Whatever Orochimaru was scheming simply didn't matter to Shinji.
So when he first heard the Sannin's mad idea, he felt no urge to talk him out of it. All Shinji had to do was speak up when it suited him.
Until Konoha's war with Iwagakure ended, every squabble inside the village was someone else's problem.
Ayari had brought him a stack of books, then started treating him with a frosty attitude and the kind of glare that said she wanted to punch him.
Shinji guessed it was fallout from that meal he'd shared with Natsu a while back.
He didn't bother explaining.
Instead, he went into town, picked up a few small gifts, and offered them as an apology.
Where Ayari had dug up these books he had no idea:
one volume on the seven chakra natures went far deeper than any text the original Shinji had read; another was a dense medical manual clearly meant for professional med‑ninja. Even the chakra book alone would keep him busy for weeks.
Life settled into a quiet rhythm.
After his final hospital check‑up he tried working out in the Hyūga training grounds, but the drills were mind‑numbingly dull and yielded little progress. Power came only with relentless, daily grind.
That sort of toil rubbed him the wrong way; he preferred gains without effort, though those existed only in daydreams.
He wrote himself a training plan focused purely on conditioning.
With the Byakugan and Gentle Fist path closed to him, his taijutsu would have to lean toward Konoha's Iron Fist style. Unfortunately, no one in the Hyūga clan practiced it, nor were there manuals lying around.
Still, the original Shinji had left him a solid base, mid‑chūnin level for a Hyūga, so his physical stats were excellent.
During those days Hyūga Ayano visited a few times, bringing household supplies and the meals she'd cooked herself.
A woman in her early twenties could play at intrigue all she wanted, but to Shinji her "craft" was still amateurish.
They were both acting, each with their own agenda: Ayano thought she could wrap a kid around her finger, and Shinji happily played the grateful junior.
Anko dropped by now and then purely on a whim.
She liked Shinji, anyone who loved dango that much couldn't be that bad, plus Lord Orochimaru seemed fond of him.
A week flashed by.
News hit the village: Konoha had taken a brutal defeat at the front, suffering heavy losses.
The report said a unit on the march had walked straight into an ambush with countless shinobi dead.
The moment word reached the village, the entire mood of Konoha sank.
Even Ayari looked worried. They weren't bleeding on the battlefield themselves, but every life lost there tugged at everyone here.
On his way back from the training grounds, Shinji ran into a small group, people he knew. Surrounded at the center was Natsu.
"Shinji?" Natsu greeted him, surprised.
The others were young Hyūga as well.
The one about his own age was Iroha, a chūnin who should technically still be at the front. Two younger boys, Tetsu and Tokuma, fresh genin about Anko's age, hovered nearby.
"Hey, Shinji," Iroha called out, his tone casual, almost brotherly.
Tetsu and Tokuma chimed in with "Big Brother Shinji," stealing glances at his eyes, curious, respectful.
"Good to see you." Shinji nodded.
"Iroha just got back from the front," Natsu said with a smile. "We're heading out for dinner. Come with us."
Shinji noticed the edge of a white bandage peeking from under Iroha's flak jacket.
Wounded, then sent home to recuperate.
But he moved easily; the injury couldn't be serious. Normally such a wound wouldn't earn leave back to the village.
Prestige does have its perks when you were Hyūga.
"Haven't caught up since you returned," Iroha added. "Join us."
Hiashi had come back earlier over Shinji's incident, but Iroha hadn't been part of that entourage.
Shinji thought a moment, then nodded. "Sure."
They set off toward the clan's main gate together.
"How's the body holding up?" Shinji asked quietly.
Iroha gave a wry grin, lifted the inner layer of his jacket, and exposed a torso swathed in bandages. "Rock‑nin jutsu put a few stones straight through my gut. They dug them out, but it still hurts like hell. Have to watch what I eat, half the menu's off‑limits."
Shinji's eyes narrowed. That was no minor scratch; a pierced abdomen bordered on fatal. Yet Iroha spoke of it like a passing nuisance, complaining one moment and shrugging the next.
Iroha let his jacket fall back into place and grinned.
"Compared with what you went through, this barely counts as a scratch. Lord Hiashi took pity on me and sent me home to recover for a bit."
The smile on that boyish face tugged at Shinji's heart. 'He's only twelve or thirteen', he thought, 'and the world is already this cruel.'
Natsu glanced over. "Shinji, were you hurt that badly back then?"
"Hurt?" Iroha clicked his tongue, "When he staggered into the camp he was soaked in blood, with a huge gash straight across the chest. The med‑ninja called it a miracle he lived."
He gave Shinji a teasing shove. "Go on, lift your shirt and show Natsu."
Shinji waved him off. "It's nothing worth seeing."
Natsu shook her head. "Let's skip the tour." Then, softer: "The battlefield really is terrifying."
"Sure is," Iroha agreed, "but with Lord Hiashi and Lord Minato out there, victory's just around the corner!"
He lit up. "Natsu, you should see Lord Minato in action—"
And off he went, a full‑blown fanboy, every sentence stuffed with "absolutely," "incredible," and "unbelievable." Natsu listened politely, smiling; the two younger boys, Tetsu and Tokuma, kept firing "What happened next?" every few seconds.
Watching them, Shinji could tell: Iroha clearly liked Natsu, but Natsu's smile was purely courteous.
…
They left the clan grounds and stopped in front of "Yakiniku Q," the same barbecue place Shinji had once visited with Anko, one of the few restaurants in Konoha that everyone agreed was excellent.
Iroha plopped himself beside Natsu; Shinji took the spot with Tokuma and Tetsu.
While Iroha was still raving about Minato, the owner handed over the menus. Natsu politely waved hers away, so Shinji took over and started ordering.
By the time Iroha finally paused for breath, the table was buried under platters of meat and side dishes. He blinked. "How much did you order?"
Shinji was already stoking the grill. "You three looked pretty engrossed, so I handled it. Hope that's okay."
Iroha's eye twitched, each bite of meat felt like a kunai in his wallet, and worst of all, his stomach wound meant he couldn't eat barbecue at all.
He'd chosen this place only to impress Natsu.
Natsu chuckled. "Shinji's clearly a regular. He picked all the signature cuts and even asked the owner for special seasoning."
"If Natsu's enjoying herself, that's all that matters," Iroha said at once, "If it's not enough, we'll order more."
"Wow, Big Brother Iroha, you're so generous!" Tokuma and Tetsu chimed in, exactly the response he'd hoped for.
Shinji slid a bowl of rice porridge across to him. "You probably shouldn't touch the roast stuff yet."
Accepting the bowl, Iroha shot him a look that promised payback someday.
Fat hissed on the grill.
Shinji turned the meat with one hand, resting his cheek in the other, and asked casually, "I heard the front line took a beating."
The chopsticks in Iroha's hand froze. His expression darkened; a long moment passed before he answered, "Yes."
"Our march route was supposed to be top‑secret. Somehow the Iwa‑nin found out and set up an ambush…"
The air around the table grew heavy. The two younger boys fell silent; Natsu cradled her teacup and listened.
"How many made it out?" Shinji asked.
"Out of a battalion of a thousand… three hundred and seventeen."
The number was so brutal Natsu's fingers tightened around her cup.
Shinji stared at the slices on the grill as they began to char, saying nothing.
He knew this was only the beginning, Orochimaru had no intention of letting the war slow down.
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