Naruto: End of the Shinobi World

While the entire shinobi world remained on edge because of the ”Demon Child” incident—major factions probing in all directions like startled birds, yet moving with extreme caution—the mysterious Heavenly Curtain, which had fallen silent for some time but never left anyone’s mind, lit up once again without warning.

Anticipation. Vigilance. Fear. Curiosity.

Countless complicated gazes shot toward the sky that now seemed to hold the fate of the world itself.

Within his personal space, Yin An looked at the restless shinobi world outside and let out a helpless sigh.

”There’s no helping it. That little girl Karin caused too much of a stir.”

”With her reckless killing intent and the way she does things, it won’t be long before the joint investigation teams of the Five Great Nations—or organizations like the Akatsuki—dig her out.”

Rubbing his chin, he muttered, ”Rather than letting her be exposed passively and trigger even greater chaos and uncontrollable hunts… I might as well ’warm things up’ for her myself. Give the shinobi world a bit of a psychological preparation.”

”Then for the fourth broadcast of the Heavenly Curtain… she’ll be the protagonist. Let the world see how this so-called ’Demon Child’ was born from the ashes of despair.”

With a mere thought from him, the Heavenly Curtain shifted dramatically.

The image sharpened.

But instead of the expected bloodshed or overwhelming power, what greeted everyone’s eyes was a scene tinged with warmth.

A young woman with vivid red hair. Her face was haggard, yet softened by maternal tenderness. She carefully cradled a swaddled infant in her arms.

Within the bundle was a tiny baby girl, also with striking red hair, sleeping peacefully.

”!!!”

The moment that unmistakable red hair appeared, pupils constricted across the shinobi world.

”The Uzumaki clan?!”

Just as Yin An had anticipated, that iconic red-haired mother and daughter instantly tightened every heartstring.

”Red hair… doesn’t necessarily mean Uzumaki. But at a time like this? If they’re appearing on the Heavenly Curtain, the odds are too high!”

”If we’re talking about an important figure, is it the baby?”

”They’re wandering… It doesn’t look like they’re living well.”

The images flowed rapidly, like pages turning in a book, showing the mother and daughter drifting from place to place in hardship.

The mother remained constantly vigilant, shielding her child from crowds and potential danger.

They slept in ruined shrines, sheltered in caves, survived on wild fruits and the occasional odd job.

Just as viewers were wondering which of the two was the true focus of the Heavenly Curtain, a turning point arrived.

The scene froze inside a crude but relatively clean wooden cabin.

It seemed the pair had temporarily found a place to stay.

Karin’s mother tightly held one-year-old Karin—who clung timidly to her mother’s clothes—and stared warily at the person seated across from them.

A shinobi bearing the forehead protector of Kusagakure.

He was wounded, his face pale, but he forced a seemingly friendly smile and raised a hand reassuringly.

”Don’t worry. I may be a shinobi, but I don’t harm civilians. That’s the rule.”

His gaze fell on little Karin with curiosity. ”Your daughter? How old?”

After a brief hesitation, Karin’s mother replied softly, ”…One year old.”

”One year, huh? Cute kid,” the shinobi said gently.

Her tense expression eased slightly.

But this seemingly ordinary exchange—this apparent encounter with a ”kind-hearted shinobi”—made everyone watching feel their hearts sink.

Especially those who knew the eventual fate of Kusagakure.

An ominous premonition slithered into their minds like an icy serpent.

Don’t tell me… that baby is the Demon Child?

It was an unavoidable suspicion. Recent events had left everyone deeply unsettled.

The scene continued.

The Kusagakure shinobi tended briefly to his wounds before heading out and returning with some game.

He skillfully built a fire and roasted the meat, handing a portion to Karin’s mother.

Starving, she did not refuse his kindness. She ate quickly, gratitude shining in her eyes.

”Thank you… You’re a good person,” she said sincerely.

The shinobi gave a short, amused snort, half-joking, half-serious. ”’Good people’ don’t live long in this world.”

She lowered her head gently. ”But… there are still good people.”

He shrugged, not arguing, and instead asked, ”By the way, what’s your name? Why are you wandering somewhere this desolate with a child?”

”My name is Karina,” she answered. But when it came to why she was here, she hesitated—and said nothing.

The shinobi tactfully did not press further. He merely glanced at his still-aching wound, frowning slightly.

Karina noticed. She looked down at the unfinished meat in her hand—food he had given her—and a flicker of struggle crossed her face.

At last, she seemed to make up her mind. She raised her head, eyes firm.

”I… I can help you. With your wound. I have a way.”

The shinobi blinked in surprise. ”You’re a medic?”

She shook her head without explaining.

Instead, she extended her arm toward him and said softly,

”You… just need to bite me.”

”What?!” The shinobi froze, disbelief and confusion written all over his face. ”Bite you? What does that have to do with healing?”

Across the shinobi world, viewers were equally baffled.

”Bite her? What kind of treatment is that?”

”I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

”Has she lost her mind?”

Only in a dark cave, where Karin herself was watching the Heavenly Curtain through special means, did the truth strike like lightning.

The moment she saw her mother extend her arm, her entire body trembled violently.

Overwhelming terror and grief swallowed her whole.

”No… no! Mom! Don’t—!!”

Karin screamed at the sky, tears streaming uncontrollably.

She had no memory of this moment.

But she knew.

She knew better than anyone.

Her mother’s act of gratitude and kindness was like tearing down her own protective walls before a pack of starving wolves—exposing the fresh flesh within.

That first bite would not bring gratitude.

It would bring endless greed.

Imprisonment.

And the tragic fate of being drained dry.

Yet the images on the Heavenly Curtain were history—events that had already happened.

They could not be changed.

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