Yamanaka Yuta stared at Qingyu blankly, momentarily lost for words. In his thirty-plus years at the Torture Force, he had seen countless youths, but one so utterly devoid of desire or curiosity was a first. It gave him an indescribable sense of unease.
"Then just take a guess—do you think the war Captain Eaton predicted will actually happen?" Yuta couldn't help but probe one last time.
"I couldn't possibly guess," Qingyu shook his head directly, giving the man zero opportunity to find a crack in his armor.
"Fine then..." Yuta gave up. Through this brief interaction, he felt he had grasped Qingyu's personality. His expectations weren't as sky-high as they were when Eaton first recommended the boy.
"One more thing." Yuta's face turned stern. "Once war breaks out, the workload here will multiply. I've heard your health isn't great. While things are still quiet, you must exercise and build up your strength as much as possible!"
"Yes!" Qingyu nodded instantly. He had been waiting for exactly this command.
Before receiving an official "order" to train, he hadn't dared to practice. First, he didn't want training to interfere with his memory-reading missions. Second, ever since he obtained the Sage Body during his first check-in, his physical constitution was no longer weak—it was monstrously powerful. If he trained normally, he risked exposing his true strength, which could lead to him being transferred out of the Torture Force and into a more dangerous combat unit.
Neither outcome served his goal of staying low. But now, with a direct order from his Captain to "build up strength," he had the perfect cover to begin his physical activity.
"Qingyu, today was just to show you the ropes. You start working here tomorrow. You may leave now. And don't forget to exercise! Work in the Torture Force isn't as easy as you think!" Yuta waved him off, his expression returning to its usual cold, serious mask.
"Yes." Qingyu bowed and left without a trace of lingering attachment, leaving Yuta staring at his retreating back.
"What a strange boy," Yuta sighed, shaking his head.
Back in his dormitory, Qingyu removed the cat-face mask and finally exhaled.
"Phew..." Looking back at the meeting, he realized Konoha was definitely not walking blindly into the Third Shinobi World War. Based on the age of Minato Namikaze, whom he'd seen at Ichiraku Ramen, the war was likely only three to five years away.
Captain Eaton's deduction is spot on, Qingyu thought. But I'll keep that to myself. Time to 'train.'
A glimmer of excitement danced in his eyes. He had been in this world for nearly a month and hadn't done a single bit of cultivation outside of using the Yamanaka secret arts during memory probes.
How should I train? He pondered. Physical exercise is the safest bet. My 'label' is a weak body, so it makes sense to start there. Practicing complex Ninjutsu would look suspicious.
"Let's go for a run," he decided. He had yet to truly test the surging vitality and domineering stamina of his Sage Body.
Leaving his mask in the dorm, Qingyu headed toward the small woods near the Konoha Prison. There were training grounds with wooden posts nearby, but those were too crowded. He preferred the seclusion of the forest.
Just as he reached the edge of the woods and prepared to start, he felt it—a faint, almost imperceptible sensation of being watched.
Something's wrong. Qingyu kept his face neutral, but his mind raced. Someone's tracking me.
He could easily guess the culprits: either Morino Eaton or Yamanaka Yuta. No one else would care. Whether they were testing his limits or just supervising his "order," he had to play the part of the sickly youth.
Must be cautious.
Qingyu began with "warm-ups." He spent a full half-hour rotating his ankles, knees, and wrists like an old man doing morning exercises in a park. He focused on controlling his body, forcing his face to turn pale and breaking out into a "cold sweat."
He could feel the hidden observer becoming increasingly impatient.
Almost time, he thought with a hidden smirk. He began a slow jog.
Whoosh! The gaze in the shadows sharpened instantly, as if trying to see right through him. Qingyu had already prepared his "performance."
"Huff... huff... huff..."
After only three minutes of slow jogging, Qingyu's face turned ghostly white. Sweat poured down his forehead as he gasped for air, looking as if he had hit his absolute physical limit.
Gasp!
With one final, heavy heave, his body trembled. He collapsed, sitting hard on the ground, his limbs sprawling out limply.
"I... I can't... do it..." He shook his head weakly, sweat dripping onto the dirt. He looked utterly spent.
A short distance away, Morino Eaton's eyes widened, and his mouth twitched in disbelief.
"That's it?"
"He couldn't even last three minutes?"
"I waited through that half-hour warm-up... just to see this?"
Eaton felt like he had just wasted thirty minutes of his life. He decided right then and there: he was never coming to watch Qingyu train again.
[End of Chapter 17]