The rain never stops in Amegakure. It drums against the training ground's packed earth, turning dust to mud beneath my feet as I face Hanzo's elite guards. Their masks gleam in the gray light, water beading off the polished surface like tears.

  "Again."

  Hanzo's voice cuts through the downpour. I can feel his eyes on me—always watching, always measuring. My scars itch beneath my wet clothes, each one a reminder of lessons carved into flesh. Six years old, they call me. A child prodigy. If they only knew.

  I raise my hands, forming the seals they expect to see. The paper responds to my chakra, rising from the scrolls at my belt. Through my blood-sensing technique—carefully hidden beneath layers of more basic abilities—I feel the guards' hearts race with killing intent. They never hold back. Hanzo doesn't permit it.

  The first guard moves like lightning, his kunai singing through the rain. I dodge—not too quickly, not too smoothly. The second attacks from my blind spot. Paper swirls around me in a defensive pattern, just barely deflecting his strike. Calculate every movement. Show improvement, but not too much. Never too much.

  "Faster," Hanzo commands, and there's that edge in his voice that makes my skin crawl. "Or perhaps we should provide additional motivation? I hear there was another raid on the civilian sector last night. Many families were... questioned."

  The words hit harder than any physical blow. My heart lurches, but I keep my chakra steady, my face a mask of childish concentration. Through my blood-sensing technique, I feel Hanzo's pulse—steady, controlled. He's watching for my reaction, always testing, always probing for weaknesses.

  Rain streams down my face as I increase my speed, letting paper shuriken fly with precise imperfection. The first guard falls, clutching his leg where my weapon found its mark. The second follows, paper wrapping around his arms in a restraining technique. The third—faster than his companions—slips through my defense. His blade opens a line of fire across my shoulder.

  The scent of blood mixes with rain. I complete my paper cocoon technique, encasing him in a prison of white. Not too quickly. Never too quickly.

  "Better." Hanzo's footsteps splash through puddles as he approaches. Behind his respirator mask, I sense his heartbeat quicken slightly—interest? Suspicion? "You're learning, little crane. But still holding back."

  I meet his gaze, channeling every ounce of innocence I can muster. Water drips from my hair, running cold down my spine. "I'm trying my best, Hanzo-sama."

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  He crouches before me, and the rain seems to curve around him, avoiding his form like even nature fears his touch. "Are you?" His voice carries false warmth. "Then explain something to me. The night we found you, there were traces of an unusual technique. Something that affected blood flow, chakra pathways..." He tilts his head, mask gleaming. "Wouldn't a prodigy like yourself find that interesting to investigate?"

  My pulse quickens, but years of practice keep my blood pressure steady. Through my network, I feel the guards shifting positions, surrounding us in a loose circle. "Blood techniques?" I widen my eyes, letting them fill with carefully measured fear. "Like the Mist's Bloody Mist practices?"

  "Not quite." He stands, water sheeting off his armor. "No matter. You'll have plenty of time to explore new techniques. After all, you're not going anywhere."

  Later, in my room, I unfold the paper crane I've been working on. My fingers trace the microscopic characters written in blood-infused ink—my growing map of Amegakure's underground network. Every raid, every "questioning" session, every whispered conversation between guards pulses with information in my hands.

  The rain taps against my window—tap, tap, tap—a rhythm that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat. I press my palm to the cold glass, feeling the vibrations. Somewhere out there, beyond these walls, beyond Hanzo's watchful eyes, beyond this curtain of eternal rain, my parents are waiting. They have to be.

  A knock breaks my concentration. Through my blood-paper network threaded through the compound's walls, I feel Aki's familiar presence before she speaks.

  "Yuu-chan." Her voice is gentle, but I sense her elevated heartbeat. "Lord Hanzo requests your presence in the strategy room."

  The paper crane dissolves in my mouth—a trick born of necessity—as I stand. "Coming, Aki-san."

  The compound's corridors stretch before us, shadows dancing in lamplight. My network tingles with awareness: guard patterns disrupted, unusual chakra signatures clustering in the lower levels, and in the strategy room... power. Raw power, carefully contained but impossible to hide from my blood-sensing technique.

  Outside the strategy room, I pause. Paper defenses rustle softly between my skin and clothes as I adjust them, each sheet infused with my blood, ready to respond to the slightest threat.

  "Enter."

  Hanzo's command seems to make the very air vibrate. I slide the door open, stepping into a room where shadows gather like hungry things. Around the strategy table, figures loom—faces I know from memories of another life, players in a game of power I'm only beginning to understand.

  And there, spread across the table like a prophecy, lies a map marked with familiar locations. My eyes fix on one spot: the civilian sector where I last saw my parents.

  "Ah, little crane." Hanzo's voice carries something new—something sharp and deadly as a poisoned blade. "We have a special lesson planned tonight. One about loyalty, truth, and the price of keeping secrets."

  Ice fills my veins, but my face remains carefully blank. Through my network, I feel the pulse of every person in the room, the flow of chakra, the weight of killing intent pressing against my skin like physical touch.

  Mother's voice whispers in my memory: The rain tells stories.

  As thunder rolls across Amegakure's steel sky, I prepare myself for whatever comes next. After all, paper may burn, but the ashes can always be reborn into something new.

  And tonight's story? It's just beginning.