Kiyohara was looking at them, and they were looking at Kiyohara in turn.
Uzuki Yugao wore a cat-like mask, peering at him through the eyeholes. Counting it up, this was their third formal meeting.
"Now?" Kiyohara asked.
He'd assumed they would just send an order and have them return later. No wonder it had been delayed for several days—Anbu had come to escort them in person.
With that thought, Kiyohara glanced at Nohara Rin.
This level of treatment was probably because of her. The Three-Tails inside her was classified, and everyone involved had been ordered to keep quiet.
Just like Kushina's existence—only a tiny number of people knew she was Konoha's Nine-Tails jinchūriki. Most only knew she was an Uzumaki orphan who kept a low profile.
"We leave in an hour," the tall Anbu captain said, giving Kiyohara and the others time to pack.
"No problem," Kiyohara said, then looked to Kurenai and Rin.
Both of them quickly said they were fine as well.
So it was set: one hour.
The tall Anbu captain waited at the camp gate with Gekkō Hayate and Uzuki Yugao for Kiyohara and the others to come out.
After notifying Genma and Kakashi, Kiyohara went back to pack.
He slung on a heavy backpack.
Thankfully, his chakra reserves were larger now, and his physical endurance had improved too.
Chakra was a blend of spiritual energy and bodily energy. People with a lot of chakra usually weren't lacking in stamina or blunt-force resistance either.
Like the exhausted Sasuke at the Valley of the End—even in a breakdown, he could hammer a wall hard enough to dent it deeply.
That same punch landing on Naruto would leave bruises, maybe—on a normal person it would've splattered brains.
Shinobi were still vulnerable to blades, though. Even an ordinary kunai could pierce them.
"Should've brought more sealing scrolls," Kiyohara thought.
He was carrying a lot of supplies looted from Mist shinobi. His sealing scrolls were already packed full, so the rest had to go in the physical backpack.
There wasn't a nearby transit town where he could offload things, so he had no choice but to haul it all out.
At least it wouldn't slow him down much.
When he reached the gate, Kiyohara was actually early this time.
The last one to arrive was Kakashi.
He said he'd dreamed about Obito last night.
Kiyohara guessed it wasn't really a "dream," but resonance between Kakashi's Sharingan and Obito's.
He didn't know the exact mechanism.
Obito had awakened the Mangekyō, and Kakashi's Sharingan had followed into a Mangekyō as well—but likely due to insufficient chakra, it had regressed back down to a three-tomoe Sharingan.
Kakashi himself didn't know that yet.
…
Konoha—Root.
"Danzō-sama, we've confirmed it. Kiyohara is on his way back to the village."
A Root operative presented the report to Shimura Danzō.
Even though Root's formal personnel numbered only seventeen, Danzō relied on a vast network of unofficial auxiliaries to run his intelligence web.
Otherwise, seventeen people would never be enough to cover up all those experiments he conducted with Orochimaru.
"This brat… the blood in him is the blood of innate evil…"
Danzō narrowed his eye.
At first, he'd wanted to pull Kiyohara to his side.
The more he heard of Kiyohara's outstanding performance, the more eager he became—thirsting for talent, eager to shape that "blank slate," draw out his inner darkness, and turn him into a subordinate.
Who knew the kid would flip the script and turn out to be a "black slate" by nature?
"No… whether this brat will truly stand with the Uchiha is still uncertain…"
Danzō stroked his chin.
He hated the Uchiha, but he wouldn't mind having one more Uchiha as a subordinate.
On the contrary—someone with a bloodline limit like that was exactly what he lacked.
His most useful men were still from the Aburame and Yamanaka clans.
With Root's brainwashing, and a curse mark stamped into them, there was no reason Kiyohara couldn't be made useful too.
"Send my Yamanaka subordinate to—"
Danzō had an idea.
Now was the best window. Once Kiyohara was firmly drawn in by Hiruzen—or approached by the Uchiha—making a move would become harder.
…
Several days later.
Konoha's main gate.
Morning sunlight poured over the towering walls as Kiyohara's group passed through the heavy gates under Anbu escort.
The whole trip had been quiet.
The Anbu didn't talk. Kiyohara and the others kept silent too.
Kurenai occasionally stole glances at Kiyohara, clearly itching to get back and train with him.
Whenever she was around him, time always seemed to fly.
Rin kept her head lowered, hands unconsciously clenched.
The Three-Tails inside her was temporarily suppressed, but she could still feel that alien chakra—like a time bomb lodged in her chest.
Once inside the village, the Anbu split into two teams.
"Nohara Rin, come with us. The Hokage has arranged for you to see Kushina-sama directly," the tall Anbu captain said.
His voice sounded muffled through the mask.
Rin looked at Kiyohara and Kurenai, unease flashing in her eyes.
"Go," Kiyohara nodded to her. "Kushina-sama's sealing techniques are powerful. You'll be fine."
Kushina wasn't difficult to deal with. If she intervened, Rin's situation should stabilize.
And the Three-Tails wasn't like the Nine-Tails—containing it required less sealing force.
Rin bit her lip, glanced at Kiyohara once more, unconsciously touching her bracelet, then followed the two Anbu away.
The remaining two—Uzuki Yugao and Gekkō Hayate—escorted Kiyohara and the others toward the Hokage Tower.
"This way," Yugao said.
She was about half a head shorter than Kiyohara, slim, but her posture was straight—sharp, efficient, unmistakably Anbu.
Hayate followed quietly at her side, coughing lightly now and then.
The Hokage Tower sat at the village center. They crossed long corridors, climbed stairs, and finally stopped at a wooden door.
"The Hokage is inside, waiting," Yugao said, opening the door and signaling Kiyohara to enter.
Kiyohara stepped inside.
The Hokage's office was spacious and bright. Through the tall window, he could see much of Konoha.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind the wide desk, pipe in hand, lifting his gaze to Kiyohara.
"Hokage-sama," Kiyohara greeted.
"Sit." Hiruzen pointed to the chair opposite.
He set down the pipe and studied the boy carefully.
Kiyohara had gotten slightly taller over the past months; his shoulders were broader. His face still carried a trace of youthful softness, but his eyes were far steadier than they had any right to be.
More importantly, Hiruzen could feel it—Kiyohara's chakra was thicker than even the reports suggested.
"I've reviewed the Land of Grass border incident in detail," Hiruzen said slowly. "You did well. You protected your comrades and disrupted the Mist's scheme. Very well done."
He offered some reassurance, arranged follow-up procedures, and granted them several days' leave before dismissing everyone.
In the end, only Kiyohara was kept behind.
Kiyohara knew what was coming: questions about the Sharingan.
Hiruzen looked at him—this young shinobi.
Typically, Uchiha awakened the Sharingan from the agony of nearly losing a comrade.
In Kiyohara's case, it was probably Rin.
That was plausible. To many shinobi, tailed beasts were mysterious—something they understood only vaguely.
Hiruzen assumed Kiyohara had mistaken Rin for some kind of "monster," panicked, and awakened his eyes.
"Kiyohara," Hiruzen exhaled a plume of smoke, "you contributed the most. You're the one most deserving of commendation."
The office gradually filled with secondhand smoke.
"Hokage-sama, I'm just doing what I can," Kiyohara replied. "I believe everyone's desire to protect their comrades is the same."
He continued, voice steady:
"I still remember when you came to the Academy and gave that speech. The 'precious thing' you spoke of—I understand it now. That 'precious thing' is protecting the comrades of the village. Wherever Konoha's leaves dance, the fire will live on."
Hiruzen did visit the Academy from time to time—partly to see new talent, partly to remind the next generation whose light they lived under.
A flicker of approval crossed his eyes.
He hadn't expected Kiyohara to grasp the Will of Fire so deeply.
Even Asuma—Hiruzen's own son—might not have been able to say it that clearly. That rebellious boy still didn't really understand what it meant to be a shinobi, or what the Will of Fire truly was.
If Asuma had even half of Kiyohara's insight, Hiruzen would be able to breathe easier as a father.
"Well said, Kiyohara."
Hiruzen stood, pulled out a scroll from his drawer, walked over, patted Kiyohara's shoulder, and placed the scroll in his hands.
"As a reward for your outstanding performance—take this. A B-rank Lightning Release technique: Lightning Release: Thunder Roar. It's powerful, and difficult to learn, but with your talent, you should master it."
Kiyohara accepted the scroll. A yellow "雷" was marked on it.
He remembered this was one of Hiruzen's signature techniques. Though classified as B-rank, it was close to A-rank in practice.
Unlike most Lightning Release techniques that ran along the arm's chakra pathways, this one was released from the mouth—like Fire Release—spitting out a bolt of lightning.
"Thank you, Hokage-sama," Kiyohara smiled.
The Hokage was pleased by his "Will of Fire."
Kiyohara was pleased by his reward.
Everyone had a bright future.
"Go get some rest," Hiruzen said. "And don't slack on training. Konoha's future needs young people like you."
Kiyohara bowed and left.
The moment the door closed, the smile on Hiruzen's face slowly faded.
Environment truly shaped people.
Kiyohara, who had never been raised within the Uchiha clan, had instead been steeped completely in Konoha's orthodox Will of Fire.
His parents had died for Konoha too—civilian-hero shinobi. A boy raised in that environment was unlikely to develop the Uchiha's trademark arrogance and obsession.
Hiruzen lit fresh tobacco in his pipe and drew in a long breath.
…
When Kiyohara left the Hokage Tower, it was already evening.
He walked down the main road toward home, the Lightning Release: Thunder Roar scroll in hand.
There weren't many pedestrians.
His home was in a quieter, more remote part of the village, so the farther he went, the emptier the streets became.
Street lamps flickered on, casting dim halos—night was arriving.
As he turned a corner, four figures blocked his path.
"You're Kiyohara, right? Danzō-sama requests your presence," said the one who spoke.
He wore a tight combat suit and a mask marked with a simple monkey pattern.
His voice was icy, emotionless.
Kiyohara's brows tightened.
He took in the other three: masks marked snake, ox, and horse.
Danzō's people?
Because this area was remote, they had likely confirmed there were no bystanders—maybe even set a barrier to keep anyone from noticing.
"I don't know who this 'Danzō' is," Kiyohara said, feigning ignorance.
In truth, Anbu was already classified; Root was classified within classified.
Some shinobi didn't even know Root existed.
And as Root's leader, Shimura Danzō was like a root itself—buried deep, unseen.
"Hmph. It's normal you wouldn't know Danzō-sama," said the snake-masked one.
"Danzō-sama is part of Konoha's upper leadership. We belong to a major subdivision under Anbu," said the horse-masked operative.
"Shimura Danzō-sama requests your presence," the ox-masked one repeated, flat and mechanical.
"If he wants me," Kiyohara said coldly, "bring an official order from the Hokage. Otherwise I'll treat this as espionage."
Was he supposed to stroll into Danzō's hands and let them brand him under the tongue?
How was that any different from being stamped with a cursed mark?
Danzō was the kind of man who would seize Shisui's Mangekyō on the spot—without caring what the Uchiha would do, or what consequences would follow.
He was used to acting first and justifying later.
Kiyohara wasn't about to test that risk.
"You dare call Danzō-sama a spy?" the horse-masked operative's voice rose with anger.
Root members revered Danzō almost like a god.
Hearing him slandered sparked fury.
But the emotion came and went quickly. Root training—"erase the self"—left them blunt, detached.
What remained was absolute obedience.
"Danzō-sama's order must be carried out immediately."
The horse-masked operative stepped forward and reached for Kiyohara's shoulder.
Kiyohara slipped aside.
"I said it already. Without the Hokage's order, you're acting like spies."
He began refining chakra silently—ready to strike at any moment.
He didn't fear these four.
They were nothing but masked rats.
And Danzō wouldn't dare cause a huge commotion inside the village.
Just like Root itself, he preferred the dark.
"Then you don't get a choice."
All four Root operatives moved at once.
Their coordination was flawless—two sealed off his escape routes, one attacked head-on, and the last rapidly formed hand signs.
Mind Body Switch Technique!
A Yamanaka clan secret art—an intrusion into the enemy's mind.
Kiyohara's Sharingan snapped open.
In the crimson view, everything slowed.
He saw the Yamanaka operative's chakra flow. He saw the build-up at the hands.
In the next instant, Kiyohara vanished.
The Yamanaka technique was terrifying, sure—but if it didn't hit, it meant nothing.
With the Sharingan's dynamic vision boosting his timing, Kiyohara could stack more repulsive force beneath his feet, pushing his acceleration higher.
Whoosh!
The horse-masked operative's technique slammed into his own teammate.
They hadn't expected Kiyohara's speed to be this absurd.
As the Yamanaka operative tried to adjust and re-aim at Kiyohara, Kiyohara's hand dropped over the man's head like a shadow.
"I gave you a chance," Kiyohara said quietly, "and you still couldn't use it."
Boom!
One palm strike at point-blank range—air popped with a crisp crack.
The horse-masked operative's head didn't explode or fly off.
It was driven down from the neck—forced into the chest cavity.
Kiyohara had even avoided the vital spots, leaving a sliver of life.
Whether the man ended up a vegetable or permanently paralyzed afterward—that was his problem.
For anyone who dared move against him, Kiyohara didn't hold back.
"Impudent!"
The remaining three—ox, snake, monkey—had their thin emotions churn.
Kiyohara was outrageous.
Even when targets didn't know Danzō, they usually complied.
No one simply resisted outright and crushed a Root man with a single palm.
This was contempt for Root.
Contempt for the Danzō they worshipped.
"Secret art—" the ox-masked operative began, preparing another technique.
Kiyohara was already gone again.
He drew his ninja blade.
Shing!
Chakra flowed along the blade, the enchantment taking the form of a sharp, howling wind current—semi-transparent, whistling, hard to track.
Wind Release paired with swordsmanship more often than anything—more even than Lightning Release.
Kiyohara's Wind Release mastery was no joke now.
The ox-masked operative completed only the first hand sign before both hands were severed—still locked in the hand-seal posture as they spun through the air.
Slash!
Blood sprayed.
The remaining two operatives finally completed their seals.
"Damn it—this brat's too fast. Coordinate with me—use wide-area jutsu!" the snake-masked one barked to his partner.
He knew this type.
He and the monkey-masked operative couldn't catch Kiyohara in a straight pursuit.
Against speed-types, the best answer was fire suppression—blanket the space so they can't close in.
"Got it!"
At the critical moment, the monkey-masked operative chose the same approach.
"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"
In an instant, a fierce gale blasted out from the snake-masked operative's mouth.
Because the chakra was shaped from the gaps around the mask into the oral cavity, his mask stayed in place even as the storm roared out.