In Samui's field of vision—
A family of three sat in the booth by the window, devouring plates of grilled meat stacked high like a fortress. All three were large, round-bellied men, their robes marked on the chest with the kanji for "food" (食).
Among them, one stood out.
He had wild, spiky red hair like a hedgehog and two flowing blue face markings on his cheeks. Samui immediately recognized him from the intel she had studied.
Akimichi Chōza, patriarch of the Akimichi clan.
A loyal confidant of the Third Hokage and a key figure in the Konoha Council.
Without letting her expression change, Samui retracted her gaze and motioned calmly toward the booth next to theirs.
"Curator, that seat looks fine. Let's sit there."
"Good."
Duan nodded. As they took their seats, he picked up the menu with practiced familiarity.
"Beef, tenderloin, pork skin, ham, chicken wings… squid, cuttlefish, yellow croaker… leek, eggplant, shiitake mushrooms, tofu skin… Let's start with fifty plates of each."
He rattled off his order with mechanical ease.
Duan didn't bother asking Samui what she wanted. There was no need—he'd just ordered nearly everything on the menu.
"What?" The clerk blinked, assuming he'd misheard. "Fifty servings of each item? For the two of you?"
At that moment, the store manager rushed over, bowing slightly with a professional smile.
"Apologies, Mr. Duan. This new hire doesn't know you yet. Please forgive his rudeness."
He quickly ordered the clerk to relay the order to the kitchen without delay.
Duan was a high-spending regular at Barbecue Q. His orders could equal the revenue of a packed dining room, and the manager knew better than to question him.
While waiting for the food to arrive, Duan leaned back, closing his eyes to meditate. Across from him, Samui sat quietly—but she'd turned her senses outward.
She was eavesdropping on the conversation from the next table.
"Chōji, today's your birthday. Eat up! The Akimichi grow stronger the fatter we get!" Chōza's booming voice carried over.
"Mm… Thanks, Dad!" came the muffled response of young Akimichi Chōji, just five years old, already red-cheeked and wide-eyed. He was busy wolfing down pork belly and raised an oily hand.
"Five more plates of pork belly!"
Gasps rippled through the restaurant. The diners were astonished.
Everyone in Konoha knew the Akimichi were renowned for their monstrous appetites—but witnessing it firsthand was another matter.
Soon enough, Duan's table began to fill. The waitstaff could barely keep up; they started stacking plates in towers.
Most diners grilled their own food, but customers like Duan had the option to have everything grilled and served.
He had no time for slow cooking.
"Mr. Duan, would you like to wait for the rest of the order before beginning?" the server asked, still in disbelief.
No matter how much someone could eat, a person's stomach had limits.
Even the Akimichi clan couldn't devour everything without pause.
"Just bring it."
Duan's voice was low and firm.
Then he turned to Samui. "Eat."
So they began.
Samui, composed and elegant, chewed with grace. She even made skewers look like high cuisine.
Duan, by contrast, was a beast.
He attacked the food like a hurricane, meat and drink vanishing into him with shocking speed. Within minutes, more than half the table was empty.
Then, Duan paused.
His abdomen had expanded visibly—he looked full.
But then—
A low rumbling began to echo from his stomach.
He closed his eyes again.
Duan concentrated, channeling awareness to his gut. With practiced precision, he initiated a rhythmic contraction of his internal muscles.
His stomach churned like a concrete mixer.
Years of extreme physical training had granted him total control over his physiology—not just over the 639 voluntary muscles of his body, but also the autonomic systems.
He could consciously regulate his heartbeat, adrenaline production, and gastrointestinal function, training his organs the same way he trained his body.
At this moment—
A sudden surge in gastric acid secretion, combined with wild spasms of gastrointestinal muscles, multiplied his digestive ability tenfold—perhaps even a hundredfold—beyond that of ordinary people.
An average person might take an entire afternoon to digest a full meal. Duan, however, could complete the process in minutes.
Soon enough, the swelling of Duan's abdomen flattened entirely, as if nothing had happened.
The sight stunned not only the nearby clerk, but also the Akimichi family of three seated at the adjacent booth.
Little Choji Akimichi, mid-bite, forgot about the barbecue in his hands. His eyes went wide in disbelief, and he stared without blinking.
The clerk snapped back to his senses and dared not question Duan's appetite any longer. He rushed to the back kitchen to push the staff into overdrive.
Despite multiple employees working together, drenched in sweat, they still couldn't keep pace with Duan's eating speed.
Between courses—
Duan calmly put down his chopsticks, walked to the restroom, and returned within two minutes as if nothing had happened.
He had efficiently purged his body of indigestible residues.
Meanwhile, the nutrients and energy absorbed from the feast rapidly circulated through his bloodstream, coursing through every muscle and organ, leaving his physique more refined and powerful than before.
Though he lacked affinity with the five basic chakra natures—Fire, Wind, Lightning, Earth, and Water—Duan was not without chakra. Rather, he possessed both Yin and Yang Release, undetectable by standard chakra paper.
Yin Release was inherited from the Uchiha clan's bloodline—its mental energy and illusion-based prowess rooted in the Sharingan.
Yang Release, however, came from the unique star-shaped birthmark on his body, something no one else in the clan had.
Over the past twenty years, through rigorous training and a scientific diet, Duan had strengthened his body to an unfathomable degree.
Steel sinew, iron bones, copper skin, mercury blood, frost marrow.
These weren't just hyperboles—they were literal descriptions.
His reinforced tissues rendered him immune to standard shinobi weapons like kunai, shuriken, and even minor to moderate ninjutsu techniques. Detonation tags barely left a mark.
"Hello, Uncle."
A muffled voice broke the rhythm.
It was Choji Akimichi. The chubby boy waddled over, tilted his head up curiously, and asked how Duan had managed to eat more than he had, yet still remained fit and toned.
There wasn't a single hint of fat on him.
Choji, with his round cheeks and iconic red swirls, didn't look very bright—but he was earnest. He had inherited the Akimichi clan's formidable genes and loved eating more than anything. But his obesity had always drawn ridicule from peers—some even calling him a "fat pig."
He secretly wished he could build muscles like Duan's instead of putting on fat.
Before Duan could respond—
"Forgive my son. He's a bit too forward."
Akimichi Choza stepped forward, smiling sheepishly. He gently took his son's hand and apologized for the interruption. Then, in a courteous tone, he asked Duan for his name.
"Uchiha Duan," Duan replied calmly.
Samui, sitting nearby, blinked in surprise.
In all her time with him, Duan had always introduced himself simply as "Duan." This was the first time he openly used the Uchiha name.
The curator, it seemed, was changing.
Upon hearing "Uchiha," Choza's expression subtly shifted. His initial warmth faded into caution, the desire to deepen the conversation retreating almost instantly.
"Excuse us."
He bowed slightly and led Choji back to their table. Clearly, he wanted no further dealings with someone from the Uchiha clan.
Duan was unfazed.
"Your son has potential. It'd be a shame if he never trained. If you're interested, come by my gym sometime."
Hearing this, Samui rose quickly and politely handed a business card to Choji's mother, who accepted it after a moment's hesitation. She exchanged a glance with her husband and then offered a polite nod of thanks.
Perhaps they were full—perhaps it was awkwardness—but the Akimichi family soon paid their bill and left.
With that brief encounter concluded, Duan and Samui resumed their meal.
An hour later—
"Hic~"
Samui let out an involuntary burp and quickly covered her mouth, cheeks flushed.
"Excuse me, curator... I may have overdone it a little," she murmured.
"Eat as much as you like. I'm not running a tight budget." Duan chuckled, pouring her a cup of barley tea.
From what Samui knew…
Duan's gym and daily dietary needs demanded significant expenses. Although he was born into the prominent Uchiha clan, he hadn't inherited any official assets or businesses.
Still—
Every now and then, Duan would leave Konoha and return days or weeks later, flush with money. Clearly, he had other means of income.
She had once tried to tail him, but failed.
And she knew better than to pry into what wasn't her business.
After the meal—
Duan went to the front desk, pulled out his wallet, and paid nearly 50,000 ryo. Under the bows of the manager and staff, the two left Barbecue Q.
As they walked through the streets, a chilly gust of wind blew through the late evening air.
Samui shivered involuntarily, goosebumps forming on her arms.
Duan quietly took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from the cold.
"Thank you, curator..." she whispered, cheeks tinged pink.
To most people, Duan came off as stoic and distant—a man of few words, with no interest in flattery or social charm. His aura often warned others to keep their distance.
But moments like these—his quiet, unexpected warmth—were the kinds that made women fall deeply, unconsciously.
Not good.
Samui snapped to her senses.
She had almost forgotten her role: a spy.
The warmth she usually showed Duan was part of the act—but if she let herself get pulled in too deep, she might lose control of the script.
She took a deep breath and centered herself.
After another ten minutes walking in the dusk wind, they returned to the residence.
"Curator, rest well."
In the corridor, Samui bowed respectfully and watched Duan retreat into his room.
Bang.
She slid open the door to her small room and stepped inside. Her expression changed the moment the door shut.
Gone was the soft and obedient persona—her face now carried a sharp, resolute edge.
Late at night.
Samui sat by the window, bathed in pale moonlight, organizing an intelligence scroll.
The document contained comprehensive details on Uchiha Duan—from physical specs like height, weight, and age, to family relations, chakra nature, and combat abilities.
It also included a detailed account of his annihilation of five Yuyin spies, and even a secretly taken photo of his back.
In Samui's estimation—
If a full-scale war were to erupt between Kumogakure and Konoha, Duan could grow into one of the biggest threats to the Hidden Cloud.
He had to be watched—perhaps even neutralized.
Boom.
A soft sound broke the silence as she formed a series of hand seals, summoning a gray-and-white-feathered ninja hawk.
She tied the intelligence scroll to the hawk's leg, opened the window, and let it take off into the night sky, flying northward out of the village.
Mission complete.
She closed the window and turned toward her bed.
"Still awake?"
A low voice called out from beyond the door, just as the corridor lights flickered on.
"!"
Samui's blood ran cold.
She turned slowly.
Through the translucent paper panel of the sliding door, a towering silhouette stood motionless on the other side—black and looming like a ghost.