Hidden Leaf, Hidden Talents 40

The tabby had been sitting on the Academy's clay roof tiles for almost two hours now, and his ass was starting to go numb. Well, technically it was a cat's ass, but Clone #15 still felt every cramped muscle and hot tile pressing against fur that was getting way too warm in the climbing sun.

He flicked his tail in annoyance and kept watching the training yard below, where a bunch of second and third-years were beating the crap out of each other in what their instructors generously called "basic taijutsu practice."

A chunin wandered between the sparring pairs, barking corrections and occasionally grabbing some kid to show them how not to get their face punched in. Standard Academy stuff. Nothing worth reporting back to the boss about.

Clone #15 was about ready to call it quits when his attention snagged on a group near the far corner of the yard.

There she was. Had to be.

The girl couldn't have been more than nine or ten, with long brown hair and this ridiculous smile that seemed to turn on like a light switch every time she opened her mouth. Even from way up here, #15 could tell she was one of those kids—the ones everyone just naturally liked. Hell, she had half her class clustered around her right now, hanging on whatever story she was telling.

'Fuwa Aika,' he thought, remembering the boss's conversation with Kushina-san about their new neighbor. 'That's gotta be her.'

The kid was in the middle of some animated tale, hands flying around as she talked, when her whole audience burst out laughing. Natural born entertainer. The kind of charisma you either had or you didn't, and this girl had it in spades.

Nothing weird about that. Kids liked funny kids. Water was wet. Sky was blue.

But then something happened that made Clone #15's fur stand on end.

The girl finished her story, still grinning at her friends' laughter, and her eyes did this casual sweep of the training ground. Just normal situational awareness, the kind any Academy student learned after a few months of getting ambushed during "surprise" combat drills.

Except her gaze stopped. Right on the rooftop. Right on him.

For maybe two seconds—three at most—those dark eyes locked onto his position with an expression that made his stomach drop. Not the "aww, kitty" look most people got when they spotted a cat. This was different—like she was trying to figure out if he belonged there.

Then she turned back to her friends like nothing had happened, that same easy smile still plastered on her face, and picked up whatever conversation they'd been having.

Clone #15 felt ice water replace the blood in his veins.

Normal Academy brats didn't just casually spot surveillance. Hell, most chunin would walk right past a well-hidden shinobi cat without giving it a second glance. But this kid had picked him out while she was in the middle of entertaining half her class, then dismissed him without so much as a blink.

Either she had the best luck in the world, or he'd just been made by a ten-year-old with sensor potential.

Neither option made him feel particularly good about his career prospects.

…..

Clone #22 clung to the edge of a bakery's awning, tiny sparrow claws digging into wood that had seen better decades. From his perch, he had a perfect view of Hokage Tower's main entrance, where something that looked suspiciously like actual business was about to go down.

Danzo Shimura hobbled out first, that walking stick of his click-clacking against the stone like a metronome nobody wanted to hear. Two ANBU shadowed him—standard babysitting duty for the war hawk. Nothing worth writing home about.

Until they started walking.

Instead of taking the main drag like any normal person with functioning legs, the trio hung a left at the first intersection. Then a right. Then another left, weaving through the village like they were trying to lose a tail or find the world's most inconvenient ramen stand.

Clone #22 launched himself off the awning with a flutter that would've made his sparrow ancestors proud. He caught an updraft and glided to the nearest lamp post, landing with just enough wing-flapping to sell the act.

The three kept up their scenic tour of Konoha's back alleys, threading through streets that got narrower and more deserted with each turn. Past the herb shop where some old-timer was haggling loud enough to wake the dead. Around the corner where a bunch of kids were spinning wooden tops and yelling like it was life or death. Through the little plaza where vendors hawked everything from hair ribbons to the kind of kitchen knives that definitely weren't just for vegetables.

#22 played hopscotch between perches, bouncing from a merchant's cart to a windowsill to the fancy arch over some noodle joint. Just another hungry bird looking for dropped rice balls in the marketplace hustle.

They finally wound up in one of the older districts, where traditional houses hid behind wooden fences and cherry trees gave everything a postcard-pretty look. Clone #22 found himself a nice thick branch about fifty meters out—close enough to see the show, far enough away that nobody would wonder why a sparrow was being so damn nosy.

That's when the taller ANBU—the one wearing a porcelain mask that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent—leaned in close to Danzo's ear and whispered something.

Clone #22 tilted his tiny head and strained every sense he had, but his ears weren't exactly built for long-distance eavesdropping.

Then Danzo went still.

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. Then the old bastard's mouth started moving in what was clearly a response, lips forming words that Clone #22 couldn't make heads or tails of.

He squinted at Danzo's face, trying to piece together meaning from the shape and the way his mouth moved. Unfortunately, lip reading hadn't exactly been covered in the Academy and it sure as hell wasn't something the boss had bothered practicing during their training sessions.

Probably should've seen that oversight coming.

….

The ANBU Squad Captain leaned over the makeshift table, studying maps that looked like someone had spilled blood across them. Red marks dotted every sheet—too many red marks for his liking.

"Captain." Another operative appeared out of the shadows. "All units are in position and ready. Do we engage?"

"Give me a status report first." The Captain didn't look up from the maps. "Weasel, what's our count looking like?"

The sensor ninja said, "Fifteen confirmed surveillance operatives, all using transformation jutsu. Every single position has been marked and verified."

"And you're absolutely certain we've found them all?"

"Yes, sir. But there's something else." Weasel's voice carried that particular tone that meant bad news was coming. "Their chakra readings are... weird."

The Captain finally looked up. "Weird how?"

"Every single target is showing identical chakra reserves. Same signature, same capacity, same everything. It's like we're tracking fifteen copies of the exact same person."

Rabbit, the third operative in their little circle, straightened up like someone had shoved a steel rod down his spine. "Has to be shadow clones. No other explanation."

"That's what I thought too," Weasel agreed. "But here's the thing, sir—they're regenerating chakra."

Every ANBU in that cramped space went dead silent.

"Come again?"

"I've been monitoring multiple targets for the past three hours. Their chakra reserves keep going up. Consistent regeneration patterns across the board. I've triple-checked the readings."

Rabbit found his voice first, though it came out rougher than usual. "That's not possible. Shadow clones don't generate chakra. They can't. It's basic jutsu theory."

"Yeah, well, tell that to my sensors." Weasel's frustration bled through her professional tone. "I know what's supposed to be impossible. I also know what I'm seeing."

The Captain felt something cold settle in his gut. In twenty years of active duty, he'd learned to trust that feeling. "I need to report this to the Hokage. Now. Maintain visual contact on all targets, but nobody moves until I get back. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, sir" followed him as he vanished.

Ten minutes later, he reappeared.

"Orders, sir?"

"The Hokage has given authorization. We eliminate all surveillance operatives. No exceptions, no prisoners."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"Execute."

…….

The tabby cat stretched lazily on the Academy rooftop, eyes half-lidded as it watched the training grounds below. It had been there for three hours, unmoving, pretending to nap like any other cat on a hot afternoon.

Then something flashed.

A glint of silver skimmed the edge of its vision.

There was no noise, no warning. One moment the clone was organizing notes on chunin patrol routes—then the world tilted. A blade slipped through its neck, clean and silent. The last thing it saw was a blur of green fabric before everything went white. A breath later, it was gone in a puff of smoke.

Elsewhere in the village, a sparrow hopped along the flagstones near an old shop, pecking crumbs from a bakery bag. It looked up just as something blocked the sun. A tanto glinted as it fell. The bird saw gray—then nothing.

In the market district, what had passed for a forgotten ornament tucked behind a vendor’s awning was suddenly gripped by pale fingers. The clone caught sight of the white robes and the faint pulse of a Byakugan—just before it was crushed like a bug. The woman passing by didn’t even glance in its direction.

And so it went. One after another, across every corner of Konoha, the surveillance clones started vanishing. A mouse near the administration building caught a glimpse of approaching boots—gone. A beetle perched beneath the mission assignment board noticed the curve of a porcelain mask—then white.

……

Back in a quiet second-floor apartment, Clone #7 was halfway through his coffee, a book open on the table beside him, when he heard boots pounding up the stairs. The rhythm was off—too fast, too urgent to be routine.

Seconds later, the door slammed open.

The lead clone from the Intelligence Division stood in the doorway, out of breath and not bothering with greetings.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said. "Someone's taking out our surveillance network."

The apartment fell silent, save for the soft clink of #7 setting down his coffee cup. He glanced up from his book—a dense analysis of fuinjutsu theory he’d only been pretending to read while mentally sorting patrol schedules—and studied Clone #11, now standing in the doorway.

“How bad?” #7 asked.

“Bad.” #11 stepped inside, shut the door, and flicked the lock without thinking—same way Shinji always did. “We’ve lost twelve in the last hour. Might be more.”

Clone #9, who’d been sprawled on the couch working through a medical book, sat up and frowned. “Twelve? That’s not random.”

"No shit it's not random." #11 crossed to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. “They’re moving fast. They know what they’re after.”

Clone #7 closed his book and leaned back in his chair. "Walk me through it. Start from the beginning."

"First was the cat on the Academy roof. Missed its check-in time by twenty minutes." #11 drained half his water glass. "Then the sparrow near Hokage Tower stopped responding. After that, it was like dominoes falling—one after another just... gone."

#9 rubbed the back of his neck. “What about the inanimate posts?”

"Same thing.” #11 said. “The ornament behind the fruit stand, the fuma shuriken at the weapons shop—all missed their scheduled reports within the same timeframe."

“So we’re compromised,” #7 muttered.

“Looks that way.” Clone #11 finished his water and set the glass down with a sharp clack. “Whoever hit them was fast and they hit multiple districts at the same time."

Clone #9 let out a slow breath. “Which means they’ve been watching us. Long enough to map out the whole network.”

“Definitely ANBU,” Clone #7 said. “Probably had us marked for a while.”

"Yeah, and it's way too damn early for this shit." #9 ran a hand through his hair. "We haven't even found the rat's hideout yet. We were so close. Hopefully the boss can squeeze something useful out of whatever's left of their memories."

"Better hope so. Those clones were probably lighting up like festival lanterns," Clone #9 said. "They probably let us run around just to see what we were up to."

"Then decided to sweep the board clean once they figured out how big the operation was," #7 finished.

#11 leaned back in his chair with a sigh that seemed to come from his bones, then shrugged like it was just another Tuesday. "Could be worse, I guess. At least we know why now. And hey—twenty-four hours without getting our asses handed to us? Not bad for a first run."

"Boss is gonna be pissed when he gets hit with all these memories."

“Nah, he’s gonna be annoyed, but he'll get over it. Besides, this is useful intel. If nothing else, we just confirmed that village surveillance isn’t as sloppy as we thought.”

"Great consolation prize," #9 said dryly. "But when they got taken out—the clones didn't fight back, right?"

#11 gave him a look like he'd asked if water was wet. "Course not. They're Shinji's clones, same as us, so they think the same way. Fighting back against Konoha shinobi would be the stupidest move possible."

"Exactly. Especially since they're gonna find out about our little party sooner or later anyway," #7 added.

#9 sighed and slumped on the table. "Maybe so, but we can't just pack up and go home empty-handed. Before the Hokage slaps a ban on this whole operation, I want to find that rat's hideout."

#7 looked up at the others. "So what's our play here? Pull back all the remaining clones and call it a day?"

“No point,” Clone #11 said. “If they’ve been watching this whole time, they already have a map. Anything still out there is either gone or on a countdown. Pulling them now just gives them a line back to us.”

"What about the civilian disguises?" Clone #7 asked. "You said those were getting hit too?"

"Some of them, yeah. Not as many as the animals and objects, but enough to show they're not safe either." Clone #11 said. "Lost the old man near the tea shop, the merchant by the bridge, and that woman pretending to sell flowers."

“So chakra signatures again,” Clone #9 said. “Even when we’re in human form, we still feel like shinobi. Probably sticks out in a crowd of actual civilians.”

Clone #7 nodded. “Makes sense. Real civilians barely have chakra. Ours are crammed full of it—there’s no way to fake that kind of density.”

“Exactly.”

They sat for a few moments, quiet, each of them turning over the same conclusion.

"Alright," Clone #7 said finally, "new strategy. From now on, we only disguise as human shinobi."

“Yeah,” Clone #9 said. “In a group of other ninja, having shinobi-level chakra won’t raise any alarms.”

"And there are plenty of shinobi in the village at any given time," Clone #7 continued. "Off-duty chunin, genin teams training. We'd blend right in."

"Only real risk is someone recognizing our specific chakra signature," Clone #9 said. "But that's a lot harder to spot than a mouse with genin chakra."

“Much better odds,” Clone #11 said. “I’ll take it.”

…

The late morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the Hokage's office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where a stack of reports waited. Hiruzen Sarutobi sat back in his chair, pipe forgotten between his fingers as he stared at the documents with growing unease.

Three separate ANBU patrols. Three different sensory specialists. All reporting the same impossible thing.

He picked up the first report again, rereading the neat handwriting. "Shadow clones observed regenerating chakra reserves over extended observation period. Confirmed by secondary sensor. Recommend immediate investigation."

The second report was more detailed, but the conclusion was identical. The third included timestamps and chakra level measurements that made Hiruzen's frown deepen into something approaching alarm.

"This shouldn't be possible," he muttered, setting the papers down and reaching for his pipe.

Everyone knew the fundamental limitations of shadow clone jutsu. It was one of the first things taught to anyone advanced enough to even attempt the technique. Shadow clones were chakra constructs—sophisticated ones, yes, but constructs nonetheless. They possessed a fixed amount of chakra determined at the moment of creation. Once that chakra was depleted, the clone dispersed.

The idea of a shadow clone regenerating chakra was like expecting a painting to start breathing.

Hiruzen set the reports down and finally remembered the pipe in his hand. Struck a match, drew in slowly. The scent of burning tobacco settled his nerves just enough to think.

Chakra formation required two components: physical energy drawn from the body's cells, and spiritual energy generated by the mind. When molded together in proper balance, they created the chakra that powered all ninjutsu.

Shadow clones replicated the user's body, mind, and existing chakra reserves, but they lacked the biological foundation necessary for true chakra generation. It was why shadow clones worked in the first place—they mimicked both body and mind. But that’s all it was. A mimic.

No real cells. No real nervous system. Nothing to draw new energy from. Just a shell of chakra shaped to look alive. Sure, they could bleed if injured, but it wasn’t real blood. Just chakra made to act like it. That’s why the sensors and Anbu were spooked.

So how were these clones doing the impossible?

Hiruzen’s mind immediately went to the genin who had asked for clearance to learn the Shadow Clone Jutsu just a few days ago.

Shinji.

The boy had shown exceptional chakra control and reserves that didn’t quite add up for someone his age. Not without a reason. Hiruzen had known it likely traced back to his background. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have handed over the forbidden scroll.

But these weren’t normal circumstances.

And Shinji wasn’t a normal case.

Still, that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the pit in his stomach. In hindsight, maybe giving him access had been a mistake.

He felt the pipe stem creak slightly between his fingers as his grip tightened. The boy's mother had been a priestess from the Land of Demons—skilled in fuinjutsu and carrying knowledge that most would consider dangerous.

More importantly, she'd sealed something within her son before her death and Hiruzen had hoped the seal would hold indefinitely. But if these reports were accurate, if Shinji's shadow clones were somehow regenerating chakra on their own, then perhaps the seal was beginning to fail.

He stood suddenly and moved to the desk, pulling out a sheet of official stationery.

--Priority reassignment. The late priestess's containment work may be failing. He is currently on assignment in your sector. Anomalous readings detected.

Require immediate assessment. This supersedes all current objectives.--

He folded the note, sealed it, and turned toward the ANBU nearby.

“Send this to Jiraiya. Priority dispatch.”

The operative nodded, took the message without a word, and vanished through the open window.

That handled the long-term problem. Now for the immediate one.

Hiruzen stepped over to the window and made a subtle hand signal. Within seconds, an ANBU operative appeared on the floor behind him, crouched and waiting.

“You called, Hokage-sama?”

“I need a quiet retrieval,” Hiruzen said, still facing the glass. “There are shadow clones active in one of the residential blocks. Operating from an apartment, likely under a low-profile cover. Bring one in—intact. Take it to the Senju compound. Then arrange a meeting with Lady Mito.”

“Understood.”

Hiruzen finally turned to meet the operative’s gaze through the mask. “And this conversation never happened. S-rank secret.”

The ANBU nodded once. “Understood, Hokage-sama.”

Then she was gone. The room was silent again, save for the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the rustle of leaves beyond the window.

Hiruzen looked back at the war reports, still spread across his desk, daring him to look away.

He didn’t return to them.

Instead, he stepped out of the office, and made his way down the corridor, pipe tucked back into his sleeve.

……

Renji's hands balled into fists as he stared at what was left of Kota. Blood pooled around the mangled body, and the air reeked of burnt chakra, and something else that made his stomach turn.

"Those little bastards," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm going to tear them apart!"

"Boss, hold on." Their sensor raised his hand, and Renji noticed the guy looked like he was about to be sick. Sweat dripped down his face as he stared at the two clones.

Renji said. "What's the problem?"

"There's something wrong about those clones." The sensor's voice came out tight with a frown. "Their chakra's all wrong. There's something else mixed in with it—something that shouldn't be there."

"The hell does that mean?"

The sensor dragged a hand across his forehead. "I don't know how to explain it. It's like there's this dark shit wrapped around their chakra, feeding off it or pumping it up. That might be how some genin brat can pull off shadow clones in the first place."

Both clones turned toward them then, wearing smiles that looked all wrong. The expressions didn't match their eyes at all.

"Two against three," Renji said, drawing his sword. "Hell, should be easy enough as long as we're careful."

"Boss," their medic spoke up, keeping her voice low, "maybe we should pull back. Get word to the other squad about this and bring reinforcements. Something about this kid feels off."

“No.” Renji’s grip tightened on his weapon. “These are just clones—we just need a solid hit to win this…”

He looked at what was left of his team—the sensor and the medic.

"Standard formation," he said. "You two hang back and track their movements. Give me medical support and ranged attacks when you can. I'll handle the front."

"Got it, boss."

The clones spread out, moving together like they were reading each other's minds without saying a word.

Renji made his move first.

He shot forward, sword slicing through the air in a silver line aimed right at the nearest clone's throat. The thing ducked without even looking up, bringing a tanto around that almost opened up his ribs.

Before he could get his balance back, the second clone was already on him, driving an elbow at his spine. Renji twisted away and used the momentum to sweep the clone's legs.

It hopped over his sweep, spinning midair to hammer a heel kick down at his skull. Renji rolled to the side, popped up into a crouch, and had to block a kunai strike from the first clone.

The second was already running through hand seals.

Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!

A roaring ball of flame shot toward his remaining team. The sensor threw up his own jutsu.

A wall of dirt and rock burst up from the ground, taking most of the blast. But the clones were already moving, disappearing into the smoke and debris.

"Can't get a clear shot!" the medic yelled, her hands locked in seal position. "They're moving too damn fast!"

The sensor stretched out his awareness. “One coming at you from the left, boss! Another up high behind that tree!”

Renji spun around just as a clone exploded through the tree line, grinning like this was all some kind of game. The clone's hand was glowing with that same sick green light.

Renji's sword crashed against a tanto in a burst of sparks. The impact sent vibrations up his arm, but the clone didn't even flinch. It twisted the blade, using the leverage to slide his sword off to the side, then immediately came back with a vicious upward slash that would have opened his throat if he hadn't jerked his head back.

The clone kept pushing, never giving him space to reset. Every time Renji tried to bring his sword around in a proper cut, the tanto was there to knock it aside or catch it at an angle that killed his momentum. The clone's free hand darted out, fingers raking across his forearm and drawing blood through his sleeve.

"Shit!" Renji hissed as the claws bit deep. His grip on the sword handle grew slippery with blood.

He stepped back and tried a horizontal slash, putting his full weight behind it. The clone ducked under it, came up inside his guard, and drove the tanto toward his ribs. Renji barely got his elbow down in time to block, but the blade still carved a line across his side.

"Gah!" The burning pain made him stumble backward, breath coming in short gasps. Then another step back as the clone followed him like a predator that smelled blood. The tanto moved in quick cuts that kept finding gaps in his defense. A slice across his thigh made him grunt and nearly buckle. Another across his shoulder that had him gritting his teeth to keep from crying out.

Nothing deep enough to drop him, but enough to let him know he was bleeding out fast. His vision was starting to blur at the edges, and his sword arm felt heavier with each swing.

The worst part was how the clone kept smiling through all of it, like it was enjoying every second of watching him fall apart.

"Your friend screamed real nice," the clone said. "Want to find out how you sound when I start peeling the muscle off your bones?"

"Go to hell," Renji snarled, twisting his blade to lock the clone's weapon and driving his knee up toward its stomach.

The clone hammered its elbow down and Renji felt something pop in his knee, pain shooting up his leg like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Argh!" He nearly went down, gritting his teeth against the agony. But pain was nothing new. He'd been a chunin for eight years.

He grabbed the clone's wrist and yanked, giving himself enough space to bring his sword around in a brutal horizontal slash.

The blade met the tanto with a screech of metal, but the clone just smiled wider as it slashed its free hand across Renji's chest. The chakra scalpel didn't even cut through his jacket, but Renji felt it slice through his muscles and tendons like they were made of wet paper.

He coughed, blood hitting his lips and running down his chin. His legs buckled and he stumbled backward, gasping, pressing his hand against his chest.

"Boss!" The medic was beside him in seconds, her breathing ragged with fear. Green chakra flowed from her shaking hands. "Don't move, I've got you."

"Watch—watch out!" he wheezed, scanning the battlefield.

The sensor was fighting for his life against another clone, dodging a tanto while trying to keep his distance. "Can't—can't get away!" he panted. The clone grabbed him by the arm, and Renji heard the wet crack of bone breaking.

"AHHH!" The man's scream ripped out of his throat as he clutched his ruined limb, tears streaming down his face. "My arm! Oh god, my arm!"

"This is really bad," the medic gasped, her hands trembling violently as she worked on Renji's wound. "Boss, we need to—"

A tanto blade punched through her throat.

The steel erupted from the front of her neck in a spray of crimson. She made a horrible gurgling sound, her eyes going wide with shock as she stared down at the blood-slicked metal. Her hands flew to her throat, trying to stem the flow, but blood poured between her fingers in thick streams. It bubbled from her mouth as she tried to speak, mixing with saliva and making wet, choking sounds.

Her legs gave out and she fell hard onto her hands and knees before toppling over, hitting the ground with a wet thud. Her body convulsed for a few seconds, hands still clutching at her ruined throat as blood pooled beneath her head. Then she went still, the light in her eyes flickering out like a dying flame.

"Hey, don't leave me out of the fun," the third clone said cheerfully.

The clone facing Renji shot an annoyed look at the one that had just killed the medic. "Really? You just killed her like that? We could have used her for practice. Do you know how hard it is to find test subjects for the more... experimental medical ninjutsu?" It shook its head in disappointment. "Such a waste. We could have kept all three of them alive while we worked on our medical skills. The screaming helps us understand pain thresholds better."

"How the hell—when did you make another clone?!" Renji's eyes went wide, then he roared and swung his sword in a wild arc. The clones stepped back easily, letting the blade slice nothing but air.

"Now, now," it said. "No need to get all worked up. You guys will be joining your friends soon enough. Well, except for you. Being the leader and all, I bet those sick weirdos from T&I would love to hear you sing."

A scream tore through the forest. The sensor's scream.

Renji whipped around to see one of the clones holding up something bloody—the sensor's eye, still connected to a mess of dangling nerves. The man was on his knees, one hand clamped over his ruined socket, blood pouring between his fingers.

"Sensory jutsu," the clone said, turning the eye this way and that like it was studying a bug. "I wonder if it really depends on these little things? Only one way to find out, right?"

"You sick freaks!" Renji forgot about the clone behind him and threw himself forward, the fire in his chest be damned.

The clone behind him swept his legs out easily, sending him crashing face-first into the dirt. Before he could get up, it had grabbed a handful of ninja wire from its pouch.

"Let's try something different," it said. "All this killing is getting old."

The next few minutes were nothing but pain and screaming. The clones worked together like they'd done this a hundred times before, wrapping him up in ninja wire until he couldn't move anything but his head. They stuffed a gag in his mouth—cloth ripped from the medic's jacket, still warm with her blood.

His teammates were gone. The sensor had bled out after they'd taken his other eye. The sounds he'd made at the end were going to stick with Renji for however long he had left.

If he had any time left at all.

…

Back at Shinji's apartment, two clones sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by medical books and anatomy diagrams. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Empty tea cups and crumpled papers suggested they'd been at this for hours.

"—but that's assuming you can keep the chakra modulation stable," Clone #3 was saying, rubbing his temples. "If it fluctuates too much, you’ll fry the myelin or miss the fascicle."

Clone #7 flipped through a worn medical text, frowning. "What about cases where the nerve damage comes and goes? Like with trigeminal neuralgia—the pain hits in waves because the damaged nerve keeps misfiring. You can't just cut the whole thing or they lose all feeling."

"That's where selective denervation comes in. You find the specific fascicles that are screwing up—usually the ones with bad blood supply or getting squeezed by something." Clone #3 pointed to a detailed cross-section of nerve tissue. "Cut only those pathways while keeping the healthy ones intact. Patient keeps normal sensation but loses the pain signals."

"Easier said than done. How do you even figure out which fascicles are the problem ones during surgery?"

"Electrical stimulation testing, maybe? Send tiny currents through different sections and see which ones set off the pain response." Clone #3 leaned back in his chair. "Though that would mean keeping the patient awake during the whole thing."

"Holy hell, that's messed up. There has to be a better way to—"

Clone #7 held up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. His eyes were locked on something behind his buddy's shoulder.

"What?" Clone #3 asked, seeing the look on his friend's face.

Clone #7 slowly raised his finger, pointing toward the window.

Clone #3 turned around.

An ANBU operative sat on the fire escape outside, her porcelain mask glinting faintly in the afternoon sun. She remained perfectly still, watching them through the glass like a cat watching mice.

"Oh shit," Clone #3 said.