Konoha – Ninja Hospital
The sharp smell of disinfectant had long since seeped into Pakura's senses, becoming an unavoidable constant in her world.
For half a month, it had been the one thing that never changed, a sterile reminder of every failed attempt and every unanswered question.
Sunagakure's war reparations were being transferred to Konoha in installments, yet negotiations regarding the prisoners dragged endlessly without resolution.
Meanwhile, the newspapers of the Ninja World had already published Sandaime Tsuchikage Ōnoki's public discovery: every ninja defeated by Konoha's Sawada Hiroki had been stripped of their Ninjutsu.
The report unsettled Pakura deeply.
For the past two weeks, the first thing she did every morning was attempt to mold Chakra. Even the simplest Fire Release would suffice.
The result was always the same.
Her Chakra flowed smoothly through her coils. She could clearly recall every hand seal. She remembered, with perfect clarity, the technique of nature transformation. Yet when she attempted to release it, her body felt like a machine whose main cable had been severed.
The blueprints were intact.
The mechanism simply would not move.
Her Scorch Release—the Kekkei Genkai that had earned her fame and fear across battlefields—was equally silent. Wind and Fire Chakra moved within her like strangers forced into the same room, never intertwining, never fusing.
"Again—"
Pakura crumpled the newspaper and threw it onto the floor.
Over the past two weeks, she had fallen from fury and disbelief into a hollow numbness.
Konoha's medical ninja examined her daily. Every report read the same:
"All physical parameters normal. Chakra flow unobstructed. No trace of sealing techniques."
Normal?
That was precisely what made it abnormal.
A ninja overflowing with Chakra who could not perform a single jutsu—was that not a torment worse than destroyed meridians?
At times she wondered whether Sawada Hiroki had placed her under some incomprehensibly advanced genjutsu, one capable of deceiving even herself and Konoha's medical corps.
Yet she dismissed the thought.
A genjutsu would leave inconsistencies. Every method she attempted to test her mind showed no tampering.
Ōnoki's announcement meant that Iwagakure's ninja had suffered the same fate. This was not an isolated curse placed upon her.
It was a power she simply could not comprehend.
"Deprivation."
The word alone was terrifying.
Pakura inhaled deeply, but the disinfectant only made her stomach churn.
She could not remain here any longer.
Teacher Rasa was dead. The Kazekage was dead. Sunagakure was in turmoil. Who knew when prisoners would even be exchanged?
And when they were—what awaited a "prodigy" who had lost her Kekkei Genkai?
She did not dare imagine it.
There was only one path forward.
She had to understand what had happened. What exactly had Sawada Hiroki done? Was this deprivation permanent?
She knew there was someone else in this hospital who shared her condition.
Sasori.
The silent genius of puppetry.
How was he dealing with this?
Puppet techniques… did they require hand seals?
She searched her memory. The foundation of puppet mastery lay in Chakra Threads—an art of delicate precision and direct output that required no seals at all.
Her heart sank.
If Sasori could still use his art—
She needed to see him.
At the far end of the corridor lay Sasori's ward.
The guards barely paid her attention. They glanced at her with indifference and returned to their posts.
Apparently, once your Ninjutsu was gone, you ceased to matter.
Pakura found the room number and pushed the door open.
The room was quiet.
Sasori sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by scattered components—wooden joints, metal plates, small mechanisms whose purpose was not immediately clear.
With a carving knife in hand, he carefully sanded a joint, fully absorbed in his work.
At the sound of the door, his hand paused, though he did not look up.
"Something?" he asked flatly.
"I came to see you," Pakura replied, stepping inside and closing the door. "It looks like you're adjusting well."
"Not bad," Sasori answered, finally lifting his gaze. His eyes held no visible emotion. "It's quieter here than in Sunagakure."
He did not seem to harbor resentment about being captured.
He had never possessed many friends in Sunagakure. Chiyo rarely involved herself in his life. The only people who had truly mattered to him—his parents—were long gone.
Pakura sat opposite him and spoke directly.
"What do you think about the newspaper report?"
"It's accurate," Sasori replied calmly, picking up another component. "Nothing worth dwelling on."
Accurate.
So he, too, had been deprived of Ninjutsu.
"Your puppetry…" Pakura hesitated before voicing her greatest fear. "Can you still use it?"
Sasori did not answer verbally.
Instead, he raised his right hand.
Nearly invisible Chakra Threads extended from his fingertips, attaching themselves to the scattered components.
Click.
Click.
The parts lifted and assembled midair, forming a delicate mechanical arm with smooth, precise movements.
Pakura's breath caught in her throat.
"How?" she demanded. "Why can you still perform jutsu?"
"This isn't truly Ninjutsu in the conventional sense," Sasori explained evenly. "Puppet control relies on direct Chakra-thread output and fine manipulation. It bypasses hand seals entirely. Sawada Hiroki's ability appears to erase muscle memory related to hand seals and Ninjutsu release—or something similar."
"Most of my techniques never relied on that system."
He paused briefly.
"I did lose some aspects of puppet manipulation at first," he admitted. "But it was irrelevant."
"I learned to use Chakra Threads when I was four years old. It took only days."
He looked at her calmly.
"So I spent several days retraining thread condensation and control. Now it's no different from before. The impact on me is minimal."
Minimal.
That single word struck Pakura like the final blow.
Her Scorch Release had defined her existence. It was her pride, her weapon, her identity.
Sasori had chosen a different path long ago.
When the prisoner exchange happened, would Sunagakure still want her?
"Then…" Pakura's voice trembled slightly despite her effort to remain composed. "I've truly become worthless?"
"Mm."
Sasori did not look up.
"I see."
Pakura stood.
Ice seemed to flow through her veins.
She had received her answer.
It was harsher than death.
She turned toward the door, uncertain whether Sunagakure would even accept her return—
"Pakura."
Sasori's voice stopped her.
She froze, her back still to him.
"I have an idea," he said, his eyes fixed steadily on her. "It might restore your Scorch Release."
He paused, then added calmly:
"It might also kill you."
"Do you want to try?"
Pakura stood motionless, mouth slightly open, unable to form a response.
At that moment, a nurse knocked on the door and entered.
"Sunagakure's negotiations have concluded," she said. "You're free to leave. Your escort is waiting at the entrance."
The room fell silent.
And outside—
The storm was beginning to gather.