In someone's sights?

Before dawn, on the other side of the village, at a Root base.

The white-masked operative knelt below the seat of honor and finished reporting what had happened the night before.

Seven questions, seven answers. The boy had answered too quickly, exposing a slight flaw midway through, then covered it himself. The questioning was over, but they had yet to withdraw when Shisui entered with a night patrol lantern, stood in front of the child, and left them stranded there. The crow that had landed on the eaves before dark belonged to Shisui.

Danzo sat in the shadows. After hearing the report, he remained silent for a long time.

The candle burned a little lower. No one trimmed the wick.

Two documents lay spread across the table.

One was a records envelope delivered by the Anbu, with a sheet tucked inside: the target was in the same class as the jinchūriki. The latter had repeatedly initiated conversations, invited him to a meal once, and even knew which direction the target lived in.

The other was a copied page from the clan school's roster. Someone had drawn a faint pencil line beside Sasuke Uchiha's name.

Danzo drew the report out and read it a second time by candlelight. His finger stopped at the line that said "invited him to a meal once."

"Who invited whom?"

"The jinchūriki invited him. The jinchūriki initiated it every time."

"Someone who attaches himself willingly is easy to take in." Danzo returned the paper to its envelope. "You feel no loss when you pluck away something that came to you on its own."

"The jinchūriki," Danzo said. "The clan head's son. Shisui."

The white-masked operative kept his head lowered.

"A six-year-old child with three connections, each holding something of value." That single eye shifted in the shadows. "Shisui is protecting him now. You hadn't even left the street before he stepped in."

"Shall we continue making contact?"

"Recruit him," Danzo said. "Eliminating someone of this caliber would be a waste. Bring him into Root, and in ten years, he'll be another hand at our disposal."

"What if Lord Shisui interferes?"

"Shisui." Danzo closed the roster page. "He's loyal to the village, but he cares more about this student of his than he does about the village. Someone like that will turn against Root sooner or later." He paused. "No hurry. Courtesy first. Invite him. Give the child whatever he wants. If he refuses, we'll discuss it again."

As the white-masked operative withdrew, he heard the one-eyed man murmur half a sentence to himself in the shadows.

"...Loyalty. Depends on whose loyalty it is."

The white-masked operative pulled the door shut softly and left.

He would not put a single word of that murmur into his report.

Root's reports never recorded what Lord Danzo was thinking.

Before daylight had fully broken, in the little courtyard in Naka River's third district, four rounds of morning hand seals fulfilled the requirement.

Kiyoshi went out through the back door.

The crow flew ahead.

It did not enter the house. It landed on the wall to wait for him, taking flight again when he moved, leading him all the way toward the Naka River.

Reaching the shopping street meant passing through a narrow alley.

From deep in the alley came the sound of a cane tapping the ground. Tap, tap. Very slow, every strike equally heavy.

A man stood in the alley's shadows: a kimono, a cane, bandages wrapped around his jaw and right eye, leaving only one eye exposed.

That eye settled on Kiyoshi without blinking or shifting.

The crow paused on the wall for half a beat without a sound.

Kiyoshi walked through the alley without changing his pace.

A dozen steps beyond it, he thought, A cane. One eye. Watched me for half the alley. That name from the book has stepped off the page.

There were still few people on the embankment.

The old man practicing tai chi had just claimed his spot, and the cages brought out for the birds' morning walks were still covered with cloth.

Shisui crouched on the stone steps in casual clothes, a bag of tofu by his feet and a bean sprout pinched between his fingers.

"I said after school." Shisui did not look up. "Thought it over and changed it to morning. That street has the most eyes on it after school."

Kiyoshi sat beside him.

"Those people last night. Run me through what they asked and how you answered."

Kiyoshi went through it.

Seven questions and seven answers, without leaving out a word.

After listening, Shisui stayed silent for a long time.

The river flowed east. The old man on the embankment finished his last form, relaxed his stance, and walked away carrying his birdcage.

The tofu bag sat between them, a thin line of moisture slowly seeping out around its opening.

"That line about your parents being on duty," Shisui said. "You answered too fast."

Kiyoshi gripped his schoolbag strap.

"A child can fail to answer, cry, or hide behind an adult," Shisui said. "But he can't rush to answer. Someone who rushes already has the answer ready in his head."

"Got it."

"Remembering won't help. You'll make the same mistake next time. When people get scared, they're all desperate to prove nothing's wrong. You can only practice."

"What about on the way here?" Shisui asked. "Anything unusual?"

Kiyoshi paused for half a beat.

That single eye in the narrow alley flashed through his mind again.

"No," he said. "The streets were just quieter than usual."

Half true, half false. He trusted Shisui.

But if he told him about this now, Shisui would go do something tonight.

It was not time yet.

Shisui fished a piece of candy out of the tofu bag and flicked it to him. "During the evaluations later, if someone asks you a question, act like last night never happened. Answer a little slower. A six-year-old shouldn't react that fast."

Kiyoshi caught the candy and popped it into his mouth.

It tasted of fruit, very sweet.

Without speaking, he folded the wrapper into a small square and tucked it into his pocket.

Shisui stood and brushed the dust off his trousers.

"Let's not meet for the next couple of days. Too many eyes on the streets. If anything comes up, the crow will find you." He picked up the tofu bag. "Off to class. Evaluations today. If you're late, you really will get detention."

The crow did not follow Kiyoshi.

It landed in a willow on the riverbank and folded its wings, as though it intended to live there until next September.

In the classroom, the stack of evaluation sheets was already on the lectern.

During those four rounds of hand seals that morning, the four clones had stood straighter than yesterday. Before dismissing them, he had looked at each one. Not one had its head tilted.

Ten rounds in three days. More than halfway.

Today was the midsemester evaluation.

Iruka came in carrying a stack of papers tied neatly with hemp cord, their edges aligned as though measured with a ruler.

"We're halfway through your first semester." He placed the stack on the lectern and patted it.

"School rules require us to give your families an account of your progress at the halfway point. Your evaluation sheets will be handed out today. Come up when your name is called."

A rustle passed through the classroom as the children sat up straight.

Evaluation sheets were different from report cards.

Report cards were for you to read. Evaluation sheets were for your family.

Even six-year-olds understood that distinction.

"Sasuke Uchiha."

Sasuke went up, took his sheet, and returned to his seat without a word.

As he turned, Iruka added, "Full marks in theory." He paused. "Take a look at your teamwork score later."

Sasuke did not slow down. He slid the evaluation sheet beneath his textbook with the same motion he used to put away his ninja tools textbook.

"Hinata Hyuga."

Hinata nearly moved the arm and leg on the same side together as she came up. She accepted her evaluation sheet, bowed, and kept her shoulders stiff all the way back.

"Naruto Uzumaki."