The burning lands were even less fun than they’d looked.

Dust was the main problem. The faster Kakashi ran, the more incredibly obvious his rising dust-trail became, billowing up behind him like a come-kill-me flag. He didn’t have the chakra for multiple translocations, and even if he did, it was too hard on the body. He had to run, and he had to run slow.

Then there was the hammered-iron heat.

Konoha wasn’t stupid; the jounin uniforms were designed to breathe and move and, for preference, deflect sharp weapons. An overheated shinobi was a sad shinobi; sweat-wicking was important. But it was still April, and April in Konoha was breezy, rainy, and edged with the last traces of winter. Kakashi’s cold weather clothes—wool woven with slender steel threads—were killing him by inches.

After an hour, he gave up, sheared his sleeves off, and fashioned himself a desert hat. A splash of precious water and some of the black dust made a dark, gritty paste to cover the white glare of his arms and, hopefully, ward off sunburn. He thumbed a dark line under his uncovered eye, on the slim chance it would help eat some of the sun’s glare.

He dropped the see-me-not jutsu. There were no shadows for it to steal.

Another hour of jog-trotting and he was halfway to the horizon, wondering if he’d gotten something wrong. If ANBU were tracking him, surely he would have seen one by now? Or at least run across a trail. The only sign of anyone was that nebulous smoke trail he’d seen, and nothing since. He couldn’t have outrun all the competition already.

Maybe he’d missed something.

Minato-sensei had an unhealthy love of evil little puzzles. If he’d built an under-layer into the scroll, and Kakashi hadn’t even thought to check it...

“Goddammit,” he muttered, sliding to a halt.

The scrolls were paired together in a pocket of his jounin vest; he pulled the second one out, unfurling it in the strong, dry wind, and read it again.

Welcome to Stage Two. 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.

He let Obito have a look, eye narrowed against the swirling dust. There was a chakra print stamped into a corner of the scroll, tiny and tucked away, and incredibly unfair, how was anyone else supposed to read—

Smartass, it said.