Following Yura's lead, faint cries echoed through the corridor, growing clearer with each step. It sounded like someone was being tortured inside.
Yura turned the handle and opened the iron door. They stepped onto the narrow spiral staircase, where cracked stone steps wound upward toward a dimly lit chamber. The air was cold and heavy with the scent of iron and wax.
When they reached the top, they found not a torture scene in progress—but several Iwa-nin bound tightly in chains. The room was littered with whips and half-melted candles.
Hayashi paused, wondering for a second if they had entered the wrong place. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw the whip marks and bruises that covered each prisoner's body. Though no one was striking them now, their cries still echoed through the room.
At the sound of footsteps, the Iwa-nin began trembling uncontrollably—a reflex born of pure fear.
That reaction alone revealed just how much they had suffered.
"See? This is our mission," Yura said coldly, as if she were talking about discarded tools instead of living people.
Nawaki's bold expression faltered immediately, and whatever reckless ideas he had moments ago vanished.
Yura seemed pleased by his sudden caution. "These are Iwa-nin. Not long ago, one of our squads was ambushed while on a reconnaissance mission. Three Chūnin and my brother were killed in that attack. And this man here…" She pointed at one of the captives. "He was among the attackers."
The chained ninja glared at her, his face twisted with defiance and hatred.
"You know how this goes," Yura continued, her voice as sharp as a kunai's edge. "We have our ways of making people talk."
The man's trembling intensified, the chains rattling violently. Even so, he refused to avert his gaze. His hatred burned stronger than his fear.
Yura smirked. "We captured two alive. The other one is in the cell next door and hasn't been touched yet. Do you know why?"
Hayashi and Mikoto exchanged a brief look before shaking their heads.
"The essence of torture isn't physical pain—it's mental collapse," Yura explained, her smile faint but cruel. "When there are multiple prisoners, the screams of one become the nightmare of another. This man has been whipped for three days straight. His screams echo through these walls, searing terror into his comrade's mind."
She tilted her head slightly. "There's nothing more terrifying than hearing the agony of your own kind."
Hayashi listened quietly. It was disturbing—but it was also the kind of brutal logic the shinobi world lived by.
Yura turned to Nawaki and said, "Go bring the other one from the cell on the left."
Nawaki hesitated briefly, then nodded and walked off without another word.
Once he left, Yura glanced at Hayashi and Mikoto. "Do you think this man is pitiful?"
Both shook their heads immediately.
Of course not. Even Orochimaru had taught them that pity was useless to a shinobi.
Yura nodded approvingly. "Good. Whether in war or peace, if you fall into enemy hands, the treatment won't be any different. Don't pity others—and don't pity yourself. Pity is for those too weak to survive."
"We are shinobi. We are ghosts of the battlefield. Hesitation and doubt only lead to death."
A moment later, Nawaki returned with the other Iwa-nin. The man was trembling so hard his knees nearly gave out. His face was pale, eyes dull and unfocused.
"Please… just kill me quickly," he stammered. "I'll tell you everything. Just… make it fast."
Fear had stripped away his pride completely.
Yura smirked again. "You see? It's that simple."
She waved a hand. "Take him back. Give him paper and ink."
Nawaki blinked in confusion but obeyed.
Then Yura's eyes shifted to Hayashi. "Now it's your turn. I want you to interrogate the next one."
Hayashi nodded slightly, stepping forward. "Sharingan."
His crimson eyes spun open, twin tomoe rotating slowly.
Yura's brows rose in surprise. "Ah… so you're from the Uchiha clan. You could've said that earlier—I wouldn't have wasted so much time explaining."
She leaned forward slightly. "How old are you?"
"Ten."
Yura's lips curved faintly. "Then you've already passed the test."
Hayashi frowned slightly, unsure what she meant.
"In interrogation, there are many methods," Yura explained. "The Yamanaka read memories. The Sharingan manipulates perception. You already have one of the most effective tools a shinobi can possess."
Her expression softened a fraction. "Our team doesn't accept weaklings. You've proven you're not one."
Then she turned to Mikoto—whose eyes glowed the same crimson hue.
Yura nodded again. "You've passed as well. You may leave."
Nawaki returned just in time to hear that. He brightened instantly and started toward the exit with them.
But before he could step out, Yura's voice echoed again.
"Wait. The kid with the brown hair—stay behind."
Nawaki froze, shoulders tensing. Hayashi gave him a sympathetic glance before leaving with Mikoto.
Seize the opportunity, Nawaki, Hayashi thought silently as the iron door shut behind them with a heavy clang.
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