Kaede stood outside the building with Shinku and the two girls, the afternoon sunlight casting a soft glow over the village rooftops. Her breath came in shallow waves, but despite her frail body, she looked strangely peaceful. Her pale face caught the light, and for a brief moment, she looked like someone finally at ease with her choices.
"I guess he'll be safe from those dogs," she muttered under her breath, her voice low enough that only the wind might have heard her.
Shinku, however, caught the faint words. He turned slightly, his expression unreadable. His mind was still reeling from what had just happened inside the Hokage's office. The Third Hokage had outright rejected his proposal to take in the boy. It had been years since Shinku felt this powerless — and angry. He had expected Kaede to be furious as well, to protest or argue, but she hadn't even flinched. It was as if she had predicted this outcome long before stepping foot in that room.
"Why didn't you demand that he stay with you?" Shinku finally asked, unable to contain the frustration in his tone.
Kaede turned to him with that same calm smile she always wore when others lost their patience. "Why?" she repeated softly. "It's simple — he has to learn to live on his own, without depending on me. Like you said, he needs to meet new people."
Shinku blinked, taken aback. For a moment, he just stared at her before realizing she had thrown his own words back at him. "You…" he pointed a finger at her, half in disbelief, half in irritation.
She merely chuckled, the sound quiet and tired.
Shinku sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. The two young kunoichi — Kurenai and Anko — exchanged glances behind them. Neither wanted to interrupt, but their curiosity was obvious.
"Fine," Shinku said, clearing his throat as if to regain authority. "Kaede, what kind of training did you give that boy to make him that strong at his age? You and I both know normal children can't do what he did."
Kaede stopped walking and tilted her head slightly to the side, her long dark hair shifting in the breeze. "Would you believe me if I told you," she said slowly, "that I haven't trained him since the day he woke up from his coma?"
The group came to a sudden halt. Shinku's eyes widened; even Kurenai and Anko froze. For a few seconds, the world seemed silent — only the rustle of the leaves filled the pause.
"What?!" Shinku's voice broke the silence. "You expect me to believe that lie?"
Kaede didn't answer. Instead, she started walking again, her sandals scraping softly against the stone path. Her steps were measured, unhurried.
People nearby turned to stare at them, startled by Shinku's loud outburst. Kaede didn't seem to care, but Shinku quickly realized his mistake.
"Sorry," he muttered, bowing slightly to the passersby before catching up to her.
He moved to her side again, lowering his voice this time. "Kaede, be serious. Even a genin couldn't perform half of what that boy did — not to mention a five-year-old who hasn't even mastered chakra control. You can't honestly expect people to believe he did all that without training."
Kaede didn't immediately reply. Her eyes softened as she looked ahead, her thoughts distant. For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt uncharacteristically patient with him today. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion, or maybe she just didn't have the strength to argue.
"Listen, old man," she said finally, her tone gentle but firm. "If you believe me, good. If you don't, that's your problem. I've said my piece."
Shinku frowned. "You think I would believe something like that if someone told me?"
Kaede turned her head slightly, her gaze steady. "Honestly? No. I wouldn't believe it either."
"Then why—"
She cut him off. "Because I had to hold a blade to his neck before he told me anything about his kekkei genkai."
That sentence froze everyone again. Even Anko, who was usually brash and outspoken, fell silent.
Kaede's expression didn't waver. "He's just like his father — keeping secrets until you push him to the edge. You could threaten him with death, and he'd still smile like it doesn't matter. But when he finally speaks… you realize he was never lying. Just protecting something."
Shinku's brows furrowed as memories flickered through his mind. He had been Kenji's teacher once, long before tragedy swallowed the clan. Kaede was right. Kenji had always been impossible to read stubborn, cunning, and secretive. You had to beat him into a corner before he'd reveal anything important.
"So," Shinku said carefully, "how did you make the boy tell you the truth? Because I can't imagine him giving up that kind of secret easily."
Kaede stopped walking again. She turned to Kurenai this time and stepped close enough that their eyes met. The younger woman stiffened slightly, feeling the intensity behind Kaede's calm gaze.
"You just have to make him promise," Kaede said softly. "That's all."
Kurenai frowned. "Just a promise? That sounds… too simple."
Shinku scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You can't expect something like that to work on him."
Kaede smiled faintly. "Don't put your hopes too high. He'll probably just walk away if you try to force it. But…" She glanced at Kurenai again, then at Anko. "If your daughter can defeat him — truly defeat him — and make a deal with him, then you'll get your answers."