"Tōichi, calm down. With me here, he'll be fine."
Kakashi sighed helplessly. It was the first time he had ever seen Kimoto Tōichi this emotional.
But he understood — Tōichi truly saw Yoruha as his own disciple.
"You?" Tōichi's tone was sharp. "How many of your comrades have died with you? I know ANBU shinobi are supposed to be prepared for that day, but I won't let him end up there."
"I just want him to live freely under the sunlight — as a shinobi who protects the village, not one hidden in the shadows."
Kakashi fell silent.
Tōichi's words made him think of Uchiha Obito and Nohara Rin — the source of his lingering guilt all these years.
"He's not like the others," Kakashi said after a pause. "If I take him with me, it's for his growth, not to treat him as a comrade on missions. If there's truly a dangerous mission, I won't bring him along. That should be acceptable, right?"
Kakashi had already taken a step back.
But Tōichi still shook his head firmly.
"Impossible. Forget it. I'll never allow him to go out and risk his life without the strength to protect himself."
"You've really changed, Tōichi," Kakashi said quietly. "You never used to be like this."
Tōichi looked at him. "And haven't you changed too? You're nothing like the man you were back in the ANBU."
After that, both men fell silent.
Yes — they had both changed.
Because of Yoruha.
Both of them knew that with proper guidance, Yoruha's talent could one day grow into a power strong enough to protect the entire village.
But their teaching philosophies were worlds apart.
Of course, Yoruha himself knew nothing of this conversation.
"I won't take him on missions until he can defend himself," Kakashi said. "Let's make a deal — once he's strong enough to defeat you, I'll take him out."
Tōichi thought for a moment, then nodded.
After all, he wasn't a combat-type shinobi — his strength was closer to that of an average jōnin.
If Yoruha could defeat him, that would at least prove he had jōnin-level ability.
If anyone overheard their conversation, they'd think the two were dreaming.
After all, Tōichi was a jōnin, and Yoruha was just a fresh academy graduate.
Whether Yoruha could defeat Tōichi — or even reach the level of a jōnin — was still unknown.
In any shinobi village, jōnin were the elite among elites.
Not everyone could become one.
Reaching jōnin rank meant having the full capability of a high-level ninja.
A true jōnin was one in a thousand — even in the Five Great Villages, there were only a few hundred at most.
So Kakashi's idea — that Yoruha could reach the level to defeat a jōnin within a single year — sounded like a fantasy.
To normal people, it would seem completely delusional.
But for Kakashi and Tōichi, who knew Yoruha's potential, it wasn't far-fetched at all.
They both believed Yoruha could reach jōnin-level strength by the time he was allowed to go on missions outside the village.
In Konoha, new genin teams usually trained for three months on missions within the village before being permitted to go out.
The next day, after completing another D-rank mission, Yoruha successfully mastered the Tree Climbing Technique.
His progress motivated Yamada Jumoku and Motonoya Toko — they trained hard, pressured by his example.
But their talent was only average, and they still couldn't master the few basic jutsu Tōichi had taught.
That night, while walking home, Yoruha suddenly stopped at a deserted street.
With his sharp sensory abilities, his expression turned grim.
The street was empty, but every instinct screamed danger — if he stepped forward, something terrible would happen.
Just as he turned to take another route—
Shhhk! Whizz! Thunk!
Dozens of kunai and shuriken came flying toward him from the darkness.
The whistling of metal slicing through air made his heart tighten.
"—!"
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In an instant, as the deadly barrage was about to hit, Yoruha's eyes narrowed — and his figure vanished.
The blades struck only empty air, embedding deep into a wall several meters away.
Sparks flew as metal clashed against stone, the weapons lodged deep with terrifying force.
If any of them had struck flesh, they would have pierced straight through.
Reappearing several meters away, Yoruha glanced at the wall and inhaled sharply.
"Damn… if those had hit me, I'd be dead."
Unbeknownst to him, the figure perched on a distant tree — the one who'd launched the attack — was just as shocked.
"That speed… it's already comparable to a Body Flicker Technique. The kid's got a good head on his shoulders."
In that instant, Yoruha had instinctively gathered chakra under his feet and propelled himself several meters away —
a movement identical in principle to the Body Flicker, though he had never learned it.
That alone showed how refined his chakra control and physical ability already were.
Refocusing, Yoruha turned his gaze toward the direction of the attack.
The street was still empty.
He drew a kunai, readying for combat.
"I can't stay here — I need to escape. Judging from that attack, this person's far stronger than me."
In that brief exchange, Yoruha had already assessed the power gap between them.
But he didn't dare turn around; any sudden movement could expose his back to a killing strike.
He wasn't planning to fight.
He didn't know a single offensive jutsu yet, and his taijutsu was mediocre.
With only basic academy techniques, he stood no chance.
He knew this from the start.
Now he just needed to find a way to survive.
The night grew eerily silent, broken only by the whisper of wind.
There were no street lamps — only darkness and the creeping chill.
Yoruha's eyes never left the shadows ahead, where he sensed the attacker's presence.
He could roughly locate them but dared not move carelessly.
Then suddenly — he felt chakra flare behind him.
"So fast!"
He froze.
In the blink of an eye, the attacker was already behind him — too fast for him to react.
But instinct took over.
He spun and lashed out with a whip kick.
Thud!
The figure behind him exploded into a puff of white smoke.
"A clone—damn!"
Yoruha's face fell.
"Earth Release: Swamp of the Underworld!"
The ground beneath him turned soft — mud surged up around his legs.
The street transformed into a viscous swamp, dragging him down.
Within seconds, half his body was already submerged, sinking deeper and deeper.