Smoke curled lazily through the Hokage's office, weaving through the shafts of moonlight that pierced the high windows. It was a room that smelled of old parchment, stale tobacco, and the weight of a thousand secrets.
Sarutobi Hiruzen sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his back slightly hunched as if the very title of "Hokage" had a physical weight. His pipe was held loosely in one hand, but his attention was fixed entirely on the crystal sphere resting atop a velvet cushion beside a mountain of unfinished paperwork.
Within the swirling, misty depths of the crystal, two small figures appeared in sequence.
Evan Kamiyo. Hinata Hyuga.
This was the Telescope Technique, Hiruzen's signature sensory ninjutsu. In the quiet hours of the night, when the village slept, the "Professor" often used it to observe the pulse of Konoha. It wasn't born of idle curiosity or a desire to spy; it was born of a deep, almost paternal need for stability. He watched for threats, he watched for cracks in the village's foundation, and sometimes—on the rare, lucky nights—he watched for hope.
Hiruzen had originally planned to spend this evening at the hot springs on the eastern edge of the village, soaking his aching bones and escaping the endless bureaucracy. Instead, what he had witnessed through the crystal ball made him freeze.
The scene replayed in his mind like a vivid dream: a four-year-old boy intervening in a dark alley, disciplining bullies twice his size with the clinical restraint of a veteran, and then, most shockingly, healing them without a moment's hesitation.
"Evan Kamiyo…" Hiruzen murmured, the name tasting of woodsmoke on his tongue.
A trace of sharp, piercing nostalgia surfaced in his aged eyes. He remembered a man named Kamiyo Feng. Feng had been more than just a shinobi; he was once Hiruzen's personal escort, a member of the elite guard whose strength had reached the level of a legend. In the private circles of the Hokage's office, they called men like him "Elite Jonin"—warriors who stood at the very precipice of the Kage level.
Evan's mother, Kamiyo Miko, had been no less remarkable. She was a woman whose hands held the gift of life, an exceptional medical ninja who could stitch a soul back into a body.
Both had fallen during the terror of the Nine-Tails Rebellion. That night, Feng and Miko had stood their ground, intercepting a killing blow meant for the villagers, buying Hiruzen the precious seconds he needed to summon Enma and redirect the beast. They had died as they lived: as protectors.
Because of that sacrifice, Evan Kamiyo had never been treated like a common orphan. Hiruzen had personally ensured that the boy wasn't lost in the crowded, often cold halls of the village orphanage. He had seen to it that the boy's allowance was generous and that the house of his parents remained his. Even the wet nurse assigned to him in his infancy had been a retired kunoichi, vetted for her character and loyalty.
Hiruzen exhaled a long, slow cloud of smoke as his pipe finally burned out.
Age makes a man sentimental, he thought, a self-deprecating smile touching his lips.
But sentiment aside, what Evan had displayed today was of vital importance to the state of the village. The boy had shown discipline. He hadn't bullied the bullies; he had neutralized them. He had shown restraint, using only the force necessary to end the conflict. And he had shown compassion—the rarest trait in a world of blades—by mending the damage he had caused.
And the medical ninjutsu... at four years old.
A small, genuine smile crept onto Hiruzen's wrinkled face. "This child," he whispered to the empty room, "has inherited the Will of Fire in its purest form."
To protect without abusing power. To use strength, and then immediately seek to mend the world. That balance was a miracle. Still, a nagging question lingered in the Hokage's mind. Was this level of medical ninjutsu merely Miko's legacy blooming early? Or was Evan something the village hadn't seen in generations?
Hiruzen needed to know. With a casual, almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, the shadows in the corner of the office stirred and coalesced.
An ANBU operative wearing a porcelain cat-pattern mask knelt silently before the desk.
"Retrieve everything," Hiruzen said, his voice dropping the warmth of a grandfather and taking on the iron of a commander. "I want every record, every observation, every scrap of paper related to Evan Kamiyo. From his birth to this very hour."
"Yes, Lord Hokage."
The presence vanished instantly, leaving only the faint scent of ozone behind.
Meanwhile, Evan Kamiyo was blissfully unaware that the "God of Shinobi" was currently dissecting his life.
After ensuring Hinata reached the safety of the Hyuga compound, Evan had made a quick stop at a local merchant's stall. He bought two large bags of charcoal and a few thick blankets, hauling them back to his courtyard. The cost had been significant—nearly a third of his monthly allowance.
The price of comfort is steep, Evan thought as he hauled the charcoal into his storage shed. Without a steady source of income, even the Hokage's generosity won't keep me fed forever. I need to figure out a way to monetize the System.
As he began to boil a pot of water for a simple dinner of rice and dried fish, his mind crunched the numbers of his progress.
Healing three children gave me the equivalent of nearly half a day's worth of grueling physical training, he calculated. The efficiency is there. If I could get my hands on wounded shinobi—people with massive Chakra pools and high-tier skills—my growth would become exponential.
But he wasn't a fool. Rushing into a hospital and offering to "heal" veterans would attract the kind of scrutiny that led to a laboratory table in one of Orochimaru's or Danzo's hidden basements.
Should he approach the Hokage? In theory, a "prodigy" reporting his talents was the safest path to resources. In practice, it meant being groomed as a weapon.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was sharp, rhythmic, and utterly unexpected.
Evan froze, his hand hovering over the rice pot. He checked the clock—it was well past the time for casual visitors. His muscles coiled, the Senju vitality in his blood singing with a sudden surge of adrenaline.
"Coming," he called out, smoothing his expression into one of sleepy, childish confusion.
He crossed the room and pulled open the heavy wooden door. His breath caught in his throat, and for a heartbeat, his "good child" mask nearly slipped.
Standing on his porch, framed by the falling snow and the soft glow of a paper lantern, was Sarutobi Hiruzen. He wasn't in his combat gear or his casual robes. He was wearing the formal red-and-white Hokage mantle and the iconic hat.
"G-Grandpa Hokage?" Evan's surprise was entirely genuine. No matter how much he had planned, he hadn't expected the leader of the village to show up at his doorstep like a neighbor looking for a cup of sugar.
Hiruzen smiled gently, his eyes crinkling in a way that seemed to radiate warmth. "Good evening, Evan. It's a cold night. I was wondering if an old man might come in and sit by your fire for a while?"
"…Of course! Please, come in." Evan stepped aside, his mind racing at a million miles per hour. Refusal wasn't just rude; it was impossible.
They sat across from each other at the low table in Evan's small living room. Evan served the tea with steady hands, the steam rising between them in the quiet house. Hiruzen didn't speak at first. He simply observed.
He looked at the spotless floors, the neatly folded blankets, and the lack of toys or childish clutter. He saw a home that was orderly, disciplined, and functional—a home that reflected the mind of its occupant. It was far beyond what anyone would expect from a four-year-old.
The ANBU reports he had just skimmed echoed in his head: Trains daily. Treats neighbors with kindness. Avoids conflict. Never complains. A picture was forming—a picture of a child who loved his village and his home with a quiet, fierce intensity. Hiruzen nodded inwardly. The boy is a pearl hidden in the sand.
Finally, the Hokage set down his tea and looked Evan directly in the eye.
"Evan," he said, his voice kind but firm. "You've already begun to refine Chakra, haven't you?"
For a split second, Evan felt a cold spike of fear. He knows. Then, he leaned into the character he had spent four years building. He let his eyes widen, then slowly allowed a bright, innocent, and slightly proud smile to break across his face.
"Yes, Grandpa Hokage!" he said, his voice filled with the excitement of a child showing off a new toy. "I found a scroll in my mom's old trunk last month. I tried what it said, and I felt... warm! I've only succeeded a little bit, though."
Then, Evan leaned forward, his eyes shining as if sharing the world's greatest secret. "And Grandpa? I think I can do what my mom did. I can heal people!"
Hiruzen's gaze sharpened. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy for a second. "Oh? Is that so? Show me, Evan."
Evan didn't hesitate. He knew this was the test. He reached out and placed his small hand on the table, palm up. He took a breath, and a soft, vibrant green light began to gather, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic glow.
Doctor's Benevolence: Minor Restoration.
"Do you have any old injuries, Grandpa?" Evan asked with heartbreaking sincerity. "I can help. My hands feel very warm when I do this."
Hiruzen chuckled, a soft, dry sound. He extended his own hand, placing his weathered, scarred palm over the boy's. At my age, child, I am nothing but old injuries, he thought.
The moment Evan's Chakra touched the Hokage's skin, Hiruzen's smile vanished.
His eyes widened behind his silk hat.
It wasn't just a "warm" sensation. It was a flood of pure, refined vitality. It was like a river of spring water washing away the stagnant heat of an old fever. Hiruzen felt the deep, lingering ache in his lungs—a remnant of a poison mist from the Second War—simply dissolve. The stiff, calcified joints of his fingers loosened. Even his posture, usually bowed by the weight of his office, straightened unconsciously as his muscles were revitalized.
This wasn't the clumsy, inefficient healing of a beginner. This was a purity of Chakra that rivaled Tsunade's.
Hiruzen pulled his hand back, staring at his palm as if he were seeing it for the first time. The storm of shock in his heart was overwhelming.
I underestimated him, the Hokage realized, his breath coming a little faster. I thought he was a prodigy. I was wrong. He is a miracle.
He looked at Evan, who was watching him with wide, innocent eyes, waiting for approval. Hiruzen knew in that moment that the future of Konoha had just shifted on its axis.
"Evan," Hiruzen said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You have a very, very special gift."