"I understand. We'll be careful," Kiyohara said.
After that, he went out with Kurenai and Genma to start setting up alarm traps around the area.
For shinobi, traps were a required skill. They greatly increased vigilance and helped prevent sudden ambushes.
By the time they finished, it was fully dark.
Lights came on inside the orphanage. The children's laughter drifted faintly through the night, forming a sharp contrast with the dull, distant rumbling from the front line.
Kiyohara stood on the hillside, looking down at the orphanage below.
"Kiyohara, are you done setting up your section?" Kurenai asked.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"That's good…" Kurenai stood beside him, also watching the warm lights below. "Those kids are so pitiful… losing their parents that young."
Kiyohara fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Kurenai… are you afraid of war?"
Kurenai blinked, then thought seriously before answering, "I am. But that's exactly why I have to get stronger—so I can protect the people I want to protect."
"Would you protect me?" Kiyohara asked casually.
Kurenai's eyes widened. Her crimson gaze locked onto him.
"You're… my teammate. Of course I would."
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her skirt, a little shy.
"Just a teammate?" Kiyohara pressed.
"Y-you…" Kurenai stammered. Kiyohara had leaned in closer, and she could feel the warmth of his breath.
She tried hard to act calm, but her face turned visibly red—color spreading all the way to her ears.
Every time Kiyohara saw a blush creep up her slightly baby-fat cheeks, he got that odd sense of "raising" and contrast—who would've thought this girl would grow into such a cold, mature beauty later?
"Then why don't you give me… give…" Kurenai's hand moved to her wrist, like she was about to say something.
"I'm done setting up my side," Genma's voice cut in as he walked over from the distance.
He looked at the two of them and scratched his head. What did Kiyohara do to her this time—why did she look so embarrassed?
"I—I'll go check something. I'm leaving!" Kurenai blurted, dropping a hurried line as she practically fled.
"…What's with her?" Genma asked.
He felt like their three-man squad had changed somehow. They used to be solid teammates—now he had this weird sense of being a third wheel.
"It's nothing. Let's go check the rooms they prepared," Kiyohara said.
He figured Kurenai had probably noticed the bracelet on Rin's wrist. Besides, Kurenai's birthday was still a while away.
Genma nodded.
The two of them went into the orphanage. Yakushi Nonō had prepared simple rooms for the three of them.
They were cramped—like a storage space cleared out in a hurry—but still decent, all things considered.
That night, Kiyohara took first watch again.
This time they used an "all-night rotation," meaning Kiyohara would handle the entire night.
He summoned the invisible chameleon and used it to test his Lightning Release "cell stimulation" technique.
He experimented longer this time, turning more ideas into action.
With guidance from Uchiha Kiyohara's spirit, he gradually found a few patterns.
The key to stimulating cells was frequency and intensity.
Too high a frequency caused muscle spasms; too low had no effect.
Intensity had to be balanced too—too strong damaged nerves, too weak did nothing.
While Kiyohara practiced controlling Lightning Release chakra, Yakushi Nonō stood by the office window, watching his direction from afar.
A thoughtful look crossed her eyes.
"That boy… his chakra control is terrifyingly precise," she murmured.
"If it were Danzō… he'd definitely take an interest in someone like that."
She shook her head, forcing the thought away.
Now she was just an orphanage Dean—a normal woman who wanted the children to grow up safely.
The past could stay in the past.
The next morning…
Yakushi Nonō got up early and checked the donation box.
Like a "merit box" in religious buildings, the orphanage also had one—accepting help from kind villagers.
Sometimes it was money, sometimes goods: rice, oil, flour, staples.
Back in Konoha, Nonō had never worried about money—she'd even treated it like dirt.
But once she was running a charity orphanage, she finally understood how important money truly was.
"Because of the war… everyone's struggling," Nonō said softly.
Fewer people had been donating lately.
A ninja war wasn't just shinobi fighting—it shook the entire world. Everyone felt it.
Before donating, people had to keep themselves alive.
But the war also created more and more orphans.
The growing gap meant the orphanage was facing a looming deficit.
"Dean, don't worry. I'll check the nearby towns later," the overweight nun said, comforting her.
She and the bespectacled man, like Nonō, genuinely wanted the orphanage to survive.
"Thank you," Nonō said.
She tallied everything and wrote it into the ledger.
When she looked up, she saw Kiyohara still training.
That's been going all night… even with breaks…
Even with her experience, she couldn't help clicking her tongue at the sheer chakra reserves this implied.
Even a typical jōnin didn't have that much chakra, did they?
And Kiyohara was only fourteen or fifteen at most.
Most children entered the academy at six, studied six years, and graduated at twelve—meaning twelve was the starting line for most genin.
Kiyohara had only had a few years since then, and yet he already had this much chakra?
She observed him again, but didn't see any clan crest on him.
Then she shook her head.
Even among clans with secret techniques or bloodline limits, someone like Kiyohara was extremely rare.
"Good morning, Dean Yakushi Nonō," Kiyohara said.
The watch had changed. He planned to sleep a few hours.
"Good morning, Kiyohara-kun," Nonō replied with a small nod, her eyes reflecting his young face.
For personal reasons, she always had more patience with kids under eighteen.
"You were counting donations just now?" Kiyohara asked.
Behind her, the nun and the bespectacled man were sorting items from the box.
"Yes," Nonō nodded.
"Then… may I contribute a bit of goodwill?" Kiyohara asked.
"Of course." Nonō stepped aside.
Kiyohara took out some money from his ninja pouch.
Eighty thousand ryō.
For ordinary civilians, that was already a lot—especially during wartime.
"This…" Nonō's mouth fell slightly open.
She'd thought he meant a few hundred or a few thousand as a gesture—yet he put down eighty thousand.
Seeing her expression, Kiyohara understood what she was thinking.
By databook standards, one ryō was roughly equivalent to ten yen—translated into his old world, that was close to forty thousand in value.
It was indeed a large amount.
Shinobi could make money, but it was still uneven—some got rich, some barely scraped by.
Without enough strength, shinobi earnings were "hard money."
And you had to consider combat costs: a single fight could burn more resources than the mission paid, forcing you to pay out of pocket.
"That's… too much, isn't it, Kiyohara-kun?" Nonō stepped closer.
"No. This is simply what I can afford—one small act of goodwill," Kiyohara said with a faint smile.
He had some savings now—purely from "hard work and honest earnings."
A lot of the valuable gear stripped from Mist Anbu and jōnin had sold for a good price.
After all, under the Blood Mist system, no one cut corners on equipment—they didn't want to die and leave nothing behind.
"Also," Kiyohara continued, making his real request, "when you treat the wounded… can I observe sometimes? I'm personally very interested in medical ninjutsu, and I know a bit myself."
In other words: accept a gift, and it becomes harder to refuse.
Yakushi Nonō was an intelligence veteran—she knew human nature. If she hadn't, she could never have infiltrated nations and extracted information.
"This… of course. That's no problem," Nonō nodded.
Medical ninjutsu was meant to save lives.
It seemed Kiyohara wasn't just talented—he was kind at heart, too.
"Then I'll be in your care, Dean," Kiyohara said with a warm smile.
She was even easier to talk to than he expected.
Is it because the orphanage is already that close to running a deficit?
With the Sharingan, if he watched closely enough, it really was see once, learn once.
He just didn't know how many medical techniques Nonō would actually show.
After a few more polite words, Kiyohara went to find Kurenai and Genma. They ate a simple breakfast.
The other two squads arrived as well. After a brief discussion, they split up and each chose a patrol route.
…
Inside a cave in the nearby mountains, a red-haired, delicate-looking shinobi was working on a human body.
He removed organs, applied special coatings, and installed mechanisms.
"No… still not right. This is an insult to art."
Sasori frowned. His face looked refined, yet a viciousness seeped through.
He tossed the half-finished puppet aside.
Smack.
Blood and mechanical parts spilled from the body.
"If I want to convert my entire body… I still need more experiments," Sasori thought.
After poisoning and killing the Third Kazekage, Sasori had left Sunagakure.
By now, he'd already modified his body extensively—among Suna puppeteers, he was far ahead.
Most puppeteers only modified their hands, for better chakra-thread control and sneak attacks.
But Sasori was different.
His true goal was to become a puppet entirely.
Flesh was suffering. Only puppets were eternal.
Blood and meat would inevitably decay—ugly things.
"Eternal beauty" was true art.
"Bring me five new bodies," Sasori ordered the other shinobi in the cave. "Preferably children."
Children's flesh was more fragile than adults'.
But the modifications he intended required extreme caution—he needed more experience first.
Only when he was absolutely certain would Sasori move.
"Yes."
At his command, several Suna shinobi left quickly.
Their eyes were hollow. If someone had a Byakugan, they might have seen something like a needle lodged in the brain—continuously feeding Sasori's chakra into them.
…
Night fell, and a few more days passed.
Time ticked forward, the darkness deepening.
It was late—so quiet it felt unreal.
At the orphanage, lights went out at nine.
Aside from the occasional caretaker checking on the children—and the shinobi posted for outside watch—there was no sound.
Then came faint rustling footsteps.
"This time the target is five orphans."
Yūra, wearing a white headscarf that covered his forehead and temples, stared toward the orphanage.
The building was dark, but he knew shinobi were nearby.
There was a shelter zone not far from here, which meant guards—guaranteed.
His group had moved in quietly, all the way to this position.
Inside, Kiyohara slowly opened his eyes.
He sensed them earlier than Genma and Kurenai.
Kiyohara unwrapped the sand-iron thread from his finger and watched the shadows outside from a dark corner.
Several blurred figures were approaching through the forest.
Their movements were light, nearly silent—clearly seasoned shinobi.
The leader wore standard Suna gear, with a dark cloak over it.
He had a mask, a small beard on his chin, and long hair covering the right side of his face.
That distinctive look made Kiyohara think of someone immediately.
Yūra of Suna? One of Sasori's secret subordinates?
In canon, Yūra was Sasori's spy inside Suna, controlled by the Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique.
That technique inserted an extremely tiny needle into the brain's memory center to seal memories.
After release, the needle disappeared and the memories returned.
But because it could selectively seal memories, it could also be "operated" into a kind of brainwashing—implanting false memories for control.
So this operation—was it Sasori acting alone, or Suna's command?
Kiyohara frowned. Sasori likely had more than just Yūra planted inside Suna.
Without something like the Byakugan, it was very hard to detect spies under that technique.
The group approached the orphanage and stopped about twenty meters before the outer traps.
Yūra made several hand signs.
A puppeteer immediately unfurled a scroll and summoned several puppets.
They were finely constructed, joints moving smoothly, as if carved from wood.
At that moment, Kiyohara sent a signal through his sand-iron thread.
It was their prearranged alarm method—a faint vibration transmitted to the other two.
Almost instantly, Genma and Kurenai received the warning.
"When did they get here?" Genma muttered in disbelief.
Tonight was his watch, yet he hadn't sensed anything.
Meanwhile, Kiyohara—who should've been resting—had triggered the alarm first.
That kind of perception made Genma suck in a breath.
Kiyohara's sensing got stronger again?
At the same time, Kurenai slipped out and went to notify the orphanage Dean.
"Dean Yakushi Nonō, it looks like enemies are coming. Please be careful."
Kurenai emphasized that the children needed to be evacuated quickly.
Then she turned and headed out.
If the enemy had come, they had to fight.
Their mission was to protect this place.
…
The orphanage stayed dark.
Everything remained silent, like nothing had happened.
But Yūra sensed something. He raised an arm, halting the team.
His eyes swept the surroundings, finally settling on the orphanage.
"Spotted?" Kiyohara's brow tightened.
So he really had skill.
Yūra didn't move right away. He nodded at the puppeteer.
The puppets advanced to probe the traps.
That was when Kiyohara struck.
From the second-floor window, he pulled hard with both hands.
A narrow gap to the left of the window had been hidden with a curtain.
Now, the sand-iron threads he'd pre-laid snapped tight.
Dozens of hair-thin sand-iron lines shot out from the ground, tree trunks, and grass like a net, lunging toward the Suna squad.
"Trap!" a curved-sword shinobi shouted, spinning his blades to cut through several threads.
The puppeteer drove his puppets forward to block, but the lines were too fine and the puppets not agile enough—two puppets had their joints tangled, movements instantly sluggish.
Only Yūra didn't dodge.
With a single sweep of his puppet arm, he precisely caught every thread aimed at him—then yanked hard.
The magnet-linked sand-iron threads snapped.
Genma immediately jumped in.
"Ninja Art—Multiple Senbon Rain!"
His shout tore through the night. The senbon in his mouth multiplied in an instant, turning into hundreds of cold streaks that poured down on the Suna squad!
The special senbon shrieked through the air, blanketing a wide area and sealing most escape routes.
"Spread out!" Yūra ordered sharply, and his team fell back at once.
The puppeteer positioned three puppets as a shield. The wooden bodies took the impacts with heavy thuds as senbon embedded deep.
The curved-sword shinobi spun his blades nonstop—clanging as he knocked down every senbon headed for him.
At last, Kurenai's figure emerged from the orphanage…