Konoha Village had only existed for a few decades. Not long ago, the ninja world was still gripped by the Warring States period—where clans like the Uchiha, Senju, and others spilled blood in endless wars.
The scars of that fragmented era remained, not only in history books but in culture.
Even Jiraiya's "Team 6," which included Minato Namikaze, featured a dark-skinned teammate with thick lips—an unusual appearance in Konoha. This was recorded in "Minato's Story: The Whirlpool's Gale", where Minato developed the Rasengan and where Kushina's silent depression was chronicled.
So, a foreigner like Qingsi walking the streets of Konoha didn't go entirely unnoticed. Not by the public… and certainly not by the hidden players.
Inside the dim chamber behind the sushi restaurant, Samudo faced Qingsi with a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Qingsi, you will always be a member of Kumogakure."
He paused before continuing.
"If you're willing, we can extract you after graduation—on your first mission. At that time, you'll be officially inducted into Hidden Cloud. You'll receive elite training, personally selected by the Raikage."
Samudo's tone was smooth, rehearsed. The Third Ninja World War was looming. A full extraction now would raise alarms. But amidst the chaos of the coming war, a defection would go unnoticed.
"You'll become the first patriarch of the Uchiha Clan… of the Hidden Cloud Village!"
He spoke with fervor.
But Qingsi?
He remained still. Silent.
Unimpressed.
"The Uchiha have shown me kindness," Qingsi said calmly, "They've taught me their techniques."
It wasn't just a statement—it was a bargaining chip.
Samudo narrowed his eyes for a moment, then softened again. He understood.
He's negotiating.
"Lord Raikage anticipated this," he said, producing a scroll. "As a token of sincerity, we offer this."
Qingsi took the scroll and unfurled it.
"Lightning Release: Lightning Finger"
A basic D-rank jutsu.
Just above the level of techniques taught at the academy.
Its purpose? Channel a faint arc of electricity through the index and middle fingers—barely visible, but enough to stimulate nerves or disrupt small targets.
It was simple, but refined. A foundation for more advanced lightning techniques.
Samudo watched Qingsi's expression change, then leaned forward with a sly smile.
"Our spies in Konoha told us—you haven't learned any real Uchiha jutsu."
"They don't truly accept you. We do."
"You want more? Come back to Kumogakure."
His voice lowered, tempting.
"Your real power awaits."
Qingsi rolled up the scroll and stood.
"I'll think about it."
He turned and walked out.
After Qingsi left, Samudo exited the hidden room and climbed to the third floor of the restaurant, peering through the window at the street below. The last customers trickled out. Staff began cleaning and closing for the night.
Samui stood beside him, arms crossed.
"Yotsuki Qingsi... doesn't seem like he wants to return."
Her voice was flat, observant.
Unlike her passionate superior, Samui was the analytical type.
"You claimed the Uchiha rejected him. But that may be temporary."
"Once they confirm his bloodline—and his potential—they'll bring him fully into the fold."
Samudo gave a small laugh.
"Maybe. But it won't matter. He'll come back to us."
"You're that confident?"
"The world is already cracking. War is inevitable. When it starts, we'll move. And then... people like Qingsi will have to choose where their future lies."
Elsewhere, Qingsi stood beneath a streetlamp, blending into the night crowd.
His eyes half-closed, breath steady.
Then—his left eye opened.
The single magatama spun gently within his Sharingan.
With just one tomoe, the world sharpened dramatically. A distant blur became crisp. A faint whisper became a whispering face.
Through the glass, across the street, he could see the sushi shop interior.
Staff. Banners. Closing motions.
And on the third floor—Samui. Samudo.
Even their facial expressions were clear as day.
In Boruto, Sarada used her three-tomoe Sharingan to detect airborne pathogens invisible to the naked eye.
Qingsi, with just one tomoe, could already see and lip-read from over a hundred meters away.
He watched them.
He read them.
Their expressions. Their words.
And their intentions.
"The Uchiha don't recognize me?" he muttered. "When has Kumogakure ever truly accepted me?"
He closed his eye.
Neither Uchiha nor Kumogakure was his home.
Uchiha was cautious. Too cautious. They feared setting a precedent—accepting him now might invite others with Uchiha blood to claim lineage.
Kumogakure?
They only saw a breeding vessel. A bloodline.
Exploitation wrapped in loyalty.
"Military expansionists," he whispered. "Mafia in headbands."
He turned away, but not before one last glance at Samui's figure in the window.
She was part of the game. A calm, composed piece on Kumogakure's board.
But even pieces can be flipped.
Qingsi's fingertips traced the edge of the scroll—its texture dry and coarse.
If I'm going to be used… I'll at least name the price.
For the next several days, Qingsi returned to routine.
Ninja school. Training. Home.
No movement. No mistakes.
Then—on the sixth day—he returned to the sushi restaurant.
Evening. Quiet.
The signboard glowed softly above the door.
He stepped inside.
Samui approached, just as before.
"Night guest… would you like to order squid sushi again?"
She smiled gently.
But this time, Qingsi's tone changed.
"Miss Samui," he said quietly, eyes sharp.
"You don't want me and Kumogakure to become enemies because of you... do you?"