Curious Members of the Revolutionary Army

Some people leaned against the barracks door frame and quietly watched, while others leaned against the pillars pretending to wipe their weapons, but their eyes were glued to a few people. A soldier on the second floor leaned half his body out of the window and was almost pulled back by his comrade.

Whispers spread in layers, filling the entire alleyway like a tide.

"Did you see that? Those eyes, Three-Tomoe Sharingan, bright red, exactly the same as described in the intelligence!"

"These are the Uchiha Clan members? They look so young, even more immature than the new recruits in the unit."

"Have you forgotten the battle report from Coral Port? Madara Uchiha cleaved Kaido in two with a single sword strike. Anyone who can stand firm in a clan must be a top-tier ruthless individual."

"These two have such a cold aura... They look like bodyguards, but their presence is even more intimidating than our Chief of Staff."

Amidst the murmurs around him, Yaoyu kept his eyes fixed ahead, his steps steady and calm, without even lifting his eyelids.

He turned his head and spoke softly into the scent of Yakumi beside him, his tone flat and indifferent. "One hundred and thirty-seven people."

"One hundred and forty-two," Yakumi replied without changing his expression, casually adding, "There are five more hidden on the second floor."

Outsiders couldn't understand the meaning behind the numbers the brothers suddenly announced; they only felt that the two men were too monstrous.

He remained Shisui despite being stared at and scrutinized by dozens of eyes. This composure only aroused the soldiers' awe and curiosity.

Dragon ignored them completely, leading the three through the main alleyway and pushing open a heavy solid wood door.

Behind the door was a very simple and unpretentious reception room, with clean and simple furnishings and no superfluous decorations, reflecting the pragmatic style of the Revolutionary Army.

He took his seat at the head of the table, gestured for the three to sit wherever they pleased, and his gaze remained steady on Ace as he slowly spoke, "Sabo is out on a mission and is not at headquarters for the time being. He won't be back for at least an hour."

He paused briefly, considered his words for a moment, and then told the whole truth.

"Over the years, Sabo has never mentioned his past to anyone. It's not that he's deliberately hiding it; he truly has nothing left."

"His memory only begins to count from the moment we rescued him. Everything before that is a blank."

He didn't know where his homeland was, whether he had any close relatives or family, or even whether his own name was real or not. All these years, he only believed himself to be the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army, nothing more.

Ace remained silent for a moment, then looked up with that same open and sincere bright smile, but his eyes held a burning determination.

"It doesn't matter."

"I came here to tell him that he was never alone. He has brothers, family, and a unique past."

Even if he forgets everything, it won't change the fact that we are connected by blood and sworn brothers. He will always be my brother.

Beside her, Yaoyu leaned back lazily in her chair, still exuding a cold and aloof aura that kept strangers at bay.

Yakumi simply squatted in the corner, his fingertips somehow producing a Kunai, its sharp tip lightly tracing lines on the white earth.

With just a few strokes, a rough human face emerged, and he casually drew an X next to it.

Yaoyu glanced at it with lowered eyes and said calmly, "It's quite lifelike."

"Um."

The Yakumi seemed to respond, and a few more strokes were added. Next to the cross, a simple stick figure appeared, its lines clumsy, yet deliberately depicting a large, flamboyant, and bright smile.

Yaoyu stared at that clumsy smile mark for a long time, then slowly closed her eyes to rest. Her usually straight lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

A long hour passed slowly in this quiet and subtle atmosphere.

Footsteps finally echoed at the end of the corridor.

Unlike the stiff, orderly steps of soldiers in drill, the rhythm was light and brisk, carrying the composure honed by years of experience, and it came clearly from afar.

The wooden door was gently pushed open.

A young man wearing a headscarf stood at the door, holding the signature water pipe in his hand. His clothes were still dusty from his long journey back, and his features were handsome and sharp.

His gaze swept quickly across everyone in the room, and when he saw Dragon, he nodded slightly in acknowledgment before his eyes fell precisely on Ace.

Their eyes met.

There was no instant familiarity, no inexplicable excitement, only a long-awaited first meeting that spanned years.

At that very moment, Yaoyu silently stood up, brushing the fine dust from her clothes. Yakumi also stood up, Kunai knife in her hand, the movements swift and silent.

The two walked side by side towards the door without saying a word. As they passed Dragon, Yaoyu casually tossed out, "Let's wait outside."

Without waiting for a response, the wooden door was gently pushed open and then closed, isolating the interior space.

The wind in the corridor was cooler than inside the house, blowing through the corridor and dispelling the stuffiness of the room.

Yaoyu leaned against the cold, white earthen wall, looked up at the fine cracks in the ceiling, and quietly let her mind wander.

The Yakumi lingered beside him. After a long silence, he suddenly spoke softly, uttering a very faint prediction. "He'll probably cry."

"Yes, he will." Yaoyu's tone was calm, yet contained a gentle certainty. "But this time, someone handed him a handkerchief."

"Um."

The brief conversation ended, and the corridor returned to silence.

The two Uchiha warriors, known for their coldness, taciturnity, and ruthless killing, leaned quietly against the wall, silently guarding the tightly closed wooden door.

Inside the house lies a past sealed away for many years, a steadfast belief that transcends mountains and seas, and a reunion of brothers that is more than ten years overdue.

Outside the door, someone else was protecting this hard-won tenderness and fulfillment for him.

The wooden door closed gently, the soft click of the latch silencing the wind in the corridor and shutting out all the noise from the outside world.

The meeting room wasn't large; against the wall was a thick stack of intelligence documents and hand-drawn nautical charts, the paper wrinkled and showing signs of repeated reading.

An oil lamp burned quietly on the corner of the table, its weak orange flame trembling gently in the breeze seeping through the window cracks. The light and shadow flickered on the wall, making the whole little room feel quiet and warm.

Sabo sat upright at the table, his back to the door, a charcoal pencil in his left hand, intently annotating the report in his hand.

Hearing the door close behind him, he didn't turn around, assuming it was Dragon returning. His fingertips remained steady on the paper as he casually spoke.

"Mr. Long, please wait a moment. I will finish this battle report soon."

Ace leaned against the doorframe, motionless and silent.

He just stood there quietly watching that familiar back, watching the person's body that habitually leaned to one side when writing.

More than a decade later, this little gesture etched into my childhood remains completely unchanged.

In an instant, the evening breeze of Mount Colubo seemed to travel through time and rush towards us.