"How'd you feel if…you could…leave the orphanage?"
Satoru stared at him, his mind like a spinning wheel. Then, in his best imitation of a confused child, he managed a shaky reply.
"What?" he asked, voice tinged with innocence.
Jun paused, the koi pond's gentle ripples echoing between them. He took a breath and repeated the question, taking care to speak slowly, giving Satoru just enough rope to hang himself or to leap free.
"Would you like to… leave the orphanage and live with us? With the Yamanaka clan?"
Satoru tilted his head, pretending to gather thoughts. He looked down at his hands, as though trying to imagine what it would mean to leave these walls behind.
"Where…where would… I go?" he asked, deliberately sounding younger than his fourteen years suggested.
Jun smiled gently and perhaps a flicker of amusement or worry glinted in his eyes. "Our compound in the West District. A proper house, space to train… I mean, there's room to stay, food, stuff…but you'd have to start doing what I do, becoming a shinobi, an academy student."
Satoru's heart thudded.
'You don't need to convince me twice... but still...'
A life of training, of control, of power. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came at first. Then he gathered his courage.
"When…when can I…join the academy?"
Jun hesitated, his gaze flicking to the pond. The koi's faint splashes were the only sound. "In a few months," he said finally. "They're interviewing candidates right now…the elders, the Daimyō…they're still deciding the next Hokage."
Satoru's breath caught in his throat. Deep in his mind, calculations sparked.
'A few months… so they're debating Minato. Obito's rampage is near. Nine-Tails attack imminent.'
He closed his eyes briefly, picturing the devastation he'd seen in the anime, Naruto's birth, the village aflame.
'I'll barely have time. I may not even graduate from the Academy before I am forced to survive another crisis.'
He swallowed, trying to steady himself. The dream of independence, of leaving the orphanage, burned bright but the price would be instantaneous: he'd have to submit under the Yamanaka clan. Something he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Jun met his gaze, eyebrows raising in concern behind calm eyes.
"Are you…okay with this? I mean, you don't have to decide now."
Satoru inhaled, breath rattling in his chest. He exhaled, nodding. That vague movement of consent.
"Think. Decide." Jun placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, grasping, comforting. "I'll come back."
The Chūnin turned toward the courtyard gate. As he strode off, Satoru found his voice barely above a whisper.
"They…must've lost a lot during the war…if they're…asking for me."
His words were almost swallowed by the breeze, but they struck a chord within him. He watched Jun's figure fade, the clan symbol catching the sunlight one last time before sliding behind bamboo and leafed shrubs.
As Jun departed, Satoru found himself adrift in the garden's quiet after. Tulips nodded in the breeze; the koi slid under the ripple-broken surface. He closed his eyes, hand resting on the stone wall.
"I want independence." He muttered it to the koi, the garden, to the world.
'I want stability. I want power.' Fear gnawed at his gut, fueled by the knowledge of everything coming near.
'But am I ready to trade one chain for another? Academy for control. Yamanaka oversight for Root risk.'
He exhaled. A single stone dropped into the pond.
'I wonder…how they'll react once they realize I have a Sharingan.'
He nearly smirked, though the muscles in his face trembled.
He stood slowly, brushing off his clothes. Turning to head back inside, he saw Nono Yakushi stepping onto the stone path, her posture taut and watchful, eyes focused on his retreating back.
He straightened automatically and offered a perfunctory nod.
"…Oba-san."
She stopped in her tracks and studied him. His face gave nothing away, soft innocence restored, amusement hidden, tension disguised. A veneer but one refined by three days of practice.
"Jun just left?"
"It... yeah," Satoru said tightly. "We talked. He…asked me if I would like to leave."
Nono watched him silently for a moment before offering a small nod. "Return to your bed." Her tone was calm, almost soothing. "Rest. Lunch will be shortly."
He allowed her to usher him back through the open door of the building, leaning heavily on the wooden frame.
Within seconds, he was in his small bed. He sank onto the thin mattress, pulling the blanket up over his legs. The smell of tatami mats and old wood warmed his senses; unfamiliar footsteps echoed behind him.
Nono slipped quietly into the hallway, the sound of her sandals muffled against the polished wooden floor. Her steps were light, practised, far too silent for a civilian, just loud enough to be polite in a place filled with children.
From the far end of the hallway, a muffled chatter rose, young voices laughing, bowls clinking, feet shifting on the floor.
Nono's gaze flicked toward the central hall, her eyes narrowing just slightly. She passed the tall shoji doors and stepped lightly onto the raised tatami platform that bordered the dining area.
There, sitting cross-legged at a low lacquered table, was Akari. She had a small stack of bowls at her side, some already portioned with food, others waiting to be filled. Children were arranged in loose clusters around her, scarfing down food with the carefree eagerness only kids seemed to manage after long days.
Nono approached with the same smooth silence she used on missions. Her presence was subtle, but not hidden.
Akari looked up as she sensed movement, her tired but warm expression shifting into a polite smile. "Nono-sama," she greeted, setting down a ladle with a soft clink against the pot rim.
Nono gave a short, respectful nod. "Akari."
She paused beside her, eyes taking in the children's scattered faces.
"I wanted to ask you," Nono said after a moment, voice low, almost too quiet to be heard above the din, "have you noticed anything…unusual about Satoru?"
Akari blinked, the question catching her off guard. She set the ladle down fully now and turned her full attention to the older woman. "Satoru?"
Nono gave a soft nod.
Akari furrowed her brows, a thread of concern weaving into her expression. "Well…besides the memory loss from the fall, no. He's been quiet, maybe a little too withdrawn at times, but nothing out of the ordinary. He eats, he sleeps. He listens when I speak to him. He doesn't talk much, but he's polite."
She tilted her head. "Why do you ask?"
Nono let a small breath escape through her nose, as though pushing out more than just air. Her lips thinned.
"Because," she said quietly, her tone shifting, firm now, lined with something more serious, "I sensed chakra. On him."
Akari's eyes widened in slow realization.
"Chakra?" she echoed, voice dropping low so none of the children would hear. "You're sure?"
"I'm not mistaken," Nono replied. "I felt it the moment I approached him after the Yamanaka boy left. It was faint, but definitely active."
Akari stared at her for a moment, brow creased. "That's almost impossible. Unlocking chakra is a process that requires control, focus… guidance. Most children can't even start developing it until they begin formal training."
Nono nodded slowly. "I know."
"That was my first thought," Nono murmured. "The chakra wasn't there before Jun arrived. Afterwards, it was. And it wasn't just residual transfer from contact, this was his own chakra system beginning to circulate."
Akari sat back, clearly unsettled. "For the Yamanaka to take interest at all… speaks volumes."
"They lost many in the war," Nono said quietly. "They're rebuilding. Looking for potential where they once saw none."
She stepped toward the window that faced the garden and pushed it open an inch.
"The boy," she murmured, "was unsettled after that visit. I could see it in how he tried to mask his unease."
She narrowed her eyes, a sliver of regret sliding into her voice. "If only that Yamanaka had not been so careful, so guarded, I would've eavesdropped on their conversation."
She leaned slightly forward, resting her fingers against the edge of the open pane, her breath fogging the glass.
"Still," she added, almost to herself now, "maybe I can get the child to tell me what they talked about."
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