At the gates of the Hidden Leaf Village.
A public notice had been issued—many bodies and wounded shinobi were being returned from the Land of Grass.
Crowds gathered at the entrance, waiting.
Senju Rinki stood at the front, eyes hollow, arms limp at his sides, shoulders drooping.
The clan head of the Senju, son of the First Hokage, no longer carried the pride or spirit he once had—only the grief of a father who'd lost his child.
The wagons slowly approached.
One by one, the body bags were claimed by their families.
Some wept. Some stared blankly.
Others asked the shinobi beside them how much the compensation would be.
The last body bag held Nawaki Senju.
Rinki heard nothing—just the ringing in his ears.
Dragging his stiff legs, he stepped forward.
He still couldn't believe it. Nawaki… was gone.
Nawaki had been a once-in-decades genius, with a teacher like Orochimaru, one of the village's top jōnin.
The revival of the Senju Clan had ended abruptly.
For a moment, Rinki even felt like giving up on everything.
If the village elders wanted Senju land, he'd give them half.
If they wanted to seal the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki, let them.
If they wanted the sealing scrolls of the Senju and Uzumaki, they could have those too.
Seeing his uncle's trembling body, Kushina Uzumaki whispered softly,
"Uncle…"
Rinki shook his head, forcing away his moment of weakness.
He couldn't give up.
The thousand-year honor of the Senju Clan couldn't end in his hands.
Death?
His father had built this village—could these current losses compare to the slaughter at the end of the Warring States Era?
Nawaki had died at twelve, far later than Rinki's two uncles.
The Senju… had never feared death.
From the side, Yagami stood with his nostrils shut tight.
The preservative herbs in the body bags couldn't mask the stench of decay.
To Yagami, the smell was foul, to Rinki, it was the scent of his beloved son.
Rinki unzipped the body bag, revealing Nawaki's pale, lifeless face.
He reached out, gently brushing his son's cheek.
His firm expression shifted several times before he finally lowered his head.
The Senju took Nawaki's body, along with the other fallen of their clan.
They had sacrificed too much for Konoha.
Black Ape's wife—the woman Yagami had seen once in the village hospital—came to collect him as well.
Black Ape had removed his mask.
Now, he was just a broken man, both arms gone, his face sunken, a shadow of the once-strong Akimichi shinobi.
After handing in his mission report at the Anbu, Yagami went to Root Headquarters to submit personnel updates before leaving the compound.
He returned to the familiar Tsurugetsu Tavern, sighing softly—finally, he was home again.
Somehow, the tavern had become his most comforting place.
"Qiaoyi, anyone suspicious watching you lately?"
"No. Haven't seen anyone."
Yagami had checked all Anbu records related to Qiaoyi's background, her file was closed, and there were no new investigations planned.
"I've got friends upstairs, you know. I smoothed over something big for you. Don't you think you should thank me?"
"How should I thank you?"
"Well… Yin Release and Yang Release are getting dull. Got anything new to show me?"
Qiaoyi bit her lip and leaned close. "You've been gone so long—did you pick up new tricks from some little fox out there and come back wanting to try them on me?"
"Of course not. My strength's just grown—I need stronger stimulation now."
She rolled her eyes. "Then let's try something from the Hidden Stone Village… a kunoichi's secret art."
"Oh? What kind of secret art?"
"Ever heard of the Mountain Earth Technique?"
"I have. A massive Earth Style dome that crushes enemies into paste. So this is... after Yin and Yang Release, we have Ball Release now?"
As they lay tangled in the sheets, Qiaoyi slowly disappeared under the blanket, performing her Ball Release: Mountain Earth Technique.
Hours of wild passion later, she lay draped over Yagami's chest.
Suddenly, she stiffened.
"It's coming!"
"What's coming? We just—wait…"
A chill of sinister chakra swept through the air.
Yagami quickly pulled on his pants and flickered out the window, landing on the rooftop.
From the Senju compound, waves of ominous chakra drifted outward, crawling through Village's streets.
Even the insects and birds fell silent.
Uzumaki Mito… she's nearing her limit.
Yagami leapt down into the courtyard's side room.
"While I was away, did you feel that same cold energy often?"
"Yeah. Especially these past two weeks—it's been almost daily."
"So much chaos lately… Forget it. Don't think about it. That Mountain Earth Technique still confuses me a bit. Let's… study it further."
And so, beneath the nightly chill, the New Year arrived.
Yagami celebrated his birthday quietly.
Besides Qiaoyi, there was no one else to share the new year with.
This world's New Year felt emptier than the one he remembered from Earth.
A few days later, Yagami carried two catties of braised beef to the Akimichi Clan compound.
He didn't know where Black Ape lived, or even his full name—but with both arms gone, he'd be easy enough to find.
At a street corner, he spotted three old ladies chatting.
To Yagami, they were the Akimichi intelligence network.
"Excuse me," he asked, "is there a retired shinobi from your clan missing both arms?"
"Do you mean one who lost his left arm first, or his right arm first?"
Yagami blinked. Wait… there were that many armless Akimichi?
"Left arm first, right arm later. Just returned to the compound."
The old lady nodded. "Ah, then do you mean the one whose left stump is longer, or whose right stump is longer?"
So tragic…
He remembered—they were a taijutsu-based clan. No wonder.
"The one with the longer right stump," Yagami said patiently.
"Alright then—tall or short?"
Yagami sighed. "Tall. Dark-skinned. Very tall."
Finally, the old woman pointed him in the right direction.
A pang of sorrow hit Yagami's heart.
Even a simple question revealed just how cruel war really was.
Within the Akimichi grounds, there were indeed many disabled shinobi.
But because the clan provided minimal support—food, lodging—they survived.
Civilian shinobi had no such luck.
They weren't less likely to be crippled—just less likely to live long after being crippled.
Survivor's bias, Yagami thought.
Outside a small courtyard, he saw someone moving belongings.
A thin, dark man with both arms missing sat silently, his face full of bitterness.
"Big bro," Yagami called softly, "I came to see you."