I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The water gate opened, and Kunai stepped back.

Killer Bee got up from the ground, dusted himself off, glanced at Minato, then at Sakumo. He didn't say anything and walked to the Raikage's side.

The remaining Jonin also withdrew.

The Cloud Hidden Team disappeared into the mist.

The plan by the Fourth Raikage A, together with Killer Bee, the Eight-Tails Jinchuriki, and the most elite troops of Kumogakure to attack Konoha Village was thus thwarted.

Kai and Hong peeked out from behind the rocks, and only dared to breathe heavily after seeing that the Cloud Village people had left. Their injuries weren't serious, but they were still shaken.

"Shuoge!" Kai ran over and looked Shuoge up and down. "Are you alright?"

"It's nothing." Shuoge sheathed his sword; there was no blood on the blade, it was clean.

Kai looked at him, then at the corpses of the Cloud Village Jonin on the ground, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He had just seen Shuoge stand alone in front of Lei Ying, his blade flashing, preventing Lei Ying from advancing an inch. He didn't know how Shuoge did it, but he knew it must have been incredibly difficult.

Minato walked over and stood in front of Sakugo. "Well done."

Shuoge did not speak.

"Let's go back." Water Gate put its handle on Shogo's shoulder, and Kai and Hong also came closer.

The next second, the sound of wind filled our ears.

The woods in front of us disappeared, replaced by tents and a campfire at the northern camp.

The main battlefront has also ended.

Jiraiya stood in the center of the camp, covered in blood, all of it the blood of his enemies.

Sakumo Hatake stood beside him, his sword already sheathed.

Kai and Kurenai collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, still shaken. They had genuinely thought they were going to die. If Minato hadn't acted quickly, if Sakugo hadn't blocked the Raikage—they didn't dare think about what might have happened.

"The Two-Tails Jinchuriki has retreated. The main force of Kumogakure has been routed on the front lines." Jiraiya's voice was slightly breathless. "What about the raiding party?"

"We retreated." Minato glanced at Sakugo. "All twelve Jonin are wiped out."

Jiraiya raised an eyebrow. He looked at Sakugo—the child stood in the moonlight, his clothes had several holes, but he stood very straight, his face expressionless.

"very nice."

"Sakugo held off the Raikage," Minato said calmly. "I killed the others."

Jiraiya was silent for a moment, then smiled. "The Uchiha clan has produced a remarkable little monster."

Shuoge didn't speak. He turned and walked towards his tent. Kai followed behind, and Hong brought up the rear.

-

That night, the campfire at the northern camp was much brighter than usual.

Some were laughing, some were singing, and some were drinking. The war was not completely over, but everyone knew that once the Cloud Village retreated, they would not return.

Shuoge sat on a wooden box outside the tent, a knife across his lap, unwiped.

He was reviewing the battle—Ai's fist, his knife, using the opponent's force against them, using minimal force to overcome great strength.

He didn't need to be faster than Ai, just more accurate. Accurate enough that every time the knife tip appeared in Ai's most painful spot. He closed his eyes and etched those images into his mind.

Kai sat next to him, his arm wrapped in bandages, a skewer of grilled fish in his hand, his mouth greasy from eating. Hong stood beside him, her arm wrapped in bandages, a kunai in her hand, which she twirled between her fingers before putting it away.

"Do you think the war is almost over?" Kai asked.

"It'll be soon," Shuoge said calmly.

Kai was silent for a moment, then grinned. "When we get back, I'll treat you to ramen. Ichiraku, with an egg and char siu."

"Um."

Hong looked at Shuoge's profile, the firelight flickering on his face. Her lips twitched, not in a smile, but something fainter.

In the distance, Minato stood at the entrance of the command center, holding the trident kunai in his hand, turning it over and over in the firelight.

Jiraiya walked up to him and handed him a glass of wine.

……

……

……

On the third day after Yunyin withdrew, the border became completely quiet.

There was no roar of lightning, no collision of kunai, and no groans of the wounded.

The wind blew in from the north, carrying the chill of the snow-capped mountains and a faint smell of blood—the faint scent of corpses still buried on the battlefield, which would soon be washed away by the next rain.

Shuoge stood alone at the edge of the canyon, his knife behind his back and his hands hanging at his sides.

The wind was strong, blowing his hair back and making the hem of his clothes flutter.

He looked down at the canyon below—where corpses lay scattered about, some from Kumogakure, some from Konoha.

Shūra, kunai, and tachi were scattered among the rubble and dirt; some were rusted, while others still gleamed coldly.

Vultures circled low, waiting for a feast.

He stared at it for a long time.

Two years ago, he was still wielding his sword by the river in Konoha, practicing again and again until his arm went numb.

It's not because I like it, it's because I'm afraid.

He feared dying in the encirclement of Iwagakure, feared becoming a mere "body and bones" on an intelligence scroll, and feared that his uncle's fate would be repeated in his own life.

Back then, he was even refining chakra while sleeping, and even while eating, he was thinking about how to draw his sword faster.

Becoming stronger is not a choice, but the only way to survive.

He's standing here now.

He had some injuries, but none of them were serious.

The knife has a nick, but it's still usable.

He fought his way from the west to the east, and from the east to the north, killing Jonin, holding off the Raikage, and disrupting the Eight-Tails with his Sharingan. His Jonin appointment will come soon—not based on his Uchiha reputation, not on anyone's recommendation, but on the results of his own battles.

He suddenly felt that the feeling of "being able to die at any moment" had faded a bit.

It hasn't disappeared, it's just faded.

Like the winter wind, it used to cut like a knife, now it just blows.

He might encounter danger, if he faces an opponent like Minato, if he is surrounded by dozens of Jonin, or if he is unlucky.

But he was no longer a powerless ant.

An ant is trampled underfoot, and you don't even know where to hide. A mantis, at least, can raise its forearm to block, or strike before the foot lands.

Mantises can die, but they have the ability to jump away.

He pulled the shuriken from his waist, the one engraved with the character "Mirror." The characters were still crooked, in Shisui's handwriting. He twirled the shuriken between his fingers, then put it back.

That's not enough. The mantis isn't standing on the mountaintop yet. It needs to become something sharper, so that no one can step on it.

He turned and walked towards the camp.

-

Kai and Hong are already packing their bags.

Kai saw him and grinned. "You ran off by yourself again?"

Shuoge didn't answer. He went into the tent, leaned his sword against the bedside, and began packing. There weren't many things—a ninja tool kit, a few letters, and a shuriken. He hung the sword on his back and walked out of the tent.

At the campsite, some people were taking down tents, some were loading vehicles, and some were saying goodbye.

A Chunin squatted on the ground, carving words into a wooden board with a dagger—the names of his fallen comrades. He carved slowly, stroke by stroke, as if afraid of carving crookedly.

The people around him didn't urge him; they just waited.

"Back to the village."

Minato stood at the camp entrance, holding the trident kunai in his hand, which he had already put back in his ninja tool pouch. He had changed his clothes and combed his hair neatly, but the dark circles under his eyes were still there.

The group set off. Shuoge walked in the middle, Kai in front of him, and Hong behind him. No one spoke; only the soft rustling of their footsteps on the gravel filled the air.

Having walked a long way, Shuoge glanced back. The canyon had become a thin slit on the horizon, and vultures were still circling there. He turned back and continued walking.

Ahead lies Konoha. There is Shisui, there is the wind, there are those waiting for his return. There is the appointment of a Jonin, there is Danzo's hidden hand, there is a game of chess that is not yet over.

He gripped the knife handle tightly, then loosened his grip.

The war is over.

But in the next game, he—Uchiha Sakugo—will be the player!

……

……

……

After the war on the northern front ended, Sakugo finally returned to Konoha.

The gateposts at the village entrance are still the same, except that some of the paint on them has peeled off again.

The three heads on the Hokage Rock were gilded by the setting sun. The Third Hokage's face was at the highest point, with his eyes squinting, as if he were asleep.

There were fewer people in the village than when I left, but the lively atmosphere on the streets was still there. Some people were selling roasted sweet potatoes, some children were kicking pebbles by the roadside, and some old ladies were sunbathing in their doorways.

Kai left at the village entrance; he was going home to see Dai. Dai's leg wasn't fully healed yet, but she could already walk without crutches.

Before leaving, Kai shouted, "Ramen tomorrow! Ichiraku!" and then ran off.

Kurenai also left; her father, Yuhi Kurenai, had returned from the front lines, and she needed to go back for dinner.

Shuoge walked alone on the street, knife behind his back, hands hanging at his sides, his pace neither fast nor slow.

The Uchiha camp was located on the east side of the village, after walking through three streets and turning two corners. He pushed open the courtyard gate; the courtyard was quiet, and half of the leaves on the old tree had fallen, leaving a layer of withered yellow on the ground.

He went inside, leaned the knife against the wall, sat down, and closed his eyes.

The war is over.

The word swirled in his mind, as if confirming something. He fought his way from Iwagakure to Sunagakure, from Sunagakure to Kirigakure, and from Kirigakure to Kumogakure. On the western, eastern, and northern fronts, he fought four of the five great nations.

The appointment of Jonin will be announced soon. It's not based on anyone's recommendation; he earned it through his own hard work.

He opened his eyes and looked at the knife on the wall.

The scabbard had several nicks, the cloth strips on the hilt had been replaced several times, and there was a shallow scratch on the blade—left by Raikage's fist. He stood up, took the sword, and began to clean it.

One, one, another.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on the blade and giving it a cold sheen.

Fireworks were being set off outside, celebrating the end of the war. The sound came from the center of the village, muffled, like thunder.

Shuoge did not go out.

The days that followed were unusually peaceful.

Sakugo's daily life was simple—he practiced swordsmanship in the morning, went to the training ground at noon, refined chakra in the afternoon, and taught Shisui shuriken techniques in the evening.

Shisui had grown quite a bit taller, and his shuriken throwing accuracy was much better than that of his peers.

His eyes were bright, not Sharingan, but the kind of eyes that shone with a desire to become stronger.

Every time Shuoge taught him something new, he could learn it quickly and then practice alone until dark.

"Brother Shuoge, when are you going to tell me about the Sharingan?" Shisui asked him once.

Shuoge glanced at him. "Let's talk about it when your eyes open."

"How can I open it?"

Shuoge was silent for a while. "When you have someone you want to protect..." — or when you lose someone you don't want to lose.

Zhi Shui nodded as if he understood, but did not ask any further questions.

Feng Heyan would occasionally come to visit Shuoge.

The three men sat in the courtyard drinking tea, talking about the war at the front, about their clan, and about those who had died and those who were still alive.

Feng didn't talk much, and Yan even less. The three of them would sit together for half an hour without saying a word.

But nobody felt awkward.

The bond forged through shared battles needs no words.

Kai would come and take him out for ramen every few days.

Yi Le's, with egg and char siu. Kai always eats three bowls, while Shuo Ge eats one.

Hong sometimes comes too, sitting next to me, twirling a kunai between her fingers, listening to Kai brag.

Lin had come once before. She had just finished her shift at the medical department and looked tired, but she smiled when she saw Shuoge.

"You've lost weight," she said.

"The same to you."

Lin paused for a moment, then laughed even harder.

Days passed by like this.

The war is over, and peace has come, but Shogo knows that some things will not disappear just because the war is over.

Danzo is still alive.

The hidden stakes at the base are still there.

The conflict between the Uchiha clan and Konoha persists.

Danzo's research on Orochimaru was always the step that Sakugo needed to confirm the most.

-

The news was brought by the wind.

That evening, Feng walked into the courtyard, carrying a scroll in his hand, his expression not good. Shuoge was wiping his knife, and seeing Feng's expression, he stopped what he was doing.

"We have news from Orochimaru's side." Feng placed the scroll on the table.

Shuoge opened the scroll and glanced at it.

The above is Orochimaru's recent activity trajectory—he is still in Konoha and has not yet defected, but his laboratory is already filled with cell samples of the First Hokage.

The Third Hokage had noticed his experiments and warned him multiple times, but Orochimaru did not stop.

"What about Danzo?" Sakugo asked.

The wind was silent for a moment.

"Danzo and Orochimaru were very close. Danzo secretly supported part of Orochimaru's research funding. I found out about a few secret meetings between them, but I couldn't find out the specifics of what they discussed."

"It seems he has obtained the power of the First Hokage."

Feng glanced at him. "You suspect Danzo..."

Shuoge did not answer. He closed the scroll and stuffed it into his pocket.

-

The next day, Sakugo went to Sakumo Hatake's house.

The house is located on the west side of the village. It's not big, and there's a ginkgo tree in the yard with yellow leaves.

When Sakugo pushed open the door, Hatake Sakumo was sitting on the veranda, polishing his sword. The white dagger lay across his lap, its blade reflecting the sunlight, coldly white. Seeing Sakugo, he didn't stop what he was doing.

"What's up?"

Neither of them were the type to enjoy small talk; getting straight to the point was the easiest way.

Do you know where Orochimaru's research institute is?

Hatake Sakumo's fingers paused. He looked up at Sakugo, his tired eyes showing no surprise, only scrutiny.

"What do you want with him?"

"I'm not looking for him." Shuoge sat down next to him. "I want to know what he's researching."

Hatake Sakumo was silent for a moment. He sheathed his sword and placed it beside him, looking at the ginkgo tree in the yard. Leaves fell one by one, carpeting the ground with a layer of gold.

"His laboratory is on the outskirts of the village, near the forest." His voice was flat, as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

He paused. "What do you want to investigate?"

Shuoge looked at the ginkgo tree in the yard.

He smiled but did not answer.

Hatake Sakumo was silent for a moment. He stood up, went inside, and after a while took out a scroll, handing it to Sakumo. "This is a map of Orochimaru's laboratory. It marks the hidden agents and patrol changing times. If you're going, choose the latter half of the night."

Shuoge took the scroll and stuffed it into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Be careful." Sakumo Hatake's voice was calm.

Shuoge stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped at the door without turning back.

"Yes."

Uchiha Sakugo is gone.

Sakumo Hatake sat on the porch, watching his figure disappear into the alley. The ginkgo leaves were still falling, one by one, as if counting something. He lowered his head, picked up the white fang short sword, and continued to polish it.