Three nights later, Sunagakure.
Chiyo lightly adjusted the joints of a puppet, the crisp click of its mechanisms locking together especially clear in the silent room.
Outside the window, Sunagakure's night wind swept fine sand against the lattice. It was already past midnight.
But her grandson, Scorpion, had not returned.
Chiyo set down the puppet parts in her hands, her brows tightly furrowed.
Something was wrong...
Though Scorpion was withdrawn by nature, he had never stayed out all night before.
Especially considering his recent behavior...
She abruptly rose to her feet and hurried toward Scorpion's room.
The instant she pushed open the door, her pupils contracted sharply.
Countless puppet parts lay scattered across the floor, along with Scorpion's most treasured "Parents" puppets.
They had now been torn to pieces, their heads rolling into the corner, their hollow eyes seeming to silently accuse someone of something.
Chiyo's heart jolted as she quickly searched through the room.
At last, behind an ordinary little humanoid puppet, she saw the words Scorpion had carved.
"People? With puppets, I can make as many as I want."
The sense of dread in her heart grew stronger.
Without pausing, she turned and rushed toward Scorpion's puppet workshop.
The workshop door was locked tight.
Chiyo pressed her fingers against the door. The icy touch made her fingertips go numb.
She had no patience to look for a key. She directly pulled an Explosive Tag from her clothes and stuck it on the lock.
"Explode!"
With a thunderous boom, the door was blown into pieces. Chiyo charged inside through the billowing smoke and dust.
The workshop was completely silent.
The puppets that had once filled the walls—
The birds, venomous snakes, and humanoid weapons Scorpion had painstakingly crafted—all of them were gone.
The room was terrifyingly empty. Only the