The next morning, once Kyoi had gone off to work at the tavern, Yako sat up and unrolled Yuka's sealing scroll.
'Blue tonic… that stuff is a blessing. I should stock up on it.'
He'd already learned Contract Seal and Summoning Jutsu from Yuka in the past, but this new scroll offered even more—powerful, practical sealing arts.
The first: Object-Sealing Formula.
A versatile seal for storing kunai, shuriken—even corpses—within a scroll.
With this, Yako could craft his own ninja tool scrolls.
The second: Five Elents Seal.
A technique to disrupt and bind enemy chakra. It split the target's chakra into five portions, forming a closed cycle through the elental relationships. Especially effective on those with high chakra reserves.
The third: Tongue-Curse Seal of Silence.
Yako stared at that one, blinking.
'Great… I've beco Danzo.
Did I just get the Tongue-Curse Seal before even Danzo did?'
This jutsu was complex.
One wrote a mission or order on a scroll, used their own blood as a dium, and sealed the text into the target's body.
Once afflicted, the victim couldn't speak of the seal's contents. If they tried, they'd beco paralyzed on the spot.
Even if they died, the seal would destroy parts of the brain, ensuring the intel never leaked.
After reviewing the scroll thoroughly, Yako put on his mask and left the tavern's backyard, heading to Yakushi Nonō's orphanage.
He wanted to establish contact—see if she had any intel on Root.
Konoha had four or five orphanages, none of which received official funding. They survived entirely on charity.
If a fallen shinobi left behind a child, the village would raise them until they graduated from the academy. Regular orphans weren't so lucky. Most orphanages scraped by.
Those that received donations or had grown-up alumni supporting them fared better. Others barely survived.
Yako reached a quiet courtyard on the village outskirts. The orphanage.
Surprisingly, he was greeted by a familiar face: Jenri.
She was busy preparing modest New Year gifts for the twenty-sothing kids and didn't recognize the tall, masked young man.
"I heard there's an orphanage here," Yako said. "It's the end of the year, and I've got a bit of money to spare. Thought I'd make a donation. You look a bit young—where's your head caretaker?"
Jenri lit up at the word "donation" and hurried to fetch the deputy director.
The deputy was an elderly woman, who explained that the headmistress had gone out on a shinobi mission and hadn't returned in a long while.
After giving faulty intel to Kirigakure, Yakushi Nonō had fallen out of favor and fled.
No one knew where she'd gone now.
Yako took a slow tour of the orphanage with the deputy.
The children slept in triple bunks. Their als were basic—barely any at.
The ninja world's productivity was abysmal. Agriculture and industry alike teetered on the edge of collapse.
No one could guarantee their farmland wouldn't be scorched by a rogue Fire Release tomorrow.
at was a luxury, even in the Land of Fire and Konoha.
Over twenty kids cramd into a small classroom, studying simple arithtic. Focused, quiet, attentive.
Their faces and hands were clean, their eyes bright. Despite their poverty, the orphanage clearly cared well for them.
Yako left behind 300,000 ryō and a letter.
"This is a donation for your orphanage. This letter is a blessing for your director—I hope your ho grows stronger every year."
The letter contained part of a Self-Binding Curse Mark and a coded ssage.
Nonō had seen this seal before, back in Root's Uzushio lab. She would recognize it.
It was a silent call—a way to restart contact.
Her intel had already helped him save two Guardian Shinobi from the Uzumaki. That kind of cooperation was too valuable to let fade.
Jenri watched the tall masked man walk away, a strange feeling lingering in her chest. His voice had sounded familiar.
—
After leaving, Yako wandered aimlessly through Konoha.
He sat on a bench, watching villagers bustle about—buying decorations, food, gifts for the New Year.
He felt… lost.
He had spent the entire year on the front lines—first in the Land of Rivers, then the Uzushio front.
Now, back in the village, everything felt strange.
And with ANBU's reorganization on hold until after the holiday, there was nothing to do.
He pulled off his mask and looked around.
Aside from Kyoi, he didn't have a single person in the village he could talk to.
Scratching his head, he realized—he had forgotten how to live without the mask.
He followed the flow of shoppers. Whatever they bought, he bought.
Trying to bring a little New Year cheer to the Tsurugetsu Tavern.
A woman ahead of him entered a paper-cutting shop. Yako followed.
She bought elegant black paper-cut ornants, so he asked for the sa.
The shopgirl looked up. "Black paper-cuts? How many of your family passed this year?"
Yako froze.
Only now did he notice—most of the art in the shop was black. Red and white only appeared in a lonely corner.
In Konoha, black was the color of mourning.
He shook his head. "Sorry, I spaced out. I'll take red ones instead."
The shopgirl blinked. "Red? Oh my god… finally soone buying red!"
With over 4,000 casualties from the war, it was rare for anyone to not be in mourning.
Yako wasn't lucky—he simply had no family.
Leaving with a bag of red decorations, he suddenly rembered—Kyoi's sister had died.
Even if she had tried to kill Kyoi, he wasn't sure if Kyoi would still want to honor her.
Frowning, Yako dropped the red paper-cuts in the trash.
He wandered so more, following others into shops.
He bought candles. Fruit. Beef. Dango.
He didn't know what to get. He just bought what everyone else did.
Eventually, he returned to the tavern, arms full of shopping bags.
There were still plenty of custors on New Year's Eve.
Yako dropped the supplies off out back, then ca to help Kyoi at the counter.
The tavern was small—six tables and a bar. Cozy.
Seeing Yako deliver drinks and snacks to the guests, Kyoi felt a warmth she hadn't felt in a long ti.
'This… this is what a ho feels like.'
Her thoughts drifted to her sister. 'I wonder if she hates … wherever she is now.'
The custors were already drunk, bragging about how deadly their battles had been.
Yako's gaze landed on soone he didn't expect.
Senju Kaba—the veteran from the Senju clan who'd lost his leg—was drinking alone, his cane resting beside him.
Kyoi whispered, "He's been like this ever since his son and friends died. Always cos here. Even on New Year's Eve, he's drinking."
Senju Haku, Kaba's son, had died even before Senju Nawaki.
"I'll serve him a snack plate."
Yako set the food down quietly. Kaba looked up, eyes dazed.
He saw a tall, masked young man. The sa height as his son.
For a mont, he seed to see soone else.
"Enjoy the food," Yako said gently. "Take your ti."
—
Once the tavern had closed and dinner was done, the two shared a small late-night al together.
And just like that, the New Year arrived.
It was now Year 40 of the Konoha Calendar.
Yako was finally eighteen.
—
The next day, he returned to the ANBU base.
He learned that all ANBU were to report to the training hall for assembly.
Relief flooded him.
The post-war rest period was over.
He finally had sothing to do again.
Entering the training hall, Yako saw Danzo and Yellow Dog standing on the main platform.
The ANBU reform was about to begin.
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