Minato Namikaze looked at that leaf, looking for a long time.
Then he smiled. The smile was light, faint, but different from the gentle smile before.
There was something else in this smile. Like relief, like "so that's how it is," like something had finally clicked.
"When the Second Hokage was in power, he once selected a group of people."
He said, "He let them infiltrate various Villages, waiting for an opportunity. The list of this group was only known to the successive Hokage."
Shinji did not speak.
"How long have you waited?"
Shinji raised his head, looking at the night sky above, obscured by clouds.
Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the clouds, falling on his face, making that ordinary face look somewhat pale.
"Fifteen years," he said.
Minato Namikaze fell silent.
Fifteen years. The entire career of a Ninja. From a child to a man.
From the day he was sent out, he never returned.
"You survived in the Hidden Mist."
Minato Namikaze said, "It wasn't easy."
Shinji said, "The Sandaime knows. Every year, the Anbu intelligence network has a line specifically reserved for me."
Minato Namikaze nodded. He handed over the scroll in his hand:
"This contains all the information on the Sharingan genjutsu. Characteristics, methods of breaking it, physical changes in those controlled for a long time.
The Sandaime told me to tell you, this is all Konoha can do. The rest depends on you."
Shinji took the scroll and put it in his bosom: "That's enough."
He turned to leave.
"Wait." Minato Namikaze's voice came from behind.
Shinji stopped, not turning back.
"Fifteen years."
Minato Namikaze said, "Over there, have you…"
He didn't finish. But Shinji knew what he wanted to ask.
Whether he had forgotten who he was, whether he had truly become a person of the Hidden Mist, whether he had forgotten this leaf during those years.
Shinji was silent for a while. Moonlight fell between the two, illuminating the forest with a ghastly white light.
"My surname is Senju," he said.
Minato Namikaze did not speak. The wind passed through the forest, blowing the leaves with a rustling sound.
Minato Namikaze looked at that back. He recognized this figure.
"That day…"
Shinji did not answer. He just took a step forward, two steps, three steps, then disappeared into the night.
Minato Namikaze stood in place, looking at the night, not moving for a long time.
Two days later, Shinji returned to the Hidden Mist.
Mei Terumī was waiting for him at the dormitory entrance. Moonlight leaked from the eaves, falling on her, outlining her silhouette with a silver edge.
She stood there, watching him emerge from the night, watching him walk closer step by step, watching him stand before her.
"This is the intelligence I have collected over these years." Shinji handed the scroll to her.
Mei Terumī took it and opened it.
Moonlight fell on the scroll, illuminating those dense characters.
Characteristics of Sharingan genjutsu, methods of breaking it, information on Uchiha Madara.
She looked for a while.
Then she raised her head, looking at him. There was moonlight in those eyes, the night, everything from these nine years.
Those things surged in the depths of her eyes, as if about to flow out, but were suppressed back by her.
"Where did you get this?"
Shinji looked at her: "You are doubting me."
Mei Terumī was stunned for a moment.
Shinji did not explain. He just stood there, moonlight falling on his shoulders, on the kubikiribōchō wrapped in white cloth behind him.
Mei Terumī looked at him, for a long time. Then she shook her head. No further questioning, no more asking, just shaking her head.
She trusted him, and believed in him firmly.
"The evidence is enough. I will go talk to the Elders. On the Anbu side, Kisame and Zabuza will suppress things. Ao is watching the movements of the Mizukage's mansion."
Mei Terumī raised her head, looking into Shinji's eyes: "Three days later."
Shinji nodded: "Three days later."
Mei Terumī turned to leave.
"Mei Terumī." Shinji spoke suddenly.
Mei Terumī stopped.
Shinji stood in the moonlight, looking at her.
There seemed to be some suppressed emotion struggling in his eyes.
Very light, very faint, almost imperceptible.
"There is something… never mind."
Mei Terumī looked at him. The moonlight fell between the two, stretching their shadows long, very long, overlapping.
"Then I'm leaving."
Then she walked into the door. The door closed gently.
Shinji stood in the moonlight, looking at the old wooden door, not moving for a long time.
The wind blew over, carrying the chill unique to the night. In the distance came the call of an owl, one sound, another, hollow and monotonous.
He thought of that moment just now, the words he had almost blurted out.
Never mind.
Now is not the time.
He turned around and walked into the night.
The next day.
Traces of the war still remained in every corner of the Village.
The layers of casualty notices on the bulletin board, the streets missing half the pedestrians, behind those windows that were permanently closed, how many people never returned.
But the war was over, and the living had to go on living.
The Elders sat in the conference room, waiting to hear the new round of mission assignments, waiting to decide the next list to be sent to the front line. Although there was nothing left to go to on the front line.
When Shinji walked in, no one looked up.
He was just an Anbu, a capable Jonin, not significant enough in the eyes of these people.
The Elder sat at the head, eyes closed as if asleep.
Other Elders were whispering, some looking at documents in their hands, some just sitting and staring blankly.
Then he placed a stack of papers on the conference table. The stack was thick, thick enough to make a dull thud when it hit the table.
Someone looked up.
Shinji stood there, wearing the Anbu uniform, without a mask on his face.
He spread out the stack of papers, laying them on the table one by one, covering the entire table.
The pages were yellowed, edges curled, some even had dried water stains on them. It was unknown whether it was rainwater or blood.
He began to speak. His voice was very flat, flat enough that it sounded like reading a mission briefing.
"In the third year of the Fourth Mizukage's tenure, he signed the first order to purge Kekkei Genkai families."
He pointed to a piece of paper, that paper was stamped with the Mizukage's seal, the date clearly visible:
"Hōzuki clan. Fifteen lives."
The conference room was quiet for a moment.
"In the fifth year, he signed the second." He pointed to another paper, "Yuki clan. Twenty-three lives."
"In the seventh year, the third." He continued to point, one by one, year by year, "Kaguya clan. Nineteen lives."
Those names were read out one by one from his mouth, falling into the conference room, falling into the ears of those Elders.
Some names they still remembered, some they had already forgotten.
The Ice Release of the Yuki clan was once the strongest spear of the Hidden Mist, the Shikotsumyaku of the Kaguya clan made enemies tremble even in their dreams, the Hydrification Technique of the Hōzuki clan was passed down through generations, the arm of the Mizukage of the Hidden Mist.
But those numbers, those cold, icy numbers, were like knives, slicing into everyone's heart one by one.