Probing from Root

The sky had already darkened on the way home from the training ground.

As Takuma rounded the corner past the barbecue restaurant, he was still thinking about how to dispose of the purple shorts in his ninja tool pouch. Burning them felt like a waste, but keeping them meant he could never explain their origin. He decided to shove them into the deepest corner of his wardrobe and never let a second person see them for the rest of his life.

Lights flickered on in the shops on both sides of the street. The sign for Ichiraku Ramen was particularly eye-catching. Teuchi was standing at the entrance hanging a new curtain; seeing Takuma pass by, he called out, "Kid, back so late?"

"Just finished training." Takuma waved his hand, signaling he wouldn't be eating ramen today.

Teuchi wore a look of regret and turned back to continue hanging the curtain.

After turning into the alley leading to the residential area, the crowd thinned out significantly. This alley saw little foot traffic during the day, and it was even quieter after dark. Both sides were lined with the back walls of warehouses, windowless, save for the streetlights hanging from the utility poles overhead, which flickered slightly due to poor contact.

As Takuma walked, his brow furrowed slightly.

It was too quiet. Takuma didn't know why he could perceive such a subtle anomaly; perhaps it was a keen instinct brought on by his Senju bloodline, or perhaps he had simply become sensitive to "killing intent" after the mission in the Land of Waves.

Regardless of the reason, he chose to trust his intuition.

Takuma didn't stop, nor did he speed up. He kept his breathing rhythm steady, his right hand hanging naturally, his fingers already resting on the buckle of the side pocket of his ninja tool pouch.

Two ninjas dropped down from the wall, dressed in standard Anbu attire.

"Mori Takuma." The one with the cat mask on the left spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. "Come with us."

Takuma looked at the two men in front of him, several thoughts flashing through his mind. Root? If they were coming for him, it had to be for his Senju bloodline. After the mission in the Land of Waves, the Medical Corps must have noticed his recovery speed; that news likely hadn't taken long to reach Danzo's ears. The Third Hokage had said his bloodline couldn't be hidden for long, but Takuma hadn't expected it to happen this quickly.

"Do you have a dispatch order from the Hokage?" Takuma asked.

The eyes behind the cat mask showed no fluctuation. He raised his right hand, palm open, and a black token lay quietly there.

"Root does not need a Hokage's dispatch order to execute missions. You only need to obey."

Takuma was silent for two seconds. A direct confrontation was definitely out of the question; the opponents were at least at the Chunin level, and there were likely more than two of them. He took a deep breath and moved his hand away from his ninja tool pouch.

"Let's go."

The cat mask glanced at him and turned toward the end of the alley. The fox mask stepped aside, signaling for Takuma to follow. As Takuma stepped forward, he noticed an extra presence behind him; sure enough, a third person was blocking his retreat.

They didn't take the conventional route. The cat mask led the way, pushing open an inconspicuous wooden door that revealed a stone staircase leading underground. On the walls on both sides of the stairs, an oil lamp was embedded every few steps, the flames burning quietly without a sound. The air was filled with the smell of old wood, mixed with a faint, lingering scent of rust.

The underground facility was much larger than Takuma had imagined. Corridors branched out in all directions, lined with heavy iron doors. Occasionally, he could hear low voices or the mechanical hum of ninja tools operating behind them. Every Root member they passed looked straight ahead, their walking speed and stride length almost identical, like puppets controlled by the same program.

Takuma couldn't help but think that this place was even more oppressive than a prison.

The cat mask stopped in front of a heavy iron door. He didn't knock, just stood to one side. The fox mask also took a step back. The iron door opened automatically with a dull sound of metal grinding.

The room was small. A wooden table, two chairs, and no windows on the walls. The only light source was an oil lamp on the table with the wick trimmed very short; the light was just enough to illuminate the tabletop, leaving the four corners of the room submerged in shadows.

A person sat in one of the chairs.

Bandages wrapped around his right eye and half his head, the exposed left side of his face covered in wrinkles, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned. He wore a dark kimono, his hands resting on a cane, the skin on the back of his hands as dry as tree bark. That single exposed left eye looked at Takuma. "Sit."

Takuma sat down opposite him. Intuition told him that in front of this man, saying too much was a mistake.

"Mori Takuma." Danzo slowly spoke his name, as if savoring the taste of the surname. "Mori. Interesting."

"Your father was Mori Kazuki, who ran a bookstore. Your mother was a commoner. The only ninjas registered in your family are two generations: father and son."

"After the Senju Clan disbanded, many clansmen chose to live in anonymity. Changing their surnames, blending into the commoners, and living quietly in the corners of Konoha." Danzo's cane tapped the floor lightly, making a dull sound. "Your Mori family is one of them."

Danzo leaned forward slightly, the flame of the oil lamp flickering with his movement, the shadows in the room swaying along with it. "A descendant of the Senju... are you willing to join Root and contribute your strength to Konoha?"

Takuma met that left eye. His chest felt like it was being pressed by a stone, but he forced himself to keep his tone steady.

"I am already executing missions as a ninja."

"Those games you call missions."

Danzo interrupted him. His calm tone carried undeniable contempt.

"D-rank missions. C-rank missions. Finding cats, weeding, escorting merchants." Danzo shook his head. "A waste. The bloodline of the Senju Clan should not be wasted like this. Root can make you stronger, truly strong. Konoha needs people like you, but the Third Hokage's policy of appeasement cannot unearth your full potential. He is too merciful!"

"He cannot cultivate true ninjas." Takuma finished the sentence for him.

Danzo's left eye narrowed slightly.

The room fell into a brief silence. Danzo liked smart people, or rather, he liked people who could understand his logic. But finishing that sentence didn't mean he was safe; on the contrary, Danzo might be even more interested in him now.

Just as Takuma was thinking rapidly about how to escape without angering Danzo, the iron door was pushed open.

The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, stood at the door. He wore his Hokage robe and hat, holding a pipe in his hand. Smoke drifted slowly from the shadows beneath his hat, appearing a color between blue and gray in the dim light.

"Danzo." The Third's voice was raspy but clear. "This child is not under your jurisdiction."

Danzo didn't stand up, merely leaning back into his chair. "It is rare for the Third Hokage to come to Root in person to demand someone."

"What is rare is not me coming to demand someone." The Third walked into the room, tapped his pipe lightly against the edge of the table, and a pinch of ash fell onto the surface. "Do not bypass me to contact ninjas directly."

Takuma sat between the two, motionless. A confrontation of this level was not something a Genin like him could participate in; the only thing he could do was try to minimize his presence.

The Third withdrew his gaze first. He looked at Takuma, his expression softening slightly. "Takuma, let's go."

Takuma stood up. As he walked past the Third, he looked back once. Danzo had already closed his eyes, and no emotion could be seen on that wrinkled face, as if the conversation that had just taken place had never happened.

The oil lamps in the corridor continued to burn quietly. The Third walked in front, his pace not fast, every step steady. Takuma followed behind without speaking. They passed through those branching corridors, stepped onto the stone stairs leading to the surface, and pushed open the outermost wooden door.

When the cold night air rushed into his lungs, Takuma realized just how stifling the air in the basement had been.