled to throw his kunai with enough force. The older shinobi punched him in the face, making him stumble. A mix of blood and sweat splattered onto the hot sand.

"If you throw like that in battle, you'll be dead before you can blink! Worse, the comrades who rely on you will be too!"

The boy gritted his teeth and tried again. This time, at least, the kunai stuck halfway into the target.

Sabaku watched for a moment, then turned away.

'This isn't the anime. This isn't some epic war with cool fights and flashy jutsu. This is fucking war.'

He sighed, rolling his shoulders.

'Fuck. Tomorrow, I go back to Suna… and after that, probably the Genin Corps, if I can trust the words of Voice Number One. The Meat Grinder…'

He had two months to fully come to terms with his situation. After that, he would most likely be thrown back into the frontlines.

And this time, as nothing more than a disposable meat shield.

'Just fantastic…'

Finally, Sabaku ended his exploration in front of the largest tent in the camp.

This was where all planning and organization of the stationed shinobi took place under one roof. A central hub where orders were given, missions assigned, and troop movements coordinated. If there was one place where the chaos of this camp somewhat transformed into a functioning structure, it was here.

Sabaku followed the words of the medic Fujin and lined up in the registration queue.

He waited. And waited.

Meanwhile, he observed the other shinobi standing in line. Wounded soldiers preparing for transport, Jonin receiving new orders, Genin simply waiting for any kind of instruction. Most of them looked tired. Exhausted. Some even empty.

After what felt like an eternity, it was finally his turn.

"Name and rank?" the clerk on duty asked in a bored tone, not even bothering to look up from his desk.

"Sabaku, Genin."

The clerk lazily flipped through a massive register filled with hundreds of files. Eventually, he pulled one out, ran his finger over the lines, and nodded.

"You were in the field hospital and will be transferred to Sunagakure tomorrow. Two months of front-line leave. I assume you're looking for accommodations for the night?"

Sabaku nodded.

Without another word, the clerk scribbled something into his file and told him absentmindedly about a Genin Corps communal tent, where he will sleep for the night.

'Great. Stuck in a tent with seven other snoring Genin', Sabaku sighed internally.

Just as he was about to leave, the clerk stopped him again.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to inform you that tomorrow at first light, you'll be traveling back to Suna with Sasori Chikamatsu's Genin team. Meeting point is the main gate."

Sabaku froze.

'Wait… what?! Sasori? The Sasori? Akatsuki-Sasori? He's still a shinobi of Suna?'

For a few seconds, he said nothing. His mind raced.

Sasori—the puppet master who would later betray all of Suna and join Akatsuki. A genius who turned people into puppets. The man who, in Shippuden, fought Sakura and Chiyo and chose to die voluntarily.

And tomorrow, Sabaku would be traveling back to Suna with him?

'Fuck. How do I handle this? Is he already the cold-blooded killer, or is he still a loyal shinobi? How close is he to abandoning his village?'

Before he could get lost in his thoughts any further, the clerk snapped him back to reality.

"Hello? Genin Sabaku? Is there a problem? If not, feel free to leave! The line behind you isn't getting any shorter, and I'd like to finish my shift soon, dammit!"

Sabaku blinked, shook his head, and forced himself to focus.

"No, no problem. Thanks."

He lingered for a moment as the next person in line pushed past him.

'So… tomorrow. Sasori.'

With one last glance at the grumpy clerk, he stepped out of the line.

Deep in thought, he followed the clerk's directions to his tent for the night.

There, he met the three other Genin he would be spending the night with—triplets named Tick, Trick, and Track.

Sabaku honestly couldn't care less about their names. He was just relieved that there were only four of them in the tent. Even as it was, the space felt cramped. If there had been eight of them, they probably would've had to sleep on top of each other.

The sun was already setting, and fatigue crept over him. But despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come.

After a while, he gave up, slipped out of the tent, and lay down on the cool desert sand. His gaze wandered upward to the unfamiliar night sky above him.

No light pollution in the middle of the desert. The stars shone brighter than he had ever seen before. The sky was simply magical.

'I wonder how my family is doing? Do they already know I'm dead? How much time has passed for them?'

His worries about the present and his future slowly faded. His mind drifted to his family, so far away in another world.

At some point, tears began to roll down his cheeks.

'I will never forget you. Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for loving and supporting me… thank you…'