Year 40 of the Konoha calendar was the year the world decided to see exactly how much blood it could squeeze out of a human being.
Inside the Hidden Sand, the air didn't just feel heavy; it felt toxic. The maintenance workshop had turned into a 24/7 assembly line of misery. The sound of metal grinding against metal never stopped, and the technicians moved like zombies, their eyes sunken and their hands shaking from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
The puppets coming back weren't just "damaged" anymore. They were mechanical gore. I saw wooden limbs dissolved by acid, chests smashed in by what looked like giant hammers, and puppet-joints fused together by high-intensity fire. And it wasn't just the oil smell anymore. A new scent started drifting through the tunnels a mix of sterile hospital chemicals and the faint, sweet rot of wounds that hadn't been cleaned fast enough.
I stayed in my corner, trying to be invisible. At four years old, you're supposed to be playing with blocks, but I was busy watching my dad, Sharyu, turn into a ghost. He'd come home so exhausted he couldn't even speak. He'd just check to see if I was breathing, eat a piece of dry bread, and collapse onto his mat without taking his boots off.
The village was empty. Every guy who could hold a kunai was gone. Even the ten-year-olds were being shipped out to drive supply wagons. It felt like the calm before a funeral.
Then, the "Big One" hit.
The Third Kazekage the guy everyone called the strongest leader we'd ever had finally hit the "panic" button. We were losing the war of attrition. The Leaf had more money, more food, and more people. So, he decided to roll the dice. He called for a total offensive. Everything we had left, including the Kazekage himself, was heading to the front lines.
Lady Chiyo was leading the vanguard. When the army marched out, Sharyu held me on the high rock wall overlooking the main gate. I watched the stream of sand-colored uniforms pouring out into the desert. There were banners, and there was the clank of gear, but there was zero cheering. It wasn't a parade. it was a suicide mission, and everyone knew it. Chiyo looked tiny at the front of that line, but she looked like she was made of iron.
Sharyu gripped me so hard it almost hurt. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Dad?" I whispered. "Are we gonna win?"
He didn't say anything for a long time. He just squeezed me tighter, staring at the dust cloud the army left behind. He didn't have to say it. The silence was the answer.
Over the next few months, news trickled back in fragments. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion.
The fighting at the border was a meat grinder. Chiyo's poisons were doing work, but the Leaf was pushing back hard. Then, the "celebrity" news hit. Jiraiya, one of the Sannin I'd heard about had left his post in the Rain to reinforce the border. Apparently, he'd been busy playing teacher to some orphans, but the Leaf needed their heavy hitter back.
Then came the report that made the workshop go silent for an entire day.
During a massive skirmish, a high-level Leaf ninja named Dan Kato had been hit by one of Chiyo's special toxins. From what the couriers said, it was a slow, ugly way to go. The medics couldn't do a thing. He died on the battlefield, and his death apparently broke the morale of one of the Leaf's best doctors Tsunade.
Back in my old life, I remembered that as a plot point for "character development." Here? It was just another guy who wouldn't be going home to his family. It was just more blood in the sand.
Jiraiya took over the command, and he was as good as the stories said. He blunted the Kazekage's offensive like he was slamming a door in our faces. The war turned into a brutal stalemate, but "stalemate" is a luxury Suna couldn't afford.
Every day, the casualty lists got longer. The weeping in the stone caves around us became the background noise of our lives. The workshop actually started getting less work, and that was the scariest part of all. It wasn't because the fighting had stopped. It was because the puppeteers weren't coming back to bring their broken gear home.
Suna was bleeding out.
Eventually, the bleeding stopped because there wasn't much left to lose. The orders for retreat came through, followed by the "negotiations" which is just a fancy word for "surrender."
The Hidden Sand had lost. Completely.
When the survivors dragged themselves back into the village, there were no "welcome home" signs. People just stood in the shadows, watching the hollowed-out men and women limp past. The village looked half-empty.
The Third Kazekage still looked imposing, but his eyes were dead. Chiyo looked like she'd aged twenty years in four months.
The war was over, but it didn't feel like peace. It felt like a Great Depression was hitting the desert. We'd lost a whole generation of ninjas, our budget was being slashed by the government, and every house had an empty chair at the table.
Sharyu held me as we watched the last of the troops come in. He didn't cry, but I could feel the weight of the defeat in the way he stood.
I was four years old, and I finally understood the "Naruto" world. It wasn't about cool moves or flashy headbands. It was about who had enough food and people to keep the meat grinder turning until the other guy ran out.
The road ahead was going to be brutal. Suna was broke, broken, and bitter.
And I was just a kid in a workshop, wondering how I was supposed to build a future in a place that had just been stripped to the bone.