After an illusion took hold of Kakashi, Uchiha Kai activated his Mangekyō Sharingan.
He cast another genjutsu, forcing Kakashi deeper into a fabricated mental landscape. Kai hadn't dedicated much time recently to the study of genjutsu, but that didn't mean his current prowess was lacking. On the contrary—his illusions were refined through field use. Though not as sophisticated or prolonged as some high-level Uchiha techniques, they were sharp, focused, and disturbingly effective. Kai's genjutsu didn't rely on visual spectacle—they pierced straight into the heart, revealing parts of the self even the user might not wish to see.
This illusion, in particular, was a modified version of a jutsu Kai had designed himself—intended not just to incapacitate, but to test the Sharingan's potential in others. It was one of the many experiments he'd been performing in secret, trying to awaken deeper power in those he deemed worth the trouble.
This time, the subject was Kakashi.
"I hope this helps," Kai murmured, watching Kakashi stand frozen, head bowed, caught in the illusion's grip.
With a sigh, Kai sheathed his sword and turned, walking away. There was no way to know when Kakashi would break free—but Kai didn't need to wait. He had other matters to attend to.
It wasn't long before Uchiha Kai arrived at the gates of the Konoha Orphanage.
Children were playing outside in the dirt, their laughter echoing under the late afternoon sun. But the moment they spotted him, everything stopped. Laughter died. Small feet shuffled backwards. Kai immediately sensed their fear—not just wariness, but the raw instinct of survival. They recognized danger.
Kai knew why. Over the years, strangers had come to the orphanage—masked men, stern visitors—taking children away. Most never returned. Many of them, Kai knew, were taken for training under the Root division—Danzo's covert organization. Turned into operatives. Tools.
Kai himself might have missed another reason for their fear. Despite only being fourteen, he had seen more blood than most men three times his age. His chakra, honed by years of war, carried a natural pressure that was hard to suppress. To these children, he must have seemed like a monster in human skin.
A heavyset woman burst out from the orphanage's main building, wiping wet hands on her apron. There was still soap suds clinging to her fingers—she'd probably been washing clothes.
"Excuse me!" she called out breathlessly, placing herself between Kai and the children. "I'm sorry for the delay. Is there something you need, shinobi-san?"
Kai observed her posture. She wasn't a kunoichi—no chakra control, no formal stance. But her instinct to shield the children with her body showed courage. Maternal, untrained, but sincere.
"My name is Uchiha Kai. I didn't mean to startle anyone," he said politely. His voice was calm, almost too calm. He was trying.
"I'm Teak Kyoko," the woman replied with a hesitant bow. "I'm the director here now."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "I thought the orphanage was still under the care of Yakushi Nono… or perhaps I'm behind on village records."
Kyoko hesitated. "She… stepped down some time ago."
Kai didn't push. He already knew the truth—Nono Yakushi had been pulled into Danzo's web, just like many others. He simply nodded.
"I see. I hope she's well."
Kyoko didn't answer.
"You seem uneasy around me," Kai said after a pause. "Do strangers come often?"
Her face tightened. "Not often. But when they do… they usually don't bring the children back."
Kai nodded. The implication didn't need to be said. It was one of the hidden costs of peace—the village's orphans, raised in Konoha's care, were quietly drafted into its darker operations. Some were recruited into ANBU. Others… into Root. Few had a choice.
"I understand," Kai said quietly. "And I'm sorry."
Kyoko looked at him warily, then asked, "Are you here to take one of them too?"
"I am," he answered, with regret in his tone. "But not for what you think."
She folded her arms. "Will they be trained as a killer? A servant? That's what always happens. We feed them, clothe them, love them—and then someone comes to turn them into something else."
Her words were bitter but honest. Kai couldn't blame her.
"I don't need a killer," he said. "I have more than enough ninja willing to die under my command. I don't need a servant, either. I've walked too long in blood to need someone else to clean my sword."
"Then what is it you do need?"
Kai looked past her, scanning the children, all still frozen behind her like frightened deer. "One. Just one. Someone smart. Someone obedient. Someone I can trust."
"To become what?" she snapped.
Kai didn't flinch. "Not a weapon. Not a slave. Just… a person. One I can teach. One I can protect, and who might, in time, protect others."
Kyoko's shoulders slumped. She looked tired.
"You shinobi always speak in riddles. No matter how gently you phrase it, it still feels like you're stealing a piece of us."
"I don't expect you to forgive me," Kai replied. "But I ask only one thing. Let me choose. And you may ask one thing in return."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"Fine," she said at last. "Then hear this: whoever you take, treat them like a human being. Don't make them disappear. Let them live. Let them come back if they wish. Just that—treat them like a person."
Kai nodded. "I will."
Then, softly, he added, "But I need the best."