Under a moonlit night, a few figures could be seen blitzing across the crowns of the trees.
One interesting aspect about them was that they moved in perfect sync that never wavered.
However, they suddenly stopped in their tracks. A man dressed in all black made a sign with his hand—apparently a signal—because his companions immediately nodded and dispersed into the surroundings.
—
A lone woman walked through the forest, carrying a child in her arms. She was extremely pale, with sunken cheeks and a malnourished frame.
Her hands trembled—not because of the weight of the child, but because her muscles seemed atrophied.
Still, she carried on, powered by nothing but sheer will. Yet even that could only take her so far.
Just as she was about to take her next step, a person appeared in front of her. From his clothing, she instantly recognized what he was.
He was a ninja.
—
"Civilians are not permitted here," the figure in black said. That alone was enough to make the woman collapse.
Whether it was exhaustion, starvation, or the shock of encountering him, it was enough for her to breathe her last breath.
"Shame," the man in black muttered as he sensed the woman's chakra signature fade away.
He quickly inspected her body for a few seconds before turning his attention to the chakra source that had drawn him here in the first place.
It was the infant in her arms. Unlike normal infants his age, this child possessed chakra more than ten times the average. Although still smaller than those red-heads in Uzushiogakure, it was impressive on a grand scale.
The man seemed to reach a decision. He formed a hand sign, and a small, transparent green orb appeared. It shifted shape, generating a distinct frequency carried through the wind.
Moments later, three figures appeared in front of him.
"Soka, why did you sound the signal?" a feminine voice asked.
"Civilian. Dead. Left an offspring," replied the man now known as Soka. Though a man of few words, he was always precise.
"We should just take the child to the orphanage," Soka said.
"No," the woman replied. "I have other plans for the kid. The Kazekage has a new idea."
Soka picked up the child, and with a whoosh, they disappeared from the spot.
—
In a large, round building marked with the kanji for 'wind', a man sat writing on a scroll. Suddenly, he looked toward the door.
"Shamon, how is the jinchūriki research progressing?" he asked.
A bald man with a snake tattoo on his face responded, "Progress is slow. We don't have access to the seals yet. But I've already sent someone, so we should see results soon."
"Hmm. Very well. And how is the organization of that going?" the Kazekage asked.
"I had squad A hollow out the underground chamber. Squad N has finished preliminary preparations, and squads S and D are still searching for children," Shamon replied.
"Good. Post a new C-rank mission for shinobi to gather venomous beasts and insects," the Kazekage ordered.
"Understood," Shamon said as he turned and walked out.
"Fu~…" 'With that tree-hugger in Konoha, all I can do is strengthen the village internally and leave the rest to the next generation,' thought the First Kazekage.
—
/One Month Later/
In an underground chamber, 116 children lay sleeping, ranging from infants a few months old to toddlers no older than two years. For some reason, all of them slept deeply, completely unaware of the people around them.
"Sir, are you sure about this? They're all talented. This feels like killing a chicken just for its eggs," Shamon said to the man beside him.
"Yes. But if it succeeds, we'll have a chicken that lays golden eggs. Proceed with the poison," the Kazekage said, his voice almost indifferent.
A few shinobi used thin senbon needles to administer the poison to each child.
Immediately, the children began sweating and trembling, yet none awoke. They continued to sleep.
After about fifteen minutes, the effects began to lessen—but not before the first child died.
—
"Results?" the Kazekage asked, still emotionless.
"Fifteen dead. Thirty-one still recovering. The rest overcame the poison but need at least a week of rest," reported a shinobi in medical attire.
"Hmm. Better than expected. Do it again in three days," the Kazekage said as he walked away.
The medic lowered his head, lost in contemplation.
—
Unseen by anyone, a blue wisp suddenly blinked into existence, cracks running across its surface. It floated in midair as if searching for something.
Then it darted toward a black-haired infant—the same one once held by the woman in the forest.
It entered the child's chest, where it met a red wisp twice its size, also cracked. As if in agreement, the two wisps collided. In their place remained a larger purple wisp.
[Click]
[Click]
[Click]
From within the purple wisp, the sound of a ticking clock echoed, and a massive number appeared:
[10][365][23][59][57]
And it decreased every second.
-
Number 77 POV:
I was always different from the rest. I don't know when it began, but my thoughts were different from the other "Numbers."
The first signs appeared when They started teaching us.
I didn't know why, but whenever we trained for more than six hours, or when They taught us history, I always had this strange feeling in the back of my head that whispered:
"Not for children."
"Indoctrination."
"This is a lie."
—
At first, I thought everyone experienced the same thing.
But as I observed the other Numbers, I realized I was the only one who felt this way.
Take Number 38, for example—"Wide-face," as I remembered him. He followed every Rule exactly as taught.
Once, during our history lesson, we reached the topic of a village called Konohagakure. The moment the name was mentioned, a sharp pain hit my head, as if I were trying to remember something.
Anyway, what stood out was Number 38 suddenly jumping from his seat and shouting,
"Enemies! I will defeat them all!"
But why were they the so-called Enemy?
And why did it seem like I was the only one questioning it?
Or during our free time on what They called "weekends"—which I counted as the seventh day, though They sometimes called the sixth day the same thing—that feeling would appear again.
During one of these "weekends," I saw one of Them, a person outside the Numbers, smoking a cigarette. That was strange, since we were taught to follow the Shinobi Code:
[No Smoking] [No Alcohol] [No Trade of Flesh]
But the people outside the Numbers didn't seem to follow the Rules at all.
And what did "trade of flesh" even mean?
From the feeling in my head, I understood that "flesh" meant meat, something we ate every day.
Another feeling told me that meat was "hard currency"—after all, after eating it, I could train longer and exercise better.
No wonder They didn't want us to trade it; it was valuable.
Still, a strange word always echoed in my mind whenever I thought about this:
"Capitalists."
I had no idea what that meant.
—
My favorite time was the weekends, because I could relax and watch the strange people outside the Numbers.
I noticed differences between them and us. They were twice our height and incredibly fast.
I tried running as fast as I could, but I could never reach their speed.
One day I asked one of them—a bald man with a green mark on his head—how I could become like them.
After all, they didn't have to follow the Rules, and they were fast.
He introduced himself as Shamon. From history class, I remembered him as the right hand of the Kazekage, whom the Rules told us to always obey.
He told me they were fast because they used something called jutsu, and that if I wanted to be as tall as him, I simply needed to "grow up."
I knew I needed to "grow up," but I didn't know where to find this "grow up."
So, through my flawless deduction, I concluded that all of Them had this thing called the Sunagakure Forehead Protector, so that must be what I needed in order to "grow up."
So I staged a heist.
—
A black-haired boy—barely a year old—could be seen sneaking behind a wall, peeking at a woman eating rice balls.
Of course, being a ninja, she sensed him immediately, but she decided to indulge the child.
She placed the remaining rice ball to one side and pretended to fall asleep facing the other way.
The boy rushed toward her—but instead of taking the rice ball, his tiny hands grabbed her left hand, where her forehead protector was tied.
"HA! I finally got it!" Number 77 proclaimed proudly as he succeeded in his mission.
One second passed. Then three.
Nothing happened.
He shook the forehead protector. "Is it broken?"
Then he burst into tears.
The woman was startled; she had no idea why he was crying.
"U-umm, w-why are you crying?" she asked, clearly inexperienced with children.
"I didn't grow up…" Number 77 sobbed.
"Well… if you want to grow up, you just need to wait."
With tear-stained cheeks, he looked at her. "How long?"
"T-that… well… u-um…"
As a shinobi, she wasn't exactly eloquent, and she had very little exposure to children. Even her genin training hadn't prepared her for this.
"Would you like to know how to become a ninja?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Yes!" Number 77's eyes lit up, his whole body practically jumping with excitement.
"Also, I have a question," he added. "Why don't you tall kids have numbers?"
"Well… when you become a ninja, you get a name. And, um… my name is Kimi."
She blurted the first thing that came to mind, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
—
That moment created a list for Number 77.
First: he would grow.
Second: he would become a ninja.
And finally: he would get a good name