The following morning, Kakashi leaned casually against the hospital wall, arms crossed as he kept his gaze on the entrance. He’d been waiting for a while, but he wasn’t particularly surprised when he finally caught sight of Anko strolling up the road, a stick of dango lazily hanging from her mouth.

More notably, she was carrying a small box—one that looked suspiciously like it came from the best sweets shop in town.

"You’re late," Kakashi remarked, his tone laced with mild exasperation.

Anko shrugged, chewing off another piece of dango as she reached him. "Yeah, yeah. Wanted to grab a snack first."

Kakashi’s eye flicked down to the box in her hands. "That for the kids?"

Anko scoffed, holding it a little closer to her chest. "What? No! It’s just, you know… for later. In case I get hungry."

Kakashi let a slow smirk form beneath his mask, clearly unconvinced. "Right."

Anko clicked her tongue, turning her head away. "Tch. Shut up, Hatake."

Still smirking, Kakashi pushed off the wall. "Come on. Let’s check in before you decide to keep all of that for yourself."

Anko huffed but didn’t argue, following him through the hospital doors.

Inside the hospital, the air was thick with antiseptic and the quiet murmur of medical staff moving between rooms. Anko and Kakashi made their way to the reception desk, where a nurse in standard attire glanced up at their approach.

Kakashi didn’t waste time. He leaned slightly over the desk and spoke in a low, casual tone. "The sky is clear over the Hokage Monument today."

The nurse's expression didn’t change, but she gave the slightest nod before responding in the same measured tone. "But the storm always lingers beneath."

With that, she stood and motioned for them to follow. "This way."

Anko arched a brow at Kakashi as they walked. "Dramatic much?"

Kakashi shrugged. "Sensei's the one who likes theatrics."

The nurse led them down a quiet hallway, pausing outside a heavily secured room before turning back to them. "The Hokage’s expecting you."

With a silent nod, Kakashi pushed open the door, stepping inside with Anko right behind him.

Minato stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed outside, deep in thought. His usual warmth was muted, replaced by something heavier. Beside him, a clipboard sat on the table, filled with notes and medical assessments.

At the sound of their entrance, he turned, his sharp blue eyes locking onto them immediately.

"Morning," Kakashi greeted, his tone casual but his posture anything but.

Minato exhaled slowly, nodding. "I figured you two would show up."

Anko crossed her arms. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Minato's lips quirked up, just barely. "Not at all. In fact, I expected nothing less." His gaze drifted briefly toward the door leading to the patient rooms. "I assume you’re here to check on the kids."

Kakashi nodded. "That, and to hear what you’ve found so far."

Minato’s expression turned solemn as he gestured toward the table. "Then you’d better sit down. We have a lot to go over."

Anko and Kakashi exchanged a glance before moving to the chairs across from Minato. Kakashi leaned back slightly, arms crossed, while Anko sat forward, her fingers tapping idly against the box of sweets she still held.

Minato picked up the clipboard from the table, flipping through the pages with a quiet sigh. "First off, the children are stable," he began, his voice even but weighted. "Physically, most of them are malnourished and dehydrated, but we’re already treating that. The bigger concern is their mental state."

Kakashi glanced toward the closed door that led to the patient rooms. "How bad is it?"

Minato set the clipboard down, his fingers tapping against the wood of the table. "Worse than I’d hoped." He hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. "Some of them haven’t spoken a single word. Others only respond to direct orders, and a few… well, they flinch if anyone moves too quickly."

Anko’s jaw tightened. "Danzo really did a number on them."

Minato nodded grimly. "It’s not just fear—it’s conditioning. These kids weren’t just trained; they were broken down, then rebuilt into something unnatural. Root’s tactics stripped them of individuality, forcing them into absolute obedience. We still don’t know how deep that runs, or how much of them we can bring back."

A heavy silence settled in the room.

Kakashi let out a slow exhale. "And the toddler?"

Minato’s gaze flickered, something unreadable crossing his features before he leaned back in his chair. "He’s… different."

Anko frowned. "Different how?"

Minato hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. "He doesn’t show the same level of detachment as the others. He’s unresponsive, but not in the way they are. He reacts—flinches, cries, but there’s no focus behind it. It’s as if his body remembers fear, but his mind doesn’t know why."

Kakashi’s fingers curled slightly. "Because he’s too young to process it."

Minato nodded. "That’s my guess. The trauma is there, but at two years old, he doesn’t have the ability to understand it. The problem is that instead of suppressing his emotions like the older kids, his body is stuck in a constant state of distress."

Anko blew out a breath, rubbing a hand through her hair. "So, what do we do?"

Minato looked between them, his expression thoughtful. "That depends on how involved you two want to be."

Anko gave him a flat look. "Oh please. You already know we’re not about to walk away from this."

Kakashi hummed in agreement. "We already talked about keeping an eye on him."

Minato's lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. "Then it’s settled. The toddler—Sai, according to what little record we could find—needs stability. Someone to care for him, to make sure he’s not just another lost case."

"Sai," Anko muttered, testing the name. "Doesn’t sound like a shinobi name."

"It’s not. We think he wasn’t born into a shinobi family," Minato explained. "But that didn’t stop Danzo from using him."

Kakashi’s shoulders tensed slightly, but he kept his voice even. "What’s the plan, then?"

Minato leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "We can’t place him in a standard orphanage—he needs specialized care. If you two are serious about keeping an eye on him, I’d like you both to take shifts looking after him while we figure out a long-term solution."

Anko blinked. "Wait, are you making us his babysitters?"

Minato smirked slightly. "Consider it a personal request from your Hokage."

Kakashi exhaled through his nose. "I was going to say yes, you didn’t have to guilt-trip us."

Minato’s smirk grew just a little. "Force of habit."

Anko groaned, slouching back in her chair. "Fine, whatever. But if he throws up on me, I’m blaming you."

Minato chuckled. "Duly noted."

Kakashi exhaled, running a hand through his hair before pushing himself up from his seat. "Guess it’s time to meet him properly."

Minato’s sharp blue eyes softened slightly. "Go easy on him. He’s been through more than most adults could handle." He hesitated for a beat before adding, "If you’re up for it, I can explain more about what I found."

Anko crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "Might as well. We’re already in this deep."

Minato gave a small nod before turning toward the hallway leading to the patient rooms. "Then follow me. There’s a lot you need to know."

Without another word, Kakashi and Anko fell into step behind him, wanting to hear more.

Inside, the small hospital room was nearly silent. Sai sat on the bed, his small frame unnaturally still. Dressed in a loose hospital gown, the fabric hanging off his thin shoulders, his legs dangled just above the floor. A medical diaper peeked out from beneath the hem, a stark reminder of just how young he really was—despite the weight of conditioning that made him seem so much older.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, didn’t even blink at their entrance. His hands rested neatly in his lap, his posture perfectly straight, as if waiting for an order he expected to come. His dark, empty eyes locked onto Minato, then Kakashi and Anko, analyzing them without a trace of recognition or curiosity.

It was unnerving.

Anko, uncharacteristically quiet, took a slow step forward, eyeing the boy. "So… does he talk?"

Minato hesitated before shaking his head. "Not since we brought him in."

Kakashi took a careful step closer, crouching slightly to be at Sai’s level. The boy didn’t react. "Sai," he said evenly. "Do you know where you are?"

Nothing. Not a single flicker of acknowledgment.

Kakashi’s gaze flickered to Minato. "And you’re sure this isn’t just shock?"

Minato’s jaw tightened slightly. "It’s not. According to the medical reports, he responds to commands—simple ones—but anything outside of direct orders, he doesn’t react to. He’s not unresponsive out of fear. It’s because he doesn’t know how to respond."

Anko frowned, watching Sai closely. "So he’s not broken… he’s just empty."

Minato’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That’s the best way I can describe it."

Kakashi stayed crouched, watching Sai carefully. The boy barely even blinked. He wasn’t frozen in fear. He wasn’t wary of them. He was simply… waiting.

Something cold settled in Kakashi’s stomach.

"We can fix this," Anko muttered, her arms still crossed but her tone a little less sharp.

Minato’s expression softened just a bit. "That’s the goal."

Kakashi straightened, exhaling slowly. "Then we’d better get started."

Minato gave a small nod, as if finalizing the decision. “He’ll be staying with you, Kakashi, but we’ll split the responsibility. Some days, he’ll be with Anko.” His gaze flickered to her. “That way, he can adjust to different environments, different people. He needs balance.”

Anko raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think he can handle a full-time kid?” She jabbed her thumb at Kakashi, grinning.

Kakashi sighed. “You’re the one who walked in here with sweets for the kids.”

Anko scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t see your point.”

Minato chuckled. “I think this will work. Sai will have two shinobi looking after him, each with different styles. He’ll learn from both of you.” His smile softened as he glanced at the boy, still eerily silent. “And hopefully, he’ll start to learn what it means to just be… a child.”

Kakashi looked at Sai again, watching how still he remained. He didn’t fidget, didn’t blink unless necessary. A two-year-old shouldn’t be this controlled. Even Naruto, for all his young age, was constantly moving, babbling, reacting to the world around him. Sai, on the other hand, sat as though waiting for permission to breathe.

“Alright,” Kakashi relented. “But we need to figure out where to start.”

Minato nodded. “That’s up to you both. Introduce him to normal things—eating meals at a table, sleeping in a real bed, learning what fun even is. He’s been trained to be something less than human. We need to change that.”

Anko clicked her tongue, crouching in front of Sai with a playful smirk. “So, kid, you’re stuck with us. Ever had dango before?”

Sai didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her.

Anko sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Kakashi crossed his arms. “We’re gonna have our work cut out for us.”

Minato placed a reassuring hand on Sai’s head again before stepping back. “Take your time. He doesn’t need to be a shinobi. He doesn’t have to become anything for the village. Just focus on helping him figure out who he is.” His voice was calm, firm. “Because for the first time in his life, he has the freedom to do that.”

Sai blinked again, staring at them with those empty, unreadable eyes.

Kakashi exhaled. “Alright, kid. Let’s get started.”

Anko grinned. “Yeah, let’s see what we’re working with.” She nudged Kakashi. “You are getting the first shift, though.”

Kakashi shot her a flat look. “Figures.”

Sai simply watched. Silent. Still. Waiting.

Minato gave a slow nod, his sharp blue eyes settling on Sai once more. “For now, he stays here until the medics clear him. Physically, he’s fine, but I want to be sure there are no underlying complications before we take any big steps.”

Kakashi crossed his arms. “So we’re just supposed to visit him like a couple of doting parents?”

Minato smirked slightly. “Something like that.”

Anko scoffed, leaning against the wall. “Great. I always wanted to babysit a tiny murder machine.”

Minato shot her a look. “We’re trying to undo that conditioning, Anko.”

She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just means we’re in for a long haul.”

Kakashi studied Sai for a moment. The boy still hadn’t reacted, hadn’t spoken. He was just waiting. The idea that Danzo had created someone like this—a child who only moved when ordered—was unsettling. Kakashi had seen a lot of things in his time as a shinobi, but this… this was something else.

Minato spoke again, breaking the silence. “For now, I want you both visiting him every day. Talk to him. Introduce him to things. Let him get used to the idea that there’s more to life than following commands.”

Anko clicked her tongue. “Yeah, because conversation seems like his strong suit.”

Minato’s expression softened. “That’s why we need to try.”

Kakashi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. I’ll come by in the morning.”

“I’ll take evenings,” Anko added. “Might as well let the kid get used to both of us.”

Minato looked between them, satisfied. “Good. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

Kakashi glanced at Sai again. Still silent. Still unmoving. But when he turned to leave, something made him pause.

Sai’s gaze, previously unfocused, flickered slightly in his direction.

Not much.

But something.

Kakashi exhaled. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

Anko followed him out, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Think this is actually gonna work?”

Kakashi didn’t answer right away. His mind was already running through possibilities, plans.

Finally, he spoke. “We’ll find out.”

The following morning, Kakashi found himself walking through the quiet halls of the hospital, the scent of antiseptic sharp in the air. The medics gave him brief nods of acknowledgment as he passed, though most barely spared a glance. He wasn’t here as a patient or an injured shinobi—he was here for Sai.

Reaching the secured wing where the rescued children were kept, he stopped in front of Sai’s door, knocking lightly before pushing it open. He didn’t expect a response.

Inside, Sai sat on the hospital bed exactly as he had the day before—back straight, hands resting neatly in his lap, eyes locked ahead with that same hollow emptiness. He looked more like a doll someone had forgotten to put away than a child.

Kakashi exhaled through his nose. “Morning,” he greeted casually, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He pulled up a chair, dragging it beside the bed before sitting down. Sai didn’t react.

Not surprising.

Kakashi rested an elbow on his knee, chin propped on his palm as he studied the kid. “They treating you alright here?”

Silence.

Not even a blink.

Kakashi sighed. Right. This is going to take a while.

“Guess I’ll do the talking then.” He leaned back, eyes flickering toward the window. “I usually hate hospitals. Spent too much time in them as a kid. Kinda eerie how quiet they are, don’t you think?”

Nothing.

Kakashi shifted slightly, glancing back at Sai. His posture hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Kakashi resisted the urge to sigh again. Alright, fine. Let’s try something else.

“You ever read a book before?” he asked instead, pulling out a small paperback from his pouch. It was a generic novel, nothing exciting, but it was something to fill the silence. “Might as well kill some time.”

Still no response.

But when Kakashi opened the book and started reading aloud, something changed.

Sai’s head tilted—just barely. A fraction of an inch.

It was subtle, so much so that anyone else might’ve missed it. But Kakashi noticed.

He smirked slightly behind his mask. Gotcha.

Kakashi kept reading, keeping his tone light and casual as if he wasn’t watching Sai out of the corner of his eye. He flipped a page, dragging out the words just a little to see if the boy’s attention wavered.

It didn’t.

Sai remained eerily still, but Kakashi had spent too much time studying body language to miss the way the boy’s fingers twitched ever so slightly.

He’s listening.

Kakashi turned another page. “You know, this one’s a classic,” he mused. “Not exactly high literature, but it’s got a solid story. Betrayal, revenge, redemption—the usual shinobi drama.”

Silence.

Kakashi didn’t expect an answer, but after a long pause, Sai’s head moved. Just a small tilt. Not enough to seem conscious, but enough to confirm what Kakashi already suspected.

Root didn’t just take his emotions—they stole his curiosity too.

Kakashi closed the book halfway, watching Sai closely. “You ever read anything like this before?”

Sai didn’t move.

Kakashi hummed, tapping his fingers against the pages. “What about drawing?”

Again, nothing.

But this time, Kakashi caught the faintest flicker of movement—Sai’s gaze dipped just slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Kakashi didn’t push. Instead, he flipped another page and kept reading. He let the words fill the sterile air, giving Sai something to focus on besides the endless white walls and quiet hum of the hospital.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Eventually, a nurse knocked softly at the door. “Excuse me, Hatake-san?”

Kakashi glanced up. “Yeah?”

She smiled gently. “It’s time for his check-up.”

Kakashi nodded, standing and stretching. He glanced back at Sai, whose expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. “Guess that’s my cue.”

He slipped the book onto the small table beside the bed. “I’ll leave this here,” he said simply. “Maybe I’ll read more tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, he caught it—

The smallest shift of Sai’s hand, fingers inching toward the book.

Kakashi smirked to himself as he stepped out into the hallway.

Kakashi shut the door behind him, the sterile hospital air cooler in the hallway than in Sai’s room. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall.

It was subtle—so subtle that most people would’ve missed it. But he knew what he saw. That tiny flicker of movement, that small but undeniable proof that there was still something inside Sai beyond the hollow shell Danzo had carved out of him.

It’s a start.

“You look way too smug for someone who just spent the morning babysitting,” a familiar voice teased.

Kakashi turned his head to see Minato approaching, arms crossed and an amused glint in his sharp blue eyes.

Kakashi straightened, falling into his usual nonchalant stance. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

Minato stopped beside him, his gaze flickering toward Sai’s room. “How is he?”

Kakashi considered his answer for a moment before shrugging. “Still quiet. Still empty. But… I think I got through to him. A little.”

Minato nodded, his expression softening. “That’s more than I was expecting this soon.”

Kakashi glanced back at the door. “I left a book with him.”

Minato raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Kakashi’s smirk returned, though it was more thoughtful this time. “He reached for it.”

Minato’s breath hitched for just a moment before he smiled. “That’s good. That means something’s still in there.”

Kakashi hummed in agreement. “I figure I’ll keep coming by. Keep pushing a little, but not too much. Give him space to react on his own.”

Minato placed a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “I knew I picked the right person for this.”

Kakashi’s eye flickered with something unreadable before he quickly masked it with his usual aloofness. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sentimental on me, Sensei.”

Minato chuckled. “Fine, I’ll save it for later. Anko’s coming by this evening, right?”

Kakashi nodded. “Yeah. She’ll probably take a more… direct approach.”

Minato huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll bet. I’ll check in with her tomorrow.”

Kakashi pushed off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Alright, I’m heading out. Gotta check on my actual students at some point.”

Minato nodded. “Get some rest, Kakashi.”

Kakashi waved over his shoulder, his steps light as he disappeared down the hallway.

As the evening settled over the village, the hospital quieted. The steady hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional soft footsteps of passing nurses were the only sounds in the hallways.

Anko strolled in, her signature smirk in place, a bag of dango skewers in one hand and a distinct air of casual confidence. She wasn’t the sentimental type—not like some people—but she wasn’t about to let the kid sit in silence all night, either.

Reaching Sai’s room, she barely paused before pushing the door open with her foot.

"Yo, kid," she greeted, stepping inside like she owned the place.

Sai was exactly where she expected—sitting on the hospital bed, posture unnervingly perfect, hands neatly folded in his lap. He didn’t flinch at her entrance. Didn’t react at all, really.

Anko clicked her tongue, letting the door swing shut behind her. "Man, you’re really committed to the whole ‘emotionless puppet’ act, huh?"

No response.

She sauntered over, dropping into the chair Kakashi had used earlier, her bag of dango landing on the table with a thunk. She caught sight of the book Kakashi had left and noted with interest that it had been moved slightly.

Huh. So the kid had reached for it.

She leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee, eyes scanning Sai like she was sizing him up. "Alright, kid. Here’s the deal. You and me? We’re gonna get along just fine. Or we’re gonna drive each other crazy. Either way, I don’t do boring, so you’re gonna have to start acting like a person at some point."

Sai’s blank stare remained unchanged.

Anko grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Kakashi told me not to push too hard. But here’s the thing—" She grabbed a skewer from the bag, twirling it between her fingers. "I’m not exactly known for my patience."

She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "So, what do you think, huh? You hungry?"

Nothing.

Anko shrugged, grabbed another skewer, and dramatically waved it under Sai’s nose. "C’mon, gotta be better than the hospital food."

Sai’s eyes flickered downward for the briefest moment, barely noticeable, but Anko caught it.

"Hah!" she smirked. "Thought so."

Without hesitation, she pulled a piece of dango from the skewer and held it out. "Try it."

Sai hesitated. Not out of uncertainty—more like… calculation. As if he was trying to decide whether or not this was some kind of test.

Anko didn’t rush him. She simply held it out, watching him with that same sharp grin.

Slowly, almost mechanically, Sai reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the piece of dango. He held it for a second, studying it with the same vacant expression, before placing it in his mouth.

Anko watched closely as he chewed.

His expression didn’t change.

But he swallowed.

And then, after a long pause, he reached for another piece.

Anko’s grin widened. "Oh-ho, look at that! The kid’s got taste!"

Sai didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge her words. But he took another piece of dango anyway.

Anko leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the edge of the bed. "Alright, kid. We’ll call that progress. But if you’re staying with me sometimes, you’d better get used to more than just dango. I cook, got it?"

Sai said nothing.

Anko simply smirked, popping another piece of dango into her mouth.

She had time.

And so did he.

The hospital room remained quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the paper bag as Anko helped herself to another skewer. Sai remained still, his hands resting in his lap once more, but Anko wasn’t fooled.

That tiny shift—the way he had reached for the dango without being ordered to—it was a start.

She stretched, arms behind her head, her sharp eyes never fully leaving him. "You know, kid, you don’t have to sit there like you’re waiting for some big scary order to drop on your head," she said casually. "Nobody’s gonna tell you to do anything right now. You can just… exist."

Sai’s expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest flicker in his gaze. A hesitation.

Anko rolled her eyes. "Man, Root really did a number on you, huh? Bet if I told you to do a backflip off the bed, you’d do it without thinking twice."

Sai blinked, as if computing whether or not that was a command.

Anko laughed, shaking her head. "Relax, kid. Not everything’s an order."

She watched him for another moment before leaning forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. "Listen up, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once." Her voice lost its usual teasing edge, taking on a quieter, more serious tone. "You don’t have to be what they made you. I know that probably doesn’t mean much to you now, but you’ll figure it out. And when you do, you’ll realize you’ve got choices."

Sai’s lips barely parted, as if forming a response—but nothing came out. Instead, he simply closed his mouth again, his gaze dropping to his lap.

Anko didn't push. Instead, she sighed and leaned back in her chair, tossing a dango stick into the trash with precise aim. "You’ll get there, kid. But for now? Just take it one step at a time."

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was different this time—not tense, not uncomfortable. Just… still.

Eventually, Anko stretched and stood up, grabbing the last remaining skewer. "Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. But don’t get too comfy—I’ll be back." She gave him a smirk before heading toward the door.

As she reached for the handle, a soft sound stopped her.

"…Okay."

It was barely above a whisper, so quiet that anyone else might’ve missed it. But Anko heard it.

Anko didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just smirked to herself and popped another piece of dango into her mouth.

Yeah. They had time.

Days turned into weeks, and the visits continued. Slowly—painfully slowly—Sai began to change. His responses became less rigid, his gaze lingered just a bit longer when Kakashi or Anko spoke. He still didn’t smile, still didn’t react the way a typical two-year-old might, but the difference was there. Small, almost imperceptible, but undeniable.

The other rescued children recovered, their trauma fading with time and care. Some found their way back to families that had once feared they were lost forever. Others, with no one left to return to, were adopted into new homes, given second chances at a life beyond Root.

One by one, the rooms in the hospital’s secured wing emptied.

Until only Sai remained.

The hospital wing that had once been filled with the quiet murmurs of recovering children was now eerily still. No more hushed conversations between medics and caretakers. No more soft cries in the night from those shaken out of nightmares. Just silence.

And Sai.

Kakashi stood outside the door, hands in his pockets, staring at the nameplate that had been hastily scribbled and attached to the frame. Just Sai. No last name. No family. Just a name given to him by a man who saw him as nothing more than another tool.

Anko leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, idly chewing on the last of her dango stick. “He’s gotta leave here eventually,” she muttered. “A hospital ain’t a home.”

Kakashi sighed. “I know.”

They both did. But Sai had been different from the others. The other kids had cried, hesitated, reached out when someone offered a hand. Sai never had. Even after all this time, he still didn’t respond the way a normal child should. He was still just… waiting.

Anko sighed, pushing off the wall. “C’mon. Let’s go see if we can get the little blank slate to react to something today.”

Kakashi followed her in, his steps light but deliberate. Inside, Sai sat in the same place he always did—on the hospital bed, legs crossed, hands resting neatly on his lap. His small frame was still clad in the too-big hospital gown, a diaper still peeking out beneath the hem. His dark eyes lifted as they entered, scanning them both in that eerily calculated way of his.

No greeting. No reaction.

Just waiting.

Anko clicked her tongue, flopping down into the chair beside his bed. “Y’know, kid, I was starting to think you’d be outta here by now. Can’t be that fun sitting in a hospital all day.”

Sai just stared.

Kakashi sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. “You do know you’re allowed to leave, right?” he asked, tilting his head. “This place isn’t a prison.”

Sai’s fingers twitched slightly. His gaze dropped, fixating on his hands.

Anko frowned. “I don’t think he knows what ‘leaving’ means,” she muttered. “This is probably the first place he’s ever stayed in.”

Kakashi exhaled through his nose. “Then we’ll have to show him.”

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, Sai’s tiny hands curled into fists, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Go?”

Both Kakashi and Anko stilled.

It was the first time Sai had ever spoken to them. His voice was light, quiet, as if testing the word out for the first time. His brows knit slightly, his gaze lifting toward Kakashi, searching for confirmation.

Kakashi’s throat felt tight. He forced his voice to stay even. “Yeah, Sai. We can go.”

Sai blinked, his fingers tightening around the sheets beneath him.

Then, he nodded.

Anko let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair. “Well, damn,” she muttered, but there was a small, lopsided grin tugging at her lips. “Guess we finally got through to him.”

Kakashi’s smirk was hidden behind his mask, but there was warmth in his gaze as he stood, offering a hand.

Sai hesitated.

Then, slowly—uncertainly—he reached out and took it.

Kakashi didn’t squeeze too hard, didn’t pull Sai to his feet right away. He just held the small, hesitant hand in his own, letting the boy get used to the feeling. Sai’s fingers twitched, gripping slightly before loosening again, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Anko leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched. “Well, kid? You ready to see what’s outside?”

Sai’s dark eyes flickered toward her, unreadable as ever. But then, after a long pause, he gave the smallest nod.

Anko grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Kakashi finally stood, gently tugging Sai up with him. The boy wobbled slightly, as if the movement itself was foreign to him. For a second, it looked like he might just sit back down, but Kakashi didn’t let go. He kept holding Sai’s hand, steady, patient.

Sai glanced down at the grip, then back up at him.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. “We’re going together,” he said simply. “That means you don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Sai didn’t respond, but he also didn’t pull away.

Anko rolled her eyes and got up, stretching. “Alright, sappy moment over. Let’s get this show on the road before I start feeling sentimental.”

Kakashi smirked under his mask. “Wouldn’t want that.”

She nudged him with her elbow before turning to Sai. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go.”

Sai hesitated for only a second before taking a step forward. It was uncertain, but it was still a step. Another followed. Then another.

As they walked toward the door, Kakashi released his hand, but Sai didn’t stop moving. He followed them both, his small feet silent against the hospital floor.

Anko glanced back, watching the toddler trail behind them with quiet, measured steps. She half-expected him to freeze up, to hesitate at the threshold of the door like it was some kind of invisible barrier. But Sai just kept walking.

Kakashi didn’t say anything, but he noticed too. He slowed his own pace slightly, making sure Sai could keep up without falling behind.

When they finally reached the hospital’s entrance, the late afternoon sun spilled through the open doors, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Sai stopped just short of stepping outside, his small frame silhouetted against the light. His fingers curled at his sides.

Anko crouched down beside him, tilting her head. "It’s not gonna bite, y’know."

Sai didn’t react right away. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to the world beyond the doorway. His lips parted slightly, as if forming a thought he didn’t know how to express.

Kakashi waited, watching him carefully. “Sai,” he said gently. “What do you see?”

For a long moment, Sai remained silent.

Then, in a voice small and uncertain, he answered.

"…Bright."

Kakashi and Anko exchanged a quick glance, something unreadable passing between them.

Anko smirked. "Yeah, kid. It is."

Sai’s dark eyes flickered between Kakashi and Anko, as if searching for some kind of confirmation—some unseen signal that this was the right thing to do. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold between the sterile hospital and the open world beyond.

The moment his foot touched the outside ground, he stilled, his small frame rigid as the warm breeze brushed against his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, absorbing the unfamiliar sensation.

Kakashi kept his tone light, though his gaze remained sharp. “Take it easy, kid. The nurses would kill us if you pass out from fresh air.”

Anko snorted. “Yeah, and I’d rather not get chewed out on my day off.”

Sai didn’t react immediately, but his grip on his hospital gown tightened just a fraction. The moment stretched between them, silent but weighted.

Then, he took another step.

Kakashi and Anko watched as Sai moved forward, his small, hesitant steps carrying him further from the hospital doors. He was slow, deliberate—every movement measured like he was waiting for something to stop him. But nothing did.

The wind tugged at his hospital gown, and he paused again, his fingers brushing over the fabric as if noticing it for the first time. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a shift—small, nearly imperceptible. He was processing.

Kakashi stuck his hands in his pockets, keeping a casual pace beside the toddler. "Not bad, huh?" he mused. "Fresh air, sunlight… and look, no immediate danger. Pretty nice, right?"

Sai didn’t respond, but his gaze lifted slightly, scanning the open space ahead of him.

Anko smirked, arms crossed as she walked alongside them. "You’re not gonna melt, y’know."

Still, no answer.

Kakashi sighed, but there was no real frustration behind it. "Alright, Sai. We’re not in a rush. Just take it at your own pace."

Sai glanced up at him then—brief, fleeting. But it was something.

He took another step.

And then another.

By the time they reached the edge of the hospital courtyard, Sai had stopped hesitating. His movements were still cautious, but there was no longer that stiffness in his frame, no lingering uncertainty in his steps.

Kakashi and Anko slowed when he did, waiting as he took in his surroundings. For a long moment, he simply stood there, silent as ever, staring out at the village beyond.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke. "Where go?"

Anko sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "Great. We broke him."

Kakashi ignored her, crouching slightly to be at Sai’s level. "It’s not an order, kid. You get to pick. Where do you wanna go?"

Sai blinked, his small hands clenching slightly at his sides. The concept was clearly a struggle—his mind working through something he had never been asked to do before.

Anko huffed, stepping forward and tapping a finger against her chin. "Okay, let’s make this simple. You wanna see something cool?"

Sai turned his gaze toward her, considering. Then, after a long pause, he gave a small, hesitant nod.

Anko smirked. "Good. Then follow me."

Without waiting for approval, she turned on her heel and started walking. Kakashi sighed but gestured for Sai to go ahead. "You heard her. Let’s go"

Sai hesitated for only a second before following, his small steps light and careful against the hospital floor. The toddler’s dark eyes remained fixed ahead, observing every movement with the same quiet intensity he always had, but there was something different this time—something almost curious.

Anko led the way down the hall and out into the cool evening air. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and purple, the sun dipping below the horizon. Sai blinked up at it, pausing briefly as if trying to understand what he was seeing.

Kakashi, walking beside him, took note. "First time seeing a sunset, kid?"

Sai’s tiny fingers twitched at his sides before he gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

Anko smirked, folding her arms. "Well, you’ve been missing out. The world’s got a lot more to it than gray walls and training rooms." She nudged him lightly with her elbow, earning no reaction. "Maybe if you're lucky, we’ll show you some more of it."

Sai didn't respond immediately. Instead, he simply stood there, his head tilting slightly as the last light of the sun reflected in his eyes. His lips parted just a little as if he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured, "More…?"

Kakashi and Anko both exchanged a look—one that neither of them commented on—but something about it made Anko’s usual smirk soften.

"Yeah, kid," she said, shoving her hands into her pockets. "There’s a whole lot more."

For the first time, Sai looked away from the sky and at the two of them. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh or react the way any other child might. But something in his posture, in the faintest shift of his expression, spoke volumes.

He believed them.

A quiet moment passed between them before the sound of the hospital doors opening broke the silence.

A nurse stepped into the courtyard, her expression calm yet firm. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for his evening check-up.”

Sai didn’t react immediately. He simply stood there, dark eyes flickering toward the nurse before shifting back to Kakashi and Anko.

Kakashi exhaled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Right. No skipping the boring parts, huh?”

Anko smirked, nudging Sai lightly on the shoulder. “C’mon, kid. Gotta make sure that tiny body of yours stays in top shape. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sai blinked up at them, his fingers twitching slightly. For a brief moment, it looked as if he might say something, but then—like always—he simply turned and followed the nurse without hesitation, his small frame moving with silent precision.

Before they could turn to leave, the nurse paused, glancing back at the two jonin. “Actually,” she said smoothly, “I’d like you both to stay for this one.”

Anko arched a brow. “Why?”

The nurse offered a patient but knowing smile. “Since the Hokage has informed us that you’ll be Sai’s guardians, now would be a good time for you to observe his daily care routine.”

Both Kakashi and Anko stiffened.

Anko scowled, rubbing her temple. “Oh, for—he’s still telling people that, huh?”

Kakashi sighed, already resigned. “We were gonna do it anyway. He didn’t need to broadcast it.”

The nurse remained unfazed, gesturing toward the exam room. “Regardless, this will be beneficial for both of you. Please, come in.”

Anko huffed, arms crossed. “Fine. But if this turns into a lecture, I’m out.”

Anko rolled her eyes but didn’t argue as they stepped into the exam room. Sai was already perched on the exam table, his small hands resting neatly in his lap, gaze unfocused as he waited. He neither fidgeted nor protested, his posture unnervingly perfect—like he was awaiting an order.

The nurse moved efficiently, pulling on gloves and grabbing her clipboard. “Alright, let’s begin.”

She started with the basics—checking Sai’s pulse, listening to his breathing, monitoring his reflexes. As expected, he remained still throughout, offering no reactions, no discomfort, no signs that he even registered what was happening.

Kakashi and Anko stood off to the side, watching in silence.

“He’s physically improving,” the nurse noted, setting the stethoscope aside. “His weight is steadily increasing, and his body is responding well to regular meals. But emotionally…” She hesitated, glancing at the toddler’s blank expression. “It’s still a work in progress.”

Kakashi hummed in acknowledgment. “We figured.”

The nurse then turned toward a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small container. “Now, let’s go over his medication. He’s on a strict regimen to regulate his system and ensure his development stays on track.”

Anko groaned. “More responsibility? Great.”

The nurse ignored her, measuring out the small dosage before turning to Sai. “Sai, open your mouth.”

Without hesitation, the boy parted his lips.

She administered the liquid, and he swallowed it without reaction. No grimace, no resistance. Just silent compliance.

Kakashi’s expression remained unreadable, but Anko wrinkled her nose. “That’s just creepy.”

The nurse sighed. “It gets even stranger. Let me show you his reflexes.”

She picked up a reflex mallet and lightly tapped Sai’s knee. Nothing. No twitch, no automatic movement. His leg remained perfectly still.

Kakashi narrowed his eye. “No reflex?”

The nurse shook her head. “He has them. Watch this—Sai, move your leg when I tap.”

She repeated the motion, and this time, Sai’s leg jerked in response, executing the movement with precise control.

Anko crossed her arms. “So he doesn’t react unless he’s told to?”

“Exactly,” the nurse confirmed, setting the mallet aside. “He’s been conditioned to suppress all involuntary responses unless given explicit instructions. His body is fine—his mind just refuses to act without a command.”

Kakashi exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s… a lot.”

Anko frowned, watching Sai closely. “So basically, he can move like a normal kid—he just doesn’t know how to be one.”

The nurse nodded. “That’s why his therapy is so important. We have to reteach his brain that it’s allowed to act on its own.”

Kakashi glanced down at Sai, who remained seated, expression blank as ever. This kid doesn’t just follow orders—he literally doesn’t know how to exist outside of them.

His chest tightened slightly.

Anko let out a heavy sigh. “Great. So we’re not just taking care of a kid—we’re rewiring him.”

The nurse gave them a patient look. “And that’s exactly why he needs people like you.”

Kakashi and Anko exchanged glances, saying nothing but silently acknowledging the long road ahead of them.

The nurse exhaled, shifting her clipboard. “Now, onto something a little more… normal. The only thing about Sai that’s actually age-appropriate is his diaper usage.”

Anko groaned. “So we do gotta deal with diapers”

Kakashi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, not only are we trying to help him rediscover basic human emotions, but we’re also on diaper duty.”

Anko groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fantastic. Just what I always wanted.”

The nurse smirked but remained professional. “Well, the good news is that Sai appears to be barely two, so potty training could be an option in the near future—whenever he’s ready for it. But for now…” She gestured toward the stocked supply of diapers. “You’re going to have to handle it.”

Kakashi sighed, already regretting this part of the process. Anko just crossed her arms, muttering something under her breath.

Sai, meanwhile, remained entirely unfazed, his blank stare shifting between the three of them, simply waiting for the next set of instructions.

The nurse folded her arms, watching the two shinobi with an amused yet knowing expression. “Since I’m assuming this is new territory for you both—and given that you’re in this for the long haul—would you like me to walk you through how to properly change a diaper?”

Kakashi sighed, straightening up. “Yes, we would. And…” He nudged Anko lightly, giving her a pointed look. “Sorry about our earlier reactions. We shouldn’t make it seem like Sai is an inconvenience, no matter what the task is.”

Anko clicked her tongue but didn’t argue. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. We got a kid now. Might as well learn to deal with the… less fun parts.”

The nurse smirked knowingly. “That’s the spirit. Now, pay attention.”

The nurse walked over to the supply cabinet, retrieving a fresh diaper, wipes, and a small container of ointment. She gestured for Kakashi and Anko to step closer.

“Alright, first thing’s first—Sai, can you lie down for me?” she asked gently.

Without hesitation, Sai obeyed, moving with the same eerie precision as always. He lay flat on the exam table, his small hands resting at his sides, his expression blank as ever.

Anko crossed her arms, watching with a critical eye. “He just does whatever you say, huh?”

The nurse nodded. “That’s part of the problem. He’s been conditioned to follow orders without question, but he doesn’t recognize personal autonomy. That’s something you two will need to help him develop over time.” She then glanced at them both. “And that includes things like this. He’s old enough to start recognizing his own bodily needs, but he doesn’t react to them like most kids would. That’s why his rash got so bad before—he didn’t express discomfort.”

Kakashi sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Right. So we have to make sure we’re checking him regularly.”

“Exactly.” The nurse peeled back the hospital gown, revealing the diaper. “Now, step one—always make sure you have everything you need before you start. You don’t want to get halfway through and realize you forgot something.”

Anko made a face. “Because that would be a disaster.”

“Pretty much.” The nurse peeled back the tabs, rolling the soiled diaper downward with practiced ease. Sai remained completely motionless, as if this were just another routine order.

Kakashi hummed, taking mental notes. “Alright. What’s next?”

“Wipes,” the nurse instructed, demonstrating as she cleaned Sai thoroughly. “Always wipe front to back. That’s especially important for hygiene.”

Anko wrinkled her nose. “Good to know.”

Once Sai was clean, the nurse grabbed the ointment, spreading a thin layer over his skin. “This will help prevent irritation. You’ll want to apply it every time until his rash fully heals.”

She then lifted his legs with practiced ease, sliding the fresh diaper underneath him. “Now, bring the front up, secure the tabs snugly—but not too tight—and you’re done.”

She patted Sai’s stomach lightly, signaling that he could sit up again. The toddler obeyed instantly, swinging his legs over the edge of the table without a single reaction to what had just happened.

Anko crossed her arms, exhaling through her nose. “Alright, fine. That wasn’t as horrifying as I thought.”

The nurse chuckled, giving them both a knowing look. “Told you. Honestly, you two are lucky—Sai won’t fight you on it like most toddlers would. No kicking, no squirming, no dramatic tantrums.”

Kakashi hummed, glancing at the unnervingly still child. “Yeah… somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

The nurse’s expression softened. “I know. But that’s why you’ll need to check him regularly—he might not tell you if he needs changing, even if he’s uncomfortable.” She turned back to Sai, brushing a hand over his short, inky-black hair in a rare moment of tenderness. “It’s not that he doesn’t feel discomfort… it’s that he doesn’t know he’s allowed to express it.”

Anko shifted slightly, her smirk fading. “Guess that’s just one more thing we have to teach him, huh?”

The nurse nodded. “Exactly. Just by showing up, you’re already doing more for him than anyone else ever has.”

Anko huffed, shifting her weight onto one foot. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do right by the kid. He deserves a shot at a real life."

Kakashi glanced at her, brow raising slightly. "Look at you, getting all sentimental."

Anko smirked. "Tch. I’m not completely heartless."

The nurse chuckled but didn’t let them off the hook. "That’s good to hear, because this isn’t something you can just do halfway. Sai’s going to need more than just a roof over his head. He needs patience, consistency, and people willing to teach him what it means to be a person—not just a weapon."

Anko exhaled, rubbing the back of her head. "Yeah, yeah. We get it, no need for mushy-feelings lecture."

Kakashi crossed his arms. "Guess that means we’re in for the long haul, huh?"

The nurse smiled. "That’s the plan according to Lord Hokage."

As the adults spoke, Sai’s dark eyes remained fixed on his soon-to-be guardians. His expression was as unreadable as ever, his posture rigid with the disciplined stillness that had been ingrained in him since infancy. He neither reacted nor spoke, yet there was something different—something barely perceptible.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, an unconscious movement, subtle but there. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this moment felt... new. A shift, however minuscule, that he couldn’t quite define.

It wasn’t hesitation—he had long since lost that instinct, replaced instead with the mechanical obedience expected of him. But this? This was something else.

Not uncertainty. Not defiance.

Awareness.

A flicker of recognition, an acknowledgment of the two figures standing before him. They had been here before. Again and again. Returning, speaking, watching. No one had ever done that before—not like this.

Consistency was foreign to him. Yet, for the past few weeks, they had been just that.

Here.

For the first time, Sai wasn’t sure how to process this feeling.

The nurse, glancing up from her notes, caught the way Sai’s gaze lingered on Kakashi and Anko. It wasn’t the usual empty stare he gave most people—it was focused, almost intent. He wasn’t just looking through them.

He was watching them. Not just staring blankly as he had before, but truly observing.

The nurse tucked her clipboard under her arm, her keen eyes studying the boy just as he studied the two shinobi in front of him. “Sai?” she called softly.

He didn’t startle. Didn’t blink. But his small fingers curled slightly, pressing into the fabric of his hospital gown—a quiet, almost hesitant movement. As if he was grounding himself, tethering to something unfamiliar yet persistent.

The nurse’s smile deepened with quiet understanding. “Looks like someone’s starting to recognize his people.”

“Huh?” Kakashi and Anko turned toward Sai, only now noticing the way his dark eyes had been locked onto them—silent, unreadable, but unmistakably focused.

Anko raised a brow. “Can’t decide if this is cute or mildly unsettling.”

Kakashi exhaled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Either way, get used to it.” His gaze softened just a fraction as he addressed the boy. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

Sai didn’t react. Not outwardly. But his fingers twitched again, ever so slightly.

Sai remained seated on the exam table, his dark eyes following them as they moved toward the door.

Just as they reached it, a quiet sound broke the silence.

"...Come?"

They both froze.

Kakashi turned first, his single eye narrowing slightly. "What was that?"

Sai’s fingers twitched again. His voice was barely above a whisper, his tone flat but undeniably present. "You… come?"

Anko and Kakashi exchanged glances, the weight of the moment settling over them.

It was the closest thing to a request he’d ever made.

Anko hesitated before stepping forward, leaning slightly toward him. "You want us to stay?"

Sai’s blank stare met hers, but he gave no further response.

Still, it was enough.

Anko sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Guess we’re staying a little longer."

Kakashi smirked, nudging her arm. "I knew you were a nice person."

The nurse smiled knowingly but said nothing as she stepped aside, giving them space.

For the first time, Sai seemed… almost content.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.