The warm golden hue of morning sunlight spilled over the wooden floorboards of the small inn as Kaizen opened his eyes. The aroma of fried rice and miso soup wafted up from below, mingling with the loud, energetic chatter of villagers gathered for breakfast. It was far more chaotic than usual.
Pulling himself out of bed, Kaizen stretched his limbs and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His body felt rested, but his mind was alert, absorbing the words floating up from the floor below as he descended toward the inn's main hall.
"I heard Konoha's going to take the war orphans from the orphanage today," one man muttered as he took a swig of rice wine far too early in the day.
"Really? Good riddance. Those stinking brats have been cluttering up the streets and stinking up the air."
"Hmph, you think the Leaf's doing this out of kindness?" another spat. "They just want cannon fodder. The last war cost them too many bodies."
Kaizen chewed slowly on a piece of dried fish. The bitterness of the comments wasn't new. Orphans were often treated like burdens, future criminals, or tools—never people. But even in those harsh words, Kaizen saw an opportunity.
Cannon fodder or not, being inside Konoha is better than staying in this land, he thought.
A plan began to form.
After breakfast, Kaizen ducked into a shadowed alleyway and began altering his appearance. He reached down, scooping up dirt and smearing it across his face. He tugged at the collar of his shirt until the seams loosened, and used a small blade to fray the edges of his clothes. Grime and dust covered his arms and legs. He wrapped a cloth over his tonta, concealing the blade in his bag, which he slung over his shoulder like a desperate child fleeing war.
He stared into a cracked window for a moment, examining his disguise.
If I'm going to play the part, I might as well go all in.
With shoulders slumped and a fake limp, he approached the old orphanage at the edge of the village—a fading structure of peeling paint and rusted hinges. Just as he reached the gate, an elderly woman spotted him.
"Oh, you poor child! What happened to you?" Her voice quivered with concern. Her face, wrinkled with years, was kind and soft, a stark contrast to the townsfolk he'd passed.
"I… I haven't eaten," Kaizen mumbled, forcing a hoarse edge to his voice.
"Come in, dear. Come, come. Let's feed you something." She opened the creaking gate and ushered him inside.
Kaizen was brought to a small kitchen where warm rice porridge and a slice of salted fish waited. He devoured the food greedily, giving in to the role he played with surprising ease. Somewhere inside, he realized the act came naturally—maybe too naturally.
The old woman patted his back gently. "Poor thing. You must've been starving."
Kaizen smiled through his mouthful of food. Maybe I should take an acting class if I survive long enough, he mused.
She guided him to a communal room filled with mats and blankets where a few other orphans were resting. Kaizen lay down and closed his eyes, pretending to nap while listening to their whispers. Some were younger, maybe six or seven. Others closer to his real age, ten or twelve. A few had the hardened look of kids who'd seen too much for too long.
A few hours passed before a commotion stirred the orphanage awake.
"Good afternoon," came a calm, weathered voice. "It's been a while since I visited here."
The old caretaker brightened immediately. "Third Hokage-sama! Thank you for coming. You're here to take the children? The assistant of the Daimyo already told me."
Kaizen opened one eye and peeked. A kind-faced man in his 30s stood at the door, dressed in formal robes bearing the symbol of the Hokage. His presence alone seemed to bring warmth into the room.
The woman continued, "These children are all good kids. I only pray they'll be cared for well."
"Hmph. What use are they if they don't even become ninja?" Another man's voice cut through the room, cold and sharp. His hair was neatly tied back, his posture stiff, eyes piercing. Handsome, but with an unsettling air.
"Danzo," the Hokage warned, still smiling but with firmness. "They're children of the Land of Fire. It's our duty to protect them."
Danzo scoffed. "Then let's use the Yamanaka Mind Transfer on them first. Ensure none of them are spies planted by enemy villages."
The room grew silent. The younger children recoiled, some instinctively hugging each other. They didn't know what "Mind Transfer" meant—but they knew fear when they saw it.
"Danzo!" the Hokage snapped, still with that disarming smile. "You're frightening the children. You should be setting them at ease."
Danzo grunted and turned his gaze toward the group of orphans huddled nearby. He studied each one with a cold calculation, like inspecting weapons rather than people. Then, his eyes landed on Kaizen.
Kaizen, instead of looking away, held his gaze. His dirty face and tired expression betrayed nothing. He didn't blink. He didn't shrink.
Danzo's lips curled ever so slightly.
Interesting, he thought.
Kaizen felt a chill crawl up his spine. The way Danzo looked at him—it was like being dissected by a blade. For the first time, he wondered if this act had been a mistake.