The Konoha envoys departed at dawn.
A few Grass Village shinobi shadowed them at a distance, as protocol dictated—far enough to observe, close enough to reassure themselves. Only when the figures of Roshi and his team disappeared beyond the rolling plains did the escorts finally turn back.
Everyone in Grass knew what kind of man they'd just seen off. Roshi was a Konoha Jōnin—one of those the smaller nations privately considered a different breed entirely. Leaf Jōnin were molded in competition, sharpened by countless missions and elite clans. They were the standard others measured themselves against.
So the Grass shinobi, wary yet respectful, had followed only long enough to appear diligent. To trail him any farther would risk being noticed—and that, none of them dared.
Once news of Konoha's departure reached the higher-ups, Grass Village waited a cautious half-day longer. Only after confirming the air was clear of foreign chakra signatures did the real operation begin.
Orders were issued in secret, and squads began to mobilize. Teams of shinobi moved through the streets in waves—fast, efficient, and unhesitant. By the time the sun began to set, Grass Village was bleeding people into the wilderness, all carrying out the same purpose.
From a quiet, weathered house on the outskirts, two figures watched the movements through a narrow window.
Uzumaki Rina's skin was so pale it almost blended with the moonlight. She leaned weakly against the frame, her breath shallow. Though she tried to keep her voice calm, her eyes reflected a growing emptiness.
She knew what such mass deployment meant.
Soon, there would be more casualties. More blood. More broken bodies dragged back through the gates.
And she—she would be made to heal them.
Again.
The thought alone sent a cold shiver through her.
Her gaze fell to the corner of the room, where a small red-haired girl sat curled up tightly, hugging her knees. Karin's thin shoulders trembled, but she made no sound.
If I can't endure this time… what happens to her?
Rina closed her eyes, her heart twisting. She already knew the answer. If she died, Karin would take her place. The "medicine" of Grass Village.
Escape?
Her daughter's pleading voice still echoed faintly in her memory—soft, desperate, full of impossible hope.
But escape was suicide. The village was surrounded by its own ninja. No one ever got out.
At least, staying meant food, shelter, and a fragile sort of mercy. The guards never struck them. They only used them. If she could survive a little longer—just a little longer—Karin might grow stronger, might awaken her potential as a ninja, might… someday, escape this nightmare.
Not yet… I can't give up yet.
Rina clenched her fists, forcing down the rising despair. Her frail body trembled as she stepped toward Karin and knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around the small, shaking frame.
"It's alright, Karin," she whispered. "Nothing will happen. Mama's here. Mama will protect you."
Karin buried her face in her mother's chest, mumbling something too quiet to hear. In her tiny hand, she still clutched the small wooden tag—the one left by that strange Grass ninja with the calm eyes and the voice that sounded like it carried no lies.
If you want to leave, then survive.
This is only a chance. Hide it well… and stay alive.
The words replayed in her head, crisp as if spoken moments ago.
Slowly, Karin slipped from her mother's embrace and crept toward the window. Peeking through the cracks, she watched the Grass ninja moving in formation, their flak jackets brushing against the walls as they passed.
Her senses, already sharp for her age, reached out instinctively—searching.
No trace of that man's chakra. No familiar presence. Just the stale, oppressive chakra of the Village.
Her heart sank for a moment. Maybe it really had been a dream—born of longing and exhaustion.
Then her fingers brushed the wooden charm in her palm. Its texture was solid. Real.
Not a dream.
Hope existed. Faint, fragile, but real.
She only had to wait.
Far beyond the outskirts, perched on a branch high above the treetops, Roshi watched silently as another squad of Grass shinobi vanished into the distance. The wind stirred his hair, but his gaze remained still.
Five teams. All within an hour.
They were moving faster now—too fast. Grass Village was rushing to complete something, and they didn't want witnesses.
Time to move.
With a flicker of chakra, he activated the Flying Thunder God mark he'd left inside the Grass Village inn.
In the blink of an eye, the forest vanished around him.
He reappeared deep within Grass Village.
The place felt hollow. Streets that had been guarded before were nearly empty. Patrols were thinner, and their movements were mechanical—those left behind were only keeping up appearances.
Perfect.
Roshi formed a quick seal, his chakra twisting into another layer of disguise. His features blurred, reshaping into the plain, forgettable face of a middle-aged Grass ninja.
He moved through narrow alleys, retracing his path from before—toward the council hall where he'd once met Hayami.
This time, the building wasn't empty.
From the shadows behind a pillar, Roshi saw two figures at the entrance, speaking in low, urgent tones.
One was Hayami—the same courteous Jonin who'd greeted Konoha's delegation days ago.
The other was an older man, thin and sharp-eyed, dressed in the dark robes of a senior elder.
Their conversation was hushed, but Roshi could make out fragments between the pauses.
He leaned closer, every sense sharpened.
"The progress of the reserves must be accelerated. We can't afford to waste time," the old man ordered coldly, his voice echoing through the dim corridor.
"Yes, Elder. We've already dispatched more capture squads, but…" Hayami hesitated. "Bringing them in alive takes far longer than killing them. The time and manpower—"
"That is no excuse!" the Elder snapped, cutting him off. His frail body trembled with fury, yet his voice was sharp enough to pierce stone. "For the future of this Village, this mission must be completed. At all costs."
Hayami bowed low, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. "Understood, Elder."
After a brief pause, he added, "However… regarding the woman we're using—her condition has deteriorated significantly."
The Elder frowned. "What?"
"The recent missions have increased casualties. Her chakra consumption is too high—her recovery rate can't keep up."
"Idiot!" the Elder's cane struck the floor with a loud crack. "We're about to capture a powerful target. This is not the time for that woman to collapse!"
His expression twisted with irritation. "Issue new orders—ordinary wounded are forbidden from using her treatment from now on."
"Yes, Elder."
"Provide her with the best food, the best herbs, whatever she needs. She must recover quickly. Her quality cannot be allowed to decline now—do you understand me?"
Hayami lowered his head again. "Yes, Elder. I'll make the arrangements immediately."
"And another thing," the Elder continued, his tone softening only slightly. "The child. Begin her basic shinobi training at once. She may still prove useful if cultivated properly. Don't let her grow up as weak as her mother."
"Yes, Elder."
The two men turned and walked deeper into the building, their voices fading into the echoing hallways until only silence remained.
From the shadows behind a nearby pillar, Roshi watched their retreating forms, his expression unreadable.
So… they're running out of time. And they're still using the Uzumaki as living chakra conduits.
He didn't move to follow. Going deeper would only risk exposure—and he needed to strike at the right moment. Not yet.
Not until he knew everything.
Meanwhile, far from the Village, on the storm-lashed border between the Land of Grass and the Land of Fire—
A fierce battle had reached its final, ragged breaths.
The air was thick with dust and the smell of scorched earth.
Kazuma, once a proud Guardian Ninja of the Fire Daimyō, now crouched low, his body bleeding from a dozen gashes. Every breath rattled in his chest as he shielded the trembling boy behind him.
"Sora… stay back," he rasped.
They had been running for days. The Daimyō's bounty was high enough to make him a target for everyone—bounty hunters, missing-nin, even Grass's own shinobi.
He'd once dreamed of revolution, of tearing down Konoha's corruption and building a new world for the powerless. But now, all he had left was his son—and the ember of power sealed within him.
If I can get us west… to the rogue territories near the Land of Earth… we can rebuild. Train. Wait for the right time.
But fate had already closed its jaws around him.
"Give it up, traitor Kazuma!"
A cold voice rang out over the battlefield.
From across the clearing, Tsutakawa—the leader of Grass Village—stood flanked by several elite squads, his presence radiating authority and greed.
"Your crimes will be judged by Grass Village," Tsutakawa said with a chilling smile. "You'll be sealed away in Hozuki Castle—where you belong."
Kazuma laughed bitterly, spitting blood onto the cracked ground. "Hozuki Castle? Do you think I don't know what happens to those who end up there?"
He could feel his strength fading, his vision blurring. Still, he tightened his grip on his blade.
If I die, they'll take Sora. And once Konoha learns the truth about him…
The thought made his blood run cold.
He turned slightly, glancing back at his son—his last hope, his last weapon.
There was no retreat. Not anymore.
Forgive me, Sora.
His hand shot out, pressing against the boy's abdomen in a desperate seal formation.
A shockwave of crimson light exploded outward.
"W-what—!?" Tsutakawa stumbled back, instinctively throwing up a guard. The air thickened with malevolent chakra—dense, burning, alive.
From Sora's small body, a torrent of red chakra erupted, swirling around him like a living storm. His pupils slit open, and his scream tore through the night.
For a moment, everyone froze.
Then Tsutakawa's shock turned to awe—then unrestrained ecstasy.
"Such power…" he whispered. "So pure. So vast."
His lips twisted into a crazed grin.
"Ha… hahaha… HAHAHAHA!" His laughter echoed across the battlefield. "Yes! This is it! This is the energy we've been waiting for!"
The power of a tailed beast's vessel—the perfect key to open the Box of Paradise.
With this boy, Grass Village could complete the ritual. They could surpass the Five Great Nations, crush Konoha, and ascend to rule the shinobi world.
It was destiny.
"The Sage of Six Paths himself must be smiling upon us!" Tsutakawa's laughter turned wild. "This child—this gift—is proof that our time has come!"
He raised his hand. "Capture the boy. Kill the father."
A single, swift motion followed—too fast for Kazuma to defend.
A lance of chakra pierced his chest.
"Fa—ther!"
Sora's voice cracked with grief and horror. The red chakra around him flared, pulsing with rage.
The ground trembled.
This was only the beginning.
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