The air was dry and still, broken only by the faint echo of Kankurō’s footfalls on cracked stone. His fingers itched with curiosity, a craftsman’s instinct drawn like a moth to old wood and hidden mechanisms. Temari moved beside him with cautious grace, her eyes flicking between the boarded-up windows and warped floorboards.

“Doesn’t feel like anyone’s lived here in years,” she murmured.

Kankurō didn’t answer. His eyes had already found it.

In the corner, slouched against the wall, was a puppet.

Kankurō froze. “Whoa…”

It was life-sized, humanoid. A stunning piece of craftsmanship. The joints were seamless, the proportions perfect. There was a softness to it—more human than tool. Its face was peaceful, expressionless. Not grotesque like Sasori’s usual work. Beautiful.

Temari frowned. “Another one of his?”

“Has to be. Look at the detail—he didn’t just carve this. He created it.”

He stepped closer, inspecting the puppet’s limbs, turning its arm gently. The movement was too smooth. Too lifelike. No resistance. No stiffness like you would expect from a puppet that hadn't moved in a long time.

“I’d know his style anywhere. The wrist joints—see that? Hidden seams. Triple-locked fingers. And the grain—he treated the wood himself. The finish he used, it leaves a distinct sheen…” His voice softened. “No cracks, no corrosion. Whoever this was… they were cared for.”

Then the puppet shifted.

Kankurō staggered back, swearing. Temari had a kunai in hand before he hit the ground.

Its eyes opened.

Soft. A little glassy. A little too aware.

The puppet sat up, slowly. No sudden movements. No threat. Just… presence. Watching them. Quietly.

Kankurō’s mouth was dry. “That’s not just a puppet.”

It didn’t speak. It didn’t move toward them. It just sat there—alive, and maybe not sure how long it had been that way.

Temari muttered, “Why was it playing dead?”

“To survive, probably?” Kankurō said, voice low. “People come around, it stays still. Hopes they go away.”

“But you didn’t ignore the weird puppet in the corner.”

Kankurō stepped closer. “You were his,” he said softly. “But you’re not him. You’re not like the others, are you?”