Discovering the truth behind the mass deaths in Konoha Prison had left Qingyu deeply contemplative.
In the original story he knew, such scenes were never depicted. Even in the memories of major characters, Konoha was always portrayed as a land of sunshine, warmth, and harmony—a place almost devoid of crime. It was the anime equivalent of a "world without thieves."
But after spending time in the Torture Force, Qingyu understood. It wasn't that Konoha lacked darkness; it was just that the darkness was meticulously buried beneath the light. People only needed to live in the sunshine.
Now it was clear: Danzo wasn't just Konoha's "Scapegoat King"; he was the one handling the village's dirty laundry in the shadows. Qingyu had never heard of these prisoner deaths or their release schedules because the prison was a black box to the average citizen.
Through a month of reading memories from suspects, Qingyu's understanding of the shinobi world had sharpened. While this was Konoha, he suspected other villages were much the same. As for Danzo's methods, he couldn't say if they were right or wrong—but he knew one thing for certain: now was absolutely not the time to provoke Danzo.
And he had no intention of doing so.
Ten minutes later, the Guard Captain arrived with another suspect.
Over the past month, the two had become strangely familiar. Although they didn't know each other's names and Qingyu's face remained hidden behind his Anbu mask, a silent rapport had formed. The Captain loved Qingyu's efficiency—no interrogator he'd ever met could extract a confession so quickly.
High efficiency for Qingyu meant high efficiency for the Guard Captain. Consequently, the Captain had started funneling all the "tough nuts" to Qingyu's cubicle.
"This one's a bit of trouble," the Captain said, gesturing for his men to tie the suspect to the post before leaving with full confidence in Qingyu.
"Alright."
Qingyu nodded, his calm gaze shifting to the prisoner. He didn't realize the Captain was giving him "extra servings"; he simply assumed Konoha's crime rate was unexpectedly high.
"Let's see what you've done."
Qingyu walked over and reached for the man's forehead.
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
Qingyu's routine was ironclad: interrogating suspects in his cubicle by day and training in the woods behind the prison by night. Morino Eaton hadn't spied on him since that first time.
However, one thing puzzled him. All the suspects assigned to him lately were ordinary civilians, not a single shinobi. Was this a deliberate arrangement by the Torture Force, or were civilians just more prone to crime?
One early morning, after a refreshing jog that left him feeling more in control of his Sage Body than ever, Qingyu arrived at his cubicle. Before the Guard Captain could show up, he saw a familiar, skeletal figure.
Yamanaka Yuta.
The old man, who hadn't visited in a month, looked even thinner, his face more like a skull than ever.
"Mr. Yuta."
Qingyu greeted him immediately. He sensed something was up; Yuta wouldn't come here just for a chat.
"Follow me."
Yuta cast a deep look at Qingyu and turned into the dark corridor.
"Yes, sir."
Qingyu followed silently, asking nothing until they reached the end of the hallway.
"Qingyu, do you know why I'm looking for you?" Yuta asked gravely.
"No," Qingyu replied flatly.
"Of course you don't!" Yuta's mouth twitched. He suddenly remembered Qingyu's direct, conversation-killing style and rephrased: "I mean, aren't you curious why I'm here?"
"Not curious."
Qingyu's voice was like a machine. Behind the mask, he was a void of emotion.
"..."
Yuta was speechless. This kid had zero social grace. How was he supposed to lead into a request with this wall of indifference?
"Sigh..." Yuta surrendered. He realized that with Qingyu, you had to be blunt. "Qingyu, I have a mission. I need your help. What I mean is..." He paused, falling back into his habit of softening the blow. "This is my mission, not yours. So, if you don't want to help, it's fine..."
Yuta immediately regretted the phrasing. He had forgotten that this boy didn't play by the social rules of "polite refusal."
As he stood there in frustration, he met Qingyu's unblinking, dark eyes.
"Then I'm not helping."
Qingyu said the words Yuta dreaded most with absolute calm. He didn't look uncomfortable or awkward. He offered no excuses or "cushioning" for the rejection.
Yuta had lived a long time, but he'd rarely met someone so... efficient at saying no.
"You... you're really not going to help me?" Yuta's eyelid jumped. Don't be so cruel, at least hear the mission first!
"I'm not helping."
Qingyu shook his head, his gaze resolute. He wasn't joking.