Kakashi landed in a grove of twenty-foot mushrooms that collapsed under his weight, releasing a thick cloud of spores. Paper crackled beneath him; he grabbed it and vaulted free, coughing.

Covered in orange. That was a good way to start.

Tall trees ringed the grove. He swung up into the nearest one, gaining higher ground, and took stock. It didn’t smell like the Forest of Death. Mostly it smelled like fungi. He pulled a twist of wind around himself, shedding the spores.

Welcome to Stage Two, the second scroll said. You have two days to find your way back to Konoha. Use any means necessary. Only the first ten candidates to succeed will be considered. Death disqualifies you.

The stylized looping flame printed underneath was Minato-sensei’s signature.

“Son of a bitch,” Kakashi muttered. They’d had dinner together last week. He could have mentioned—

Well, no, of course he couldn’t.

In his next life, Kakashi decided, he was going to be the kind of man who actually used nepotism. It would make things so much easier.

He climbed higher, until the branches became thin and dangerous, bending underfoot. Trees stretched in all directions, silver-green beneath the broad moon. Away in the east, a tall mountain range raked the clouds. That looked like the Tomuraushi volcanic cluster, fortunately not active, which meant—

A hundred and thirty miles, or thereabouts, through some of the worst territory Fire Country had to offer.

He hadn’t thought to pack a toothbrush.