Three days after Ken’s official release from the Uchiha cn registry, he was called to the Hokage’s Tower.

  The message had been brief.

  “Ken. Office. Now. – Hiruzen.”

  No expnation. No warning.

  When he stepped inside, two ANBU stood at either end of the chamber. Hiruzen sat behind his desk, reading a scroll, as if he hadn’t just summoned a genin who had shocked half the vilge.

  Ken stood calmly in front of the desk. “You called.”

  Hiruzen looked up, eyes tired but alert. “I did.”

  He set the scroll aside and leaned back slightly. “You’ve been under quiet observation since your duel. Your performance since then—on missions, in squad integration, and during solo operation—has exceeded expectations.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow. “You’re not here to ask for my loyalty, are you?”

  Hiruzen chuckled softly. “No. I’ve learned not to ask lions to wear leashes.”

  He opened a long bck case beside his desk and slid it forward.

  Inside was a new bde.

  A forged chokutō—simple, straight-edged, matte bck finish with an engraved wind seal near the guard. Banced. Deadly. Clean.

  “I heard you’ve been using a repurposed practice sword this whole time,” Hiruzen said. “That’s not fitting for someone who’s stepping beyond the edge.”

  Ken looked at it for a moment, then picked it up. His hand closed around the hilt. The weight settled into his arm like it had been waiting.

  “Thank you,” Ken said.

  Hiruzen gave a slow nod. “No cn will protect you now. But the vilge is watching. Whether that’s a burden or a weapon is up to you.”

  Outside, Ken received a second scroll from an aide. Housing reassignment.

  A small apartment unit—Sector 4C, southeast district. Near the civilian clinics and support facilities.

  His eyes skimmed the location.

  Two blocks from his mother’s clinic.

  He folded the scroll neatly, a strange warmth in his chest. Not joy. Not relief.

  Just quiet comfort.

  He wouldn’t step back into the Uchiha compound.

  But now, at least, he could watch from a distance. Protect if needed.

  That was enough.

  That night, Ken stood in his new apartment—bare walls, one bedroll, a small window, and a single empty bookshelf.

  He pced the new sword carefully in the corner, then sat cross-legged on the wooden floor.

  He closed his eyes.

  And summoned two Shadow Clones.

  They surrounded him.

  No commands.

  They moved as one.

  Three bdes drawn.

  He activated his Sharingan.

  And they began.

  For hours, the room echoed with the csh of steel and the hiss of chakra-infused movement. One clone moved like a brute, the other danced wide arcs. Ken pyed the anchor—footwork low, bde cutting air like wind through leaves.

  Each csh honed distance.

  Each breath taught timing.

  Each failure dissolved into smoke—and was repced.

  He trained until his arms ached.

  Then kept going.

  Morning came gray and overcast.

  Ken didn’t bother eating. He cleaned his bde, stepped out into the street, and walked toward the training grounds as he always did.

  He didn’t make it halfway.

  A shadow nded beside him in a crouch.

  Not threatening.

  Just... there.

  ANBU.

  Fox mask. Standard armor. One eye visible—gray and tired beneath a mop of silver hair.

  Ken didn’t flinch.

  “You’re early,” the masked man said, standing casually now.

  “You’re ANBU.”

  The man chuckled. “You got me there.”

  Ken studied him for a second. “Hatake Kakashi.”

  The ANBU tilted his head. “Sharp. Thought you weren’t from the intel side.”

  “I listen.”

  Kakashi smiled behind the mask. “Good. You’ll need that.”

  He handed over a mission scroll marked with a triple-seal crest—Hokage, ANBU, and a third symbol Ken didn’t recognize.

  “Escort mission,” Kakashi said. “High-risk. International dignitary. Primary guard rotation. You and Squad 9 are joining me. Joint ANBU-supervised.”

  Ken opened the scroll.

  Details were minimal.

  The guest: undisclosed.The threat level: B to A depending on political tension.The location: en route from Fire Temple outskirts to Konoha.

  “This isn’t a normal mission,” Ken said ftly.

  “No,” Kakashi said. “It’s a test. Wrapped in trust.”

  “Or a trap.”

  Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed in approval. “You’re already thinking like ANBU.”

  He started to walk away, then paused.

  “Oh, and bring your new sword. Daen’s already approved your squad. He said, and I quote: ‘If the vilge wants to test a storm, they better expect lightning.’”

  Then he flickered away, gone in a blur.

  Later that day, Squad 9 gathered in the underground strategy wing below the mission tower. Daen stood by the mission board, arms folded.

  Reina and Daisuke fnked him, both in modified gear—tighter, more streamlined.

  Ken arrived st, cloak wrapped across his back, bde slung low.

  “Everyone ready?” Daen asked.

  Reina nodded, eyes sharp. Daisuke adjusted his gloves. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Daen looked at Ken.

  “You know this isn’t about the mission.”

  Ken nodded. “They want to see what I’ll do under real pressure.”

  Daen tossed him a scroll. “Then give them something to talk about.”

  Ken caught it.

  Didn’t smile.

  But his eyes lit red.

  Outside, the sun broke through the clouds.

  And as Squad 9 walked toward the gate—joined by a silver-haired shadow with one eye and too many secrets—Ken walked with quiet steps and a sharpened bde.

  He wasn’t the boy who broke from the cn anymore.

  He was the one they tested the system against.

  And if the system wasn’t ready...

  That wasn’t his problem.