Chương 60: The Visitor

Shin didn't see Sasuke again over the next two days. A group of shinobi had come and taken him away — where, no one said. Shin himself stayed in the hospital under the close care of the medical-nin. His arm healed fast. By the end of the second day, it was nearly good as new. Hana visited. She sat at the edge of his bed and scolded him — voice sharp, brow pinched — but her eyes kept drifting to his bandaged arm, and the sharpness in her words couldn't hide the ache behind them.

Kiba came too, loud as ever, swearing up and down that he was going to hunt Sasuke down and make him pay. He wanted to stay the night. The nurses threw him out. What surprised Shin most was Tsume. She stayed. Not just a visit — she was simply there, quiet and constant, not doing anything in particular, just sitting nearby with her arms crossed or leaning against the wall. She didn't leave until the day he was discharged. Even then, she wouldn't let him go home. No reason given. Shin didn't press.

He went back to the Inuzuka house without complaint. The Aburame compound.

"How's Shino doing?" Tsume was sprawled across the sofa opposite Shibi, arms draped over the backrest, voice lazy.

"... Fine." One word. That was all Shibi offered.

"Fine?" Tsume's lips twitched — half a smile, half a smirk.

"It's his first time. The kikaichū are... an adjustment." Shibi paused, choosing his next words with characteristic precision.

"He needs time to acclimate. His aptitude is strong. He won't fall behind Shikuro's boy."

"Lot to deal with since you got back, I imagine." Tsume's tone shifted. The laziness was still there, but something sharper glinted underneath. Shibi turned his head slightly toward her. Behind his dark glasses, he rolled his eyes — not that she could see it. But the angle of his head was enough. Tsume had known him long enough to read the gesture. What she'd said was her own situation, too.

"The Uchiha outcome caught everyone off guard," Tsume continued, staring at the ceiling.

"Whatever Lord Hokage and the advisory council decided — every clan in the village is spooked. Jumping at shadows""The Hyuga have vanished from the streets entirely. Shikaku probably knows something." Shibi's voice was low, measured.

"But he's not talking."

"Yeah." Tsume let out a long sigh." God, what a headache." She spread her arms wide and let her whole body sink deeper into the sofa cushions. The room fell silent. Each of them turned away, lost in their own thoughts, gazing at nothing. Neither spoke for a long time.

"Speaking of which—" Shibi broke the silence first. Tsume turned her head, expression flat, and looked at him.

"You've been shadowing Shin lately."

"Mm." A vague sound, barely an acknowledgment. She looked away again.

"Don't you think that's a bit much?" Shibi couldn't help but say.

"There's no way the Uchiha affair could touch Shin. No one would move against him — not with his background." Tsume said nothing.

"The one who's really jumping at shadows... is you." Shibi sighed. A long pause.

"I hope so," Tsume said at last. Her voice was calm. Her eyes were anything but. Tsume returned home to find Shin alone in the yard. He stood beneath the old tree, swinging a blade in slow, deliberate arcs. The movements were simple — basic slashing patterns, repeated over and over in a monotonous loop — but there was something in the way he moved that made it hard to look away. Each cut was clean. Each transition, seamless.

The repetition wasn't mechanical; it was refined, like a musician running scales so deeply ingrained they'd become music in their own right. Hana was out on a mission. Kiba had gone to school. Tsume had forbidden Shin from attending classes or wandering around, so he'd had nothing to do but practice. His arm, it seemed, was no longer an issue. Tsume leaned against the doorframe and watched in silence. Shin sensed her almost immediately.

He stopped mid-swing, brought the blade upright, and planted the tip against the ground.

"Auntie." Tsume didn't answer right away. She walked over, closing the distance between them in a few long strides, and stopped just in front of him. She was far taller — she looked down at him, head tilted slightly to one side.

"Not bad," she said, her gaze dropping to the blade in his hand.

"Huh?" Shin blinked, caught off guard. He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't.

"You really like swords, don't you." Shin hesitated. Then he nodded.

"I see..." Tsume studied him for a moment, something shifting behind her eyes — a thought she didn't share.

"You can go back to school tomorrow." She said it abruptly, already stepping past him toward the far side of the yard.

"And you can go home tonight." Shin stared after her, processing. Then he grabbed his blade and followed. That afternoon, Shin packed his things and walked home alone. He pushed open the old wooden gate. The hinges groaned — a tired, familiar sound, like the door was complaining about having to move at all. His small courtyard spread out before him. Late summer had scattered leaves across the ground. Someone had swept most of them into a pile beneath the old tree. Hana, probably. The sun hung low in the west.

Cicadas droned. Birdsong threaded through the branches. The emptiness of the yard made everything louder — every chirp, every hum amplified by the silence underneath. A breeze drifted through, plucking a leaf or two from the branches. They spiraled down, slow and aimless. Falling leaves find their way back to the roots. People aren't always so lucky. Shin carried his blade into the yard, went inside, and cleaned the whole place top to bottom.

He took a quick shower, changed into a dark blue yukata, and walked back out with his hair still dripping wet. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. He picked up the broom leaning against the wall and started sweeping the courtyard. Knock. Knock. Knock. Someone at the gate. Shin assumed it was Hana or Tsume. He walked over with the broom still in hand and pulled the door open. It wasn't Hana. It wasn't Tsume.

The old man from Sasuke's hospital room stood on his doorstep. Bandages wrapped around his head, covering his right eye. His right arm was concealed beneath the loose folds of his kimono. His left hand gripped a cane. His single visible eye was half-lidded, but there was nothing feeble about the way he held himself — the air around him carried a weight that had nothing to do with age.

"Good evening." Shin recognized him immediately — the man who'd been standing with the Third Hokage. Someone important, clearly. And old enough to deserve respect regardless. He bowed quickly.

"Please — how can I help you?"

"Shin Takami." The old man looked down at him. His voice was low, unhurried. A statement, not a question.

"May I come in?"

"Of course. Please." Shin stepped aside. The old man crossed the threshold with measured steps, and Shin closed the gate behind him and fell in step at his rear. The visitor's gaze swept across the courtyard as he walked — calm, appraising — with the air of someone who already knew the layout. He settled into a seat in the small living room. Shin brought him a cup of water.

"Sit." The old man gestured to the sofa across from him. He said it the way someone might in their own house. Shin sat. He didn't touch his own water. The old man didn't touch his either. He simply fixed his single eye on Shin and held it there, unblinking. Out of deference to the man's age, Shin sat straight-backed and still.

"Excuse me," Shin said, when it became clear the silence would continue indefinitely.

"May I ask who you are?"

"You're Shisui's student." The old man ignored the question entirely, replacing it with his own. Shin's breath caught. He stared at the old man, wariness creeping into his expression.

"I was Shisui's teacher," the man said, as if remarking on the weather.

"Which makes us connected by a chain of mentorship. By rights, you should call me grand-master."

"Grand... master?" Shin repeated the word slowly, tasting the strangeness of it. The old man sat perfectly upright, cane still planted beside him, radiating the quiet authority of someone accustomed to giving orders. His single eye watched Shin without warmth or hostility.

"Shisui was one of the finest students I ever trained. A shame." The words sounded like a lament. The tone didn't.

"He had a limitless future ahead of him. Gone too soon." Shin watched him. He knew none of this was the point.

"Your father and I also had a connection," the old man continued.

"My father?"

"Everyone his age got along well with your father, come to think of it." The old man's gaze drifted, as though catching a thread of memory.

"Tsukasa Takami. Had he lived, he'd be Jonin Commander by now."

"I saw you at the hospital the other day. Didn't expect you'd grown this much already." The old man's tone shifted — something almost grandfatherly crept in, though it sat oddly on his features. He means no harm... That was Shin's read. An elder visiting the child of old acquaintances, paying respects through the connection of a shared student. Beneath his bandages, the old man's concealed right eye began to turn. The Sharingan hidden there spun to life.

Shin felt it before he understood it — a sudden, foreign pulse behind his own right eye. Something stirred. He didn't know that his right iris had just reformed into a four-pointed pinwheel, its rotation synchronized perfectly with the Sharingan spinning beneath the old man's wrappings. For one disorienting instant, the world sharpened. Colors deepened. Details leapt out — the grain of the wooden table, the weave of the old man's kimono, the individual threads of his bandages.

He could see, with startling clarity, the vast reservoir of chakra coiled inside the old man's body — incomparably greater than his own. What— Shin's brow creased, the change so subtle it was nearly invisible. He didn't understand what had just happened. But the old man had seen everything. He'd watched the transformation in Shin's eye with perfect clarity — the four-pointed pinwheel appearing and spinning in concert with his own. His expression didn't change. He deactivated the Sharingan.

Shin's eye returned to normal in the same instant. So it is in you, after all. A cold satisfaction stirred behind the old man's calm exterior.

"There's no grand purpose to this visit," he said aloud, voice unchanged.

"I simply wanted to see what kind of person Shisui's student turned out to be." He set his cane aside, and with a subtle motion of his hand — poof — a small scroll appeared in a puff of smoke. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Shin.

"Open it." Shin hesitated. His hand didn't move.

"Have you already forgotten what I told you?" the old man said.

"With Shisui between us, it's only natural for you to accept." Shin considered for another moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and picked up the scroll. Under the old man's watchful gaze, he unrolled it. The first thing he saw was a single character — fire — encircled by intricate sealing script. Beyond it, dense columns of text unfurled. The scroll was long — over two meters when fully extended. Every entry was a Fire Release technique. More than a dozen of them, ranging from C-rank up to A-rank.

Each was meticulously catalogued: jutsu classification, technical breakdown, hand seal sequences, everything recorded in painstaking detail.

"This—" Shin looked up sharply. The old man had already produced a second scroll and was setting it down in front of him with the same unhurried motion. Shin pressed his lips together. He rolled the first scroll closed, set it on the table, and didn't touch the second one.

"That one contains Water Release techniques," the old man said, noting Shin's restraint.

"Same quality as the one you just read."

"Your father was a Water Release sensor-type. Your mother specialized in Fire Release. I'd wager your chakra nature is one or both. Even if you only have one, the other can be developed once you reach jonin."

"This is too valuable," Shin said after a pause. He shook his head.

"I can't accept it."

"Most of these techniques are beyond you at your current level. Wait until you make chunin before studying them seriously — anything too powerful will only be a burden. The C-rank ones, though, you could start with now." The old man spoke over Shin's refusal as if he hadn't heard it. He was already reaching for his cane, rising to his feet. Shin scrambled to stand.

"Don't think about refusing." The old man took two steps toward the door.

"Didn't I explain our relationship? I'm your elder. When your elder gives you something, you accept."

"You—" Shin searched for the right form of address. Calling him grand-master as the man had suggested felt wrong in a way Shin couldn't articulate — an instinct, deep and persistent.

"Shisui would want to see you grow stronger." The old man cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"If you ever need anything in the future, come to me. I'll do what I can." He walked toward the gate. Then stopped. He turned back to face Shin one last time.

"My position in the village is... sensitive. It's best that others don't know I was here." His single eye held Shin's gaze.

"Tell no one. Not even the people closest to you." …… The old man left. Shin stood in the living room for a long time afterward, staring at the two scrolls on the table with a vague, troubled expression. He still didn't know the man's name. A stranger shows up, claims to be your grand-master, dumps a fortune in jutsu on your table, and tells you to keep it secret.

If Shin had been an ordinary child, he might have taken it at face value — an old man honoring his student's memory by looking after the student's student. It wasn't an unreasonable explanation. But something felt off. A discord he couldn't name. He stared at the scrolls until his head ached. Then he reached for the Water Release scroll. Slowly, he unrolled it and began to read. It was exactly as the old man had said — comparable in quality to the Fire Release collection.

Dozens of Water Release techniques, C-rank through A-rank, all meticulously documented.

"Water Release, huh..." Shin muttered, clicking his tongue. He carried the scroll out into the yard and studied it more closely, settling on a C-rank technique. He memorized the hand seal sequence, set the scroll down on the ground beside him. He ran through the technical breakdown one more time in his head. Drew a deep breath. Chakra surged through his tenketsu and his hands blurred through the seals.

"Water Release: Raging Waves!" A violent torrent of water erupted from his mouth in a concentrated jet, slamming into the ground with enough force to carve a narrow crater into the packed earth. Water sprayed outward, pooling across the yard. The jutsu ended. Shin lowered his hands and steadied his breathing. He walked over to inspect the damage. A small, deep pit where the jet had struck. Water puddled around it in a rough circle. Decent penetrating power.

He cleaned up the mess as best he could, then collected both scrolls and took them inside.

"Lord Danzō." On the road back, two figures flanked the old man — white-robed, masked, their faces hidden behind featureless porcelain. ROOT operatives.

"Why show that boy such generosity?" one of them ventured. The path they walked was deserted. Not a soul in sight.

"I've explained this before," Danzō said, his voice a low rumble.

"The boy's situation is... delicate. If we're discovered, certain parties will push back." The ROOT operative fell silent, considering. The mask concealed whatever expression he wore.

"The Inuzuka clan?" he said at last.

"I don't see them as a significant threat."

"Heh." Danzō stopped mid-stride. A sound escaped him — two short, clipped notes that might have been laughter in another man's mouth. Both operatives halted instantly.

"You think，" Danzō's lips curved. The smile didn't reach his eye. Something cold and faintly mocking glinted there.

"that the only one standing behind Shin Takami is the Inuzuka?"