Baishi pinched a corner of the scroll between his fingers.
It felt strange. The charred portion was hard and brittle, ready to crumble to dust at the slightest pressure. The surviving leather was cold, damp, and tough, soaked through with some kind of liquid.
He did not unroll it.
Every gaze in the room—angry, grief-stricken, or searching—rested on the damaged half-scroll, as though it held a truth that could overturn everything.
Baishi looked away from the scroll and turned to an ANBU operative standing by at his side.
"Bring me a No. 4 Standard Evidence Sealing Box."
His voice was calm, as though he were assigning a routine task.
The ANBU operative bowed and vanished in a flicker.
"Baishi!" Jiraiya's voice shook with suppressed anger. "You won't even look at what's inside? Minato gave his life for that!"
Baishi ignored Jiraiya. His gaze returned to the scroll, as though he were assessing a hazardous object.
"The evidence came from an abandoned base belonging to the rogue ninja Orochimaru."
"The person who submitted it is a former observer diagnosed by the Medical Department with severe mental instability."
"The evidence itself poses a serious risk of both biological and Chakra contamination."
With every sentence Baishi spoke, the Meeting Room seemed to grow colder. He was not arguing. He was stating facts, using the cold logic of procedure to push a scroll laden with blood and hope, step by step, into a category where its validity could not be defended.
"Under these circumstances, opening and examining it without precautions would not only violate the Evidence Preservation Regulations, but also show blatant disregard for the Hokage's Office Safety Protocols."
"Lord Jiraiya," Baishi said, finally raising his eyes to him, "as special adviser, you should know better than I do that rules are what keep