Yamamoto-sensei stood at the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the sight of his students. Only Nawaki, Sakumo, Satoru, and Tatsuo remained in the classroom, while the rest were still in the hallway. "Where is everyone else?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Nawaki stifled a giggle, pointing toward the hallway. "They're... outside, sensei."
Tatsuo, unable to contain himself, burst into laughter. "You should see what they're doing, sensei. It's... priceless."
Frowning, Yamamoto-sensei stepped out to investigate. The moment he left the room, Sakumo turned to Satoru, an amused but puzzled expression on his face. "Alright, that was fun, but... why did we do this again?"
Satoru shrugged nonchalantly. "The principal asked us to. Though, the burning of the money? That was pure improv."
Nawaki raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you achieve with this? Sure, it was entertaining, but there had to be some deeper reason, right?"
Sakumo chimed in, his voice thoughtful. "It's to teach them a lesson, isn't it? About the dangers of valuing material wealth over actual skill. It was about making them aware of the consequences."
Satoru leaned back in his chair, his tone calm and casual. "According to the Hokage, the number of D-rank domestic missions had been dropping over the years because kids like us were doing small jobs here and there, messing with the economy a bit. The Hokage wanted the children to understand what happens when they get too obsessed with making money and forget about actually becoming strong."
Tatsuo, still grinning, added, "The whole goal was to tempt them with money, see how far they'd go to get it, and then humiliate them. Teach 'em the hard way."
Sakumo nodded slowly. "So, in the end, we're doing them a favor... a very chaotic favor."
They all exchanged glances, each of them finding amusement in the twisted moral lesson they had just delivered.
Yamamoto-sensei approached the source of the commotion, his heart sinking as he took in the scene. Broken glass crunched underfoot, and torn clothes lay scattered around.
One boy, frantically clutching a bundle of money between his buttocks to keep it safe, struggled as another kid tried to pry it away. The struggle was a grotesque spectacle, filled with grunts and tears.
A wave of nausea hit Yamamoto-sensei as he observed the chaos—children fighting over money, some grabbing what they could and fleeing.
The scene was a disturbing echo of the war-torn days he had once witnessed. He shook his head, trying to dispel the memories and refocus on the present.
Minutes later, all the kids were summoned to the principal's office.
The boy who had tried to hide the money was provided a blanket, though his situation was far from comfortable. The other students, still seething, had stolen the blanket from him, leaving him shivering and naked.
The principal's stern voice filled the room as he delivered a scolding lecture, chastising them for their behavior.
He emphasized the importance of discipline and respect, scolding them for their reckless actions. The principal addressed the incident involving Satoru, clarifying that Satoru was merely defending himself.
The students tried to shift the blame to Satoru, presenting the burnt notes as evidence of his wrongdoing.
However, upon inspection, it became clear that the notes were perfectly intact—none were actually burned. Satoru had cleverly used his "Texture Surprise" jutsu to create the illusion of burning money, a trick that had misled everyone.
Realizing their mistake and feeling a mix of embarrassment and guilt, the students slowly made their way back to class.
They were prepared to apologize to Satoru, understanding now that their actions had been misguided and influenced by a false pretense.
As the days went by, the infamous money incident became a joke among the kids. Every time it was mentioned, they couldn't help but laugh. Life had moved on, and now the 4th grade had begun.
Yamamoto-sensei stood before the class, announcing that their syllabus this year would officially cover learning the three fundamental academy jutsu. Satoru, however, was not worried in the slightest.
He had already mastered two of the three jutsu and even developed his "Texture Surprise," which was an advanced technique derived from them.
During recess, Dai approached the group with an excited grin plastered on his face. "Guess what? I finally did it—250 push-ups with shinobi weights!" he declared, his chest puffed out with pride.
Nawaki raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Think you're strong now, huh?"
Dai flexed his arms, nodding confidently. "Stronger than ever!"
Nawaki clapped him on the shoulder. "Great! Come to the Senju clan compound after school today. Let's see what you're made of in a real training session."
Dai's excitement seemed to reach new heights, and Sakumo couldn't help but comment before walking away, "At this rate, he's going to explode before we even get there."
As they watched Sakumo walk off, Satoru noticed him heading towards Tsume. Curious, he nudged Tatsuo. "So, what's going on there? Sakumo and Tsume, huh?"
Tatsuo smirked. "Looks like it. They've been spending time together lately."
Satoru chuckled and then asked, "What about you? Got anyone in mind? I like Keiko, and now Sakumo's with Tsume..."
Tatsuo gave him a sideways glance. "Not right now. But if something does happen, you'll be my best man, Satoru."
Satoru grinned. "Deal."
In the Hokage's office, the mood was heavy as Hiruzen sat at his desk, shuffling through paperwork. Danzo, standing near the window, glanced over at him.
"Why the sad face, Hiruzen?" Danzo asked with his usual stoic tone.
Hiruzen sighed. "Tsunade's report came back. Your health has been deteriorating over the past month, more rapidly than expected."
Danzo didn't flinch. "How long?"
"Ten, maybe fifteen years, at best," Hiruzen answered softly.
Danzo nodded thoughtfully. "That's enough time… enough to find and prepare a successor."
As he spoke, his mind drifted to Satoru. 'Perhaps…' Danzo mused to himself but kept quiet.
Hiruzen, watching his old friend closely, added, "You should consider retiring, Danzo. Spend what time you have left with your family."
Normally, Danzo would scoff at such suggestions, but today he remained quiet. After a pause, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. "My parents are gone. My brother died in my arms. The only living blood relative I have is my sister's child."
Hiruzen leaned back, eyes glancing at the framed photographs on his desk. "You have more family than that," he said, pointing at the pictures. They were of Hiruzen's students, along with the old Team Tobirama. "You've watched over many of them. They're as much your legacy as mine."
Danzo stared at the photographs, his face unreadable. "Can my condition be cured?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.
Hiruzen's gaze darkened. "Not with ethical means." Danzo's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The cells in your body are decaying faster than they can be replaced," Hiruzen explained. "Perhaps… perhaps Hashirama's cells could stop the decay."
Danzo remained silent, weighing the moral cost. "Would we really desecrate a dead man's body for our own gain? Would the First Hokage approve?"
Hiruzen's face seemed to age as he considered the implications. "Once Orochimaru completes her training, she will join the research on Hashirama's cells. Perhaps then… we'll know."
Danzo's thoughts churned, but he remained still, knowing the path ahead was filled with more difficult decisions. "We'll see what happens," he muttered, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the Hokage's window.
(Orochimaru was said to be once a man and a woman , so at this point of time 'late teens orochimaru' is a woman )
Danzo walked towards the academy, his mind weighed down by thoughts of his own mortality. The idea of dying from illness rather than on the battlefield gnawed at him.
'A warrior's death… stolen by disease,' he thought bitterly. As he approached, he began contemplating the future of Root—who could possibly take the reins when his time came.
Children played outside, laughter filling the air, but Danzo's mind remained fixated on one boy in particular. The sight of the academy stirred memories of his own youth, training endlessly, pushing himself toward an ideal that now seemed distant.
On his way to the principal's office, students and teachers bowed respectfully, acknowledging the presence of the formidable elder.
Even the Zen'in girl, though her eyes glared with dislike, dipped her head slightly. Danzo took little notice—her opinion meant nothing in the grand scheme
But the thought of his impending death lingered. 'How could a warrior like me… die so early?' he asked himself, the shame heavy on his heart.
When he entered the principal's office, he saw Satoru standing by the window, staring out with a distant look, waiting for the principal to arrive. Something inside Danzo's stoic mask began to crack.
Satoru's quiet presence stirred an ache in him—a reminder that he had no descendants, no one to truly call his own. He had dedicated his life to the shadows, to the village, forsaking the chance to build a family.
A lone tear escaped, the first sign of vulnerability he had allowed himself in years. Wiping it quickly, he reassembled his cold, unwavering exterior just as Satoru turned to face him.
"Danzo-sama," Satoru said, respectfully bowing his head.
Danzo stared at Satoru for a moment, seeing right through the boy's façade.
He could recognize the false mask of emotionless composure—he had worn it himself countless times.
"Remove the mask , show your true self."
Satoru's eyes flickered with surprise before his face fell into complete apathy, drained of any pretense. "You should do the same," Satoru responded, his voice low, almost as if he was challenging Danzo.
For a moment, the air between them felt thick with unspoken tension.
Satoru's gaze hardened. "Why am I suffering?" His voice wavered slightly. "The more I perfect my chakra control, the more distant I feel from everything. Old memories… they come back like they just happened yesterday." His eyes held a distant, haunted look.
Danzo stood silent, but his own memories stirred. "During the war," he began, "children saw things they never should have. To survive, they repress those memories. But later, as they grow, those same memories return—violent, raw, unstoppable."
Satoru's voice was tense. "So… what? I'll turn into one of those…killing machines? A weapon?"
Danzo met his eyes, his voice grim but steady. "Many children I've known, brilliant ones, turned into nothing but tools for war. It is a path one must walk carefully. But," he paused, his tone softening slightly, "you don't have to become that."
Satoru's expression remained blank, but his mind was racing. "How can I avoid it? Every time I think I'm getting better, it's like I'm losing a part of myself."
Danzo's gaze hardened. "You must embrace those memories. Face them head-on. It will make your life easier, but the damage, boy…" he hesitated, then finished with a chilling certainty, "is permanent."
Satoru's thoughts drifted back to the fragmented images in his mind, those strange flashes of a life before Satoru said slowly, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Everything before I was four is just… gone, do you think something happened during that time?"
Danzo's eyes narrowed slightly. "That is something you will have to discover yourself. But it is likely those memories… hold something darker than you realize."
Danzo's gaze softened, just for a moment. "Spend as much time as you can with the people you care about, while you still can feel something. Cherish it, because after that… everything becomes meaningless."
Satoru didn't respond, the gravity of Danzo's words sinking deep into his mind. It was unsettling —the thought of losing his emotions scared him.