"Kazuyama, this old man is really something—so cautious."
"But come on, at his age, are you really that afraid of him?"
Chōmei eyed the little old man before them. He had to be at least sixty, frail and bony. With just a flap of his wings, Chōmei figured he could blow him away.
Why should he fear someone like that?
A ninja's chakra was tied to age. In youth, it was abundant, but as years passed, it gradually declined.
How old was this Third Tsuchikage? How much chakra could he possibly still have?
Chōmei snorted. Maybe even one whisker of his carried more chakra than that old man!
"Chōmei, haven't you heard the saying? The older a man gets, the shrewder he becomes."
"Look at this old man—he's over sixty and still Tsuchikage. That already says plenty."
"Even in a great village filled with talent, no one has surpassed him."
"And besides, his strength isn't something you can measure by chakra or age."
"Kekkei Tōta, a power above Kekkei Genkai, is terrifying—fast to strike, lethal on contact. I have no interest in facing that."
Kazuyama admitted it—he was scared. But could anyone really blame him? Dust Release wasn't something an ordinary shinobi could withstand.
Even Susanoo could be shattered by it. If his small body took a direct hit, he'd be vaporized instantly.
"Pfft, coward. If it were me, I'd—"
"Eh? Eh? Kazuyama, what's that look! You don't believe me? Let me out and I'll show you how I'll crack his skull open!"
Kazuyama ignored him. Why did this guy always want to fight? Couldn't he just rest for once?
...
Ōnoki returned home and got back to work. He had no choice. The war was over, and while Iwagakure hadn't lost much manpower, the economic damage was disastrous.
Wars drained money. Multiple large-scale campaigns, plus the cost of hiring Hanzō of the Salamander, had nearly broken their economy.
So stabilizing the village's finances was now a pressing issue. Missions had resumed one after another, but the outlook was still bleak.
"Tsuchikage-sama, the tests are complete. No problems—just ordinary croaker."
"The others we collected from buyers were tested too. The medical department says they're fine."
The ANBU delivered their report. Ōnoki nodded—ever cautious, as always.
"Leave the croaker here and take a rest."
"Good work."
Without a word, the ANBU vanished.
Ōnoki grinned, picked up the fish, and set to cooking himself.
Before long, a pot of fish soup and a grilled fish were ready.
"Hehehe... time to bring this to Kurotsuchi."
For all his stern reputation, Ōnoki was a doting grandfather. In public, he was the Tsuchikage, strict and uncompromising. With his son, he was harsh and demanding. But with his granddaughter, even this severe elder couldn't help but soften.
It was something Kitsuchi often grumbled about.
Ōnoki flew to his son's home, skipped right over his towering son, and went straight for his granddaughter.
"Kurotsuchi! Look what Grandpa brought you!"
"Fresh croaker soup, hahahaha, and grilled fish! Let's eat fish together!"
"Kitsuchi, why are you standing there? Hurry up and warm the soup for my granddaughter!"
Kitsuchi: ... I can't with this old man.
"Father, do you think she's already three years old? She's still an infant! Fish soup? Do you want to poison your own granddaughter?"
Ōnoki shot him a disdainful look, pride in his voice.
"I drank fish soup when I was her age, and look at me now—I'm Tsuchikage."
"You never liked fish soup when you were little, and just look at the difference. Hmph!"
"If you'd worked harder, I could have retired in peace already!"
Kitsuchi nearly exploded. He was already doing his best!
Just look at Konoha—the Fourth Hokage wasn't even Sarutobi Hiruzen's son!
Hiruzen: Hehe, not his son, but still my great-grand-disciple!
"Hmph. Just a little won't hurt."
"Go get a bowl."
Kitsuchi couldn't win against his father, so he turned to his mother and wife. But both agreed with Ōnoki. The child was nearly six months old—fish soup should be fine.
"Fine, fine. You win. I'll get a bowl."
Soon, little Kurotsuchi was sipping the fish soup happily. Of course, it would've been better if there wasn't any Scale Powder in it.
"Well, little Kurotsuchi, Grandpa's soup is good, isn't it?"
"Hahaha, have some more!"
"If you like it, Grandpa will buy more tomorrow."
Watching her drink filled Ōnoki with joy.
"You know, these croakers really are good. Father, did you only grill two?"
"Any more left?"
But when Ōnoki looked around, one of the two grilled fish had already vanished. The other was clenched tightly in Kitsuchi's hand.
"You bastard! That's my dinner!"
"Put it down!"
But Kitsuchi took a big bite instead, and Ōnoki's blood pressure shot through the roof.
...
The next day, Ōnoki went to buy fish again and finally met Kazuyama.
A chubby merchant with a beaming smile—the beauty of the Transformation Technique was that unless a flaw was exposed, it was nearly impossible to see through.
Ōnoki didn't sense anything amiss. In fact, he even struck up a conversation.
"Boss, your croaker is excellent. It hit the spot, and my granddaughter loved it."
"Tell me, will you be coming back to Iwagakure again?"
"If it's long-term, I can authorize selling you this property."
After all, everyone liked a good meal. Iwagakure was far from the sea, and their fish usually came from rivers. Sea fish like this were rare luxuries.
Kazuyama hadn't expected this—granddaughter? Ōnoki's granddaughter?
The future Tsuchikage, Kurotsuchi?
Wow. Ōnoki, what a "good" grandfather you are—feeding a baby fish laced with Scale Powder?
"Chōmei, the Scale Powder won't hurt a child, right?"
"With the amount in croaker? What's the worst that could happen? A little diarrhea, some vomiting. She's a baby—how much do you think she can eat? You expect her to finish the whole fish?"
Thinking it over, Chōmei was right. How much could a baby possibly eat?
And besides—she was still just a baby.