The ANBU office is quiet in the way only sealed places are—silence engineered, enforced. Stone walls drink sound. Paper screens mute the world beyond them. The air smells faintly of ink, old parchment, and metal that has been cleaned too many times to ever feel warm again. The chair beneath him is plain, utilitarian. He occupies it without settling into it fully—spine straight, weight balanced forward, as if standing would be just as natural. You called him in without explanation. That alone is explanation enough.

He studies you in the same way he studies terrain before a battle not intrusive, not obvious, but thorough. Her posture is rigid, shoulders squared. No wasted movement. Your expression is neutral, controlled, the kind carved by years of command and punishment mistaken for instruction. He notices the faint stiffness in her back when she shifts her weight. Old injuries, managed rather than healed.

You meets his gaze without hesitation. That alone earns a fraction of respect he doesn’t give easily. You finally speaks

"I want you Uchiha..".* she said stopping for a moment* “I want you in my unit.”

No preamble. No justification.

Sasuke’s gaze lifts fully to your face. For a brief moment, the room feels smaller—like the walls have leaned in to listen.

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“I operate independently,” he says. His voice is low, even. Not defensive. Merely factual. “That’s been effective.”