Under the moonlight, he tried again and again.
At first, he could only hold it for a few seconds. Gradually, it stretched to ten-plus seconds… then a full minute.
Sweat slid down his forehead, but Kiyohara's eyes only grew brighter.
He could feel it—his arm muscles were undergoing subtle changes under the stimulation of Lightning Release.
The change was tiny, almost imperceptible, but it was real.
At the same time, Uchiha Kiyohara's spirit quietly appeared, floating nearby.
"Interesting idea," Uchiha Kiyohara said as he watched. "Using Lightning Release to stimulate the body for reinforcement… it reminds me of Cloud's secret techniques."
"Do you know the exact principle behind Lightning Release Chakra Mode?" Kiyohara asked.
Uchiha Kiyohara shook his head. "I've only copied some Lightning Release techniques. I don't really understand the training method behind that kind of secret art. But your direction should be correct."
He looked at the faint arcs of electricity flickering across Kiyohara's palm.
"But be careful—overstimulation can damage muscle tissue, even cause necrosis. It would be best to test it on other living creatures first."
Kiyohara's heart stirred. "Summons?"
"Exactly. Summons are far tougher than humans, and their recovery is stronger too. Even if an experiment fails, the summoning will usually dispel on its own—you won't truly hurt it too badly, unless you exceed the limit all at once."
That was a good idea.
Kiyohara formed seals, bit his thumb, and pressed it to the ground.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
The white smoke cleared, and a several-meter-long invisible chameleon appeared in the open space.
It stared at him with obvious fear—after Kiyohara's "physical persuasion training," it had become much more obedient.
"Don't be afraid. I just need your help this time," Kiyohara said soothingly.
He injected Lightning Release chakra into the chameleon's hind leg.
Unlike when he experimented on himself, he increased the intensity slightly.
The chameleon's body jerked—then quickly settled.
It only felt a numb tingling in its leg. It wasn't in pain.
"As expected… summons can handle more," Kiyohara murmured, observing its reaction while adjusting the intensity and frequency.
The spirit floated nearby and offered another suggestion.
"You can try stimulating the nervous system. Human nerves are more fragile than muscles, but a summon's nerves should endure some electrical stimulation. If you can develop a technique to strengthen nerves, your reaction speed will improve drastically."
Kiyohara nodded and began a new round of testing.
Time slipped by quietly. His control over Lightning Release became finer and finer, and his understanding of bodily reinforcement deepened.
But turning it into a complete technique still wasn't enough—this would take long-term accumulation and repeated experiments.
The two-hour watch passed quickly.
When Kurenai arrived to replace him, Kiyohara had already dispelled the summoning and was sitting under a tree, eyes closed, regulating his breathing.
"You were training?" she asked. From a distance, she'd seen him summon his beast—at first she thought it was for security, but then realized it wasn't.
"Yeah. Trying something new," Kiyohara said, standing up and rolling his slightly stiff arm.
"Seriously… you still have to rest," Kurenai pouted.
"Here." She handed him a water flask.
"Thanks," Kiyohara said.
He took the water, sat by the campfire, and watched the flames dance while his thoughts churned.
"I really need to consolidate my system," he thought.
He had too many things now—Magnet Release, Steel Release, the Sharingan, multiple elemental styles, swordsmanship, basic medical ninjutsu…
But there was no core framework tying them together.
Like a tree with too many branches, but no clear trunk.
"Magnet Release and Lightning Release can be my core offense. Steel Release handles defense. The Sharingan gives perception and genjutsu resistance. Magnet Release can also stimulate physical enhancement—speed and power—at least for now. Wind Release adds cutting power. Earth Release is utility…"
Kiyohara sketched out a rough blueprint in his mind.
…
Two days later, the team arrived in the Kikyo Pass area.
They called it a "mountain," but it was really a long, rolling mountain range—complex terrain, easy to defend, hard to attack. A natural fortress.
But Kikyo Pass was unrecognizable now.
The once-lush forest was scorched everywhere. Trees were burned to charcoal. The mountainside had been blasted full of craters by jutsu.
On the ground lay scattered kunai, shuriken, broken weapons, and dried black bloodstains.
Smoke and the stench of blood hung in the air, refusing to dissipate even with the mountain wind.
"This is… Kikyo Pass?" Kurenai's voice trembled.
She'd been on missions before, but she'd never seen a battlefield this brutal. The devastation in front of her far exceeded what she'd imagined.
Genma's senbon stopped spinning in his mouth. He stared in silence, face grim.
"This is war," Kiyohara said flatly. "And what you're seeing is only the outskirts. The real battlefield is on the main peak ahead."
He could see rows of tents on the far slopes—the Konoha frontline camp.
People moved constantly through it, but the mood was heavy. Every face carried exhaustion and vigilance.
"Let's go. We hand off the supplies first," Kiyohara said, heading forward.
They followed the mountain path. The closer they got to the frontline camp, the more harrowing the sights became.
Simple medical shelters lined the roadside. Inside came endless groans and screams.
Wounded shinobi were everywhere—some missing arms, sleeves hanging empty in bandages.
Some had their eyes wrapped in cloth and stumbled forward by touch.
Some lay on stretchers, wounds bandaged but still bleeding through…
"Not enough medics," a shinobi muttered nearby.
Kiyohara turned and saw a middle-aged woman in a medic uniform kneeling beside a patient, both hands glowing green as she treated a gaping abdominal injury.
But the wound was too severe—intestines had spilled out. Her treatment was only barely keeping the man alive.
"Suna puppet masters are cruel," the woman said without looking up. "They aim for the abdomen and eyes."
"We're doing everything we can," she added. "But we're short on people and supplies."
After they finished their exchange, Kiyohara asked, "Where is Commander Nara Enhiru?"
"Command tent—big one in the middle."
"Thank you." Kiyohara nodded and led the team onward.
This was the reality of war: survival or death.
And when you lived under that kind of pressure with no mental care, it was no wonder so many shinobi ended up… warped.
At the command tent, two guards stood watch.
"We're the supply handoff team," Kiyohara said, gesturing at the sealed cargo.
The guards nodded. The team had already been checked when they entered camp.
Kiyohara lifted the flap.
A huge map covered the central table. Seven or eight shinobi stood around it. At the front was a middle-aged man wearing a square yellow hat, a Konoha headband tied around his brow.
Nara Enhiru—the current head of the Nara clan, and the front commander at Kikyo Pass.
He looked up, eyes sweeping over Kiyohara's group.
"You're the supply escort team?"
"Yes. Supplies delivered safely," Kiyohara reported.
Enhriu nodded, then told his adjutant, "Take them to inventory. Distribute to the medic corps immediately."
The adjutant left to carry it out.
Only then did Enhriu examine the trio more closely.
"You're Kiyohara?"
His gaze lingered on Kiyohara—who was very obviously better-looking than Genma by a whole tier—and asked directly.
"Yes, Commander Enhiru."
While Enhriu assessed him, Kiyohara also studied the man.
Nara Enhiru's real "on-screen" prominence would come much later in Boruto, but even then—old and weathered—he still held immense Nara influence.
"I heard you performed well on the Mist front… and killed members of the Seven Swordsmen?"
"Yes." Kiyohara nodded.
As his record spread, his personal notoriety was rising too.
"You're strong. I hope you'll put that strength to use." Enhriu pointed to an area on the map behind the main line.
"Here—between several mountains behind Kikyo Pass, there's an orphanage. After the war erupted, we set up temporary tents there to house the severely wounded, away from the frontline so they can recover in peace."
His finger traced along the map.
"But recently we've detected possible Sand scout activity nearby. Your task is to station near the orphanage and protect it—both the wounded and the children."
"Just us?" Kiyohara asked.
"There are two other squads covering nearby routes," Enhriu answered.
"An orphanage?" Kurenai couldn't help asking. "Why would there be an orphanage in a place like this?"
Enhriu sighed.
"War creates too many orphans. That orphanage existed here already. The director is a kind woman—she's taken in many children who lost their parents."
He looked at Kiyohara.
"This mission looks simple, but it matters. If the orphanage is attacked, not only the wounded are at risk. Those children will be too."
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
"We understand," Kiyohara said, voice firm. "We'll protect them."
"Good." Enhriu seemed satisfied. "Rest a bit, then move out. You should reach it before dark."
"Yes!"
They left the command tent, took a short rest, then followed the map deeper into Kikyo Pass's rear area.
In the end, shinobi were just cogs in war's assembly line—moved wherever needed.
…
They walked the rough dirt road. There were fewer trees here, more uneven mountain trails.
But compared to the suffocating atmosphere of the frontline, the air back here felt cleaner.
As they moved farther from the battle, the scars of war thinned. They even passed patches of intact forest and clear streams.
"The frontline and the rear… it's like two different worlds," Genma said quietly.
"But they're connected," Kurenai replied. "If the frontline collapses, the rear becomes a battlefield too."
Kiyohara kept scanning the terrain, thinking through what they might face.
Sand scouts—what kind?
Ordinary reconnaissance shinobi?
Or something more dangerous?
I wonder if I'll ever roll a "puppeteer Kiyohara" future, he thought.
Suna's puppetry was impressive—recycling corpses into weapons. The stronger the person in life, the stronger the puppet afterward.
But what interested Kiyohara more was poison.
Suna's poisons were infamous, often smeared on puppets and tools. Chiyo was the prime example.
Even a tiny scratch could be lethal.
I need to watch for airborne poison… and contact poison, he warned himself.
Steel Release could prevent cuts and punctures while active, but once he dropped it, residue could still cling to skin and seep in.
And some poisons could be inhaled—like Hanzō's salamander.
What Kiyohara wanted was poison resistance.
If he could raise that too, he wouldn't have to fear dirty tricks as much.
Even the Third Kazekage—called the strongest—had died to Sasori's poison.
Even Jiraiya would fold if Tsunade drugged him.
Careful, Kiyohara told himself.
By evening, they reached their destination.
A small basin nestled in a valley, mountains forming natural walls around it.
In the center sat a few rough houses built against the slope. A patch of cultivated land in front grew vegetables.
About a kilometer away stood a cluster of white tents—where the wounded rested.
Some injured shinobi sat outside in the open air—some sunning themselves, some playing board games. Compared to the frontline, it felt calmer.
But Kiyohara noticed immediately: most were the severely wounded.
Missing limbs. Blindfolded eyes. Faces warped by scars.
"This is…" Kurenai murmured, eyes tightening with pain.
"Yeah," Kiyohara said. "The rear injury shelter for Kikyo Pass."
"Let's go. First we meet the orphanage director."
Kiyohara had once seen Yakushi Nonō—before she fully "disappeared" into civilian life—but it had only been a passing encounter. No real connection.
…
Dusk had already deepened.
Inside the orphanage, it was mealtime.
"Dinner time, kids," an overweight middle-aged nun called out.
Behind her, a meticulously dressed middle-aged man served food to the children.
The kids clustered around like hungry chicks.
Yakushi Nonō—standing a short distance away—watched it all.
She wore a black nun's outfit similar to the heavier woman's. She looked around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a soft figure, long blond hair neatly tucked beneath her head covering, and a gentle, almost saintly face.
She adjusted her glasses and reminded the children to line up.
After leaving Konoha, she'd founded this orphanage.
The overweight nun and the bespectacled man seemed to be caretakers helping run it.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Ninja? Nonō thought. She remembered being told that squads would arrive over the next few days to protect the area.
She opened the door and saw Kiyohara's group. She froze—then her smile returned, warm and composed.
"You're… the new Konoha shinobi?"
"Yes," Kiyohara said.
"I'm the Dean here—Yakushi Nonō," she introduced, bowing slightly.
"Thank you for coming. We truly need more protection."
Kiyohara's heart stirred.
Yakushi Nonō… so it really was her.
The former Root intelligence ace—the "Walking Miko"—now living quietly as a small orphanage director.
"Dean Nonō, can you brief us on the situation here?" Kiyohara asked.
Kurenai peeked curiously inside and spotted a lot of children.
Genma, meanwhile, seemed far more interested in what they were eating.
"Of course. Please come in," Nonō said, stepping aside. "It's a bit simple inside—please don't mind it."
They entered. The building was larger than it looked from outside, divided into several rooms.
The largest space was the children's common room: old desks and chairs, and children's drawings pinned to the walls—clumsy but full of life.
It was dinner time. Dozens of kids sat around long tables with plain food—mostly potatoes, with a little greens.
Kiyohara noticed the patched clothes, the worn fabric… but also that everyone was clean, and the children's faces still held innocence.
"Kids," Nonō said softly, "these are new shinobi big brother and big sister."
The children stared at Kiyohara's team with wide-eyed curiosity.
Shinobi were a distant world to them.
But they admired shinobi too.
If they had that kind of power, they could help the director more!
"Director, is it mashed potatoes again today?" asked a boy of about five or six, with messy brown hair and huge eyes.
"Yes, Siu-chan," Nonō sighed.
"Okay," the boy said—no complaints—lining up obediently.
They'd eaten potatoes for two months. Just looking at them made some of them want to gag.
But it was still the best food they could get.
With Kiyohara's team present, Nonō politely asked if they wanted to eat as well.
Kiyohara declined. Not yet.
Information first.
Nonō's smile softened into something more serious. She led them upstairs into a small office.
A worn desk, a few chairs, a map on the wall, documents neatly organized—simple, but orderly.
"Yes," Nonō said, pointing at a location on the map. "About three days ago, I was gathering herbs in the back hills and found unusual footprints—here. About three kilometers from the orphanage."
She continued calmly.
"The prints were light, like someone tried to erase them. But in a few places, new grass sprouts were snapped. The breaks were fresh. And the spacing… looked like a shinobi squad formation."
Kiyohara was quietly impressed.
To extract this much from such subtle signs—she really was former Root.
"You think it was a Sand scout team?" he asked.
"Very likely," Nonō nodded. "The frontline is tense. Sand may be sending scouts into the rear to gather intel… or sabotage."
She'd been away from shinobi work for a long time, but from the wounded soldiers' fragments of conversation, she could still assemble the shape of the situation by instinct.
~~~
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