Yamanaka Yuta stared at Qingyu for a full three seconds after hearing his words.
"Qingyu, you haven't changed at all in half a year," Yuta sighed.
When he first met Qingyu six months ago, the boy was exactly like this: focused entirely on his own tasks. Outside of his assigned missions, nothing else seemed to concern him. He was the epitome of a "mission-first" ninja. Moreover, he was never curious, never asked unnecessary questions, and never spoke out of turn.
Such a disciplined personality was rare even within the Anbu. It was the primary reason Yuta held him in such high regard.
"Mr. Yuta, half a year has passed, but you've changed quite a bit," Qingyu replied, mirroring the old man's phrasing.
"Have I?" Yuta blinked, genuinely unaware of any shift in himself. "Tell me then... how have I changed? What have I become?"
His curiosity was piqued. If anyone else had said it, he might have laughed it off, but coming from Qingyu, he wanted to hear the reasoning.
"You've started chasing the truth," Qingyu said flatly.
"Isn't that the purpose of the Torture Force? To seek the truth?" Yuta countered.
"No." Qingyu shook his head, his voice taking on a meaningful depth. "I believe what the Torture Force needs isn't the truth, but an answer."
"An answer?" Yuta narrowed his eyes. He began to realize this boy was far more profound than he appeared. "Isn't the truth the answer?"
"Truth is truth, and an answer is an answer. An answer isn't necessarily the truth!" Qingyu shook his head again.
"Interesting. Are you saying the answers provided by our department aren't always real?" Yuta began to re-evaluate the youth before him.
"The answer doesn't need to be true, but it must be right. Just as you, as a leader, don't want your subordinates prying into certain matters, the village higher-ups don't want you over-investigating the so-called truth."
"I see what you mean." Yuta was a sharp man; he understood these political realities better than anyone, but his own obsession had led him into a dead end.
"Mr. Yuta, if there's nothing else, I'll be heading back to work." Qingyu signaled his intent to leave.
"Let me buy you some tea." Yuta abruptly changed the subject, a smile stretching across his skeletal face. "I'll drop the investigation. I just want to chat with you more."
"I'll pass. I'm just a plain, ordinary Anbu ninja," Qingyu declined firmly.
"I'll get you a leave of absence," Yuta insisted.
"So I have to go, then?" A helpless smile flickered on Qingyu's face.
"You have to go," Yuta laughed. He didn't dare say "it's up to you," knowing full well the kid would take the exit.
Half an hour later, they were at a tea house in Konoha.
Yuta and Qingyu sat opposite each other at a small table covered in white cloth. Exquisite teapots sat between them, and the air was thick with the fragrance of tea.
"You don't usually drink tea, do you?" Yuta asked as he meticulously prepared the brew, his movements slow and precise like he was crafting a work of art.
"No," Qingyu nodded.
"Can't you say more than a few words to me?" Yuta looked up. He noticed that talking to Qingyu was always a one-sided Q&A; the boy answered everything but never initiated.
"I can." Qingyu nodded again, but then lapsed into silence, offering nothing more.
"Hahahaha!" Yuta burst into laughter at the boy's antics. He poured a cup of freshly steamed tea and handed it over. "Try this green tea I brewed."
"Green tea is good!" Qingyu took the hot cup, staring at the liquid. "I like green tea."
"Oh? You've tasted it before?" Yuta was confused. The boy had just said he didn't drink tea, yet now he seemed familiar with it.
"I haven't tasted it, but I've heard rumors. They say green tea is pure, refined, gentle, and considerate. It's a pity I'm so unremarkable; I've never caught the eye of a 'Green Tea' before," Qingyu sighed.
"???"
A cloud of question marks hovered over Yuta's head. What on earth is he talking about? Pure? Considerate? He understood every word individually, but together, they made zero sense in the context of a beverage.
He decided to filter out Qingyu's occasional "mental lapses" and focus on the conversation.
"Qingyu, there's one thing I can't figure out. Why are you so cautious?" Yuta asked after a sip. He could feel that this boy from his clan wasn't as ordinary as he pretended to be.
Ninjas at this age usually reminded him of young lions—lacking in strength but full of bravado, desperate to prove themselves and be recognized by their peers.
But Qingyu was the opposite. He was like a tortoise, pulling his head into a thick shell. Low-profile. Cautious. Restrained. He was almost invisible, yet tortoises are the creatures that live for thousands of years. It wasn't the personality a teenager should have.
"Maybe I'm just content with the status quo," Qingyu said plainly. He took a sip, using the cup to shield his face, revealing no emotion.
"You..."
Yuta felt Qingyu retreat another step, pulling deeper into his shell. Despite sitting right there, the boy had projected a palpable aura of guardedness.
As a lifelong sensory ninja, Yuta sensed the unwavering alertness beneath the calm facade. This level of steadiness was terrifying for someone so young. He said nothing wrong, did nothing wrong, left no handle, and gave no openings.
Facing Qingyu, Yuta realized that even if he wanted to find fault with the boy, he wouldn't know where to start.
For a brief moment, Yamanaka Yuta found Qingyu frightening.