Chapter 209 – A Request, A Demand
After dropping Kakashi into a Genjutsu, Uchiha Kei's Mangekyō spun to life once more.
He layered a second illusion over Kakashi's mind.
Kei hadn't spent much time studying Genjutsu recently, but that didn't mean his skill had dulled. On the contrary—his illusions were sharp, efficient, and practical. Most were battlefield tools: simple, fast, and not designed to last long.
But Kei also possessed something rarer—Genjutsu that could drag the target face-to-face with their truest self, illusions designed not only to bind but to reveal.
The one he cast on Kakashi now was a new variation, his own refinement. Kei had originally developed it for Uchiha clansmen he judged "worthy," to awaken their eyes. Using it on Kakashi was an experiment—perhaps it might help him, too.
"I hope this doesn't break him…" Kei murmured, watching Kakashi standing motionless, head bowed, trapped in the illusion.
With a sigh, Kei sheathed his lightning-blue blade and turned toward the orphanage. Kakashi would wake when he woke—there was no point in waiting idly. Kei had another task here: to find someone suitable.
It didn't take long before he reached the gates of the Konoha Orphanage. Children played outside, laughter ringing in the air.
But when they spotted him, the sound died.
Kei saw it in their eyes immediately—wariness, suspicion, fear.
Clearly, they had been disturbed too many times.
Families and factions alike often plucked orphans for training, especially for Danzo's Root. Children who left with masked strangers rarely came back. The survivors had learned: strangers meant danger.
And Kei himself… well, he wasn't helping.
Though only thirteen or fourteen in appearance, he carried too much battlefield weight. Years of killing clung to him like a shroud. Even standing still, he radiated something sharp, suffocating, wrong.
Veteran shinobi could tolerate it. Subordinates respected it. But children? Children felt it more keenly than anyone.
"Excuse me, shinobi-sama!"
A middle-aged woman hurried out of the orphanage, wiping her soapy hands on her apron. She planted herself between Kei and the children, shielding them instinctively.
Her form was soft, untrained—clearly not a kunoichi. Likely she had been scrubbing clothes just moments ago. But she stood firm, simple and honest in her protectiveness.
Kei inclined his head politely. "My name is Uchiha Kei. Forgive the intrusion."
He could have invoked his rank and made them obey, but he had already resolved that if the Uchiha were to integrate into Konoha, he would lead by example. Even if he had to pretend, he would wear civility like armor.
But the moment he said "Uchiha," the woman stiffened. Fear flickered across her face, and she instinctively stepped back.
A heartbeat later, she realized her rudeness and steadied herself. Bowing slightly, she said, "Forgive me, Uchiha-sama. My name is Yuzuki Kyōko, and I am the head of this orphanage."
Kei nodded. "I see. I thought Yakushi Nonō was the head here."
He knew the truth of where she had gone, of course, but asked deliberately. In Konoha's records—even in the Police Force's files—Nonō was remembered as the "Walking Shrine Maiden." Once respected, she had chosen the wrong path, and one mistake had dragged her down a road she could never escape.
Kyōko's smile turned bitter. "I'm sorry. Nonō-san no longer serves here. I've taken her place."
"I understand." Kei's eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me—why do the children look at me like that? Have people been troubling you often?"
Kyōko hesitated, then forced a small smile. "Not exactly. Just… well…" She trailed off, words caught in her throat.
Kei didn't press. Not everyone could speak openly about Konoha's darker practices, especially civilians.
But he understood well enough. She knew why masked shinobi came for the children. She knew what "Root" meant. And she knew those taken would never return.
Her silence was heavy with grief.
"I see," Kei said softly. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have stirred old wounds."
"It's fine. We're used to it." Kyōko's voice was calm, but there was resignation in it—a bitter acceptance.
"These children… they have no parents, no home but Konoha. If some of them must serve the village in dangerous ways for the rest to survive here… then that is simply the choice we must accept."
Her tone was steady, but Kei heard the sorrow beneath.
And she was right. That was the truth of it.
The village—no, Hiruzen and Danzo—would never waste resources raising orphans for free. They demanded a price. These "rootless strays" would have to bleed, to vanish into shadows, so that others like them could keep living.
Konoha could have afforded to provide for them. The village's coffers weren't so empty.
But instead, it demanded payment in lives.
Payment in children.
The children of the orphanage never really had a choice. Either obey quietly or face the slow approach of death.
"Forgive me," Uchiha Kei murmured once more, before sighing. "Ms. Kyōko, I'm afraid my visit today will disappoint you. I, too, intend to take one of them away."
"…I see." Kyōko's tone cooled, her expression unreadable.
"And what exactly does Uchiha-dono plan to do with this child? Train them as an assassin? Or as a disposable pawn to die for you?"
Her words were sharp, even cruel, but Kei couldn't deny the truth in them. Many clans did exactly that—plucking orphans from places like this, molding them into killers who knew nothing but loyalty, or into expendable guards who would die without hesitation.
It wasn't rare. In the eyes of the great clans, their own kin were precious. These orphans, however, were cheap. Feed them, teach them enough to be useful, and their lives were already bought and paid for.
Kei had never witnessed his own clan do this, but he couldn't swear it had never happened. Sympathy aside, he knew this unspoken rule ran too deep to be erased. Every world had its silent laws. For orphans, survival was never easy, especially in a world always on the brink of war.
War bred orphans. And orphans who wished to live had no choice but to cling to others' mercy. Some found a decent path. Others fell into misfortune. For them, dreaming of living like an ordinary person was the most extravagant dream of all.
"I have no need to deceive you," Kei said at last. "When you go to the village to purchase supplies, you may ask around about the name Uchiha Kei."
He exhaled and continued, voice firm. "Assassins? I don't need them. I already command over a hundred shinobi. As for disposable pawns? I've fought on the battlefield for seven years. Most so-called pawns couldn't kill as cleanly as I do."
"Then what do you want with these children?" Kyōko frowned, her lips twisting into a faint, mocking smile. "Will you spend your wealth to educate them, turn them into 'useful people' to serve Konoha?"
"No. They will serve me. And I only need one." Kei's eyes swept over the children behind her before settling back on Kyōko. "As for the purpose… don't ask. It will bring you nothing but trouble. All you need to know is this: I require a child who is intelligent, and obedient."
"Another shameful secret, then?" Kyōko shook her head bitterly. "You shinobi always stand above us. And yes, we cannot resist. We don't even have the right to resist.
But… I have one request. Just one."
Her voice trembled despite her attempt at composure. Kei could see the sorrow in her eyes, the resignation of someone powerless. She was no Yakushi Nonō—she lacked both the influence and the strength to fight. And even Nonō had submitted, though to Danzō, the most insidious core of Konoha's power.
"…Speak," Kei said quietly after a pause.
"Treat the child as a person," Kyōko whispered, her eyes wet. "Not as your slave, not as your tool. That is my only request. My only one."
Kei was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "You have my word. They will not be my tool or slave. They will live as a person—a person free to return here to visit you.
But I have a demand of my own: the one I take must be the best."