Several civilians made their way through the village streets. Some merchants guided their horses unhurriedly, while others performed a balancing act to keep their tottering towers of merchandise from toppling over.
In front of an apartment block, a young man of about twenty smoked calmly, exhaling perfect smoke rings with every puff. His eyes followed a blond boy running through the crowd until he disappeared inside the building. It must have been a daily scene, as no one seemed surprised by the yellow blur that had just crossed the street.
Daizen wondered why the boy didn't use the rooftops. They were public property for a good reason: to avoid collateral damage. A considerable portion of the village budget was drained repairing the unintentional destruction caused by shinobis running on the ground.
He had been trying to contact the troublesome boy for weeks. On his previous visits, no one had answered the door; apparently, the lad barely set foot in his own home. He had no choice but to take the day off to stand guard. He hated work piling up, so he usually delegated everything possible to his Genin—a tactic that sometimes backfired, forcing him to fix his students' disasters so they wouldn't happen again.
Even so, he considered it a long-term investment: educating them now meant more free time in the future.
He decided enough time had passed to mask the fact that he had been waiting for him. He climbed the three flights of stairs, stood in front of the door, and prepared for the inspection.
He knocked three times and pricked up his ears. He heard footsteps approaching the entrance, but they stopped before turning the knob and moved away again.
Did he forget his keys? Daizen wondered.
Shortly after, the door cracked open, pulling the security chain taut that barred entry to any stranger. Blue eyes scanned him from head to toe. Daizen was certain that, were it not for his ninja headband, the door would have been slammed in his face.
"How can I help you, sir?" the boy asked suspiciously.
He didn't seem to remember him, even though it was Daizen himself who had helped him settle in nine months ago.
"I am Daizen Nara, from Educational Management. I'm here for a scheduled visit." Noticing how the boy narrowed his eyes at the name 'Nara', he hastened to show his ID. "May I come in?"
Before he could put it away, Naruto snatched the badge and examined it with a critical eye.
"Looks authentic," he murmured after a few seconds. He returned the card and undid the door latch. "Come in. But take off your shoes, please."
He handed him some guest slippers. Given the dust of the streets, it was a basic rule of etiquette to maintain hygiene, though Daizen hadn't expected a child to apply it.
Upon entering, the contrast with previous reports hit him full force. The place was spotless: the wooden floors shone, the plants were watered, and there wasn't a single dirty dish in the sink. The last inspector had described the house as 'barely habitable,' recommending urgent cleaning measures. This didn't add up.
"Sit down, please. Do you want water, tea, or coffee?"
"Tea is fine," he replied, settling at the kitchen table.
He watched Naruto as he put water on to boil. His colleagues' reports spoke of stunted growth and weight gain due to a poor diet. But the boy in front of him, though short for his age, looked wiry; his arms showed signs of training and his cheeks had lost their childish roundness. Furthermore, his hair was damp and his teeth gleaming: his hygiene was perfect.
The housing program for orphans was created precisely for this: to teach self-management. Naruto seemed to be succeeding with flying colors in the domestic realm.
That only increased his confusion. He was there because Naruto's academic performance had plummeted, having been categorized by Iruka as the worst student in the class. How could he be so disciplined at home and such a disaster at the academy?
The whistling of the kettle interrupted his thoughts. Naruto placed a cup with a tea bag in front of him. Then, with a fluid movement, he unsheathed the kunai from his right leg and slashed open a package of coffee to serve himself.
"What do you need from me, Chunin Daizen?" the boy asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
His eyes scanned the room, alert to any sudden movement. Distrust was a natural trait in orphans, something Daizen had learned to deal with.
"Nothing special. Just a few questions to see how you're adapting to living alone," he explained, omitting the small detail that this chat would define his future.
"And what do you want us to talk about?"
Naruto didn't give anything away easily. An excellent trait for a shinobi, but a headache for an auditor. Daizen would have preferred a more fluid conversation.
"Tell me how you manage your allowance and your routine. It's normal to have difficulties at the beginning."
The boy evaluated him with his gaze before excusing himself and going to his room. He returned with a notebook and handed it to him. Upon opening it, Daizen found columns of numbers, names of shops, and price lists.
"I noted down all expenses from the last few months. The budget is too tight at the end of the month," Naruto pointed out.
The notes were meticulous: date, price, and categories divided between household, food, and shinobi equipment. One detail caught his attention:
"I see purchases of vegetables and fresh meat. Do you cook?"
"Yes. I got a book and Mrs. Hisako gave me several tips."
Daizen remembered the former caretaker; a kind woman who held the boy in high regard. She had mentioned that Naruto visited her every weekend. Was it possible that, faced with his academic failure, the boy had become obsessed with controlling the only aspect of his life that depended solely on him?
He excused himself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to organize his thoughts. He expected to find the place dirty, some flaw to balance the scales, but it was pristine. It seemed this boy had no cracks in his domestic life.
Upon returning, he found Naruto toying with the kunai. An obvious excuse to keep a weapon in his hand. Daizen decided to change strategy; if empathy didn't work, he would try professional pressure.
"How do you feel about the final exams?"
"Behind in practice, but confident in theory," Naruto replied, stretching.
"Confident" was an understatement. In written exams, the boy was a genius, especially with numbers. It was a pity he wasn't a civilian. As a prospective shinobi, however, his results were a disaster: zero combat victories, unable to perform basic techniques, surpassed even by younger students.
"How do you plan to solve it?" Daizen insisted. He would hate to have to send him to the Sleeper Cells. A civilian with unlocked chakra is a great tool for the village; they serve to create cover identities, but it is a dark fate.
"I train daily and improved my diet to gain strength," Naruto said in a casual tone.
The chat continued a while longer, but the enigma of Naruto Hakaze only grew. When the conversation stalled, Daizen played his last card.
"Can I see your bedroom?"
Naruto looked at him strangely, not understanding the interest.
"Sure, but it's a bit messy."
That relieved Daizen. Finally, a flaw. But upon entering, the disappointment was immediate. The "mess" was minimal: a low table with a tactics book and dozens of flashcards scattered about.
He picked one up from the floor. It had a question on the front and the answer on the back. Flashcards. He had interrupted him in the middle of an intensive study session.
The rest was exasperatingly normal: clean sheets, working appliances, dust-free furniture. On the balcony, the clothes the boy was wearing when he arrived were already washed and hung out.
Turning around, he saw a paper stuck next to the bed. A schedule.
04:30: Wake up and breakfast.
05:00: Training (Maruboshi).
08:00: Hygiene and cooking.
09:00: Academy.
17:30: Training (Individual).
19:00: Dinner and study.
21:00: Sleep.
A strict routine. But one name jumped off the page, one that didn't appear in any official report.
"Who is Maruboshi?"
Naruto, who was picking up the cards from the floor, froze for a fraction of a second. He turned slowly.
"A shinobi who teaches me."
Daizen frowned. Naruto was an orphan of unknown origin. What interest would a shinobi have in training him?
"Could you give me his full name and description?"
Naruto's gaze hardened. Daizen knew instantly that he had struck a sensitive nerve.
"He's just an old Genin," Naruto said, shrugging, closing the topic.
He tried to probe a little more, but he hit a wall. Naruto didn't let slip another word about this Maruboshi; he limited himself to repeating vague statements about a kind and helpful old man.
Daizen realized he wouldn't get anything else clear that day. He said goodbye and walked down the stairs with his head full of contradictions. Once on the street, he lit a cigarette and let the smoke escape toward the gray sky.
"At least he's good at keeping secrets," he mumbled to himself as he returned to his office, burdened with more work than he expected. "What a drag."