The primeval forest encircling Konoha was a world of oppressive silence.
The snow didn't just fall here; it colonized the landscape, clinging to the gnarled branches like frozen ash. To the ordinary citizens residing within the village walls, this perimeter was merely an empty, beautiful woodland. To the shinobi who patrolled its depths, it was a crowded theater of unseen eyes and suppressed breaths.
Danzo Shimura stood beneath the skeletal canopy of an ancient oak, his heavy cane resting lightly against the frozen, unyielding earth. He was a man of shadows, his presence so still that he seemed less like a living being and more like a jagged piece of the landscape. One eye remained hidden beneath a spiral of yellowed bandages, while the other—sharp, cold, and predatory—scanned the report scroll in his hand.
"So… Evan Kamiyo."
The name was spoken with a low, gravelly rasp that barely disturbed the air.
A child. An orphan. A medical prodigy who had managed to draw the Third Hokage out of his tower for a personal house call.
Danzo's thin lips curved into a line that almost resembled a smile, though there was no warmth in it. Konoha's roots ran deep, and Danzo had spent decades cultivating them in the dark. He was the soil, the rot, and the foundation. Even Hiruzen Sarutobi's personal protection could not block the flow of information forever. If a ripple disturbed the surface of the Hokage's life, Danzo felt the vibration before the water even settled.
"If something happens to Hiruzen," Danzo murmured, his gaze drifting toward the distant silhouette of the Hokage Rock, "I will be the one to arrive first. Always."
Evan Kamiyo had officially entered his orbit. In the world of the "Darkness of the Shinobi," there were no coincidences, only missed opportunities.
But—Danzo tapped the edge of the scroll with the head of his cane—the boy was an enigma.
"No clan backing. No visible bloodline manifestation. No excessive, uncontrolled Chakra output during the healing process."
He paused, the gears of a cold, tactical mind turning with clinical precision.
If Evan had refined his Chakra recklessly, if he had healed Hiruzen with a flashy display of power beyond his years, or if he had shown the arrogance of a typical prodigy—Danzo would have acted already. The boy would have been "recruited" into Root before the snow could melt.
Instead, the report spoke of restraint. It spoke of a child who understood the value of limitation.
"Perhaps he is just another talented medic," Danzo muttered, though he didn't quite believe it. "Talents can be shaped. Or they can be broken to serve the greater good of the Leaf."
For now, the order was simple: observation. He would let the boy grow under Hiruzen's light. After all, the taller the tree grew, the more shadow its roots provided.
Morning arrived in Konoha with a quiet, biting chill.
Evan Kamiyo stood before the iron-wrought gates of Konoha Hospital, his breath blooming in the air like a ghostly flower. The building was an imposing structure of white stone and glass, perpetually wreathed in a scent that never truly left the premises—a heavy, clinical mixture of antiseptic herbs, sterilized steel, and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Evan adjusted the small medical pouch at his waist. He kept his head down, his posture humble. There were no loud greetings to the staff, no attention-seeking displays of "prodigy" status. He moved through the lobby like a shadow among shadows.
Inside, the hospital was a different world. It was a place where the glory of the shinobi path met the brutal reality of its cost. Wounded ninjas filled the corridors. Some sat quietly on wooden benches, their limbs wrapped in thick gauze, eyes staring blankly at the floor. Others lay pale and motionless on gurneys, staring at ceilings they had likely never expected to see again.
Evan felt a strange, resonant hum in his blood the moment he stepped into the wards.
This is it, he thought, his pulse quickening. This is where the foundation of the future is built.
He began his work under the watchful, skeptical eyes of the head nurses. He was careful. He was slow. He deliberately avoided the dramatic, life-threatening injuries that would have required "miracles." Instead, he focused on the unglamorous work of stabilization.
He cleaned deep lacerations with a steady hand. He used small, controlled bursts of green Chakra to ease the localized pain of a shattered rib. He focused on restoring the stamina of exhausted Chunin who had pushed their bodies past the breaking point.
To anyone watching, he looked like a gifted student practicing basic techniques. But inside his mind, the chime of the System was a constant, rhythmic beat.
[Minor Treatment Applied: Laceration Closed.] [Reward: Chakra Refinement +1]
[Healing Complete: Internal Bruising Resolved.] [Reward: Constitution +0.2]
Nothing flashy. Nothing that would raise the eyebrows of a passing Jonin. But it was consistent. It was the "grind" of a player who knew that a thousand small wins outweighed one risky gamble.
By midday, the quiet efficiency of the four-year-old boy had begun to draw attention. The Hospital Director, a man named Dr. Arata who had seen enough blood to fill a lake, stopped in the hallway and adjusted his glasses, watching Evan work on a Genin's sprained ankle.
"Hey… child," Arata called out, his voice gruff but not unkind. "What did you say your name was?"
Evan stopped, wiped his hands on a clean cloth, and bowed politely. "Evan Kamiyo, sir."
The Director froze. The name seemed to echo in the sterile hallway. "…Kamiyo?"
He stepped closer, studying Evan's features—the jet-black hair, the calm, dark eyes, the steady hands. His tone shifted, losing its professional edge and taking on a hint of reverence.
"Your mother… her name wouldn't happen to have been Kamiyo Miko, would it?"
Evan nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. She was my mother."
The Director inhaled sharply, a pained sort of nostalgia crossing his face. "So it's true… Miko's child has returned to the halls."
His expression softened, and he placed a heavy, calloused hand on Evan's shoulder. "She was brilliant, boy. Even among the elite medics of the Great War, she was a light. She could stitch a heart back together while a battlefield collapsed around her."
Evan bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, sir. I'm just trying to learn what she knew."
By the end of the first morning, Evan had treated nine patients. There were no headlines in the village paper, no medals given. But nine shinobi felt a little less pain, and nine shinobi would return to duty a day earlier than expected.
That evening, Evan returned to the quiet sanctuary of his courtyard.
He sat on the polished floorboards, the charcoal fire he had started earlier crackling in the hearth, and reviewed his status. He had learned several key things about the System today.
First, the rewards scaled with the severity of the injury, but they also scaled with the quality of the patient's own strength. Healing a Genin gave less than healing a Chunin. Second, the rewards diminished if the treatment was rushed or incomplete. The System demanded "Benevolence," not just a quick fix. Finally, there was a cooldown limit. He couldn't just keep "re-healing" the same person for infinite points.
The System discourages exploitation, Evan noted. It wants me to be a real doctor. Good. That means my growth will be tied to the actual prosperity of the village.
He called up his attribute panel.
Character: Evan Kamiyo Age: 4 Constitution: 18.5 (Senju bloodline awakening: 15% complete) Spirit: 12.9 Chakra: 35.5 Skills:
Chakra Refinement Lv.2 (25/100)
Throwing Technique Lv.1 (12/100) Affinities: Wind, Thunder, Earth Evaluation: Medical Genin. A stable foundation with the potential to weather the storm.
Evan exhaled a long, satisfied breath.
He had originally planned to stay completely hidden for years, a ghost in the machine of Konoha. But the encounter with the bullies and the interest of the Hokage had forced his hand. He had been thrust into the light earlier than intended—and once you are seen, you cannot be forgotten.
A genius who grew slowly was admired and trusted. A genius who exploded into a god overnight was a liability to be neutralized. He had to balance his "growth" with "usefulness."
He stood up and stepped out into the dark courtyard. The snow was falling again, silent and relentless.
Two wooden training dummies stood in the corner, looking like frozen sentinels. Evan raised his hand, and in a blur of motion, four shuriken appeared between his fingers—a trick of muscle memory and the system's "Throwing Technique" reward.
He focused. The world narrowed down to the center of the wooden chest thirty feet away.
Snap.
The first shuriken flew—clean, straight, and silent—embedding itself dead center with a sharp thwack.
Then another. And another.
The fourth struck slightly off-center, wobbling for a second before holding fast.
Evan nodded to himself. It wasn't Uchiha-level artistry, but for a four-year-old with a month of training, it was terrifying.
"Harder training tomorrow," he muttered, his breath hitching as the cold air bit at his lungs.
He turned back toward the house, unaware that a mile away, a set of eyes in a cat-pattern mask watched from the heights of a pine tree.
The snow fell, covering his tracks, covering the village, and covering the gears of a destiny that was slowly, unknowingly, beginning to grind the old world into dust.