There was also another problem.

  The anization.

  A shadow that lurked beh the surface, known only to the highest authorities across the shinobi world.

  They were unknown, unseen, operating from the depths where even the most skilled ANBU couldn't reach.

  And they had made a decration to every major and minor vilge:

  "A strong soul is an anomaly. A disruption to the bance. Kill them, bring proof, and we will reward you with Fuinjutsu of the highest order."

  Seals that could turide of war. Teiques that could cripple eions.

  All for the head of someone like Kazeo.

  Everyone dismissed it as superstition at first. An absurd notion, driven by fear.

  But over the years, whispers turned into truths. Reports of children mysteriously disappearing. Unexpined deaths in rival vilges. Shinobi eliminated before they could bloom into threats.

  And now, one of them was in Konoha.

  The other vilges wouldn't ighis.

  Sooner or ter, the whispers would reach the wrong ears.

  They would e for him.

  And if that happened…

  I couldn't allow it.

  Kazeo wasn't just a potential asset—he was a liability if left unchecked. If his mind tio develop at this rate, if he saw the vilge as an enemy, if he chose the wrong side…

  He could bee a greater threat than any outside force.

  I had to make sure that didn't happen.

  I leaned ba my chair, staring at the door he had just exited through.

  Konoha had five future S-rank shinobi—Kakashi, Might Guy, Itachi, Shisui, and now, Kazeo.

  The vilge's future depended on them.

  And this boy… he was the most dangerous of them all.

  I highly thought of him due to his carefully measured answers and deliberate attempts to aal.

  A child pying pretend.

  Or so he thought.

  I allowed myself a small, knowing smirk. He truly believed he had trolled that versation, that he had given just the right amount of truth to keep himself safe.

  Clever.

  But not clever enough.

  He had overlooked the simplest truth—children don't hesitate before answering questions like that.

  A six-year-old orphan with no clear guidance should have been desperate for approval, eager to say what he thought I wao hear. But instead, he had paused, sidered his words, and measured his tone.

  That alone made him dangerous.

  Not because of his strength.

  Not because of his soul.

  But because he was thinking.

  And one day, he might decide Konoha is not worth proteg.

  But If I ge his thoughts, We will recim our flory.

  Now, I just o ensure peace sted long enough for them to grow.

  I leaned ba my chair, already strategizing how to weakeher great vilges.

  ////////////

  Meanwhile, the boy—oblivious to how easily he had been maniputed and how highly the Hokage thought of him for carefully thinking before answering and trying to aal—happily hummed his way back to the Academy.

  Only God knows what expression Kazeo will make when he realizes how effortlessly the Hokage fooled him and how highly he regarded him.

  But ohing was certain.

  The 'kied' image of the Third Hokage wouldn't st forever.

  ////////////////

  The academy hall was buzzing when I arrived. Children were chatting in groups, some bragging about their results, others pining about their scores. A few were discussing my ued rank one position, eyes filled with skepticism or curiosity. I ighem.

  //////////

  The proctor led me through the narrow streets, the familiar buzz of the vilge eg in the distance. With each step, the reality of my new life settled in. No more shared beds, no more crowded meals with noisy kids arguing over who gets the st piece of bread. From now on, it was just me.

  We stopped in front of a small apartment plex, its walls slightly worn from age but still standing strong. The proctor pushed open the wooden door, leading me inside.

  The moment I stepped in, my eyes swept across the tiny living space—just one room, pact but funal. A single bed, just big enough for a twelve-year-old. A small wooden table with a chair beside it. An almirah pushed against the er, its paint slightly chipped.

  The kit was no bigger than a closet, but it had everything—an old gas stove, a fridge humming softly, a rice cooker sitting atop the ter. A few basic utensils lihe shelves, along with ly stacked ptes and cups.

  I noticed a small basket he sink filled with toiletries—soap, toothbrush, toothpaste. A folded towel rested on the tertop, and a fresh set of clothes ced on the bed. Someone had prepared all this beforehand.

  It wasn't luxurious, but it was… home. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

  The proctor cleared his throat, snappi of my thoughts. "You start living here from tomorrow. Spend tonight at the orphanage—say yoodbyes." His voice was firm but not unkind. "Your css teacher will e by in the m with your stipend and food supply for the month."

  I nodded slowly, my firailing over the rough wooden surface of the table. "Thank you," I muttered, my voice quieter than usual.

  The prave a small nod before stepping back, the door creaking shut behind him.

  Silence.

  I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the empty walls, the vat space around me. A home meant to be filled with warmth and memories. Yet right now, it felt nothing more than a shelter—a pce to exist, not to belong.

  I exhaled, shaking off the creepiiness before heading back to the orphanage.

  Tonight, I wasn't alo. But tomorrow… tomorrow, everything would be different.

  A part of me felt… uneasy. Not because the room was bad—it was more than enough for a single person—but because it was the first real sign that I was stepping away from the orphanage.

  Away from them.

  //////////

  Ihe Orphanage -

  The orphanage buzzed with life, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow filling the air. Ten of us had passed, and that was cause for celebration. Laughter rang out, but so did sniffles—some kids rejoiced, grinnio ear, while others sulked in the ers, fists ched as they swore they'd pass ime.

  My two roommates, Haruto and Shizuka, were among the ones who passed. They had trained harder than most, their minds unsciously influenced by watg me push myself every day. I had never directly taught them anything, but sometimes, just witnessing someoruggle toward a goal was enough to ignite a fire in others.

  "Oi, Kazeo!" Haruto called out, grinning as he held up a wooden toy kunai. "Bet I'll surpass you by the time we graduate!"

  Shizuka scoffed, elbowing him. "You? Surpass Kazeo? Dream on. He'll probably be a in before you even throroper kunai."

  I chuckled, shaking my head. "Keep training, both of you. Maybe one day, I'll actually have tainst you."

  Their ughter rang out, but there was an underlying nervousness. A realization that everything was about to ge.

  Grandma—the elderly caretaker who had looked after us for years—stood nearby, watg over the children like a mother hen. Her warm smile held a tinge of sadness, as if she roud yet relut to let us go.

  "You've all grown so much," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "But you must remember, this is just the beginning. A shinobi's life is not easy. You'll live alone, you'll fight, and one day… you may not return."

  Silence.

  Even the most excited among us stilled. The weight of her words settled over the room like a heavy b.

  "But—" her voice softened, eyes brimming with warmth, "—no matter what happens, this will always be your home. If the world bees too cruel, if the loneliness bees unbearable… e back. You'll always have a pce here."

  Some of the younger kids sniffled, clutg at her robe. The ones who passed looked down, some wiping their eyes, others nodding with newfouermination.

  One of the smaller kids, a boy no older than five, tugged at my sleeve. "K-Kazeo-nii, will you still py with us sometimes?"

  I felt something in my chest tighten. I crouched down, ruffling his hair. "Of course. I'll e visit when I have time. Just don't sck off, alright?"

  He nodded furiously, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

  That night, we packed whatever little belongings we had. I didn't own much—just a few old clothes, a worn-out b, and some wooden kunai . The room, which had once felt cramped with three people, suddenly felt too empty.

  For the first time in years, I let myself truly rest. No training, no overthinking—just the quiet hum of the orphanage lullio sleep.

  Tomorrow, everything would ge.

  Tomorrow, I would truly be alone.