"What the hell is that old bastard up to?"
Yakushi Nonō stared blankly at the stack of cash on the table, confusion deepening in her heart.
Just earlier…
A Root shinobi had suddenly appeared before her, said something vague like, "This month's wages. Be ready to return to work the day after tomorrow," casually tossed the stack of money onto the table, and disappeared without another word.
Back then—
As the head of the orphanage, she'd had no way to refuse the orders of that shadowy man, Danzo. For the children's sake, she had no choice but to nod and comply. She even personally led the orphans to "work."
At first, she'd assumed "work" was a euphemism—some dark mission like the ones she used to carry out herself in Root. But unexpectedly…
It really was just work.
Bricks. Mortar. Construction.
At first, she'd even feared Danzo was using the children to build some kind of hidden underground base—and that once it was completed, they'd all be silenced to protect the secret.
Those days were filled with anxiety. Watching the kids working so hard—still naive, innocent, and unaware of the world—she couldn't help but consider secretly reporting it to the Third Hokage.
But…
This was Root's territory.
Reporting to Hiruzen Sarutobi wasn't something she could do easily.
And yet—
The truth had completely blindsided her.
The completed structure… wasn't some sinister lab or a secret weapons facility.
It was… a restaurant?!
The Grand Sail Restaurant.
When she learned the truth, she was dumbfounded.
Even more shocking, that very restaurant had now become the most luxurious dining establishment in all of Konoha. She'd heard that just one meal there could cost enough to feed all the kids in the orphanage for a month.
"Those bastards must be loaded."
But Danzo…
As someone who had once served under him, Nonō knew him well.
That man… definitely had an agenda.
The calmer things seemed, the more unsettling it became.
There was no way he just wanted the kids to help him build a restaurant. There had to be something deeper at play—some scheme she hadn't figured out yet.
So for the children's safety, the moment the building was completed, she took them all back to the orphanage.
As for the money...
Ha.
Danzo stealing money from others was more believable than him actually giving money to people.
As long as the kids were safe, that was enough. The rest… she could ignore.
But now—
Nonō stared at the thick stack of cash on the table, a bitter smile curling on her lips.
This was a hot potato. If she had the choice, she wouldn't want to touch it at all.
There was no way that man would actually just have children build a restaurant and then pay them for it.
Absolutely impossible.
And yet, everything was happening step by step, one hook after another, dragging them back in.
She still couldn't figure out the full picture, but…
It was definitely not a good thing.
Especially the way he just tossed the money in front of her without saying a word before vanishing.
That wasn't a gift.
It was an order.
A coercive one.
If she didn't bring the children back to work tomorrow… disaster might just descend upon this poor orphanage.
Nonō sat there quietly, holding the wages in her hands, lost in thought.
No idea how much time passed.
Suddenly—
Thwack!
She slammed the stack of cash down hard on the table, her eyes filled with determination, voice low but resolute:
"No matter who it is… I'll never let anyone hurt these children."
Because—
They're my family.
My real family.
...
Taijutsu.
While Sunagakure technically had taijutsu training, it paled in comparison to what Konoha, Kumogakure, or Iwagakure offered.
In Suna, "taijutsu" was mostly basic movement drills—agility exercises to help avoid enemy attacks while on missions.
It was pitiful.
These days, the only shinobi in Suna with halfway-decent taijutsu skills were the puppet masters.
And even then, the puppets they controlled probably had better hand-to-hand skills than the masters themselves.
Even Chiyo, a puppet master of legendary skill, was only slightly above the average jōnin in close combat.
Suna's current education system was incredibly narrow. The newly introduced Water Release curriculum was mostly compiled by Kana and supplemented by scrolls quietly "borrowed" from Kirigakure.
But still, the quality was poor.
Facilities were lacking. Curriculum was incomplete. And culturally, most students preferred to stick to Wind Release or puppetry.
So even if Rasa wanted to expand into taijutsu or other disciplines… the village just wasn't ready.
Frustrated, Rasa rubbed his temples and looked at the room full of instructors who stared back in silence.
Because today's meeting was about education reform, he'd summoned all the faculty—including Yakura, who had been dozing at the table since the meeting started.
Not even trying to hide it.
This woman… ever since becoming principal, she'd completely gone into slacker mode.
Did she think becoming principal was the finish line?
Little did she know, Rasa had kept the position of Minister of Education open just for her…
He cleared his throat twice.
"Ahem ahem. So—do any of you have suggestions?"
"Um…"
Everyone looked hesitant—like they were wondering whether it was worth saying something that might get them into trouble.
But Rasa, being the kind of Wind Shadow who encouraged free thinking (and totally not the type to send people off planting trees or scooping poop for saying the wrong thing), waved his hand generously.
"Speak freely. Don't hold back."
Finally, with that verbal shield of protection granted by the top boss himself, one teacher raised his hand.
"Um… Lord Kazekage, maybe… we're overthinking this?"
After all…
This was Sunagakure.
Wasn't it already enough that they'd managed to maintain a decent curriculum in Wind Release and puppetry?
Now they were talking about setting up training for magnetic release, sand release, even taijutsu?
Really?
Lightning Release?
Water Release?
Earth Release?
Taijutsu?
C'mon…
In the entire ninja world, only Konoha had such a wide-ranging education program. Every other village stuck to what made them unique.
Sure, sometimes a genetic anomaly or prodigy would pop up. Like Lady Yakura, for example.
But those cases were so rare they were practically irrelevant.
Basic instruction was enough.
If someone wanted to specialize, they'd find their own sensei—or rely on their natural gifts.
Such exceptions appeared maybe once every several years… or even decades.
"So, in my opinion, we should focus on strengthening basic education," the teacher concluded.
"…"
Has education everywhere gone this stagnant?
Rasa glanced around the room, watching as the other teachers all nodded in agreement with the speaker.
His inner thoughts darkened.
[I'm remembering your face, buddy.]
Let's see who dares recommend you for a promotion next time…
Clearing his throat again, Rasa folded his hands under his chin and adopted a more serious tone.
"You make some valid points. Sit down."
"While it's important to ensure a solid foundation for all students, I believe we also need to focus on individual growth. That means nurturing each student's talents and interests—fostering creativity and independent thinking, while also encouraging holistic development."
The growth of Suna's education system would be a long and difficult road.
And most importantly…
They needed a new philosophy. A new approach to education.
"So—whatever a child wants to learn, even if we lack the means now, we'll find a way to make it happen."
"This meeting is adjourned. Take some time to think over what we've discussed. Principal Yakura, you're in charge of this initiative. Gather everyone's suggestions and bring them to me."
Slacking off, huh? Not on my watch.
And as for any other teacher who dared to say "That's not my job"...
You'll be shipped off to work with Comrade Teishi in sanitation before you can blink.