Known for their stealthy distribution of candy around campus on Valentine’s Day, the red- and pink-clad Valentine’s Ninjas struck again last Saturday.

But this year, the ninjas allowed a Statement writer to join their band of guerrilla gift-givers on their mission to thrust sweets into the hands of unsuspecting students.

Usually, the group attacks during lectures, but the ninjas decided to visit weekend hot spots this year since Feb. 14 fell on a Saturday.

The ninjas are composed mainly of students in the College of Engineering and are not affiliated with any student groups — except for Valentine’s Day in 2007 when they allied with the UM Patriots, an infamous group of engineering pranksters whose common stage was also lecture halls.

So how, then, is the torch passed to next year’s ninjas? Trying to protect their secret rituals, this year’s ninja sensei listed two options. One involves an illegal, underground fight between prospective sensei, the loser leaving with a broken heart. The other method, the head ninja said, is much simpler and more likely: the title of sensei goes to whoever volunteers.

Strong and silent stealers of hearts, the ninjas asked that their identities remain concealed to adhere to their sacred ninja vow of spreading love anonymously and asking nothing in return. You might have encountered the racing clan — you might have thought that one caught your eye for a special reason — but let that dream go. Valentine’s ninjas can’t be tied down. They take campus by storm, leaving nothing but handfuls of candy and broken hearts in their wake. Never has a group of engineers been so debonair.

My adventure started out with an e-mail from the Valentine’s ninja sensei that meticulously outlined the requisite wardrobe, mask-wrapping method and chocolate supply. Early Saturday, I joined a fellow warrior and headed to the Salvation Army for the ninja uniform: red slacks and shirts. We stealthily collected our ammunition at Kroger before heading home for our morning agility training session.

After filling our extra-durable pillowcases with candy, we drove to North Campus and joined forces with nine other ninjas. We stealthily exited our car and made our way to the top-secret meeting place, staying unnoticed by using lampposts and shadows for cover.

Our first targets were students studying in the Duderstadt Center. We quietly passed out candy using a combination of silent running, barrel rolls and karate chops. After scaling the first, second and third floors of the Dude, I was hot and tired. Clearly, this ninja hadn’t attended as many rigorous training sessions as the others.

After sneaking onto a blue bus, we passed out candy to the riders and then sauntered across the Diag. Luckily, we were able to infiltrate several campus tours. One candy recipient on her cell phone proclaimed “GOD, I love this school!" while another commented, “I'm glad there are people who like to see other people happy.” Reactions like these are what drive the ninjas, they said.

“We love our school and doing fun things on campus, and it's just so great to see people’s faces light up after receiving candy and a ‘Happy Valentine's Day’ from a pink ninja,” the ninja sensei said.

After passing through the Diag, we visited the Union, hitting a Dance Marathon event and passing out candy in the basement and quiet study rooms. At times, ninjas are so stealthy that students don’t notice their presence until they’ve been attacked. Though it’s not the group’s intention to frighten anyone, students who might have been deep into a study session will often let out a quick scream before being subdued by candy.

The next attack points were the Law Quad, Law Library and the new Ross School of Business. When I passed out chocolate to a table of four at the b-school, one student asked for a kiss.

Our excursion, which lasted slightly more than two hours, was long and hot. I may have accidentally revealed my identity several times when I pulled down my mask for air and water. I worried that the other ninjas might want to kick me out, but I don’t think they noticed — or at least they were kind enough to forgive an amateur.

Other stops included the Graduate Library, the UGLi, South Quad, the Fishbowl, Espresso Royale and Borders Books. With only about two pieces of candy remaining per ninja at about 2:30 p.m., we decided to infiltrate The Michigan Daily office. When we arrived, the newsroom was nearly empty — as unlikely as it might seem, the staffers must have been out on dates.

So having spread love and chocolate to our student peers in bulk, we met one last time outside and dispersed into thin air to clean our extra-durable pillowcases.