Yahiko carefully held a file, meticulously polishing a screw. Every now and then, he scrutinized it for burrs, blowing away the fine metal shavings with his breath.
Finally satisfied, he nodded, pulling out a vernier caliper and a protractor to measure the dimensions and angles. Everything was within the margin of error. Only then did he remove the screw from its holder and place it into the basket beside him.
"At this rate, you’ll barely finish a hundred screws by nightfall."
A mocking voice interrupted his concentration.
Yahiko looked up, irritated. Standing before him was a youth a few years older, with thick brows, large eyes, broad shoulders, and long legs—a strikingly robust figure.
However, when Yahiko glanced at the screws in the youth’s basket, he was stunned to see it was already brimming with finished pieces. A quick comparison revealed his own basket had barely a third of the amount.
"You must be cutting corners! There’s no way you made that many. If the dimensions or angles are off, they’ll all have to be redone," Yahiko accused.
"Cutting corners? Hah! Kid, if you can find even one screw in this pile that’s out of spec, I’ll owe you a pack of cigarettes," the youth retorted arrogantly.
Yahiko’s disdain faded. A pack of cigarettes was a precious commodity in prison—this guy wasn’t bluffing.
"Alright, show me how you do it," Yahiko challenged.
The youth smirked, grabbed a raw piece, and began demonstrating.
"Watch and learn, kid. First, align the angle, then file in one direction. Don’t go back and forth like you were doing. Sixteen strokes per side, six sides in total—96 strokes, no more, no less. The pressure has to be just right. These screws are for industrial puppets; precision is non-negotiable."
As he explained, the youth worked swiftly, finishing all six sides in no time.
"Here! Measure it. If it’s off by even a micron, I’ll owe you that pack of smokes," he said confidently, handing the screw to Yahiko.
Yahiko measured it with the instruments and, to his amazement, found it flawless.
"Wow, incredible craftsmanship! Where did you learn this?" Yahiko asked, genuinely impressed.
"Ah, this? Picked it up back when I worked for the Hourglass Group in the Land of Rain," the youth replied casually.
"Oh, so you’re from the Land of Rain too?" Yahiko asked, his interest piqued.
"Nope. I was stationed there for service," the youth explained.
"Service? You were part of the factory guard unit?" Yahiko pressed.
"That’s right. Spent a good few years there. Wait, how do you know about that? That unit’s been disbanded for ages," the youth said, surprised.
"Well, I’m from Amegakure!" Yahiko exclaimed.
"Really? Then I guess we’re kind of like hometown buddies! Hey, do you know that guy—"
"From the beef noodle shop next door?" Yahiko interjected.
"Yeah, that’s the one!"
The two quickly struck up a lively conversation, finding a surprising amount of common ground. It felt like a reunion of old friends in a foreign land.
"The name’s Aotu Tailuo, but you can just call me Tailuo. Anyway, hold that thought—I need to take a leak. Hey, guard!" Tailuo raised his hand.
"What is it?" A thin prison warden glanced over.
With permission granted, Tailuo jogged off toward the restroom.
"Hey, grab that long-legged guy’s file. It’ll come in handy for a fight later," a low voice whispered to Yahiko.
Turning to look, Yahiko saw a dark hand snatch Tailuo’s file from his workstation.
"Hey, you—" Yahiko pointed at the thief, knowing full well that stealing tools in prison was a serious offense.
"What are you looking at, brat? Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll make sure you regret it," the thief threatened.
Yahiko almost laughed out loud. He, the leader of the Akatsuki, being threatened by a common prisoner? How ironic.
Just then, Tailuo returned from the restroom.
"Tailuo, your file’s been stolen by that guy," Yahiko informed him.
"What?!" Tailuo’s eyes darted to his workstation, confirming the theft. Without hesitation, he marched over to the thief, grabbing him by the collar.
"Old Juzi, are you looking for trouble again? I’ll give you three seconds to return my file, or I’ll beat the crap out of you!"
The thief, Old Juzi, protested, "What proof do you have? Just because he said so doesn’t mean I took it!"
Tailuo ignored the excuses, lifting Old Juzi slightly off the ground and counting down menacingly.
"I swear, I don’t have it!"
"Give it back to him!" came a sneering voice. Yahiko recognized it as the person who had ordered Old Juzi to steal the file earlier.
Reluctantly, Old Juzi handed the file back to Tailuo, who then tossed him to the ground.
"Yamada Akihaya, you itching for another beating?" Tailuo growled, glaring at the instigator.
"Relax, it was just a joke. No need to take it so seriously," Yamada replied with a smug grin, then turned his gaze to Yahiko. "Kid, you’re dead. Just wait."
Yahiko couldn’t help but chuckle. This was the second time today he’d been threatened by a prisoner.
"Wait for what?!" Smack!
Tailuo stormed over and delivered a resounding slap to Yamada’s face, knocking him to the ground.
"You—you dare hit me?!" Yamada stammered, clutching his cheek in disbelief.
"Hit you? Hah! If it weren’t for Inoue, I would’ve killed you already, you spineless punk!" Tailuo sneered.
"Yamada crew, take him down! Five thousand cigarettes to whoever kills him!" Yamada shouted desperately.
The promise of such a hefty reward quickly rallied a dozen prisoners, all armed with files, who surrounded Tailuo.
The guards were conveniently absent, and a brawl was imminent.
Just as Yahiko was about to channel his chakra to intervene, Tailuo made his move. His long legs became a blur, slicing through the air like swallows in flight, striking with the precision and grace of a master martial artist.
Each kick landed with pinpoint accuracy, targeting vital points and incapacitating his attackers one by one. It was a brutal yet mesmerizing dance of violence.
Yahiko watched in awe. Weren’t all ninja prisoners in this abyss injected with chakra-suppressing drugs? How does this guy still possess such refined taijutsu? Could it be purely physical strength and technique? If so, his original power must’ve been terrifying.
Within moments, the dozen attackers lay defeated, groaning on the ground. Tailuo advanced toward Yamada, who backed away in fear.
"Guards! Guards! Help! He’s killing people!" Yamada screamed.
A squad of wardens arrived shortly after, quickly subduing Tailuo.
"Injured prisoners, to the infirmary. The rest—solitary confinement!" the lead warden ordered.
Solitary confinement, or "the black cells," were cramped, dark rooms used for punishment. Collective punishment was a common tactic to deter unrest during group labor.
Yahiko, though merely participating in labor reform and not a prisoner, could have avoided punishment by explaining himself. Yet, he chose to remain silent.
The arrangement of solitary cells matched the order of their workstations. Yahiko was intrigued by Tailuo and wanted to continue their conversation.
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