The observation post atop Hokage Tower's eastern wing smelled of ink, steel, and the faint copper tang of blood never quite washed from ANBU armor. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the reinforced windows, casting long shadows across the tatami floor where various tracking seals had been carved into the surface. A half-empty pot of tea sat cooling on the low table, surrounded by scattered mission reports and surveillance photographs.
Hawk adjusted his mask, his fingers tracing the red markings as he leaned against the wall beside a shelf lined with coded intelligence scrolls. Across from him, Bear flipped through a stack of reports, the pages making a crisp sound in the otherwise quiet room. The distant shouts of academy students practicing shuriken throws drifted up from the training grounds below.
"Academy evaluations again?" Hawk asked, breaking the silence as he watched a messenger hawk circle above the Hokage Monument.
Bear nodded, the overhead light glinting off his porcelain mask. "Quarterly assessments. Have you seen this year's standouts?"
"I've heard whispers." Hawk moved to peer over Bear's shoulder, his sandals barely making a sound on the worn tatami. "Namikaze, right? The blonde kid?"
"Minato Namikaze. Perfect scores across the board." Bear tapped the file, brushing aside a shuriken that served as a paperweight. "His ninjutsu comprehension is off the charts, and his chakra control is exceptional for his age. The instructors are already calling him a once-in-a-generation prodigy."
Hawk let out a low whistle, leaning back against a wall covered with maps of the Five Great Nations, pins marking diplomatic outposts and trade routes. "We could use more like him. The village always needs exceptional shinobi, even in these peaceful times."
"There's another one." Bear pulled a second file from the stack, this one marked with a yellow tag. "Shinji. Just as interesting, but in... different ways."
"I've heard stories."
Bear nodded. "His taijutsu scores are... peculiar. Consistently average. Never a mistake, never excellence. Suspiciously consistent. But that's not what concerns me."
"The Akimichi connection?"
"Exactly." Bear spread out several photographs across the table, knocking aside an empty dango stick. They showed a black-haired boy with an easy smile, working alongside several Akimichi clan members in their restaurant kitchen. Steam rose from pots while the boy measured ingredients with careful attention. "He's been spending hours in their kitchens, creating recipes no one's ever seen before. Dishes that don't exist in any Fire Country cookbook."
Hawk picked up one of the images, the edges worn from handling. A talisman in the corner of the room swayed slightly, though no window was open. "Could be nothing. Kids experiment."
"It's not just food." Bear produced another report, this one bearing the seal of the hospital's research division. "He's been mixing medicinal compounds too. Healing salves, pain relievers unusual compositions. The kind of knowledge that's either passed down through clans or..."
"Or learned elsewhere," Hawk finished. Outside, a murder of crows suddenly took flight from the nearby tree, their wings beating frantically against the suddenly still air.
"We've considered the possibility of infiltration," Bear said quietly. "But his lineage is confirmed. His father's blood without question. And the surveillance shows no suspicious contacts."
"So where's he getting this knowledge?"
Bear shook his head. "That's what's troubling. He executes everything with absolute confidence. No trial and error. Like he's working from memory rather than experimentation."
Hawk flipped through more photographs spread across the table, knocking over a kunai that had been used to pin documents together, scattering a few papers across the floor.
"I interviewed his academy instructor yesterday in the classroom after hours," Bear continued, gathering the fallen documents from between the worn tatami mats. "Says the kid acts bored most of the time, but his test scores are suspiciously average. Never fails, never excels—perfectly, consistently mediocre across every subject."
"Yet we're sure he's not a security risk?"
"The Hokage seems certain." Bear closed the file and placed it in a drawer that sealed with a flash of chakra. "Says to keep watching but not interfere. Called it 'an interesting development.'"
Hawk laughed, though there was little humor in it, as he glanced at the photographs of the village pinned to the bulletin board beside tactical maps of neighboring countries. "When the Hokage finds something 'interesting,' the rest of us should probably be concerned."
The third ANBU—Owl—had remained motionless in the corner throughout the entire exchange, silent as the weapons mounted on the far wall. Neither Hawk nor Bear acknowledged him as he finally stood. No farewell, no nod of acknowledgment. He simply disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps making no sound on the wooden floors outside.
Once clear of the tower, Owl moved through Konoha's afternoon bustle. He turned left at the dumpling shop, right at the weapons store, doubled back past the academy, and slipped into a narrow alley between two apartment buildings where laundry lines created a patchwork of shadows overhead.
His path seemed random—a civilian might assume he was lost—but each turn, each pause at a market stall, each casual lean against a fence was calculated. A choreographed dance to shed potential tails.
After passing the same stone lantern for the third time, he knelt to adjust his sandal and pressed his palm against a seemingly ordinary section of a garden wall. The stone rippled like water, revealing a narrow passage that sealed itself shut the moment he passed through.
Darkness engulfed him as he descended a staircase that didn't officially exist on any village blueprint. The air grew cooler, damper, carrying the scent of earth and something antiseptic. Owl navigated by memory, turning at precise intervals until he reached a corridor lined with sealed doors, each marked with symbols rather than numbers.
He stopped before a door bearing a stylized root pattern and knelt, removing his mask to reveal a face devoid of expression. The scar running across his left cheek was the only feature that distinguished him from the other faceless operatives who served in shadow.
The door slid open.
"Report," came a graveled voice from within the dimly lit chamber. Shimura Danzo sat behind a low table, a lone candle casting his bandaged face in stark relief. Various scrolls lay organized before him, and a pot of ink remained uncapped, brush resting across its edges. He didn't look up.
"The foreign-recipe situation continues," Owl said, voice flat. "The boy creates dishes unknown to any Fire Country cuisine. Medicinal knowledge beyond his years. ANBU suspects nothing concrete."
"And his scores?" Danzo finally looked up, his visible eye narrowing.
"Deliberately average. Too consistent to be natural."
Danzo's finger tapped once against the table's surface—the only indication of his interest. "Controlled performance then. What of his chakra signature?"
"Unremarkable in class. But..." Owl hesitated. "I observed him alone at training ground seven, nine nights ago. Different. Refined. Precise control I've never witnessed in someone his age."
A silence stretched between them as Danzo considered this information. The candle flame flickered as if disturbed by an invisible current.
"Jiraiya's blood," Danzo finally murmured, more to himself than his operative. "Yet something doesn't align." He reached for a blank scroll, unrolling it with deliberate care. "Continue surveillance. Priority three. Focus on his night movements and any unusual applications of chakra."
"Recruitment potential?" Owl asked.
Danzo's expression hardened. "Undetermined. His ties to Hiruzen's inner circle complicate matters." He dipped his brush in ink, the gesture signaling the end of their exchange. "We will watch. For now."
Owl nodded once, replaced his mask, and rose. No further acknowledgment was necessary as he backed from the room and disappeared into the labyrinth of Root's underground network. The door sealed behind him, the root symbol briefly glowing before fading back to weathered stone.