…
The second man was late.
Not by much. Just three minutes. But that was already a mark against him.
Hoshino checked her notes. "Tsurugi Jin. Twenty-nine. Civilian born. Former street fighter. Took work as a bodyguard during the war, mostly in smuggling routes and underground circles. No official records of shinobi training, but Isamu flagged him as chakra-sensitive."
She looked to the side and met my gaze. "He's got power, but no discipline."
I nodded. Hoshino had a say in this selection since the orphaned kids are originally under her care. "Then we'll see whether he's worth keeping."
The door slid open as my words fell without a knock.
I gave no outward reaction as I took in the man's stature.
A big guy with a scar running across his jaw. One look at his muscles told me they were built for violence.
He looked around the room once, snorted, and stepped onto the rug like he was walking into his home and not a job interview.
That's when the Genjutsu took hold and he didn't notice.
The Shinobi before him fell to it and despite his chakra sensitivity, he was miles away from being able to detect a well woven genjutsu of this nature.
I didn't smile this time. Just looked at him flatly. "Tsurugi Jin?"
"Yeah." He sat without being asked. Legs wide. Arms resting on his knees. "Didn't expect a kid to be in charge."
"I get that a lot," I replied calmly. "You think you can teach?"
"I can beat sense into them if that's what you're after."
Hoshino didn't react. I did.
By writing him off.
"Let's make this quick," I said. "You're late. You entered without permission. You sat without being told. And now you're offering violence as your best pitch."
He froze for a moment and I could see the confusion in his eyes. "It's a shinobi academy, isn't it?"
"It isn't," I replied, tone flat. "This is a center of learning. The children will be taught far more than how to fight. Reading, arithmetic, history, medicine, practical skills and, for those who choose it, physical and combat training."
I paused, letting my eyes settle on him.
"One of the fundamental values I want to pass on to them is discipline." My gaze moved briefly toward the door. "And you've demonstrated very little of it since you walked through it."
I smiled for the first time since he came in. "If I wanted thugs, I'd go back to the war. They were quite abundant."
He scoffed. "You think discipline matters when someone's trying to stab you in an alley?"
"No. But it matters before that. And after."
He leaned forward like he wanted to challenge me.
'Bad move.' I thought scornfully and tapped the table, sending a jolt into his brain causing him to freeze.
"I don't hire people who think breaking children is a shortcut to strength," I said. "You can leave now."
He opened his mouth to argue, but his tongue stuck.
Literally.
The genjutsu already tightened around his senses like a vice, and with a glazed look in his eyes, he stood, mouth clenched, body stiff, and stumbled toward the door without another word.
The silence after he left felt cleaner.
Hoshino let out a quiet breath. "Well. That was efficient."
"One more like that, and I'm installing a trapdoor."
She didn't laugh, but her eyes did.
"Next?" I asked.
She nodded. "Umehara Ren. Forty-three. Former jōnin. Retired a few years before the war. After leaving active service, she settled in a small town near the Land of Rivers, where she worked as a private instructor for merchants and their children, teaching basic self-defense and weapons handling. She returned to Konoha to care for her sick father, who recently passed. Isamu says she's methodical. Not flashy."
Hmm, just the kind of person I need. "Sounds promising." I said as a knock sounded.
I straightened up. At least she announced herself before entering.
"Umehara Ren," a calm voice said from the other side.
"Come in."
The door slid open and a woman stepped inside.
She was tall, though not unusually so, with dark hair pulled neatly behind her head. She wore a simple, well-maintained kimono, its plain design carrying no unnecessary ornamentation.
However, the moment I laid my eyes on her, I couldn't help but pause.
There was nothing particularly dramatic about her appearance.
That was precisely what caught my attention.
She didn't carry herself like someone trying to prove that she had once been a jōnin.
There was no exaggerated confidence, no deliberate intimidation or an attempt to make her presence larger than it was.
Yet every movement was controlled as her eyes briefly swept across the room before settling on me.
It took less than a second that if I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have picked up on it.
I could tell it was a force of habit and not suspicion.
Any experienced shinobi would do the same; assessing their environment, especially a new one.
I smiled before I even knew why. This one… this one was going to be interesting.
She didn't bow, just inclined her head in greeting as she stepped onto the rug.
She was in the Genjutsu.
She didn't flinch or pause, and If she noticed anything, she didn't show it.
I gestured toward the cushion in front of the desk. "Please."
She sat with practiced ease, like she'd done this a hundred times before.
"Umehara Ren," I said, more a statement than a question.
She gave a slight nod.
"Tell me why you're here."
"I read the notice. It said children. Something about structure, safety and purpose. I can provide those."
Straight to the point. Not bad.
I leaned forward slightly. "You retired a year before the war began, then taught in the Land of Rivers for almost a decade. Most people who leave the shinobi system don't come back. Why did you return?"
She shook her head slightly. "I didn't return to the Shinobi system." A sad expression flashed across her eyes before they quickly disappeared. "My father died and I buried him. I had two choices after that; drift or teach. I don't like drifting."
Fair enough.
"Discipline or creativity?"
"Discipline first," she said immediately. "Creativity after. Children need a spine before they learn how to bend."
I almost smiled. "You ever taught at the academy-level?"
She nodded. "Yes. And a few genins. I specialize in taijutsu, kenjutsu and evasive footwork. Enough to dodge better fighters until you become one."
I nodded. "And if a student breaks rank during training?"
"I bring them back. If they refuse?" She paused for a moment then said, "Then I find out why."
I felt Hoshino give me a glance. That was the right answer, but that's to be expected from someone who's spent a better part of a decade teaching.
I leaned back, tapping the desk once. "And you're fine working with orphans? No parents to complain to. No clan pride to navigate."
"That's a feature, not a bug."
I raised an eyebrow.."How so?"
Ren's expression remained calm. "Children with powerful families often come with expectations," she said. "A clan decides what they should learn, how they should behave, sometimes even what they're supposed to become."
She paused. "Orphans don't have that." Her eyes settled on me. "They can still be stubborn. Difficult. Angry. But at least when they succeed or fail, it's theirs."
I studied her for a moment. That was a more thoughtful answer than I'd expected.
"Can you take orders?"
"If they're good ones."
"And bad ones?"
She looked me in the eye. "I ask twice. Then I improvise."
I chuckled, quiet and genuine. "I like you."
"Don't," she said expressionlessly. "Not yet."
I smiled widely. "Fine. Provisional approval. I want to see you run a class. One week trial. No promises."
She stood with the same fluid motion she entered with.
"Understood."
Saying that, she turned and left leaving silence in her wake.
I exhaled and looked at Hoshino. "Well?"
"She's the first one you didn't have to corner like a rat."
Since when did asking intrusive questions count as cornering? I wondered to myself but decided to keep it to myself.
"She didn't come here to impress me," I said. "She came because she had nowhere else worth going."
"And that makes her loyal?"
"No," I murmured, eyes still on the door. "That makes her dangerous."
Hoshino raised a brow. "Isn't that bad?"
I stretched. "Not when she's ours."
Because now she has a place to belong.
…
Twelfth applicant.
By this point, I'd heard every kind of pitch.
Stoic swordsmen. Grizzled uncles. Wide-eyed hopefuls trying to find meaning in their post-war drift. Some good, some passable, a few not worth remembering.
Then came him.
He entered without knocking.
The man looked to be in his late thirties, wearing casual clothes, but his posture screamed shinobi. His body was too relaxed, the kind of ease that either came from enlightenment… or arrogance.
He stepped onto the rug but for some reason, the genjutsu didn't get a hold of him, or if it did, I felt nothing.
I waited for a flicker, some twitch, a shift…even a pause in his breath.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Now this was Interesting….and not the good kind.
He gave a half-bow, too shallow to be respectful, but too precise to be sloppy, then sat before I told him to.
I glanced at Hoshino. She didn't react, but I saw her thumb flick once against the parchment, our silent code for 'careful'.
I leaned forward, voice neutral. "Name?"
"Daigo," he said, smiling like it meant something. "I operated in Amegakure. Mercenary work before that. Just got back."
"Amegakure?" I repeated. "You don't sound like it."
Not like I know how they sound.
"I trained under a traveling monk from there. Didn't stay long." he answered smoothly, his tone was easy. Natural.
Too natural.
I checked the seals in the room and still found them active . The genjutsu remained active but something was wrong.
It wasn't passive but changed subtly with mood, with breath rate, with minor physiological cues. Every other applicant showed some subconscious response: a softening of tone, a slight lean forward, a hitch in rhythm.
He showed nothing.
Like someone who wasn't reacting at all, or someone who knew it was there and had decided to play along.
I folded my hands. "What's your approach to teaching?"
"Order. Survival. Insight. In that order. If a kid dies because they got creative in the wrong moment while following an order, that's on the teacher."
I studied him for a moment. "Explain."
I wasn't going to pretend I understood what he said.
Daigo leaned back slightly. "Order comes first because a child needs to understand that some instructions aren't suggestions. In a fight, hesitation can kill you. So can deciding that you know better when you don't."
His expression remained relaxed. "Survival comes next. Once they understand discipline, they learn how to stay alive when the plan falls apart. That's when they learn to adapt."
"And insight?"
"That's when they learn why." He shrugged. "Why an order was given. Why a technique works. Why they were told to retreat instead of attack. Eventually, they should be able to look at a situation and understand what needs to be done without someone standing over them."
His eyes met mine. "But you don't start there. Give a child insight without discipline, and they'll think understanding makes them smarter than everyone else."
A faint smile touched his lips. "And that's usually when they get themselves killed."
I remained silent for a moment. His explanation wasn't particularly comforting but it was coherent.
Order wasn't obedience for its own sake.
Survival wasn't simply staying alive.
And insight wasn't intelligence.
They were stages.
First, learn to listen.
Then, learn to survive.
Finally, learn to understand.
A very logical progression, but unfortunately, that sounds like something from a spy manual.
Obey first. Survive second. Understand third.
Spies were trained to follow instructions without hesitation, stay alive when plans went wrong, and only then use their judgment to decide what came next.
Daigo's words weren't the problem. It was how naturally they came to him.
Combined with his controlled posture, his resistance or awareness of my Genjutsu, and the carefully vague answers about his past, it was enough to make me suspicious.
Either he'd spent a very long time around people who thought that way...
Or he'd been trained to think like one.
"Sounds like you've lost students before."
His eyes held mine. "You?"
I smiled faintly. "I'm not the one applying."
He mirrored my smile, but I caught it. It was the kind of smile a spy learns to keep up appearances.
I let the silence stretch.
He didn't fill it.
"Where did you serve during the war?" I asked.
"Everywhere," he replied. "I was freelance."
"Funny," I said lightly. "Most freelancers didn't survive. Unless they were good… or lucky."
"I'd like to believe that I'm both."
Right. Now I was sure. This guy is a spy. Probably sent by Danzo? Hiruzen? I didn't know but I'd definitely find out.
I glanced to the right, toward the tea tray. "Thirsty?" I asked.
"Always," he replied. "But not for tea."
Cute.
I let the pause linger, then flicked my fingers once and the genjutsu lifted subtly.
There was no jolt or confusion in his eyes or facial expression.
His chakra remained steady.
I stood and signalled Hoshino to take a step back.
I wasn't sure what Daigo intended, but I was done treating this as an ordinary interview.
"So tell me, Daigo," I said casually. "Who sent you?"
He remained silent for a moment, then his smile grew wider. He wasn't surprised or panicked "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice."
So I was right, he was a spy. The only question was whose.
Danzo was the obvious possibility. Hiruzen was another, though I wasn't sure why the Hokage would bother with something like this.
Either way, I wasn't about to ask directly. That would tell him more than I wanted him to know.
I held his gaze for a moment before letting my expression relax. He wasn't here to fight or cause trouble, at most he was here to evaluate what I was building. "Interesting."
Daigo's smile didn't fade.
I glanced toward the tea tray. "Well, since you've already figured out that I'm not an idiot, I suppose there's little point pretending this is still an interview."
A faint amusement appeared in his eyes. "I suppose not."
I returned to my seat. "So," I said, folding my hands. "Are you here to evaluate me?"
"Among other things."
"At least you're honest."
"I find it saves time."
That almost made me laugh. Honesty did indeed save time. I studied him for another moment.
He obviously hadn't come here to teach but to look.
That's fine. He could look, after all, I had nothing to hide.
Not yet at least.
"Then we're done," I said with a tone of finality.
His eyebrow lifted slightly. "Already?"
"You've learned what you came to learn." I shrugged.
"And you?"
"I've learned enough."
For the first time, his smile became slightly more genuine.
"Fair enough."
He stood and turned toward the door.
"Daigo."
He stopped.
"If you're going to keep watching me, at least try to make it interesting."
His shoulders moved with a quiet chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."
The door slid shut behind him.
Only then did I let out a slow breath.
Hoshino looked at me. "That wasn't a teacher."
"No."
She glanced toward the closed door. "Spy?"
"Almost certainly."
"The Hokage?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
And that was the part I disliked.
I had identified the shadow. I just didn't know whose hand had cast it.
"Mark him as declined," I said. "But keep the name."
Hoshino nodded and wrote it down.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_--_-_
Like it? Read up to chapter 90 on [email protected]/This_Young_Lord