Sora tossed the scroll beside Karin.
"This is the Shadow Clone Technique."
His words carried no particular emotion—flat and direct, as if remarking on something utterly insignificant.
Karin strained to turn her head, gazing at the scroll lying quietly on the grass.
Shadow Clone Technique.
She had seen the name in her school textbooks. It was classified as a jonin-level forbidden jutsu.
"This will be tomorrow's study material. Feel free to preview it if you'd like." Sora's voice gradually shed the cold detachment of the "teacher," reverting to his usual lazy drawl.
He looked down at the girl sprawled on the ground—covered head to toe in dirt and mud, struggling even to lift a finger. The habitual gentle facade slipped from his ever-smiling amber eyes, revealing the profound, bottomless calm beneath.
Then he stepped forward and crouched beside her.
His hand settled lightly on her head. Her fiery red short hair was matted with sweat, clumped together—not particularly pleasant to the touch.
"Now comes the most important part of training."
Karin's body tensed instinctively, bracing for some even harsher torment.
"Eat well."
The words left her completely stunned.
"For a child your age, properly nourishing your body is the greatest form of training."
With that, he stood up, no longer glancing at her, and began walking toward the apartment.
"Keep up."
Karin remained on the ground, still feeling the faint lingering sensation on her scalp—not truly warm, yet undeniably real.
Her thoughts drifted back to that afternoon: the blond fool named Uzumaki Naruto, and the arrogant little brat named Uchiha Sasuke.
She gritted her teeth, pressed her scraped elbows against the earth, and inch by inch, painfully hauled herself upright.
The Uzumaki bloodline coursing through her veins worked slowly but relentlessly, mending every wound and converting raw pain into a dull, numbing exhaustion.
She picked up the scroll from the ground, clutched it to her chest, and limped after Sora's retreating figure.
The two soon reached the apartment entrance.
The moment Sora turned the key and pushed the door open,
An overwhelmingly bold aroma—intensely spicy and richly fragrant—burst forth aggressively, flooding their senses in an instant.
Karin froze mid-step.
What was this smell?
So wonderfully fragrant, so fiercely spicy—just a single whiff accelerated her salivation several times over.
Sora, utterly unfazed, strolled inside as though it were perfectly ordinary.
On the living room dining table sat a large clay hot pot centered over a portable gas burner. Inside, a vividly red broth bubbled and rolled vigorously; countless dried red chilies and Sichuan peppercorns bobbed within, releasing a fragrance so potent it made one's scalp tingle.
"A shadow clone prepared it earlier," Sora explained offhandedly.
So that's how it was.
This must be the thing he'd mentioned during the day—the potential business venture.
Traditional hot pot broth.
Sora approached the table, scooped a spoonful of crimson oil with a ladle, and tasted it thoughtfully.
Hm—the perfect balance of heat, tongue-numbing spice, and layered aromatic complexity. It was an exact recreation of the flavor etched in his memory.
In a ninja world where cuisine tended toward the mild and subtle, this bold taste profile would be an absolute game-changer—a true dimensional assault.
The prospects for opening a restaurant were exceptionally promising.
He retrieved two small dipping bowls from the kitchen.
One held thick, creamy sesame paste garnished with chopped scallions and fresh cilantro. The other was fragrant sesame oil blended with minced garlic.
"Sesame paste dip or garlic oil dip—mix whichever you prefer."
Then, as if performing a magic trick, he produced plate after plate from the storage cabinet.
Paper-thin slices of marbled beef and tender lamb, rolled and arranged with meticulous neatness.
Freshly cleaned beef tripe and aorta, still glistening with moisture.
Crisp green lettuce leaves, soft white tofu cubes, golden clusters of enoki and shiitake mushrooms...
In no time, the table was overflowing with a dazzling array of ingredients.
Karin stood rooted in the center of the living room, utterly mesmerized.
In her entire life, she had never—not even in dreams—witnessed such abundance.
In the Land of Grass, her meals were the gnawed remnants of others' rice balls.
In the black market, it was nameless gray slop that merely filled the stomach.
Everything before her now felt like an illusion from a fairy tale.
"Wash your hands," Sora's voice cut through her trance. "Then eat properly."
Karin turned mechanically, shuffling to the bathroom to rinse her small hands—caked with dirt and dotted with fresh scrapes—under clear water.
When she returned, Sora was already seated at the table.
"Sit." He indicated the spot across from him.
Karin pulled out the chair with stiff formality, sitting bolt upright, hands awkwardly unsure where to rest.
"Watch carefully—this is how you do it."
Without unnecessary chatter, Sora picked up a slice of beef roll with his chopsticks and swished it briefly through the roiling red broth.
"Seven seconds up, eight seconds down."
The slice transformed from vibrant red to an enticing browned hue. He fished it out, swirled it through his garlic oil dip, and popped it into his mouth.
Pure satisfaction.
This was the flavor.
After the demonstration, he paid her no further mind, focusing on his own meal.
Karin observed his smooth, practiced motions, glanced uncertainly at her own chopsticks, hesitated—then clumsily mimicked him, picking up a slice of lamb.
Her heart thumped wildly.
A mix of nerves and eager anticipation.
She cautiously lowered the slice into the bubbling crimson broth.
The red oil churned fiercely; waves of spice rose like steam.
Her movements were slow and rigid—lacking any of the graceful "seven up, eight down" rhythm. The meat quickly overcooked.
In a flustered rush, she fished it out, attempting to dip it in the garlic oil as Sora had done.
Her chopsticks trembled—the slice slipped and plopped directly into the bowl.
Oh well.
No time for perfection—she snatched the still-steaming lamb and, with a do-or-die resolve, shoved it into her mouth.
Boom!
An unprecedented, intricate, and domineering explosion of flavors detonated across her tongue.
First came the spice—a searing, exhilarating burn that ignited every taste bud in a rush of pure, cathartic heat.
Next, the numbing tingle—fine and dense, like countless tiny electric currents dancing across her tongue, adding exquisite layers to the spice.
Then the fresh, succulent richness of the lamb itself, intertwined with the deep, savory depth of the broth, and the indescribably lush fragrance of sesame oil mingled with raw garlic.
Every sensation wove together into a tempest of taste.
Karin's eyes snapped wide open.
Her small face flushed visibly at an astonishing speed; fine beads of sweat quickly dotted her forehead.
Her mouth gaped involuntarily as she desperately inhaled cool air.
Delicious.
Incredibly delicious.
Those were the only words her limited vocabulary could summon.
So the world held food this extraordinarily good.
A single tear slipped from her eye without warning.
Not from the spice.
Not from pain.
But from an emotion she had never known—called "happiness"—arriving too fiercely, overwhelming and breaching every defense she had built.
"How is it?"
Sora's voice rose at just the right moment.
He watched the girl across from him—face streaming with spice-induced tears and sniffles, yet stubbornly clinging to her chopsticks—his smile one of triumphant success.
"Karin, is big brother's hot pot good?"
"Hiss... ha... hiss... ha..."
Karin inhaled sharply between nods, mumbling unclearly through the heat.
"So... so incredibly good..."
As if to prove it, she seized another beef slice—too impatient to wait for proper cooking time—and eagerly stuffed it into her mouth.
Sora observed her ravenous eating with satisfied nods.
This warm, lively dinner unfolded amid a constant chorus of "hiss ha" inhalations.
Karin progressed from initial hesitation to gradual relaxation, then to outright food-snatching—in the span of just one plate of beef.
Her appetite far exceeded Sora's expectations.
The Uzumaki was extraordinary not only in recovery but in capacity as well.
By the end, nearly all the meat and delicacies had been demolished single-handedly by her; only a few lonely vegetables continued bubbling in the pot.
Karin slumped back in her chair, rubbing her now-rounded belly and letting out a deeply contented burp.
Her face retained the rosy glow from the spice; her red eyes sparkled brightly, brimming with life.
This was the first time Sora had seen such vivid, animated expression on her face since meeting her.
"Full?" Sora set down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Mm-hmm!" Karin nodded emphatically.
"Full means it's time to work."
Sora rose and began clearing the dishes.
Karin paused briefly, then leaped from her chair, scrambling to help with flustered enthusiasm.
In the small kitchen, one washed while the other dried.
The atmosphere was unexpectedly peaceful and harmonious.
Once everything was tidied, Sora retrieved a carton of milk from the fridge and handed it to Karin.
"To soothe the spice."
Karin cradled the milk, sipping in small mouthfuls while her eyes kept stealing glances at Sora.
The boy before her now was worlds apart from the cold, unforgiving "teacher" on the training field.
"The scroll—did you understand it?"
His question made her heart skip.
Only then did she remember the forbidden jutsu scroll she'd casually left on the sofa.
"I... haven't looked yet..." Her voice grew smaller.
Sora offered no reproach.
He simply walked to the sofa, picked up the scroll, unrolled it fully, and spread it across the floor.
"Come here."
Karin approached with her milk, kneeling obediently beside him.
The scroll displayed intricate hand seal diagrams and densely packed explanatory text.
"The Shadow Clone Technique works by using chakra to create solid, physical duplicates."
Sora's voice shifted back into clear, logical "teacher" mode.
"Experiences and fatigue from the clones return to the original body upon dispersal. This makes it the ideal support jutsu for repetitive training and reconnaissance."
"Your naturally massive chakra reserves are a huge advantage."
He pointed to one particular seal on the scroll.
"This sign is crucial. It determines whether the split chakra is distributed 'evenly.'"
"Before tomorrow's training, I expect you to produce at least one complete shadow clone."
"Can you do it?"
He turned his head; those amber eyes gazed calmly at her beneath the room's soft light.
Karin studied his serious profile, then the complex scroll on the floor—before blurting something that surprised even herself.
"Brother Sora... why are you so good to me?"
She regretted it the instant the words left her mouth.
Sora's movement paused for a fraction of a second.
"Because you're the little sister I picked up."
His reply was soft.
Yet it struck her heart like a massive stone.
Picked up... little sister?
Under the lamplight, the boy's profile was sharply defined; his amber eyes reflected the intricate runes on the scroll—serene, without a ripple.
His hand settled once more on her head, gently ruffling the slightly disheveled red hair.
"So train diligently."
"Beat that Uchiha brat flat for me."
"When you win, I'll throw you a proper victory celebration."
Victory celebration?
Karin looked up; her red eyes brimmed with moisture.
Beat him.
Win.
She saw his radiant, encouraging brotherly smile—pure, unadulterated faith in her.
She nodded with all her strength, swallowing every surging emotion.
"Yes, Teacher Sora."
Her response rang clear and resolute.
"I'll train with everything I have!"
Good.
He stood and rolled up the scroll.
"It's late—go to sleep."
"Training intensity doubles tomorrow."
...
A few days later, Anbu headquarters—squad leader's office.
Sora lounged with feet propped comfortably on the desk, sunk deep into his chair, basking in warm sunlight streaming through the window.
Blissful.
Sunbathing truly suited him best.
As for missions...
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter."
Yamato and Uchiha Itachi entered one after the other.
Both carried the faint dust of travel—evidently just returned from assignment.
"Captain."
"Yo, welcome back." Sora lazily raised his eyelids, yawning. "Good work."
Yamato handed over a scroll.
"Rain Country mission complete. Here's the gathered intelligence."
Sora didn't reach for it.
"Just set it there." He pointed to a corner of the desk.
Itachi remained silent throughout, his presence subtle yet impossible to ignore.
As expected of the future Itachi-god.
A truly hassle-free, reliable subordinate.
Sora retrieved two new scrolls from a drawer and casually tossed them over.
"Perfect timing—you're back just when I need you."
"New missions: one A-rank, one B-rank. Divide them however you like."
Yamato caught his, glanced inside—and paused.
"Captain... we literally just got back."
The implication clear: perhaps a break?
"The capable bear greater burdens, Senior Yamato." Sora grinned cheerfully. "I have absolute faith in your skills."
A flattering compliment lightly delivered.
Yamato opened his mouth to protest further.
But Itachi had already taken the A-rank scroll, offering Sora a slight bow.
"Yes."
One concise word.
Yamato glanced at his taciturn teammate—who'd silently claimed the heavier load—and swallowed his remaining words.
"Yes, Captain."
Watching their retreating backs, Sora stretched in deep satisfaction.
Nuclear-powered workhorses were truly wonderful.
High efficiency, self-initiative—perfectly resolving his fundamental aversion to exertion.
This way, he gained more time to explore fascinating ninjutsu theories... and to properly train his bargain little sister.
Not long after their departure, another knock.
This time entered a golden-haired kunoichi in Anbu uniform, hair tied in a sharp high ponytail.
Yamanaka Kaede.
She carried a stack of documents taller than her head, expression blank as she approached Sora's desk.
Thud.
The files landed heavily, resounding loudly.
Sora jolted, hastily pulling his feet off the desk.
"Kaede, attempting captain-cide?" He clutched his chest dramatically.
Kaede ignored the theatrics.
She pointed at the towering pile.
"Captain, these require your personal signature. The earliest is already five days overdue."
"Additionally, this month's funding budget—if not approved soon, our squad drinks northwest wind next month."
"Also, the bonus distribution list from the previous mission needs your final confirmation."
Her words came like rapid-fire—clear, composed, devoid of personal feeling.
Utterly professional.
Sora inwardly admired.
Yamanaka minds were indeed versatile.
Not only for memory extraction—excellent for tedious administrative tasks too.
"Sigh..."
A long, weary exhale.
He straightened with a pained expression.
"Alright, alright."
"Look at me—missions or training every day—I'm exhausted."
He picked up a pen, pretending to scan documents.
"Leave them here—I'll handle them with overtime tonight."
Kaede regarded him silently.
She said nothing.
Yet Sora clearly read "yeah right" across her calm face.
"Ahem."
He cleared his throat, attempting to reclaim captainly authority.
Kaede glanced once more at the files, ultimately silent—turned and left.
The office fell quiet again.
Sora gazed out the window at the westering sun.
He stood, stretching expansively.
"Sigh, babysitting time again."
He muttered with mock resignation, "So busy every day—no time left for sunbathing."
Grabbing his jacket from the rack, he ambled leisurely out.
Leaving the mountainous paperwork to bask alone in the fading evening light.
...
Training Ground Three.
Karin arrived half an hour early.
Rather than idle, she repeatedly practiced tree climbing in the clearing.
Far smoother than days prior.
Not yet effortless like a seasoned shinobi gliding across bark—but she could now stably reach the line Sora had marked.
Sweat soaked her red short hair, plastering strands to her forehead.
Her breathing came quick—but her red eyes held no weariness, only blazing determination.
When Sora's figure appeared at the field's edge, she leaped down from the trunk, landing firmly.
"Teacher Sora!"
She stood ramrod straight—like a young sapling awaiting review.
Sora nodded; his lazy demeanor vanished, replaced by the calm scrutiny of "teacher."
He circled her once.
"Chakra control has improved."
"But still far from sufficient."
He stopped before her.
"How's the Shadow Clone Technique coming?"
Karin tensed.
Deep breath—hands flew through seals.
"Clone!"
Poof!
White smoke erupted.
When it cleared, an identical "Karin" stood beside her.
Yet the clone appeared translucent—on the verge of dissipating.
A flawed product.
Karin's face fell instantly; her freshly kindled fighting spirit doused as if by ice water.
Sora displayed no disappointment—he simply stepped forward and lightly tapped the faint clone's shoulder.
Poof.
It dissolved into smoke.
"Very well done."
A gentle, un-teacher-like praise rang softly.
Karin looked up in confusion.
Sora shed the stern instructor facade, reverting to the laid-back neighbor brother. "Producing a formed clone—rather than an exploding chakra mass—already places you ahead of ninety percent of beginners."
His words carried convincing assurance.
"But... it was still a failure." Karin's voice dripped frustration.
"Failure is the mother of success." Sora grinned, ruffling her hair. "Once you can reliably produce two stable clones that don't vanish, I'll teach you the true power of the Uzumaki clan."
"A power capable of snuffing Uchiha Sasuke's Great Fireball like blowing out a candle."
She met his smiling amber eyes—within them, her own reflection burned with flame.