"Nono…" Tsunade murmured the name softly. She had a vague impression of it—Nono had been a well-regarded medical colleague and a known humanitarian.
"What… happened to her afterward?"
An ominous premonition settled over Tsunade.
Her gaze shifted—sharp and unrelenting—locking onto Hiruzen Sarutobi's face. The accusation in her eyes was almost tangible.
Jiraiya didn't stare as openly as Tsunade did, but the repeated glances he cast and the deep furrow in his brow carried the same message: suspicion, and growing unease.
The silent pressure was unmistakable.
Hiruzen… what role did you play this time?
Under their scrutiny, Hiruzen's complexion shifted between pale and flushed. Finally, unable to endure the weight of it, he spoke in a low voice tinged with frustration and helplessness.
"This time! This time, I truly did nothing!"
At his somewhat aggrieved denial, Jiraiya subconsciously let out a quiet sigh of relief, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.
"Thank goodness… at least there's no direct dirt on the old man this time…"
He genuinely feared the Heavenly Screen would reveal yet another dark secret about his teacher. That would have been too much to bear.
"Hmph."
A cold scoff cut him off.
Tsunade stood with her arms crossed, undisguised disdain and sarcasm written plainly on her face. She fixed Hiruzen with a piercing stare and spoke each word deliberately.
"The problem is precisely that—you 'truly did nothing.'"
She emphasized the phrase heavily.
"But you 'knew everything.'"
"You knew what was going to happen. You knew what Danzo was doing in the shadows—what dirty tricks he was up to. And yet you did 'nothing.'"
"Because he was your 'old comrade.' Your 'trusted partner.' The leader of Root."
"For the sake of your so-called 'village stability' and that nonsense about 'necessary darkness beneath the light,' you chose to tolerate it. To look the other way. Didn't you?!"
"So yes—you truly did nothing."
Her words struck like a barrage of blows, each syllable pounding against Hiruzen's heart.
His face grew increasingly ashen. His lips trembled as if to argue, to explain—but in the end, every word died in his throat.
He lowered his head, avoiding Tsunade's sharp gaze—and Jiraiya's newly complicated expression as well.
He stared at the ground, sinking into a deathly silence.
That silence itself was an answer.
Watching his teacher's tacit resignation, Jiraiya felt as though the world dimmed. It was as if an invisible hand had clenched tightly around his heart.
Damn it…
Tsunade's guess was probably correct.
Again.
Again, this pattern.
"I knew—but I couldn't stop it."
Or worse—"I allowed it."
Old man… how many tragedies were born from that overextended sense of "the bigger picture"?
How many seeds of resentment were planted in Konoha's soil because of it?
The screen shifted.
The once tidy yet modest orphanage now appeared strained and impoverished.
The children's meals were visibly lacking. Lines of exhaustion and worry marked Yakushi Nono's gentle face.
The orphanage was severely underfunded. Director Nono was reaching the point where she could no longer support the children.
Some even believed that Kabuto's arrival had only worsened the burden.
But Nono did not see it that way.
Instead, she gave Kabuto her own glasses.
When the child put them on, tears streamed down his face.
So someone really did care about him.
Then—
At the most heart-wrenching moment, a figure appeared like the shadow of an ill-omened crow.
Black clothing. Bandages wrapped around his right arm and right eye. A presence heavy with oppression.
Shimura Danzo.
"Of course it's him!"
"Danzo! That old schemer again!"
"I knew this had to involve him!"
Across the shinobi world, cries of vindicated suspicion erupted.
After repeated exposures by the Heavenly Screen, Danzo's name had become synonymous with "tragedy manufacturer" and "embodiment of darkness."
On the screen, Danzo spoke plainly, his voice low and direct.
"I am aware of the orphanage's predicament. Konoha can allocate sufficient funds. The children here will not lack food or clothing. They will even receive basic education."
Nono froze at first—hope flickering in her eyes.
But Danzo's next words extinguished that light, replacing it with conflict and alarm.
"However," he said, his single visible eye fixed on her, "in exchange, you will serve Root. Your medical ninjutsu—and your other talents—are useful to the village."
Clear rejection and anguish crossed Nono's face.
She loved these children. She only wanted to protect their small haven—far from killing and conspiracy.
But when she looked at their undernourished faces… when she felt the looming threat of starvation…
Struggle.
Hesitation.
In the end, maternal responsibility and fear for the children's future overpowered her personal wishes.
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
When she opened them again, calm resolve filled her gaze.
"…I accept. But you must keep your promise."
Danzo gave a slight nod. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips—satisfaction at a plan fulfilled.
"Very well. Root requires your loyalty."
The deal was struck.
A kind director, in order to preserve the children's smiles, sold herself to Konoha's darkest department.
"Predictable as ever."
"If you say every tragedy involves Danzo, that's exaggerated."
"But if you pick ten tragedies, at least nine will have his fingerprints on them!"
Across the shinobi world, discussion leaned overwhelmingly toward disgust for Danzo and sympathy for Nono.
The script was painfully classic—
Exploit someone's kindness.
Target their weakness.
Drag them into the mud.
Under the Heavenly Screen's relentless revelations, Danzo's image had become permanently tied to "ruthless," "sinister," and "ends justify the means."
The perspective shifted to young Kabuto.
He witnessed Nono's reluctant sacrifice—her forced induction into Root for the orphanage's sake.
A fierce desire ignited in his heart.
He wanted to share her burden.
He wanted to protect her.
Kabuto sought out Danzo himself and firmly requested to join Root.
In truth, Kabuto had already been one of Danzo's intended targets.
Danzo agreed without hesitation.
The day Kabuto departed, everyone from the orphanage came to see him off.
At this point, many across the shinobi world felt their eyes sting.
This "mother and son," unrelated by blood, were each trying—desperately, in their own way—to protect the other.
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