Hanekawa ran with the wind along the streets of Konohagakure.
As an undercover agent, the most vital quality was absolute caution.
His plan was to keep running until he reached the Konoha Archives Bookstore, then head inside under the guise of being too exhausted and needing a rest.
Even if someone suspected a problem, he could just claim he was a passing Kamen Rider…
oh wait, wrong script.
A passing elementary schooler.
“Hanekawa!” A familiar voice approached rapidly from behind.
Hanekawa turned his head, and a glaringly green blur entered his field of vision.
It was Might Guy, running completely upside down on his hands.
“Good morning,” Hanekawa smiled and nodded.
After a week of cross-training, they had become relatively well-acquainted.
“Don’t mind me.” Hanekawa still had a massive structural gap to bridge before he could ever hope to keep up with Guy’s insane routine.
“Alright then!
I’m stepping on the gas!” Guy drifted smoothly around a drainage ditch corner and vanished from sight in an instant.
“…” Hanekawa silently resumed his jog.
An hour later, he finally pulled up in front of the Konoha Archives Bookstore.
He had pretty much reached his physical limit, feeling completely hollowed out.
“Hanekawa!” Just then, Guy’s booming voice echoed from not far away.
Again?
A look of pure exhaustion washed over Hanekawa’s face.
“Has your auxiliary reserve power kicked in yet?!” Guy roared, his fists clenched tightly as his entire body shook with passion.
“You have to burn your stamina to the absolute limit and struggle until the very end to truly honor the power of youth!” The surrounding pedestrians instinctively took a massive collective half-step backward.
It was a minor movement, but the secondhand embarrassment was devastating.
Hanekawa stood frozen on the spot, his face entirely expressionless.
He felt as though he had been abruptly teleported back to his high school days, standing in a courtyard listening to aggressive pep-rally slogans before a major exam.
The primary drawback of getting familiar with Might Guy was that the eccentric boy constantly forced you to reminisce about the glorious setting sun of fleeting youth.
But today, Hanekawa was physically spent, and more importantly, he had a clandestine Kumogakure handler to meet.
He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside the bookstore.
Guy didn’t take offense at the dismissal.
The fact that Hanekawa had never once thrown him a judgmental or disgusted look was already incredibly rare.
Before Hanekawa, only a select few like Kakashi Hatake ever treated him with basic, ordinary decency.
Turning on his heel, Guy charged back down the street to resume his journey of youth.
Hanekawa glanced left and right.
Because he had arrived exceptionally early, the Konoha Archives Bookstore was entirely devoid of other customers.
“Hello there, little guy.
Looking for anything in particular?” a young female clerk walked over, offering a polite smile.
“Do you happen to carry Make-Out Paradise?” Hanekawa asked after a brief moment of calculation.
In his past life, he had always been profoundly curious about Jiraiya’s legendary masterpiece.
Now that he was here in reality, he certainly didn’t want to miss the opportunity to read it.
“No, we don’t,” the clerk shook her head.
They don’t even stock a masterpiece written by one of the legendary Sannin?
Outrageous!
Then, Hanekawa suddenly remembered—Make-Out Paradise wasn’t published until Jiraiya was around forty-two years old.
At this current point in the timeline, it literally didn’t exist yet.
“I see.
Then I’m looking to buy a copy of When the Thunder Roars,” Hanekawa said, losing interest in the fiction section and cutting straight to the chase.
When the Thunder Roars was the official coded activation phrase for the Kumogakure espionage network.
The clerk’s gaze instantly sharpened.
“That specific book is part of the owner’s private reserve collection.
Follow me, I’ll take you to see him.” Under her guidance, Hanekawa was led up to the bookstore’s secluded second floor.
“Agent 9527.
I’m glad to see you’re still drawing breath.” The moment the female clerk stepped away, a completely ordinary-looking middle-aged man materialized in front of Hanekawa.
What do you mean ‘still drawing breath’?
Hanekawa scrutinized him, but no corresponding memory surfaced in his mind.
“I am your designated handler.
You can call me Dobashi,” the man introduced himself, picking up on the boy’s confusion.
He smoothly explained the reason behind his grim greeting.
Not long ago, Kumogakure had orchestrated the high-profile plot to kidnap Kushina Uzumaki.
Although the operation had ultimately ended in failure, it had thoroughly enraged Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Konoha had immediately launched an aggressive, village-wide counter-intelligence sweep, which included a meticulous screening of every war orphan in the local facilities.
Hanekawa was the sole survivor of their particular sleeper cell.
“…” Hearing this, Hanekawa felt a cold sweat break out down his back.
If it hadn’t been for the sudden arrival of his system cheat, he would currently be a cold corpse buried under an interrogation room.
He had just received a vivid, firsthand taste of how incredibly cutthroat the life of an undercover spy truly was.
“What is your current status within the village?” Dobashi asked, pouring him a cup of water.
Hanekawa took a few sips to steady his nerves, then provided a concise summary of his recent experiences, intentionally omitting any mention of the system interface.
“You possess that level of innate talent for Yin Release?” A look of profound shock flashed across Dobashi’s face, quickly followed by a heavy sigh of regret.
“If the higher-ups had known, they never would have deployed you to the frontlines of espionage.” Wasting a genuine prodigy on deep-cover espionage was a massive strategic error; Hanekawa could have achieved far greater heights if he had been properly nurtured back home in Kumo.
But pulling him out now was practically impossible, especially since both Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo Shimura had already locked their eyes onto him.
“I am entirely willing to remain in Konoha!” Hanekawa declared, his expression turning resolute.
“Everything I do is for the glory of Kumogakure!” Before today, he had no cards to play, but now he simply wanted to excel as a top-tier shinobi.
The metaphorical light of absolute righteousness seemed to shine upon Dobashi’s face.
He said with visible emotion, “With dedicated young souls like you embedded in the enemy’s heart, why should we ever worry about Kumogakure’s future prosperity?!” Wow, you’re really bought into the role, aren’t you?
Hanekawa thought.
But looking at it objectively, Kumo’s internal culture was actually quite meritocratic and straightforward—lacking Konoha’s layers of political backstabbing, operating primarily on a philosophy where raw strength dictated respect.
Hanekawa played along smoothly, “It is simply my duty.” Dobashi took a deep breath, reining in his emotions.
He looked at Hanekawa and said, “Your current situation has completely diverged from our initial intelligence assessments, meaning your original mission parameters are no longer viable.” Kumo’s initial blueprint was to have Hanekawa lay low as a common orphan, slowly gathering casual operational intelligence over the years.
But now that he had successfully entered the Academy and caught the personal attention of the highest echelons of Konoha’s leadership, the strategy had to change.
Dobashi fell into deep thought.
Truth be told, Hanekawa’s current trajectory was vastly more lucrative for Kumogakure.
He now possessed the golden ticket required to climb the ranks of the enemy village.
Kumo had only managed to breach the perimeter to snatch Kushina because they had burned a high-value sleeper agent embedded within the Anbu.
Now that that asset was gone, they were desperate for a high-level mole inside the hierarchy.
“Hanekawa, your revised directive from this moment forward is very simple: play the part of a genuine, flawless prodigy,” Dobashi instructed after careful deliberation.
The moment he heard it, Hanekawa understood the underlying logic.
It was indeed the most optimal assignment for his survival.
He had already bypassed Hiruzen’s initial mental inspection; as long as his system cheat kept his memories fabricated, he was a textbook, authentic Leaf shinobi.
He could systematically climb the ladder straight to the top.
“If you ever encounter an absolute operational emergency, come directly to the bookstore to locate me,” Dobashi clapped a firm hand onto his shoulder, counseling seriously.
“Prioritize your safety above all else.
Right now, the entire village’s long-term intelligence apparatus rests squarely on your shoulders.” “Understood,” Hanekawa said, his tone perfectly grave.
“Keep up the exceptional work,” Dobashi smiled warmly.
“Once you secure a prominent position, the rewards from the homeland will be immense.
You might even earn the personal favor of the Raikage-sama and be granted access to our legendary Nintaijutsu archives.” “Thank you, Dobashi-ojisan,” Hanekawa’s eyes brightened slightly as a genuine grin spread across his face.
He was honestly incredibly envious of Kumogakure’s specialized Nintaijutsu.
The Third and Fourth Raikage’s combat records in the original series spoke for themselves—their physical lightning armor was an absolute powerhouse of a technique.
“When you leave, pick out a couple of books from the shelves so you don’t arouse any external suspicion,” Dobashi reminded him.
“Can I take a few extra copies?” Hanekawa asked, remembering his secondary destination for the day: the orphanage.
Using children’s books as a gift would be perfect, and it would seamlessly validate the cover story he had given to Shinku Yuhi.
“Go ahead,” Dobashi paused before adding, “But don’t overdo it.
A kid your age wouldn’t realistically possess the pocket money to afford a massive haul.” As expected of a veteran spy.
The attention to detail is immaculate.
Incredibly meticulous, handler-uncle!
Hanekawa headed back downstairs, selected seven illustrated storybooks tailored for young children, and exited the storefront.
The moment he stepped onto the pavement, he abruptly halted.
A deeply familiar figure had appeared a short distance down the street—Obito Uchiha.
He was currently carefully holding the elbow of a frail, white-haired old lady, gently guiding her across the bustling intersection.
Hanekawa considered the situation for a brief moment, decided against stepping forward to disrupt the scene, and quietly turned down the pathway leading toward the orphanage.
“Thank you for your help again today, Obito-kun,” the old lady murmured softly.
As she spoke, her eyes darted toward Hanekawa’s retreating back—a sharp, calculating glint flashing through her pupils for a fraction of a second before her face instantly melted back into a frail, kindly smile.