On the other side.
The school office was very quiet; the wind outside blew sand against the glass with a rhythmic pitter-patter.
Nobunaga was packing his things.
He stacked the lesson plans on the desk one by one and put them into a box.
Rasa had just sent someone to notify him.
Starting tomorrow, he would no longer be a teacher at the Ninja Academy; he was promoted to Special Jonin and transferred to the Anbu.
This was also a reward for his help in teaching Temari and the other two.
He looked down at the stack of lesson plans—seven years' worth of them.
Each one was dated, from the crooked handwriting of the first year to the neat script of the later ones.
He closed the lesson plan.
Footsteps came from the doorway. Hurried. Three people.
He turned around.
Temari stood at the door, panting. Gaara and Kankuro followed behind her, their cheeks flushed from running.
"Teacher!"
Nobunaga looked at them.
"What is—"
"We chose you!"
Temari interrupted him, her eyes bright. "Squad Leader Jonin, we chose you!"
Nobunaga was stunned for a moment.
"Father listed five Jonin, but we didn't choose any of them."
Temari took a step forward. "We chose you."
Nobunaga looked at her, then at Gaara and Kankuro behind her.
Gaara stood there, the sand at his feet flowing quietly. Seeing Nobunaga look over, he nodded.
Kankuro poked his head out from behind Temari and grinned.
Nobunaga was silent for a while.
"Lord Rasa agreed?"
"He agreed," Temari said. "He said it's up to us."
Nobunaga didn't speak.
He looked at the three children.
He suddenly noticed that Kankuro was standing beside Gaara.
Not behind him, but beside him.
He thought of the stack of lesson plans from earlier—it had been seven years.
"Teacher?"
Temari looked at him a bit nervously. "Are you... unwilling?"
Nobunaga looked at her.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't the usual slight curve of the lips. He truly smiled.
"I am willing," he said.
Temari's eyes brightened even more.
"I'll treat you all to BBQ tonight!"
Kankuro was the first to shout, "Really?"
Nobunaga nodded.
Kankuro smiled even more happily.
Gaara didn't speak, but the corners of his mouth curved up slightly.
Temari stood there, looking at Nobunaga.
The tips of her ears turned a bit red.
Just a tiny bit. No one noticed.
That night, Nobunaga treated them to BBQ.
Temari didn't eat much; she spent the whole time flipping meat for her two younger brothers.
Kankuro ate the most; his cheeks were never empty.
Gaara ate slowly, but his plate was never empty, as Temari kept putting food into his bowl.
Nobunaga watched them and said nothing.
After they finished eating and came out, the night wind blew in their faces, carrying the scent of grit.
The three of them walked side by side.
When they reached a fork in the road, Temari stopped.
"Teacher, see you at the Training Ground tomorrow?"
Nobunaga nodded.
The eyes of all three brightened.
Then they turned and ran into the night. Temari's hair blew in the wind, Kankuro ran the fastest, and Gaara followed last, though his pace was a bit quicker than usual.
Nobunaga stood there, watching that direction, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly as he couldn't help but say, "How cute."
...
Early the next morning.
The Training Ground.
The wind was lighter than usual, and sunlight streamed in diagonally from the entrance, illuminating the dust in the air into beams of pale gold light.
When Nobunaga arrived, the three were already there.
Temari was swinging her fan. Kankuro was adjusting his puppet. Gaara stood in the corner, the sand at his feet flowing quietly in circles.
Nobunaga walked in.
Temari was the first to stop.
She watched him approach, slowly lowering the fan in her hand.
Kankuro also stopped. Gaara also stopped.
All three of them looked at him.
Nobunaga walked up to them and stopped.
He looked at Temari.
"You chose me yesterday."
Temari nodded. "Yes."
"Why?"
Temari looked up at him.
The light in those eyes was different from seven years ago.
But at this moment, that cautiousness surfaced again, just a little bit.
"You asked."
Nobunaga looked at her.
"Asked you what?"
"Asked what my name was," Temari said. "You were the first person to ask for my name."
Nobunaga didn't speak.
He remembered the day he first stood on the podium. When he called the roll and reached "Temari," she looked up at him. That was all. But he remembered that look.
"What else?" he asked.
Temari lowered her head, looking at her hands.
The scar on her thumb web had long since faded. But she always remembered where that bandage had been.
"When I asked you, you didn't ask me why either."
Nobunaga knew what she was talking about.
"—Can you also teach Gaara?"
She had simply asked: Can you also teach him?
He had only said: I will.
He didn't ask why. He didn't ask "What's wrong with him," he didn't ask "Why does he need teaching," and he didn't ask "On what grounds are you asking for him."
He just said: I will.
"Later, I understood."
Temari looked up at him. "You didn't need to ask."
The wind blew in from the entrance. The sand rustled softly.
Nobunaga looked at her.
He reached out his hand.
He didn't take her hand. He just placed it on her head and patted it gently.
Temari was stunned.
Then she lowered her head. She didn't speak.
But the tips of her ears turned a bit red.
In the distance, Gaara stood there, watching. The sand at his feet flowed quietly in slow circles.
Kankuro stood beside him. He wasn't hiding behind his puppet.
Nobunaga withdrew his hand.
"Let's train," he said.
Then he turned and walked toward the other side of the Training Ground.
After a few steps.
He didn't look back.
But he knew three gazes were resting on his back.
Very light. Very warm.
The wind blew in from the entrance. The sand rustled softly.
He continued walking forward.
His pace was neither fast nor slow.
...
One year later.
The sky over the Hidden Sand Village was still that faded yellow.
But today was a bit different.
A layer of red cloth was spread on the sandy ground at the Village entrance. It stretched from the gate all the way to the Kazekage Office building, with people standing on both sides.
This was the highest standard of welcoming etiquette because the Third Kazekage had returned.
Nobunaga stood at the edge of the crowd, looking at the distant horizon.
A black dot grew closer and clearer.
That was the Third Kazekage's mount, a tall Sand Beast, approaching steadily over the yellow sand.
"He's here, he's here—" the crowd grew restless; children stood on tiptoe, and adults craned their necks.
Nobunaga didn't move; he just watched the approaching figure, memories of when he first entered the Village surfacing in his mind.
The Third Kazekage, the man hailed as the "Strongest Kazekage in History."
The mount stopped at the Village entrance, and the Sandaime dismounted.
He looked neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, wearing the iconic White Kazekage Robes; walking through a crowd, you might not give him a second glance.
But as he drew closer, Nobunaga felt a sense of pressure. It wasn't bloodlust. It wasn't an aura. It was a sense of presence.
Like facing a silent deep sea, you know what kind of undercurrents are hidden beneath.
The crowd automatically made way. The Sandaime walked through the center, his gaze sweeping over the people on both sides.
Wherever he passed, everyone instinctively lowered their heads.
But Nobunaga did not lower his head; he noticed the Sandaime's eyes were very bright and sharp, like a hawk staring at its prey.
But beneath those eyes was a faint shadow of exhaustion—the kind that surfaces in unseen corners after one has carried a burden for too long.
The Sandaime walked past him, his gaze pausing on his face for a split second. Very brief. Then he continued forward.
Nobunaga stood there without moving, thinking about one thing.
The Sandaime was strong, truly strong.
But one person's strength cannot save a Village.