Ibiki listened to the boy's calm reply, gave the barest nod, and continued his questioning.
"Aran, what exactly is your identity? And why were you found on the outskirts of the village?"
"I'm a war orphan," Aran answered evenly. "With nowhere else to go, I came to the Hidden Leaf. I was planning to go directly to the Hokage and ask him to arrange a place where I could settle down here in the village. But instead, the moment I arrived, your ANBU grabbed me and treated me like an intruder."
There was a faint note of resentment in his voice.
Ibiki's face remained unreadable. He wasn't the type to believe the words of some kid—especially not one whose background was a complete mystery.
"And those clothes you're wearing?" Ibiki asked next.
Aran glanced down at his own outfit—modern in style, nothing like the standard shinobi garb—and felt a flicker of awkwardness."They're something I made myself. Just a personal hobby."
Then he added, his tone carrying a quiet edge, "Why are you even asking about my clothes? Doesn't seem like it has much to do with the point of your interrogation."
The comeback made Ibiki's expression tighten slightly. His eyes narrowed, watching Aran intently.
Aran met the stare without the slightest hint of fear, locking eyes with him in silent defiance.
Then, without warning, Aran felt the world around him shift violently.
One moment, he was seated in a chair in the interrogation room—The next, he found himself inside a metal cage, both his wrists and ankles bound tightly in cold iron chains.
Ibiki was still sitting exactly where he had been, regarding him with that same cold, impassive gaze.
Aran's surprise lasted only a heartbeat before he recomposed himself. As expected of the Head of the Torture and Interrogation Force, he thought, Cautious to the core.
"I don't care who you are," Ibiki said coldly. "If you so much as lift a finger against Konoha, I'll erase you on the spot."
As he spoke, the chains around Aran began to tighten, the iron links grinding against his body.
Aran didn't react. I've got all the time in the world, he thought. If Ibiki doesn't believe me, I'll just let him keep going until he's satisfied.
Still, this guy's interrogation methods really are on the aggressive side—jumping straight to something like this.
The real reason Aran remained utterly unfazed was simple: he had already copied Ibiki's physical resilience.
He knew the nature of this jutsu well—despite appearances, it was dual-sided. While it seemed that the chains were crushing the target, in reality, the caster felt the exact same pressure and pain.
And Ibiki's body was far from ordinary—his endurance was what made his interrogation skills so formidable.
The chains kept tightening, but Aran didn't make a sound. Instead, it was Ibiki's face that gradually paled.
Then, all at once, the bindings vanished.
Aran opened his eyes slowly, noticing the sheen of sweat now coating Ibiki's forehead. The man had clearly reached his limit.
What surprised Ibiki more was the fact that someone's physical toughness had not only matched his own—it had surpassed it.
Still, there was no way he would give up now.
Ibiki's hands suddenly blurred through a rapid sequence of hand seals.
Aran raised an eyebrow, already knowing exactly what the man intended to do—And still, he didn't move to resist.
After all, that particular jutsu couldn't harm him in the slightest.