Chapter Text

“Why did you kill Huang Xiu?”

The moonlight was dim, and Zi Wuji could not distinguish the assassin’s face. The assassin had spoken cleanly, without expression. Black cloth masked the upper and lower parts of their face, thick and padded. The perilous glow of the lantern down the riverbank reflected the assassin's ember eyes, and the eyes looked straight at Zi Wuji, fierce and still — and he knew the question was asked with no desire to learn the answer.

“How long do you intend to uphold this farce?” asked Zi Wuji, his voice amused.

He sat resembling the statue of the Gautama Buddha and closed his eyes to the world. The movement of the wind alerted to him the arrival of seven other presences.

“Have you all no desire to give me face?”

A dagger emerged from the assassin’s sleeves. The silver blade glinted in the moonlight. Eight individuals for eight cardinal directions. Zi Wuji did not open his eyes. To act was the way, yet refusing action was equally the way. 

“Zi Wuji,” a voice, soft yet firm came from the south. “Hand over the Karma Desolation Way Codex, and we promise to spare your life.”

Zi Wuji stroked his beard.

“The way called the way isn’t the perennial way. A name that names is not the perennial name. For those in the Orthodox Path to not even know this much…”

His words were a stone dropped in a pond. The air was tinged with the scent of danger. All eight individuals grew tense. Zi Wuji did not move. He did not need to. Glints of silver emerged around him. The scraping sounds of blades being drawn against sheathes bathed the stillness of the night.

Zi Wuji opened his eyes. Blank and white, he could see only darkness. 

“The named is the mother to ten-thousand things, but the unnamed is origin to all heaven and earth,” Zi Wuji closed his eyes once more. “You have forgotten yourselves.”

“We did not come here to debate philosophy with you,” a sneer emerged. “Hand it over!”

“For the Five Heavenly Dragons and Three Phoenixes to cloak themselves as mere peons of the Phantom River Sect and come after a measly blind beggar…” Zi Wuji chuckled. “This blind beggar feels honored.”

“Master Zi,” a voice, soft, spoke. “We have disabled all your protection arrays and defense formations. Your cultivation has long been crippled. You have no means to resist us. All we desire is the Codex.”

Zi Wuji laughed.

“Never bestow honors, and people will not quarrel. Never prize rare treasures, and people will not steal. Never flaunt alluring things, and people will not be confused. Such is the governance of the Sage.”

Zi Wuji rose to his feet. The tense air thickened. With a single exhale, a forlorn expression appeared on his face. Blades shone underneath the moonlight, and Zi Wuji’s folded his hands behind him. 

A harsh wind blew throughout the mountaintops, and his clothes fluttered and flapped. No sound could be heard save for the crickets chirping in the darkness. The ground beneath Zi Wuji’s feet began to glow.

An elaborate purple array emerged underneath Zi Wuji. Lines and calculations, numbers and figures, letters, characters, and ink burst forth like a living creature, covering the entire mountain, spreading and growing like an unstoppable wildfire.

“This —” a soft gasp emerged. “This can’t be!”

“The Myriad Straw Depredation Array?” a loud cry emerged. “Impossible! Zi Wuji — you — you’re a practitioner of the Demonic Path?!”

Zi Wuji smiled.

“All beneath the heavens know that beauty is beauty, only because there is ugliness — and know that good is good, only because there is evil.”

“Stop him!”

“Kill him, quickly!”

The assassins lunged at once, only to freeze in their tracks. Their blades fell to the ground, and they, too, collapsed, incapable of motion. The inky letters spread over their body and latched unto them like furious serpents.

“I — I can’t move!”

“Zi Wuji! You snake! Release us!”

Zi Wuji walked, about, his gaze turned upwards, to the sky.

“My master roamed the Rain World and saw the good and the evils of this world. He told me, ‘Zi Wuji, the tree of the righteous is filled with thorns and the fruit it bares can only be eaten at the grace of others.’”

Zi Wuji opened his eyes.

“Heaven and earth are inhumane; they use the ten-thousand things like straw dogs. Thus the Sage too, is inhumane; he uses the hundred-fold people like straw dogs.”

Zi Wuji slapped his hands together.

“I do not wish to ask permission to eat the fruit of the tree of the righteous. I would rather pluck fruit from the tree of the damned and tell the naysayers and faultfinders: to hell with you!”

A mighty shudder came upon the mountain. Great wails emerged from the assassins, and their blood seeped into the ink. The ink turned dark red, and Zi Wuji spread out his arms and roared.

Blood spurted out of his mouth. Zi Wuji glanced down, and though he could not see, he knew. He felt it, the blade deep within his chest. His heart punctured clean through. Behind him, he saw no one. The eight assassins were dead, and yet —

A hazy figure appeared through the darkness. An abominable aura descended down upon him. He could identify it at a glance. A sad smile fell across his lips.

“Playing the pig to eat the tiger has always been your style, but to use the Five Heavenly Dragons and Three Phoenixes as bait…”

Zi Wuji laughed.

“Celestial Slaughter Demon, Ye Fangcheng… I underestimated you.”

A man emerged from the darkness, silent as the night. “Zodiac Formation King, Zi Wuji,” the voice was calm. “Or is it Blood Flower Reverend, Long Gongji?”

No sooner did he speak those words, did Zi Wuji’s entire appearance change. His old beard vanished. His eyes, seemingly blind, regained color and turned a deep ocean blue. His features, aged and wizened, regressed, as wrinkles faded and stretched skin regained its elasticity.

A young man of about twenty years of age stood, a blade still stuck in his chest. The young man chuckled, and blood poured out of his lips.

“As expected of the Heir of the Celestial Moon Devil Pavilion,” he praised. “How did you discover my identity?”

Ye Fangcheng sneered. “You may have fooled the entire world, playing the role of a paragon of good and a paragon of evil at once, but to me, as long as you have cultivated with evil techniques, your true nature would always shine through.”

Zi Wuji laughed. “Spoken as a true favored child of the heavens. Ye Fangcheng… Ye Fangcheng…”

Zi Wuji’s eyes slowly closed. 

“How truly fortunate it is… to be blessed by fate.”

Zi Wuji’s eyes remained shut. The rampaging formation died. Ye Fangcheng approached Zi Wuji’s body and rifled through it.

“It’s not here?”

Ye Fangcheng frowned.

“The Karma Desolation Way Codex… don’t tell me —”

Ye Fangcheng let out a growl as he examined the corpse. All over his body, there were endless lines of ink and writings, scribblings and numbers, all of which began to disappear just as Zi Wuji’s life force faded. 

“No!“

Ye Fangcheng attempted his hardest to memorize the scribblings, but it was too late. They’d vanished completely. Ye Fangcheng realized the truth immediately. He’d been tricked. Zi Wuji had engraved the secrets of the codex into his own soul, and now that he’d been killed —

“ZI WUJI!”

XXXXX

How long has it been?

The darkness was long and the silence was unbearable. He was floating, yet, drowning. He could neither speak nor move, neither see nor hear. Ages upon ages passed, eternity upon eternities.

He counted down the seconds. He counted the minutes. The hours. The days. With nothing but time, he reviewed the secrets of the Way Codex. He had never liked the unnecessary name given to it. Karma Desolation Way Codex was too wordy, too much of a mouthful. The Way Codex simplified things. Even then, this went against the very first rule inscribed in the Dao —

Zi Wuji did not care.

He recited mantras in his mind and thought of methods to expand and utilize the Way. Acquiring it had not been easy. How many lives had he ended? How many souls had he consumed? How many men, women and children had he ravished? He could not recall. Master Gu reminded him that such things were meaningless to a Demonic Path Cultivator. The lives of others were but resources, and if he was weak, his life would be no exception.

Of course, Zi Wuji was no fool. To openly announce to the world that one was evil was to announce death and misery. He did not desire to have the entire heavens and earth become his enemy. Thus, to the greater Rain World, Zi Wuji was merely the Zodiac Formation King, a harmless, blind old man whose sole expertise and value lay in his powerful formations. It was for this reason that he’d been able to work in secret and gain the Way Codex. It was for this reason, he was certain that many individuals would target him once they learned it fell into his possession.

Did Ye Fangcheng truly believe he had not sensed him hiding amongst the rabble? Zi Wuji almost snorted. To ensure his righteous identity was spotless, his title of Zodiac Formation King was not for show. His Formations were layered upon layered, capable of killing cultivators at realms greater than his own. His mastery of arrays was second to none in the Rain World. His brain could memorize and decipher complicated formations as easily as looking and differentiating between faces.

He’d known all along that Ye Fangcheng was there, because a formation told him so.

He’d known when Ye Fangcheng launched his sneak attack because an array warned him so.

Everything had been calculated by Zi Wuji, down to the most infinitemesal detail. The act of revealing his demonic alter-ego was done specifically to buy time and activate a different, final array.

Zi Wuji wished to die at the man’s blade.

Why?

Talent.

Zi Wuji did not have talent. He was born without it. In the world of Cultivation, this guaranteed he would remain a weakling. He would be stepped upon by others, crushed, used, and discarded like filth.

There were Eight Realms of Cultivation in the Lower Rain World: 

Body Strengthening, Qi Gathering, Qi Refining, Core Formation, Gold Core,  Nascent Soul, Soul Formation, and Soul Transformation.

The first four realms had nine small layers, and the remaining four realms were separated by four stages: initial stage, middle stage, upper stage, and peak stage.

No matter how hard or how long Zi Wuji cultivated, he could never get past the Ninth Layer of the Core Formation Stage. He could not form his core and become a Golden Core cultivator. In truth, his talent was so poor, that the fact he had already made it into the Core Formation Stage could be said to be a miracle — an abnormality.

Individuals with poor talent rarely made it past the Body Strengthening Stage. If they were lucky, they managed to reach the first layer of the Qi Refining Stage, but it would take seventy to a hundred years just to move forward one small layer.

There was only one reason he had made it this far:

He was a Demonic Cultivator. 

Long Gongji, the Blood Flower Reverend, was the name of his alter-ego. It was the identity by which he used to gain power and was an identity feared and loathed throughout the Rain World. 

As Long Gongji, he would approach female cultivators with a flowery robe and a dazzling smile, and seduce them to his bedchambers. There, utilizing the Yin Peculation Art, he would have sex with them until they were begging him to stop and collapsed from exhaustion. During this process, he would endlessly drain their Yin Qi and steal their essence to vastly boost his own Cultivation. 

Over time, his infamy grew. He could no longer seduce women, due to their wariness. Forcing himself on female cultivators was a risky endeavor, as one needed to be able to defeat them in combat first, which incurred too many risks. Thus, after a few decades of study, Long Gongji invented the Flutter Forcing Finger Art. A single touch of his finger was enough to crumble the wills of most women and imbue a potent Yang poison within their Qi which would heighten their arousal and demolish their resistance towards him.

For this reason, Long Gongji became invincible toward female cultivators. For if he could touch them, he could defeat them. However, the limits of his talent showed itself. He’d utilized the Yin Peculation Art on hundreds of women, turning many into yin cauldrons, draining their cultivation levels to that of mere mortals and reducing the vast majority of them into mindless sex-crazed husk, and even then —

He could not break through.

It went without saying that he had numerous enemies and individuals seeking his death for his actions as Long Gongji. When one was so loathed by the masses, the heavens themselves would begin to turn a foul eye towards them. Their karma would be so low, that they would inevitably meet a pitiful end.

It was for this reason Zi Wuji spent eighty years in search of the Karma Desolation Way Codex — The Way. 

The Codex was a collection of teachings, techniques, formations, and inner arts which possessed the power to reverse the divine laws of karma and fate. 

For a Demonic Cultivator, this was more valuable than their lives. In essence, one would be able to do an endless number of bad deeds or evil acts, and the heavens would reward them with opportunities and blessings. 

Likewise, if one was born with an ill-fate, the techniques in the Karma Desolation Way would destroy that ill-fate and reverse one’s fortune so they had a great destiny awaiting them.

With it, one could reverse or plunder the fortune of those more fortunate and become increasingly powerful.

Thus, Zi Wuji utilized the techniques in the Way, and let himself be killed by Ye Fangcheng, a genius amongst geniuses, all so he would plunder the man’s good fortune and be reincarnated as an individual with unrivaled talent!

By engraving the Way into his very soul, he was guaranteed that it would follow him into his next life. Thus, Zi Wuji believed he would be reborn as someone not only with great talent but as someone who could do any unspeakable act and get away with it!

Without a doubt, in his next life, using the Way and his dual cultivation methods, no one underneath the heavens would be his rival!

Indeed, all of this would have been true. All of this would have happened as Zi Wuji predicted. However, there was one thing he did not and could not have accounted for. There was a simple fact that would hinder his plans:

This was not his first reincarnation.

XXXXX

The process of birth was one Zi Wuji did not find appealing. 

His excitement at being reborn vanquished any feelings of disgust he felt at having emerged covered in unmentionables out of a woman. Indeed, he could already tell that this life was going to be different, as straight out of the womb, his vision was astoundingly clear.

In his previous life, he’d not lacked visual acuity, but the difference was far too vast. He could not only make out the faces of the nurses around him with great distinction, he could see every crease, every line, every scar, every twitch —

Already, Zi Wuji found it difficult to contain his excitement. His elation emerged as a healthy cry which sent expressions of relief throughout the faces of the women around him. His mind swam with possibilities.

Was I born with the fabled Myriad Eagle King Eye? Or perhaps the legendary God-Seeing True Vision? 

He searched inwards for the nature of his talent, only to freeze upon doing so.

I can’t feel any Qi. I was born without Qi?

Panic set into his heart as he felt something had gone wrong. Only commoners, humans who had no destiny or hope at cultivation were born without the tiniest glimmer of Inner Qi. Yet, Zi Wuji could not sense any Qi within him. 

Am I a commoner? A lowly mortal?

The further he searched, the more frantic he became. His cries emerged louder and louder, as the nurses attempted to console him. Zi Wuji felt a deep-seated panic in his heart. He pondered immediately if he would need to kill himself and reincarnate again.

What is… this?

He felt something.

There was an energy in his body. There was an entire organ in his body that he had never seen before. Similar to the human circulatory system, this organ was undeveloped, but it circulated a strange form of life energy within him. The amount of life energy was laughably small, but it was there. Not only was it there, but it was… different. 

Cultivators accumulated Qi in their dantian, but this was a biological mechanism, rather than a spiritual or supernatural one. Zi Wuji was amazed.

Words brought him out of his bewilderment, and for a brief moment, his expression changed as he listened closely.

That language… it’s different but… why do I… recognize it?

He turned his gaze to the midwives and nurses and was baffled once he got a look at them.

Are they blind?

Their pupils were either pure white and clear or possessed a slight hint of lavender to them. No one who glanced at them would believe they were anything but blind.

These eyes… they look familiar.

A man arrived, equally with his clear eyes, and gazed upon him with a complicated face. There was joy, certainly, but there was also grief and sorrow. Despite being incapable of understanding the words spoken, Zi Wuji inferred that this man was his new biological father. 

He also learned, that his mother had died of complications during childbirth.

The man took him into his arms and spoke several words, none of which Zi Wuji could understand. He did, however, grasp that one of them was a name, his name.

Not long after, the man departed.

Days turned to weeks and Zi Wuji came to terms with his new surroundings.

He’d learned quickly that he was in a Clan of individuals who all possessed the same white eyes he did, and learned that contrary to his initial assumption, he was a person of lower birth. This he could infer from the attitudes of the wet nurses who would place their breasts into his mouth to feed him. His eyes were keen to their expressions, and they lacked the typical haughtiness and confidence one possessed when they were of noble or higher birth.

Everyone he’d seen seemed to possess the aura of a slave. There was no other way Zi Wuji could explain it. The manner they spoke, the clothing in which they wore, the attitudes they possessed, all of it was reminiscent of the manner in which Sects in the Rain World treated their Outer Disciples — as menial labor and a disposable workforce.

As an infant, his options and actions were limited, and thus, he focused purely on his internal energy and the strange circulatory system within him. With nothing else to do except eat, sleep, and defecate, he spent hours with his eyes closed, exploring and learning the secrets of his new biological mechanism. The more he learned of it, the more curious he became.

Two months after he’d been born, he’d deciphered the nature of the energy. The energy was a combination of his spiritual force, acquired from meditation, study, and life experience, and his physical essence, acquired from the physical body, training, and exercise.

Learning this soured his mood. His spiritual force was without equal, certainly, but as an infant, he was heavily lacking in physical energy. How could an infant barely capable of movement exercise or build up their physique?

Without the corresponding building of his physical might, the energy within him would not grow nor would it blossom. Rather, there would exist an imbalance.

It was this realization that prompted him to action.

Four months after being born, he could crawl around on his own, sit, move, and stand. The wet nurses cooed in marvel, praising him for doing the barest minimum an infant was expected to do. During this time, he rarely ever saw his biological father. The man was not present, when, after exactly four months of his birth, Zi Wuji took his first steps.

He was not like those annoying and irritating individuals of who loved to play the pig to eat the tiger. That is, he was not someone who would hide his abilities so as to gain benefits. He was Zi Wuji! His goal was to be a genius amongst geniuses! He desired to stand atop the world and crush nations with a press of his fingertip!

Thus, upon gaining the ability to walk, Zi Wuji would meet the numerous women of his clan and carry along a book with him, pointing and gesturing at it. They would not refuse him.

Contrary to his expectations, learning the language had been beyond simple. As Zi Wuji was the Zodiac Formation King, he had the innate ability to recognize characters and letters as easily as recognizing faces. The hanzi writing system he was familiar with was extremely similar to the kanji system utilized here, and as it was a logosyllabic writing system, he picked it up with relative ease.

This was around the time whispers began circulating of his nature as a genius.

This was around the time he realized an abnormality existed in his family.

He'd left his room and quarters in search of one of the wet nurses that often taught him the more complicated words, and arrived at a part of the Clan he'd been warned severely not to enter unauthorized.

It was affluent.

Everything from the nature of the buildings to the well-kept gardens, to the streams and ponds filled with exotic koi fish, to the individuals who roamed within, their heads held high, their robes spotless and pristine, and their faces carrying the smug self-satisfaction of men and women who knew no hardship.

The difference was night and day. Zi Wuji's confusion grew to new lengths. So too, did his feelings of irritation. Why was he kept on the poorer side? For what reason did this segregation exist?

The gazes of the individuals on the more affluent side of the clan were frosty towards him. There was none of the warmth he'd been accustomed to. Zi Wuji quickly made his way through in search of the wet nurse and stumbled upon a strange scene.

He found her on her knees, head bowed, whilst another woman dressed elegantly and with the air of nobility glowered down at her.

"Aya-sama, please, I - I had no choice —"

A heavy slap resounded. Zi Wuji's eyes narrowed.

"Do you take me for a fool?" The woman sneered. "My husband is not so despicable as to threaten you with the caged bird seal merely to have you spread your legs."

"I would not dare lie to —"

"Silence!"

The elegant woman made a strange gesture with her hands. The wet nurse immediately collapsed. A horrific scream emerged from her lips as she rolled and tumbled against the ground. She sounded like a savage beast and began to plead and beg for mercy.

Zi Wuji did not interfere. He did not have a righteous heart, to begin with. Rather, he observed the proceedings silently.

After five minutes straight of the wet nurse screaming and tumbling about in the mud, the elegant woman undid the gesture with her hands, and the wet nurse collapsed, ragged, panting, with a face contorted in agony.

"Remember your place. Should my husband approach you next time, you are better off biting your tongue. For if I receive word of any late-night activities…"

The woman made the strange hand gesture again, and the wet nurse's scream echoed out once more throughout the courtyard.

Eventually, the elegant woman departed. Zi Wuji approached the wet nurse only after she'd stopped trembling and shaking in pain. He examined her, finding her countenance similar to those of individuals who'd undergone immense torture at the hands of a Demonic Sect.

"N-Neji-sama?"

He did not speak. He merely helped her to her feet.

"W-what are you doing h-here N-Neji-sama? This part of the Clan is forbidden w-without permission."

Zi Wuji pointed to the book in his hand.

"Y-you wanted me to r-read to you?"

Zi Wuji nodded.

"Neji-sama…" the woman shook her head. A smile, soft and sad emerged. "Let us r-return. I'll r-read to you as m-much as you like."

They'd returned to their own little corner of the Clan, and she'd held up her promise and read to him for hours. Zi Wuji knew the only reason she did so was to cloak the misery and pain in her heart. Rather than returning to her quarters, she spent the whole day with him, teaching him characters and words.

Somewhere along the way, the woman began to cry. Soft, hopeless sobs, the kind that Zi Wuji found to be irritating beyond measure. She'd lamented and wept, holding him close, and eventually, she tore off her head covering and revealed a tattoo resembling the manji symbol, 卐 marred across her forehead.

"If… if it weren't for this… Neji-sama. You… you're so talented, but being in the branch house as you are…"

She wept and cried and said all manner of things that a child his age would never have understood. However, Zi Wuji was no child. He was able to piece together the entire story from her words and from what he'd witnessed.

The clan he was in was divided into two. The Main House and the Branch House. He was born into the Branch House, and the Branch House were the slaves and servants of the Main House, destined to obey, protect and serve them till their dying breath.

All of this was enforced through power and fear. The Main House possessed a method to punish, torture, and immediately kill members of the Branch House at but a single movement.

All of this brought Zi Wuji to one conclusion.

I've been reborn into a Demonic Clan.

No Orthodox Clan would ever utilize such methods. Not even those who subscribed to the Unorthodox Way would be capable of living with the knowledge that they were enslaving their own flesh and blood.

In the world of Cultivation, family was sacred. Individuals who betrayed or killed their own kindred and family members were often more loathed than Demonic Cultivators. If one were to wrong an innocent stranger, the world would merely grumble. If one were to wrong their own kin, the world would erupt in outrage.

Zi Wuji had seen with his own eyes how a man who'd raped his servant's daughter was held in high regard, trusted, and welcomed with open arms, whereas a man who'd merely struck his mother in anger was spat on, shunned, rejected, and ridiculed.

To overcome the blood bonds of kin and enslave one's family?

One had to be demonic.

In Zi Wuji's mind, there was no other possibility.

From the woman's crying rambles, Zi Wuji gathered that it was only a matter of time before such a brand would be imparted onto him as well.

“N-Neji-sama?”

He ignored the woman’s sobs and rambles and grabbed her head close in order to examine the strange tattoo. Indeed, the manji symbol was often used in the Rain World as well, and in formations and arrays. It was the all-things symbol, and Zi Wuji had seen its utilization in certain ceremonies and formations designed by the original Shaolin Temple.

The nature of the seal made its way to him at a glance. The lines indicated the seal was connected to the skull and deeper into the brain. Zi Wuji clicked his tongue. He could not unravel it unless he could specifically see the manner in which the seal directed the flow of internal energy. To do so, he would need to either open the woman’s brain or be able to see through her skull.

How was such a thing even inscribed?

Indeed, Zi Wuji grew curious. If he could learn the method of inscription of the seal, he would be able to reverse-engineer the means to remove it, and better still, he’d be able to upgrade and modify it. Alas, without seeing how it was implemented, there was naught he could do so far.

“When?”

“N-Neji-sama?”

He tapped the woman’s forehead impatiently.

“When?” he pointed to himself. “Me?”

“I-it’s customary to place the Caged Bird Seal on the third birthday of the Clan Heir…”

“Caged… Bird?”

Zi Wuji sighed.

This was why he did not like those who openly declared themselves Demonic Practitioners.

They didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that the seal was meant to enslave others. If one wished to be evil, did they not also require the intellect to survive in a world where they would be the enemy of the forces of good? To so openly brand your own family with slave seals and then call it the Caged Bird Seal —

Should I just kill the entire clan?

Both sides annoyed him. The side who enslaved their family, and the side too weak and cowardly to fight back against their masters. If he was born into a clan and was told his fate was to be a slave for his older brother, and his older brother accepted the agreement, Zi Wuji would either kill that brother or kill himself.

He could not imagine being birthed from the same womb with someone, and being told his destiny was to be their servant. What utter nonsense was that? Even in a world where men were unequal under the heavens, to be deemed unequal at birth by one’s own blood was an unforgivable sin. Even worse, Zi Wuji felt, was to accept such inequality.

It’s decided.

He could not continue to stay in such a disgusting place surrounded by unfilial scum and sniveling cowards. The woman’s wailing almost made him itch to snap her neck.

I must gain strength.

They wished to brand the Zodiac Formation King? They wished to enslave the Blood Flower Reverend?

They were welcome to try.

Chapter Text

His father returned.

Three days after discovering the Caged Bird Seal engraved on the skulls of the Branch House, Zi Wuji’s father arrived. It was the first time Zi Wuji had seen him since he was born, and the man's expression was firm but warm. Zi Wuji analyzed and scrutinized every part of him. He wore a metal headband across his head, with a sigil engraved atop it similar to a leaf. His fingers contained calluses and bruises, indicating a lifestyle of heavy training and combat. The man’s musculature was not all that impressive, which leaned heavily towards possessing a soft combat style, or an altogether non-combat role.

Zi Wuji held no affection for him. To begin with, he’d never possessed parents of his own and knew not how to interact with them. He’d grown up in an orphanage, found abandoned with only a name tag to identify him. The orphanage patrons theorized he was the son of a derelict family or clan, an illegitimate child, or a child born through forced and unwanted sex. In the end, it had not mattered. Where he started from did not matter, only the heights he would reach from there on. 

"I've come back from a long mission, and you've already grown so much, Neji-kun."

Zi Wuji scrutinized the manner his father was dressed, the pouch containing bladed weapons, the bandages wrapping his pants to prevent noise, the sandals, and overall attire, it was not a far-off guess.

"Assassination?"

His father blinked, and his eyes went wide. He aged several years in a single moment, and somehow, his face was lit with pride.

"It is not polite to ask a shinobi the details of their mission, Neji-kun," his father chuckled. "Don't make a habit of it."

Shinobi.

The term did not exist in the Rain World. Assassination Sects, however, did exist. The Phantom River Sect was one such renowned sect that specialized in the elimination of high-value targets. 

There was also the Blood Hand Sect, the White Oblivion Pavilion, and the Midnight Butcher Faction. Zi Wuji had tangled with them all, or more specifically, with the women in their sects. Due to the brutal nature of the Rain World, for a woman to survive in an Assassination Sect, she needed to possess skills equal to or greater than those of her male peers. This made them prime targets for his alter-ego Long Gongji and his Yin Peculation Art.

They were perfect targets because there was no reason to fear retaliation. Those who operated in Assassination Sects were aware of how little their lives were valued by their superiors, so they often hid poison in their mouths to kill themselves in case they were defeated or captured. No Assassination Sect would stoop so low as to hunt him down for capturing and plucking the yin of one of their members, as they’d consider it her punishment for being too weak to die properly.

In numerous ways, Zi Wuji qualified to be called an expert on Assassination Sects. It was how he’d known the Dragons and Phoenixes who came after him in his past life were mere imposters. Their footwork was not properly silenced, their presence and Qi were not well cloaked or hidden, they dared to appear in front of him rather than swiftly strike to kill him without losing the element of surprise, and they lacked the absence of hidden weapons customary to the Phantom River Sect, utilizing daggers and swords instead.

Zi Wuji's eyes sharpened as he began to understand the nature of his reincarnation even further. His doubts about not being in a Demonic Clan were completely removed.

Assassination was typically considered the work of those who subscribed to the Demonic Way. Assassins were generally loathed by both the Orthodox and Unorthodox Sects, despite their services often being utilized by both parties. 

So, I’m in a Demonic Clan that functions as an Assassination Sect? 

As someone with the Way Codex, he could not have asked for a better starting point.

Shortly after his arrival, Zi Wuji moved in with his father into a different area of the Clan. Different, in so much as it was only marginally better compared to the poor living space he’d previously inhabited. 

His father possessed some level of influence within the Clan, enough at least, that he resided closer to the Main House than most others did. In turn, no one in the Main House sneered at him or gave him disrespectful looks. Rather, they addressed him formally and courteously, as though he were someone of higher standing.

This drew Zi Wuji’s curiosity. His father did not mention it and treated the occurrence as normal, which meant he was aware of his influence. Those in the Branch House treated him with a strange level of deference. Hizashi-sama, they called him, bowing their heads politely to give him face. His father smiled and greeted them, and Zi Wuji observed he, knew almost everyone by name. 

The new building they’d moved into was a living space meant to belong to a small family. The building was traditional, as was everything else within the clan, with sliding doors and tatami mats, and the minimalistic nature of things pleased Zi Wuji.

There was a small kitchen area, a single bedroom, a restroom, and not much else.

“This is where we’ll be living from today on, Neji-kun,” his father said. “I’ll often be sent on missions, so when I’m not around, Yui-san and Hina-san will come around to take care of you.”

His father waited for something, a reaction of sorts, but Zi Wuji did not show any. A normal child at this moment would have whined and protested and complained about being left alone, but this arrangement suited Zi Wuji perfectly. His father seemed to be gone long distances at a stretch on official missions and this meant little adult supervision and unrestrained freedom.

Without someone watching over him and expecting him to play the role of a child, it would be easier to raise his strength, acquire more intel about the world around him, and leave this accursed clan of kin slavers.

“I understand, father.”

Fortunately, his father was a man of few words. Zi Wuji was grateful for this. Had the man been the overly affectionate or talkative sort, Zi Wuji would have found it difficult not to kill him. 

Not long after they’d moved in, his father had taken him into the Main House side of the clan to meet someone The man they’d met was someone who looked exactly identical to his father, except the difference was in bearing. This man stood taller, he radiated pride and elegance and reminded Zi Wuji of individuals he’d known belonging to the Ancient Wudang Sect. They were facially identical, but the bearings they gave were worlds apart.

"Neji, extend your greetings to your uncle, Hiashi."

Zi Wuji clasped his hands into a fist and made a proper bow as he'd been instructed. Words, however, did not emerge from his lips.

"Forgive my son, brother. He's yet to be comfortable speaking in front of others."

"There is nothing to forgive," Hiashi said. "To be able to read, write, and move about alone at his age shows his natural talent.."

"Yes," his father's voice held a faint edge. "My only regret is that Chiharu is not here to see how much he's grown."

There was a divide between the brothers that was obvious as day and night. Zi Wuji gathered that much from the manner in which they referred to each other. The resemblance in their features was deep enough to hint at the possibility that they were twins, and his Uncle, by the looks of things, was most likely the Sect Leader.

Moreover, his uncle lacked a manji atop his forehead, meaning he had not been branded. Yet, they were brothers. Zi Wuji understood immediately. 

The elder brother became the Sect Leader, and the younger became a disposable pawn.

All at once, any respect Zi Wuji held for his ‘father’ dissipated. To have your own brother capable of determining your life and birth at a whim, and choosing to exist in such a cowardly manner? 

Nothing disgusted Zi Wuji more.

His disgust for the entire clan grew as well. Not only were they kin slavers, they were stupid kin slavers. Could they not fathom that such an arrangement was bound to breed conflict and envy? Unless one was utterly content with the life of a slave, one would not find peace living in this manner.

It matters not.

In the end, Zi Wuji decided it was none of his business. His only goal was to regain his strength and then leave. Should anyone seek to find trouble with him, he would crush them.

Should anyone oppose him, he would kill them.

Two days after moving in with his father, the man took him to an empty field within the Clan and began to tutor him personally.

“Chakra?”

“Yes, Neji-kun. Chakra is the basis of all living things. It is the combination of one’s physical energy and spiritual energy, and —”

The man spoke as though forgetting he was teaching a child. Zi Wuji resisted the urge to laugh. The man had no doubt heard the rumors that his son was a genius, and wished to capitalize on it. Did the man seek to find some sort of salvation in him? Did he believe that raising his son’s talents, it would make up for his status as a slave? 

None of Zi Wuji’s thoughts showed on his face. He’d survived as long as he had in the Rain World by learning to mask his true impressions and intents and mastering the art of playing the right role at the right time. Thus, he listened to the man’s explanation and nodded in earnest, as though he were learning all of it for the first time, and utterly mystified by the explanation provided. 

Eventually, his father approached a tree and casually began to walk upwards, before looking toward him with an expectant expression only for his features to deflate as Zi Wuji stared blankly.

The man walked up a tree and expected him to react to such a banal trick?

There were countless low-level Qiqong — Movement Arts — which would enable one to perform such a measly feat. Zi Wuji knew children could pull off what the man had just done, and do so without using chakra. Compared to the Lightning Crane Foot or Mantis Hunting Butterfly Steps, watching a grown man take pride in walking up a tree was almost pitiable. Zi Wiju had seen Cultivators leap entire mountains with the latter, and watched men disappear into the clouds with the former.

Regardless, he’d been able to grasp how the man performed the feat. He’d channeled his internal energy — chakra, Zi Wuji reminded himself — to the bottom of his feet to create an attractive force, and then turned it off to create a repulsive force when he wished to move, and then turned it on again, doing so repetitively until he ascended to the tap.

Zi Wuji glanced towards the tree and felt for the energy, the chakra within him.

“Now, Neji-kun, this is a rather advanced chakra control exercise. At your age, it’s best to start with the leaf-sticking exercise, so don’t feel discouraged if —”

“Father,” Zi Wuji announced. “What is the next step?”

Zi Wuji didn’t understand the man’s expression of surprise. He stood at the top of the tree, utilizing his chakra to keep him affixed there without much effort. Zi Wuji didn’t like the man lying to him, however. Such a measly trick couldn’t be an advanced technique. For numerous Martial Arts, this would barely be considered a prerequisite needed to learn an intermediate-level technique.

“P-perfect… chakra control?”

Zi Wuji tilted his head. “Is my control not meant to be perfect?”

“Well, it’s —” his father cleared his throat. “It’s… actually rather rare.”

Zi Wuji frowned. Surely the man was jesting. How did the cultivators of this world survive without training the control of their inner energy to perfection? What sort of incompetent combatant would fight without learning how to perfectly control their energy? 

No one in the Rain World would risk it. It would spell utter disaster if one were to engage in a clash of Qi, and it would make it utterly impossible to properly control Flying Swords which were used as the most common means of transportation amongst Cultivators.

“Come down, Neji-kun. There’s something else I want to show you.”

They departed the open field and reached a small pond. Then his father performed the same trick again, this time, moving onto the surface of a body of flowing water without his feet sinking in. Zi Wuji’s brows furrowed. The technique was the exact same but the utilization was advanced.

Rather than interchanging forces of attraction and repulsion, there was a perfect balance of both. In order to move and walk across the water, one needed their chakra to adhere to the individual molecules and at the same time repel them to create a strong foothold. The difficulty was somewhat greater than the previous one, but not all that great in truth.

The Lilypad Grasping Paradise Art was far better. With it, one could stand on the tip of a needle atop a vast ocean in the middle of a thunderstorm and not be swayed in the slightest. As Long Gongji, he once attempted to learn it from a female cultivator of the Eightfold Lotus Sect he’d captured and turned into a yin cauldron. Alas, his meager talent made him fail again and again, and ultimately, the Elders of her sect assaulted his hideout to rescue her.

Regardless, if it was this much —

Zi Wuji hopped atop the surface of the water and perfectly controlled the output and input of his chakra. Pushing and pulling at once, he strode across the water. However, soon, he felt drained. Compared to the stationary tree, he consumed far more energy atop the water’s surface. The chakra within him was not all that bountiful, and as he grew exhausted, he hopped out of the pond and back unto dry land.

Despite doing what amounted to the most basic of exercises, Zi Wuji watched his father’s eyes light up with amazement. The man exhaled loudly, and his expression filled with boundless glee and pride. The entire thing befuddled Zi Wuji. Surely, the standards of cultivation in this world were not so poor?

Is this even worthy of being considered cultivation?

The more he learned, the more Zi Wuji’s doubts grew. Chakra and Qi were not at all similar. There did not seem to be available stages to break through and triple one’s power, nor did there seem to be any signs of dangerous demonic beasts, alchemy, or individuals traversing millions of miles on a flying sword swifter than sound.

Could it be?

Zi Wuji did not want to believe it.

Have I reincarnated into a world without Cultivators?

No. It was too soon to confirm. He was a frog in a well, living in a small Clan, in probably an even smaller village.

This was why he needed to leave and learn about the outside world.

Then, and only then would he confirm the truth.

XXXXX

A week after he’d proven that he’d mastered the art of walking on water, his father departed on another mission. In a stunningly short amount of time, his reputation as a genius had spread throughout the entire clan. Despite seeming like a man of few words, his father had bragged endlessly about his capabilities, and numerous individuals had watched him perform the feat with their own eyes. 

The way they praised him irked Zi Wuji. It was akin to being praised for successfully writing one’s name. Not only was it infantilizing, but it was also infuriating because he did not believe it was a thing worthy of praise. Yet, individuals of the Branch House touted his name endlessly and would approach him to greet him heartily. Maids would now sneak him extra sweets and meals and made it clear he could ask anything of them. Guards would tilt their heads in acknowledgment and offer him special privileges they did not offer anyone else.

All because he’d successfully walked on water.

There were always benefits to being favored, and Zi Wuji appreciated them, however, in his case, there were more disadvantages. He cared little for the clan and wished to simply raise his strength. Alas, during the day, he drew too much attention which prevented him from acting as he wished. There were certain Arts he wanted to experiment with and recreate, and if he did not wish to face scrutiny and uncertain questions, he could only practice in the dead of night, when most had long gone to sleep.

The first art Zi Wuji wished to recreate was the Phantom Treading Steps. 

The Phantom Treading Steps was a Movement Art belonging to the Phantom River Sect that completely silenced one’s footsteps and obscured any and all noise from their movements. The goal of the art was to make one akin to a ghost and was one of the reasons the Phantom River Sect was a peerless assassination Sect.

If he could not gather enough strength to oppose those who sought to brand him on time, then a backup plan to escape and break free from the shackles of his clan was required. He needed to assurances that he could not be found or traced. As such, improving his stealth and mobility with Movement Arts were the most important things to practice.

The idea to utilize chakra to recreate the Phantom Treading Steps came after watching his father walk up a tree and learning to walk on water.

Chakra could be utilized as both an adhesive to stick to objects, and a repellent, to repel objects. One learned to repel solid objects in the Tree Walking technique and liquid objects in the Water Walking technique. Combining the repulsion and adhesion mechanics, he would utilize it to repel and suppress the propagation of sound waves.

With the presence of a thin sheet of chakra on the bottom of his feet, he walked on the earth and applied the Water Walking technique to act as though he were walking on water, and then, he applied the Tree Walking technique, ensuring to push gently against the earth.

His practice began slowly, moving one foot at a time. Anyone who saw him would assume he was merely walking around aimlessly. Yet, Zi Wuji’s mind and body were focused to the maximum. He listened closely, paying attention to his movements in search of the right frequency of repulsion and attraction. 

This is far more difficult than I presumed.

The longer he walked, the more he learned of the innate differences between chakra and Qi. The difficulty was too great. Qi was akin to a supernatural force, but chakra was not. There were set limits as to what could and could not be done, and though breaking those limits was possible, one would need supernatural senses to do so.

Rather than muffling his footsteps, all he achieved was the elimination of friction. Pushing and pulling at a frequency that allowed him to glide across soil as though it were ice. In a way, it was a success, as his gliding was silent, but in other ways, it was a failure, as he’d been unable to silence his footsteps, let alone his movements.

What should I call this? The Earth Skating Steps?

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue.

If only I had the Hound Hearing Heaven Ear, I’d be able to get the correct frequency to totally silence my movements.

The days passed by quickly, and unfailingly, at the crack of midnight, Zi Wuji would leave the comfort of his room to practice sliding around on the earth as though it were ice, and attempt, time and again, to completely nullify the sounds of his movement. His newfound Earth Skating Steps nullified the concept of friction to his feet which made for an amazing boost of speed, but Zi Wuji was not satisfied. He desired utterly silenced movement and would not stop until he got it.

One particular midnight, he’d strayed towards the edges of the clan gates and overheard a conversation. 

“They’ll never agree to it.”

“I’ll make them. I — I’ll plead my case and — wait, Ichika, where are you going?”

“This was a mistake.”

“Don’t — don’t say that. What we have —”

“A mistake.”

“Ichika —” 

“I’m a woman of the Branch House. We aren’t allowed to marry outsiders. I — I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“We could leave.”

“Leave?”

“Everything. Your clan, the village — we — we could just leave —”

“You’re a Chūnin, Masaru. They’ll come after you.”

“They’ll never find us. Once we cross the border into Tetsu no Kuni —”

“And become fugitives? Is that the kind of life you want for us? For our child?”

“No, I — I just…”

“The Elders will never allow the Byakugan to exist outside of the Hyūga Clan. Our child will be born with my eyes, and once that happens…”

“I won’t let my child become a lowly slave like —”

“Like me?”

“That wasn’t what I —”

“It’s getting late, Masaru. My cousin’s guard shift is ending soon. You… you should leave.”

“Ichika —”

“Now, Masaru.’

Zi Wuji felt the light flare of chakra, and he could no longer feel the man’s presence. He waited a short moment, and a young woman entered into the clan from the main gates. She wore a white headband across her head, indicating her status as someone of the branch clan. The guards at the gate paid no heed to her, leaving Zi Wuji curious about the details of the information he’d heard.

Byakugan?

He began trailing the woman deeper into the clan, only for her to stop and make numerous strange hand gestures which caused her chakra to fluctuate.

“Neji-sama?”

Zi Wuji sucked in a deep breath. She found me?

He was confident in his stealth, yet, this woman, without even turning around, found him effortlessly? She turned around and walked straight towards his hiding spot behind a tree, without so much as a moment of hesitation.

“What are you doing out so late, Neji-sama?”

Zi Wuji’s eyes narrowed at the woman. There was something off about her eyes. It was the same white eyes he possessed, but there were veins bulging across her eyes and the pupil was centered and focused. 

She noticed his odd stare, and her expression morphed into one of mirth.

“Are you wondering how I found you?”

“Is it because of your strange eyes?”

“Strange… eyes?”

The woman laughed for several long seconds, which made Zi Wuji incredibly impatient. When she eventually stopped, she wiped a tear from her eyes and smiled warmly at him. 

“Have you never seen someone activate the Byakugan, Neji-sama?”

“Byakugan?’

She tapped his nose with a smile. “Hizashi-sama never mentioned it?”

Zi Wuji shook his head.

“Every member of the Hyūga Clan is born with our Byakugan at birth. It is the special Dōjutsu of our clan.”

“Dōjutsu?” Zi Wuji frowned. “Eye… Technique?”

She made a series of strange gestures with her hands, and her eyes returned to normal. The bulging veins vanished, and her smile grew. Then, she made the strange hand gestures again.

“Byakugan.”

A series of thick veins popped around her eyes, as they gained a strange and potent intensity. Gazing into them, Zi Wuji felt she was looking through him rather than looking at him.

“The Byakugan grants us a three-hundred-and-sixty degree field of vision and enables us to properly see the flow of chakra in all living things. With it, we can —”

“You can see in all directions?” Zi Wuji blurted out.

“Yes, Neji-sama.”

“How do I activate it?”

She looked him over, her eyes colored with amusement. “It takes diligent training in order to be able to activate the Byakugan and get accustomed to —”

Zi Wuji did not believe any of it. Diligent training? To hell with that. He’d intentionally reincarnated into the body of someone meant to be a genius. He recalled the strange hand movement she’d made and thought deeply on the manner of how to activate such a thing. Most likely, he’d need to channel his chakra into his eyes and saturate them deeply enough to activate what was clearly a latent power.

Why had she needed hand motions for that, though?

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue and forced the chakra to flow to his eyes.

“Wait, Neji-sama —”

“Byakugan!”

A pair of naked breasts lay before him, which momentarily stunned Zi Wuji. Inverted nipples and a lithe stomach accompanied it, but he had not the time to focus on it as his brain was overloaded with visual information. He saw the side profile of the woman and the back profile of the woman simultaneously. He could see behind her neck, underneath her thighs, from the top of her head, and from the soles of her feet. He could see her from above and below, and there was not a single aspect of her immune to his piercing gaze.

Even stranger, Zi Wuji saw himself. He saw his own body, his hands, feet, legs, and even his back. The sensation of being able to see the back of his own head and the top of his head at the same time as seeing his front and his sides were disorienting. He rapidly calmed his mind and focused his vision elsewhere, only to find it zooming on a distance. 

Despite the darkness of the night, his eyes could see his surroundings flawlessly as though it were day. He saw his room in vivid detail, every corner of it, from the tiny snippets of dust underneath the futon to the inside of the sink, to the minuscule formations of mold on the back end of the toilet.

Zi Wuji could not hold in his amazement.

He’d felt as though he’d been blind for the longest of time and was only now granted sight. Without moving his head or turning, his gaze intensified, and he peered past the walls of his room, several feet away. They became translucent objects in his path, enabling him to gaze into the next room. The inhabitants were having dinner, eating quietly amongst themselves. In the room beyond that, a young woman had recently entered the bath. In the room beyond that, a couple lay in bed and prepared themselves to turn in for the night.

His gaze continued to scan every room available, until it reached the edges of the clan compound and observed the guards, yawning in their posts. Zi Wuji quickly reigned in his gaze back towards the woman in front of him. As entertaining as seeing through her clothes was, her body held no sex appeal to him with his underdeveloped infant sex organs, and thus, he instead peered past the naked flesh.

Past the second layer of skin and flesh, lay the nervous system and the organs, the small intestines, heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, and even the womb, where Zi Wuji noticed the formation of an organism, which indicated the woman’s status as pregnant. He observed the heart and found it beating as intended, if not slightly quicker than normal, and peered upwards, towards her skull, her brain.

Then, Zi Wuji saw it.

Tendrils of chakra were deeply rooted in the brain and connected to the optic nerves, the central retinal vein, the inferior ophthalmic vein, and the superior ophthalmic vein. The chakra was foreign, akin to a parasite, and the manner in which it operated was such that it held the optic nerves and veins at knife-point, threatening to completely seal off and destroy the eyes of the individual connected to it.

Were the brain to fail to send electric signals to the chakra tendrils, the foul tendrils would immediately activate and sever the optic nerves, irrevocably destroying and sealing away the eyes.

Upon brain death, the eyes would be destroyed.

Zi Wuji delved deeper, finding an even more insidious aspect of the parasitic chakra which was leeching directly onto the thalamus and the pre-frontal cortex. It worked akin to a sleeper agent, primed to activate upon exposure to a certain chakra frequency and overstimulate these parts of the brain in a manner akin to slowly taking a hand drill to one’s skull and slowly, intentionally, drilling away with the sole purpose of causing endless agony.

Lost in his analysis of the deeper machinations of the Caged Bird Seal, he could only stare in fascination. Whoever designed such a thing must have been an unfathomable evil. It was entirely possible to have made the primary function of sealing the eyes upon death without adding the secondary function of causing direct pain to the brain, but they’d added it regardless.

They did it for the sake of control.

“Neji-sama, that’s highly inappropriate!”

Zi Wuji snapped out of his stunned reverie for a brief moment and zoomed out of scanning her mind to find the woman staring at him in thinly veiled disapproval. She’d mistaken his enthrallment with the inner mechanism of the Caged Bird Seal for enthrallment with gazing through her clothes to her physical body.

He almost sneered. With such a plain face and an unsightly body, did she truly think she was worth gazing at lustfully? The kind of women he’d turned into yin cauldrons were such renowned beauties that this woman could spend her entire life striving to compete, only to find a place at their feet as mere handmaids. 

He ignored her expression and returned his gaze, peering past the nervous system, and to the chakra pathway system. He saw the flow of energy within her body and how it accumulated in her eyes. He swiftly counted a total of three hundred-and-sixty-one minuscule nodes by which chakra could exit the body, and the further he studied it, the more enthralled he became.

“Neji-sama!”

The fluctuations of her heart hinted to him her emotional state. Zi Wuji gazed past it and examined her brain even more closely. The connectedness of the eyes to the chakra pathways was decent, yet, flawed. There were veins and muscles which had not been used and entire connections were completely left stagnant. She had not practiced deeply with her eyes, and it showed.

They were akin to muscles, it seemed. Constant use strengthened it, and in turn, diminished the chakra consumption. Zi Wuji was pleased with this revelation.

The longer he kept his eyes open, however, the more tired he began to feel. As anticipated, his major weakness lay in the amount of chakra he possessed. Examining his own body, he found the overall quantity to be quite unremarkable. Zi Wuji was displeased. He wanted to keep his eyes activated at all times, but his body, young and undeveloped, would not let him.

Bitterly, he withdrew the chakra from his eyes and once more could only see the world in a drab, boring, limited fashion.

The woman began to chastise him for his actions, but Zi Wuji could tell it was half-hearted. If anything, the previous pounding of her heart told him she’d been amazed and terrified that he’d been able to activate his eyes effortlessly. She began to lecture him on the proper uses and utilizations of his eyes, none of which Zi Wuji cared for. He made a show of listening, all the while he contemplated the newfound information.

Eventually, she escorted Zi Wuji to his chambers and watched over him to make sure he turned in for the night, but Zi Wuji could not sleep. He practiced activating and deactivating his eyes repetitively, training the speed at which he could turn them on and off, but also measuring how long he could keep them activated. 

With his practice, Zi Wuji determined there were three major weaknesses of the Byakugan. 

The first was a small blindspot he discovered located at the back of the neck above the thoracic vertebrae. Despite it being so innocuous, it posed a threat if it was ever discovered.

The second was chakra consumption. As it was, activating the eyes consumed a fair amount of chakra, and zooming in on distant objects took even more chakra.

The third, and most important, was that its activation was obvious. The bulging veins across his eyes made it clear to anyone with an iota of common sense that his eyes were in use. Zi Wuji loathed this. If everyone could tell when he was using his eyes, it lost a lot of potential applications.

Despite these major weaknesses, he found the Byakugan to be beyond excellent. The potential value was not enough to justify enslaving one’s own kin, however. Especially seeing as how such a thing could have been removed entirely, to begin with.

Using his eyes on and off again, Zi Wuji realized he could finely see chakra, which immediately made him realize something else.

Could I…?

Experimenting in his room, he attempted the repulsion and attraction of chakra on his feet against the ground, using his eyes as a gauge of how much and how little was needed. The Byakugan worked akin to a cheat sheet, and within a manner of minutes of precise practice —

Zi Wuji’s footsteps could not be heard as he walked silently across the room.

With this….!

Then, came the real challenge.

Learning to apply it to his entire body.

Chapter Text

“Is something wrong, Isamu-sama?”

The lights were dim. Three scented candles set the mood, their dull red glows illuminating the moderate living space. The aroma of roses and jasmine wafted around the room, and the shut windows ensured they would not escape. The sheets were clean, he’d come fresh out of the shower, and the scented soap he used masked the natural body odor his Inuzuka teammate often complained of.

A pair of rotund breasts bounced before him and filled his hands. Her nipples were hardened enough to protrude, and her areola was a rich pink. His gaze lingered more on them than on her face. She was not unattractive, not truly, but she paled in comparison to some of the other true beauties in his clan. He’d had his eye on her since she was a little girl grasping at the hem of her mother’s yukata, too shy and soft-spoken to greet guests.

He’d watched her grow from a child to a young ripe girl of fifteen, and in a way, he’d lived for this moment. She had not become a peerless beauty, but her thighs were slightly thicker than others, and she possessed the most perfect pussy he’d ever gazed his eyes upon. His eyes had seen it since she was six, and fortunately, aging had not changed that part of her in the slightest. 

Best of all, Isamu knew without a doubt that she was unsullied. That alone was worth all the promises and empty words of marriage he filled her head with.

In all honesty, Isamu would rather have a peerless beauty like Hanami-sama. Yet, he wasn’t so foolish to openly covet the wife of the clan head. Even now, in this moment, thinking of her made his cock harden. He’d occasionally stay in the comfort of his own room and activate his Byakugan, leering into the walls of her residence to latch his gaze on her whilst she was in private. He would stroke his cock tirelessly as he peered past her clothes to her body, which, despite the claims of her being born with a sickly constitution, was not at all lacking.

He wasn’t alone in this, of course. In a clan where everyone could see through walls and objects, it’d be a joke to believe that no one had done so for personal benefit. There was likely no Hyūga woman who’d not been seen naked by a Hyūga man. The prim-and-proper, stick-up-the-ass act the entire clan put up was a farce maintained so no one outside their clan would realize that the vast majority of Hyūga were perverts, nudists, and exhibitionists. 

“Isamu-sama?”

Isamu tried to smile. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Blasted vixen, he sneered. Do you think this is easy?

Hyūga women were all despicable wenches. Whereas men would gaze at women’s bodies to satisfy their lust, women would gaze at men’s bodies to judge and evaluate. Isamu was fortunate that he was around average. If he weren’t, he’d be as infamous as Maro, whose every movement incurred the stifled laughs of the clan’s women, as everyone knew he had a penis the size of a baby’s finger. 

If he were blessed, then he’d be like Botan, one of the guards in the Branch House who always incurred the hushed whispers and excitement of the women, because he possessed an extraordinary cock of eight-and-a-half inches — the largest in the entire clan.

It was not out of the realm of possibility that he was being watched by the vixen’s friends. No doubt, if he failed to prove himself a competent lover, by dawn, there would be no woman surnamed Hyūga who did not know he was a one-minute man.

If not that, then some of his adversaries amongst the clan were watching him. They wanted to see him fail so they could mock his performance and steal his toy from him.

The burden lay entirely on him, as the man, to perform. The burden was so heavy that Isamu was beginning to question if the ten minutes or so of pleasure he would get from her tight virgin cunt would be worth the potential blow to his reputation if he failed.

Alas, he was a man, and it was the duty of men to shoulder heavy burdens.

He’d spread her legs mercilessly and prepared himself to pierce her when a chill ran down his spine. He snapped his head behind him but found no presence whatsoever.

What was that?

He could have sworn that there was a dagger at his neck. There was a feeling, as though someone was not only watching him, but they were out to kill him.

Isamu swiftly formed the Horse and Tiger hand seals with his index fingers. “Byakugan!”

His eyes scanned the full breadth of his living quarters, yet, found nothing. There were no chakra signatures, no presences save for him and his toy, and nothing out of the ordinary in the slightest.

He deactivated his eyes, and let out a breath. 

Is the stress of the situation making me paranoid?

“Isamu-sama?”

The vixen was clearly confused. Fortunately, she was not impatient. She was stupid like that. A stupid little girl he would enjoy now and again to wet his cock between missions. In the end, she was just a peon of the Branch House, and he was a nephew of an Elder of the Main House. All the promises he’d uttered of marriage were empty words, and if her father were to try to speak up, he’d tell his Aunt to suppress him with the Caged Bird Seal. 

I’ve been thinking too much!

There was nothing for him to worry about.

Isamu spread her legs again —

Something struck his neck.

His eyes bulged momentarily, before rolling into the back of his head. He collapsed, frothing at the mouth. The young girl accompanying him attempted to scream, only for something to strike her neck, as she, too, collapsed without a single word.

Isamu’s thoughts had not been wrong. Mere minutes after both parties collapsed, two girls burst into the room with their Byakugan active.

Yet, no matter how much they searched — 

They found nothing. 

XXXXX

A small boy slid across a wooden floor unseen and soundless. He evaded physical contact with anyone, and danced between a group of guards, all of them possessing bulging, vein-riddled eyes and examining the area viciously. One guard, in particular, locked his gaze directly on him, only to swiftly move along, searching underneath beds, between corridors and cupboards, and completely ignoring his presence entirely.

Zi Wuji stuck himself to the roof of the room, his mastery of the adhesive properties of chakra making it so the action was as seamless as breathing. The man, Isamu, had been covered with a white cloth whereas the girl with him, Akina, had awoken mere moments later, confused and terrified.

The questions they asked her were standard but grew increasingly accusatory as time passed by. The two women who’d discovered them also gave their account of events to the guards. The guards did not raise any eyebrows once the women blatantly confessed to have been watching the entire event of two people having sex, as though it were a common occurrence. Their narration of events was the same — Isamu looked behind him, activated his Byakugan as though he’d seen something, deactivated it, and then collapsed to the ground a moment later, dead.

Zi Wuji didn’t wait long until the two women were incriminated along with their friend. Within moments, an Elder of the Sect arrived. The elderly woman had a stern, cold demeanor, and long graying hair. Once she removed the cloth covering Isamu, her cold demeanor vanished, and the only thing left was pure, unbridled rage.

“Kazuhiko-sama, please, we had nothing to do with —”

“Silence!”

Zi Wuji activated his eyes. The Elder made a strange hand seal. He peered into her chakra circulatory system, watching, observing, and memorizing the precise method by which the chakra flowed. Moments later, a pulse of chakra traveled out of her body, and he watched the skulls of the three girls alight. They hit the ground, screaming and grasping at their foreheads.

His eyes shot to their heads, to the chakra imbued and engraved into their skull. Witnessing the effects of his Byakugan deepened his understanding. Miniscule daggers formed and began piercing their brains. Upon contact with brain matter, the phantom daggers of chakra spun rapidly, drilling into the brains of the women, and their screams intensified a hundredfold.

This… this is… a formation? Zi Wuji sucked in a deep breath. From the method of activation to the means of operation… this is indeed a simplified formation, only that it utilizes chakra instead of Qi…

The Elder held no mercy in her heart, and from start to finish, kept her hand in the strange seal which sent out a specific pulse of chakra, triggering the formation in the women’s skulls. Zi Wuji memorized not just the seal, but the method by which the woman’s chakra circulated. He did this whilst watching the effects amplify.

Permanent brain damage, Zi Wuji clicked his tongue. She does not intend to show mercy.

The Elder did not release the seal until the three women’s brains were hacked and slashed into a slushy mush pile within their skulls. Only when they stopped screaming and blood dribbled from their noses, did the Elder’s anger dissipate. She barked an order to the guards to dispose of the women and take her nephew’s corpse somewhere, and the guards, shaken, eagerly bowed and listened to her commands.

Zi Wuji slid down the wall and exited the room. He moved on the roof, sliding silently until he reached his destination, the quarters reserved for him and his father.

To a casual observer, it would appear as though there were sudden ripples in the air, and a young boy was painted into reality with massive strokes of a brush. His white eyes were keen and activated, and a contemplative expression lay deep on his lips.

To think my recreation of the Phantom Treading Steps would be at a level where not even those who are old and experienced can see, hear or sense my presence… 

Zi Wuji frowned.

Yet I was almost detected when I attempted to kill. Masking killing intent is far harder than masking chakra…. 

His recreation of the Phantom Treading Steps worked on the same basis of repulsion and attraction inherent in the most basic of techniques, the Tree Walking Exercise. Repelling sound waves was the first step, and repelling light was the second step. Combining those two steps together made him invisible and inaudible, but as he’d been experimenting, he’d learned that to truly be undetected, he needed to mask his chakra.

He knew the location of all 361 points of his body where chakra escaped from, and as an infant, he had very little chakra, to begin with. Suppressing his chakra to become undetectable was not a challenge when his eyes could act as a guide to tell him how effectively he was doing so.

The hardest part of mastering the technique was learning to deceive the Byakugan.

The Byakugan’s greatest strength, the ability to pierce through layers of objects, was ironically its greatest flaw. When looking at a person, there were numerous layers. The first was the layer of cloth or armor. The second was the layer of skin, then the integumentary system, then the central nervous system, then the chakra circulatory system, and finally, the skeletal system.

When gazing through a wall to the room beyond it, the wall became invisible, and as such, out of the perception of the eyes so the brain could focus on the information the user wanted to see. The problem did not lay in the eyes, but in the limited brain capacity of the users. Attempting to gaze at all layers at once would only create a confusing mesh, so most focused on one layer at a time.

Zi Wuji discovered this was exploitable.

Using a thin sheet of chakra over his body, he hid between layers and effectively made it so he was in the blindspot of the Byakugan at all times. He would not register as an ‘object’ to be seen, but as something to peer past. The illusion worked in the same manner as how one’s nose was always directly in their line of sight, but unless one actually focused on their nose, they would not recognize its existence.

They needed to know where he was and focus on him to find him, but they couldn’t know where he was unless they first found him, and they couldn’t find him unless they knew where he was —

It was a catch-22 situation that guaranteed he would never be detected by the Byakugan.

It was outright impossible to discover this weakness without an innate understanding of how the Byakugan functioned, meaning only a person with a Byakugan was capable of finding this flaw and only a person with a Byakugan was capable of exploiting it.

As far as Zi Wuji could tell, no one else in the Hyūga Clan would put so much effort into learning how to subvert and defeat their own eyes, thus, no one else would ever consider the existence of such a technique.

I have what I need to ensure my escape, but… there is the matter of learning that Seal…

He’d sacrificed three lives in order to witness the activation method for the Caged Bird Seal firsthand. He was confident enough to be able to replicate the necessary flow of chakra and utilize it, which meant he could control anyone in the Branch Clan.

However, Zi Wuji’s ambition could not be sated.

I must learn how to graft it!

Having such a potent formation in his arsenal would make his life easier. He could think of no less than eight ways to modify it to his benefit, and it was for that reason he had not yet departed from the clan.

Three years… I must wait three years….

He was not impatient. He’d spent eighty years in search of the Way Codex, and cultivators were known to spend decades sitting in meditation to improve their cultivation. A measly three years of time to get his hands upon the means to inscribe such a potent seal was nothing.

In these three years… I will make it so no one in this clan will be my equal!

If I do not succeed, let the heavens tear my name from me, for I am not fit to be called Zi Wuji!

XXXXX

The event with Isamu was covered up as a conspiracy by the Branch Clan to kill him. Those who knew the women involved and knew they would never do such a thing were infuriated, but, like the pitiful slaves they were, all they could do was keep their heads down and chew their tongues as though they’d sucked on bittered lemons.

The Elder was not punished for killing the three women. Their lives were disposable, it seemed, like cattle, and it made Zi Wuji sneer. As much as he would desire to kill everyone involved, both the slaves and the slave-owners, he reigned in his temperament and focused only on his training, in preparation for the future.

Within the span of a few weeks, Zi Wuji mastered his utilization of the Byakugan to be able to gaze at anything and everything within a kilometer range. From the lowly fisherman reeling in his latest catch, to the restaurant owner dishing up a hot plate of ramen noodles, to the shinobi, hopping about on rooftops and running in strange manners with their hands placed behind them and their body streamlined forward. 

Zi Wuji trained his eyes to read books and scrolls even if they were closed or furled up. As such, he was able to gain access to sensitive or private information and gather more knowledge of his world and surroundings.

From the comfort of his own room, he perused the depths of the Hyūga Library.

This was how he learned the name of the ‘village’ he resided in. Konohagakure no Sato. The Village Hidden in the Leaves. The second thing he’d learned, was that this ‘village’ was known as a Shinobi Village. The leader of a shinobi village was a man called a Shadow, and in Konoha’s case, it was the Fire Shadow — the Hokage.

The books in the library mentioned how the Hyūga Clan came to be. About a century or so earlier, the entire world was at war in a period known as the Warring Clans Era, which ended with the creation of the village of Konoha by two men, Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara.

The Hyūga were approached by the Senju and after finding the agreement to be to their benefit, joined the village of Konoha.

The more he read, however, the more he found himself enlightened. He learned of the nature of Byakugan, and the myths, and legends surrounding it. Some nonsense about a man on the moon, and legends of balls that sought truth. He ignored the vast majority of fables however mildly entertaining they were and searched for more concrete and reliable information.

The most obvious thing he learned, was the unique fighting style derived from the ability of the Byakugan called the Gentle Fist.

So, they at least have this much awareness… but…

The method he’d used to kill Isamu had involved a swift strike towards the vagus nerve, accompanying an imperceptible pulse of chakra that damaged the brain. To Zi Wuji’s surprise, this was the basis of the martial art of the Hyūga.

He’d spied on two siblings training and observed the manner they fought. The stances they began with were firm and solid and reminded Zi Wuji of the Wudang Sect’s Eternal Taiji Revolving Art. Their movements were light, lithe, and fast. They attacked not with great physical force, but with gentle taps against the enemy.

They were targeting the other’s chakra system. Not only that, they were striking extremely specific places — tenketsu, he learned they were called — and injecting their own chakra into that of their foe in order to cause internal injuries, all while blocking their foe’s ability to channel their chakra accurately.

What buffoon crafted such an unbalanced Martial Art?

Zi Wuji observed the Gentle Fist for mere minutes and spotted numerous flaws within it. The blockage of the enemy’s chakra was temporary and the martial art was useless against a faster opponent. If the foe possessed too vast a chakra quantity then blocking a few tenketsu would do no good. Furthermore, there were no ranged attacks, meaning, the Gentle Fist practitioners were useless against an opponent at mid-to-long range. Even worse, the martial art was so rigid it did not have the means to implement weapons.

A half-descent swordsman or spearman would have far longer range and reach, and would sooner slice off the fingers of the enemy than let them approach to block their chakra. 

Pitiful. They are but glass cannons.

If the Gentle Fist practitioner was to target the internal organs rather than the chakra pathway, a single strike would result in the death of the enemy. However, due to the method they trained, they did not have much, if any experience taking solid hits, which meant their overall endurance to physical trauma was low.

Lethal at close-range, but useless at mid-to-long range… was there anyone who would be foolish enough to engage them at close range, then? Wouldn’t anyone with a brain immediately grasp that the key to defeating a Hyūga was to stay at range?

He clicked his tongue.

Long and mid-range… I will need to find means to compensate for both,

Zi Wuji studied the movements of the Gentle Fist in-depth and began practicing them. Eliminating wasted motions, removing the rigidity, and finding ways to cover the weaknesses and the lack of weapons were things he added to his list.

By observing and stimulating the parts of his brain responsible for muscle memory when moving, he found it easier to repeat the actions until they become subconscious. 

Then, Zi Wuji learned something even stranger.

Nin…Jutsu?

Within the scrolls in the Hyūga Clan Library were mentions of the esoteric art of ninja techniques.

Ah, so that is what they call Qi Arts in this world, is it? And the Hyūga do not use them… out of… pride?

Once more, Zi Wuji’s estimation of the clan fell.

Genjutsu… Illusion Arts…?

His curiosity could not be sated.

A few weeks after the incident with Isamu, when his father returned home from a mission, Zi Wuji assaulted the man with questions.

“Genjutsu?”

“Do you not know any, father?”

“We don’t practice genjutsu, Neji-kun.”

“Why?”

“It’s… not traditional.”

“Why?”

“Our clan is famed for our taijutsu expertise, and our signature taijutsu style, the Gentle Fist.”

“So we’re not allowed to learn things outside of the clan martial arts?”

“Well, no one’s going to stop you from doing so, but it’s generally frowned upon.”

“Ninjutsu as well?”

“Apart from the basic three you’ll learn at the academy, and maybe perhaps the Shunshin — we don’t particularly use Ninjutsu.”

Those words brought Zi Wuji pause.

“...Academy?”

XXXXX

They were fools.

They were all fools.

This entire world was filled with fools.

His father had been against it at first, claiming that he wanted to wait until he was older, but Zi Wuji would have none of it. He insisted and insisted, and when that failed, he played on the man’s emotions by pointing out how ‘lonely’ and ‘empty’ he felt whenever his father went on missions, and how much ‘better’ he’d feel if he were occupied during the day.

Guilt was a strong enough motivator, and within a couple of days, Zi Wuji found himself on the outskirts of his clan walls for the first time in his life and standing in front of an actual school building. He’d drawn numerous raised eyebrows upon approaching, and his instructors had seemed weary.

They were reluctant to let him enroll, but also reluctant to offend his father. All of this ended when his father told him to walk up the wall, and the men in dull green jackets scoffed a little, before collectively gasping as he not only walked up the wall of the classroom but began to walk upside down on the ceiling.

Minutes later, they’d put out a written test checking his vocabulary, a test for basic arithmetic, and then, a third and final test, the strangest of which baffled him. He could not tell if the test was too advanced for children his age, or if such was actually the standard of the world. It was filled with numerous calculations, discussions on trigonometry, logic puzzles, and trick questions amongst others. 

For a moment, he contemplated failing most of it on purpose, but it was not his style. Should he fail it and it turned out to indeed be a standard test, they would doubt his intellect, and might refuse his entry. As such, he answered it to the best of his abilities.

The looks of terror and amazement on the faces of the teachers when the results came out did not bode well, especially considering how his usually stern and taciturn father was grinning ear-to-ear in public, as though he’d won a bountiful fortune.

Zi Wuji would only learn later on, at dinner, that the third test he’d taken was something called an ‘IQ’ test. “IQ” meant ‘Intelligence Quotient’ and was a means to calculate the intelligence of someone. The entire thing almost made Zi Wuji laugh. 

As though a paper with a bunch of pointless and impractical questions could be used to quantify one’s intellect.

Apparently, when his age was factored into account, his score was nearing 280. He didn’t really understand why such a value was a big deal, and he wasn’t actually a child but a cultivator reincarnated into a child’s body, which was all the more reason he did not put any stock into it.

The next day, he’d been set off with a backpack and numerous school books, and could not escape the whispers from the children and the adults around him.

“That’s him…”

“The Hyūga Progidy…”

“Youngest ever… in history…”

It hadn’t taken long to realize his name was now etched in the history books. At eleven months of age, he was the youngest to ever enroll in the Academy since its foundation. His teachers introduced him to his class, most of which were between the ages of four to eleven, and Zi Wuji paid little attention to the introductory words of the teacher, and little attention still to the evaluating gazes of his classmates.

They are all fools.

The knowledge he’d sought about the world was handed over to him, for free. 

The world he was in was called the Elemental Nations. The country he was in was known as Hi no Kuni — the Land of Fire and was amongst the Five Great Shinobi Countries with the Land of Wind, Land of Earth, Land of Water, and the Land of Lightning.

The current leader of his village was a man called Namikaze Minato. There had been Three Great Shinobi Wars, each one supposedly more volatile than the last. Shinobi were divided into ranks, with most of his teachers being of the rank of Chūnin. They made up the vast majority of the workforce of the shinobi village, and were otherwise clanless, with their only affiliation being that of the village itself. Their skills were more advanced than the beginner Genin but about sorely lacking compared to the truly skilled individuals referred to as Jōnin.

The fact that all of this information was so freely given and accessible was not what made Zi Wuji call them fools. The fact that his teachers swiftly realized he was too advanced to be placed in the beginner classes was also not what made him consider them fools. 

No, what made Zi Wuji consider this a world of fools, was his first ever day in the advanced class, wherein the Chūnin instructor loudly claimed the lie that Ninjutsu could only be performed by utilizing hand signs. What made Zi Wuji realize the sheer foolishness, was not only the man spouting this lie and believing it —

But it was when the man performed his first ‘demonstration’.

With a puff of smoke, the brown-haired, nondescript man morphed into a taller, handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed man wearing a white coat and with flames licking the edges.

Zi Wuji sucked in a deep, heavy breath of air, and grasped at his chest to prevent himself from screaming obscenities. 

Veracious Heaven Transformation Art!

His Byakugan was active, so there was no mistaking it. The transformation was not an illusion. It was not a trick of his eyes. The transformation was solid. One hundred percent, it was a solid transformation. The man in front of him had used chakra to cloak his entire body and change it to that of an entirely different person.

And, to the denizens of this world, this was a low-rank technique.

FOOOOOLS!

Zi Wuji nearly screamed at the top of his lungs. The Veracious Heaven Transformation Art in the Rain World was a technique so feared and revered, that when rumors of a single page documenting its methods were discovered, it led to a massive war between sects to acquire it. The power to change one’s physical form was a power that defied the heavens. It was on the same level as the Way Codex, in so much that one could alter their body as they wished and spit in the eye of fate and destiny.

The so-called, Henge, or Transformation Jutsu the instructor displayed was clearly inferior, but it was still a solid transformation. The instructor made it clear when he moved, touched objects, and lifted things and his body made the corresponding actions. 

Zi Wuji nearly ripped his hair off his head. He nearly started hyperventilating when he observed the correct flow of chakra needed to perform the technique and found it utterly inconsequential to learn in lieu of his perfect control.

The more detail one added to the technique, the more realistic it became. As someone with the Byakugan that was able to zoom ten times over, attention to detail was something he possessed in spades.

The teacher asked everyone to practice the technique, but Zi Wuji didn’t need to practice. He molded his chakra perfectly, in the same manner, he saw the teacher do it, and transformed into a perfect copy of the man, such that the entire classroom went silent.

“T-that’s… v-very impressive, Hyūga-san —”

“Excuse me? Why are you pretending to be me, Hyūga-san?”

“What? I’m not —”

“You can undo the transformation now, Hyūga-san.”

‘What do you mean by that? Oi! That isn’t funny!”

“I’m not joking —”

“O! Oi! I’m the teacher here!”

“Oh? Then, let’s turn to the students. Which of us do you think is the real sensei?”

Zi Wuji watched the students all incorrectly assume the original was the impostor, and the impostor was the original. Only after they’d all made the mistake, did he revert his technique, silently returning to his seat without another word.

Fools.

They truly, truly, had no idea as to just what they’d unleashed upon the world.

Complete and utter fools.

Chapter Text

The clock struck midnight. The moon hung full underneath the night sky, and a boy sat in the middle of a forest clearing. Two animals lay before him. A deer, young, and female, was bound at the feet by thick lines of rope. A rabbit lay beside the deer, with white fur and fluffy ears.

Beside both rabbit and deer was a complex series of squiggles and writings etched into the dirt. They were indecipherable to a layman, and even the most gifted of mathematicians would only be able to vaguely discern that the writings were a complex series of arithmetic formulas, calculations, and derivations, yet, they would never be able to decipher what was being calculated.  

A young boy sat, shirtless, before both animals. His eyes, pale and white, had veins bulging around them, and his gaze peered into the animals before him, his expression firm.

“...I’ve gotten it.”

Chakra swirled from within the center of the boy, and his form changed from a young boy to that of a man. His hair grew out, becoming longer and straighter, his body became toned and muscular, and the veins around his eyes vanished. The air he possessed was that of a young lord, a rich and aristocratic nobleman, and he proceeded to lean his cheek against one hand, exhaling loudly.

He extended his right hand over the rabbit first. Chakra, once more swirled within him. The rabbit let out a shriek that was utterly unlike anything a leporine creature was capable of, as an external source of chakra flooded through its entire system. 

Swiftly, the man’s hands struck out.

Numerous tenketsu were struck at once, and the rabbit’s shrieking died. The chakra completely flooded the creature, and, the excess that did not enter its body dispersed in the form of white smoke. Once the white smoke dissipated, the rabbit was gone. In its place was an ornate jade sword.

The young man picked up the jade sword and examined it. His eyes peered deep within, searching for errors or blemishes. He swung it twice, and the satisfactory sound of a blade slicing through the air reached into his ears. He brought the blade to his finger and placed his hand against it, and the sword cut his hand as soon as he touched it.

“Hahaha…” a series of deep laughs emerged. ”I, Zi Wuji, am indeed peerless under the heavens!”

He placed the sword back on the ground and regarded the complex writings he’d engraved into the dirt.

“To think this much calculation was needed to perform such a trivial feat…”

He’d first taken the people of the Elemental Nations to be utter and absurd fools incapable of realizing the sheer power at their disposal but was soon proven wrong once he began to experiment with the Transformation Technique. 

His first roadblock was encountered when he discovered he could not willingly transform his hand into a sword, nor could he make his fingers into blades.

To perform such a banal trick, he needed to have mastery of not one, not two, but three entirely different aspects of the Transformation Technique. Not only that, but these three requirements each had complex steps.

Zi Wuji reached into his back pocket and emerged with a small jotter. It was amongst the things his father had provided for his schooling, but he’d converted it to a book detailing his breakdown of techniques and encoded it in a cipher only he knew.

Zi Wuji’s Technique Breakdown Journal

Technique Name: Transformation Technique

Learning Difficulty: Low-Earth Tier [G-Rank](Academy Level)

Mastery Difficulty: Mid-Heaven Tier [B-Rank](Special Jōnin Level)

Mastery Requirements: Three

Effective Range: Short/Touch

He stopped his scribbling for a brief moment, muttering underneath his breath. His measurement of the difficulty of attaining mastery over a technique was different from that of most. Zi Wuji’s measurement had ten ranks:

Low-Earth Tier, Mid-Earth Tier, High-Earth Tier, Peak-Earth Tier, Low-Heaven Tier, Mid-Heaven Tier, High-Heaven Tier, Peak-Heaven Tier, True-Heaven Tier, and God-Tier.

Correlated to shinobi terms, it would be: G-Rank, F-Rank, E-Rank, D-Rank, C-Rank, B-Rank, A-Rank, S-Rank, SS-Rank, and SSS-Rank.

As difficult as the Transformation Technique was to truly master, in Zi Wuji’s eyes, it was merely a Mid-Heaven Tier level of difficulty. Compared to some truly absurd Qi Arts he’d made, such as the Flutter Forcing Finger Art which had a True-Heaven Tier Difficulty to both learn and master, this was nothing.

Zi Wuji continued to scribble.

Path to Technique Mastery:

Requirement One: Partial-Transformation.  

Step One: To transform only part of one’s body into something or someone else, one must have a complete, unobstructed view of the body part that needed to be transformed, and this body part must be capable of harnessing chakra.

Step Two: One must deduce the exact point of cut-off from the regular body to the transformed part, and have a mastery of chakra control perfect and precise enough to transform the intended part and the intended part only.

Step Three: One must maintain the flow of chakra to this part, and this part only, requiring a significant amount of focus and investment, as any fluctuations or interruptions to the flow of chakra will undo the transformation.

Just the first requirement alone meant it was impossible for an average man to be able to master partial transformations. His father had informed him that not everybody possessed perfect chakra control. Even if they did, the technique was fickle. The slightest interruption to the chakra flow would undo it.

In a high-stakes battle, such a thing was effectively useless. If one transformed their hand into a sword, but all that was needed to undo the transformation was a kick to the stomach or a pulse of strong chakra, then of what use was such a technique?

The sheer effort involved was worth the benefits attained.

Zi Wuji continued to write. 

Requirement Two: Material Transformation

Step One: To perfectly transform into a non-living/solid object, one must have the exact knowledge of the object’s size, weight, density, scent, sound, taste, and feel.

Step Two; One must also have the exact knowledge of how that object interacts with its physical environment, such as its relationship with light, sound, liquid, heat, cold, lightning, and other forms of matter.

Step Three: One must conserve size and matter when transforming. When undergoing a proportional increase or decrease in size, the chakra required to maintain the technique costs three times the increase or decrease in surface area, mass, weight, and volume.

The second requirement made it clear it would be absurdly difficult to transform himself into a cloud of dust, or into liquid. Decreasing or increasing his mass at will could not be done without having a nigh-boundless amount of chakra to burn.

Transforming into an obese man was more chakra intensive than transforming into a slender girl. Similarly, transforming into a pebble or a kunai was just as chakra intensive as transforming into a giant.

Were someone to have an enormous quantity of chakra, Zi Wuji was certain they would be able to bypass the first and second steps of Requirement Two by sheer chakra quantity alone. They would be able to willfully transform themselves into solid objects even if they did not have the perfect knowledge of that object’s exact dimensions and make-up.

Still, all the requirements made it clear it was utterly impossible to transform into a thing one was not familiar with. 

Zi Wuji scribbled the final elements.

Requirement Three: Joint/External Transformation

Step One: To perform the transformation technique with or on another creature, the target must:

• Be Willing and Consenting to the Transformation
• Possess Less Than or Equal amounts of chakra to the User
• Contribute their share of chakra to maintain the technique

Step Two: To perform the transformation technique with or on an object, the object must:

• Be capable of channeling or conducting chakra.
• Be in direct physical contact with the wielder
• Not be chained, affixed to the ground, or otherwise immobile
• Not weigh more than the User of the technique can physically carry 

Zi Wuji finished his entry, then glanced at the Jade Sword laying before him. Everything he’d written had been true, and these were indeed the method required for mastery. It was simply, however, that he’d once again deciphered a loophole.

The rabbit had not consented to be turned into a sword. 

Under normal circumstances, such a thing would be impossible. It was only by sealing every chakra point of the rabbit that the technique could work. By effectively blocking the pathways by which the rabbit could exude its innate chakra and shake off the technique, and then flooding his own chakra into the creature, he left it unable to dispel the technique.

In simpler terms, he’d treated the rabbit like an ‘object.’ 

“These eyes…”

The only way it worked was due to his Byakugan. Being able to see the tenketsu of all living creatures meant having the fate of all living creatures in his hands. When one could not mold or form their chakra, what use were they? Even mere rabbits, who should have been capable of shaking off a forced transformation, were left utterly helpless to his machinations.

As long as I have more chakra than someone, Zi Wuji noted, upon blocking their tenketsu, I can turn them into anything or anyone I desire.

A puff of smoke emerged from his right. The Jade Sword had vanished, and in its place, was the same rabbit, tied-up and motionless. Zi Wuji’s eyes zoomed into the creature’s heart and found it was still pumping. The tenketsu, similarly, were still blocked.

He quickly began to scribble more.

Note (1): As long as there is enough chakra fed into it, a transformation can be kept indefinitely.

Zi Wuji put away his journal and undid his transformation. A bittersweet feeling lingered within him.

There are still too many limitations… 

Compared to the Veracious Heaven Transformation Art, the Transformation Technique was too limiting. Every potentially heaven-defying application took far too much chakra to be feasible. Worse still, the transformations themselves were not permanent. There was no way to change his bone structure or musculature permanently and have it grow with him. There was no way to change his genes or genetics or even his blood, for it required a level of absurd knowledge that he himself did not possess.

Zi Wuji had been hoping to use the Transformation Technique to change his mortal body into that of a Cultivator, but it was not possible as he was. To perform such a thing, not only would he need a nigh-infinite source of chakra, he would need to remake his body from the ground up with intense elixirs and pills.

I’ve yet to see any mention of the art of alchemy or alchemists in this world…

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue.

I must intensify my research efforts.

He thrust his hand out towards the tied-up deer, flooding the creature’s chakra system with his own. As it began to scream, his hands blurred out, striking every tenketsu he could find, and silencing it. A puff of smoke followed, and the deer transformed into the sleek woolen jacket.

That old witch, would be rolling in her grave if she ever learned that I made a bastardized version of her Naked Flesh Sewing Art…

Zi Wuji folded the jacket gently. Once he was done, he morphed the tip, and just the tip of his fingers, into sharper, hardened blades. Partial transformation was altogether ineffective when used largely, but small, focused applications were where it shined.

He struck the coat ten times in the span of a second. Upon the tenth hit, a large puff of smoke emerged and found the deer to be bleeding from ten points on its body.

Zi Wuji smiled.

…This is the answer.

He slayed the deer quickly after, butchering its pieces and taking it along with him. The rabbit, he let go, seeing no further need for it.

Now… I simply wait.

 XXXXX

“Happy Birthday, Neji-kun!”

The celebratory words came from multiple women, and along with it came a loud, yet, subdued cheer. Zi Wuji counted no less than ten people within the room, and he had not anticipated that so many would arrive for such a trivial thing.

His opinion on the matter changed the longer he observed. The attention of the young Hyūga women was not on him, but rather, on his father. He kept his Byakugan active, and, thankfully, due to his mastery of partial-transformations, he was able to place a transformation over his eyes to make them appear as though they were inactive.

The solution to the problem of everyone knowing when his eyes were activated was such a banal, simple thing. Of course, the partial-transformation was a high-level ability cloaked in a low-level jutsu, and he doubted that no one in a clan so heavily obsessed with taijutsu had thought of such a solution.

Or, maybe they’d never considered it a problem.

With his eyes activated, and none of the Hyūga ever the wiser, it didn’t take long to realize why so many young women had come for his birthday. Not only were most of them of marriageable ages, but there were also many of them who were virgins. Zi Wuji could tell with his Byakugan, as a cursory scan towards the lower regions confirmed the existence of a hymen for eight out of the twelve women present.

They showered him with attention but did so only when his father’s gaze turned towards him. Some of them, perhaps one or two, truly did try to humor and entertain him when his father wasn’t looking, no doubt thinking he would narrate their ‘kindness’ to him at a later date.

All of the women were from the branch house, and his father’s friends were present as well, occasionally making jokes, laughing and drinking, and giving celebratory toasts to the man in question. 

There was no shortage of boxes wrapped in parchment and paper, all dedicated to him, all of which were provided by the women.

It was ‘his’ birthday in name only. The women were not here to celebrate him. They were here to get into the good graces of his father. They were here because his father was an eligible bachelor, and the man’s seed was now worth its weight in pure gold. After word of his peerless genius spread, who, indeed, would not wish to try their luck with Hyūga Hizashi? Who did not wish to have a genius of their own? 

Several of his former wet nurses hugged him and made comments as to how much he’d grown, and made blatantly obvious attempts to try and curry favor with him. A few of the guards whom he’d only ever met and greeted in person also came to celebrate the ‘peerless genius’ of their clan and offered him not only pocket money but their own wrapped presents. 

Someone had gone as far as providing a cake with a candle atop it, which was a thing Zi Wuji found beyond amusing.

“Be sure to make a wish, Neji-kun!”

Zi Wuji blew out the candle, and the festivities began in earnest.

The adults drank alcohol amongst themselves and chatted amicably. His father was treated akin to a celebrity. His peers surrounded and listened to him, and even when the things he said were not significantly amusing, they would laugh as though their lives depended on it. 

The women clung to him in all manner of ways and eagerly made him begin to open his presents. He’d faked as much surprise as he could, because, unlike the rest of them, his eyes were active 24/7, so he’d already seen what the presents were long before he’d been told to open them.

Most of it was practical. The first was a book titled History of Konohagakure. The second was another book titled, Formation of the Elemental Nations — The Legend of Hashirama Senju. There was a scroll detailing the usage of the Byakugan, a book on something called Chakra Affinities, which, for some reason, started a small argument once it was discovered.

“Chakra affinities? Isn’t that too high level?”

“What? Neji-kun is a genius, isn’t he?”

“You’re not a shinobi, Inoue, so you wouldn’t know, but that’s too high level for an Academy Student. And besides, we don’t use Ninjutsu so learning about chakra affinities is —”

“I’ll take it.”

“What? Neji-kun, that’s —”

They’d tried to persuade him otherwise, but he’d not budged. The woman who’d gotten him the book apparently was not a shinobi, but Zi Wuji found it curious all the same. He would be the judge of whether something was too high level or whether it wasn’t.

Most of the other presents were books, but none held any of his interest. It seemed they’d all collectively decided to give him books after hearing of his prodigious nature, and as books were often affordable and tremendously practical, it was hard to go wrong with such things as presents.

A few toys had been thrown into the mix, from the men’s gifts. Wooden and rubber-bladed weapons called shuriken and kunai were amongst some of the presents he’d gotten. 

A detailed book on Shurikenjutsu was unveiled by one of his father’s friends, whilst another had gotten him a pouch to go with his now bountiful collection of wooden and rubber-bladed weapons. Zi Wuji accepted all the gifts with as much faux appreciation as he could muster. The party lasted a little late into the evening, and Zi Wuji had been filling himself quietly on cake whilst browsing through the book on chakra affinities, when everywhere went silent.

“Greetings, Hiashi-sama.”

Hyūga Hiashi possessed an imposing presence. Despite being facially identical to his brother, his arrival brought a sudden chill to the festivities. He carried himself with a significant weight, as though the world were beneath him, and Zi Wuji had never seen the man smile. 

As soon as he arrived, everyone stopped what they were doing. They bowed to greet him, and his father gestured he quickly do the same. The man examined them all, and his gaze landed on him.

“I heard it is your birthday, Neji.”

“Yes, Hiashi-sama.”

“I came to deliver a present.”

The words traveled throughout the room like a pungent fart. With his Byakugan, Zi Wuji saw just how many hearts had lurched at the announcement. No one, it seemed, believed it. Or rather, no one anticipated it. Not even his father, which Zi Wuji could tell by the way the man’s heart was thumping quickly, and the way the muscles in his jaw clenched. 

None of this bothered him. What he did find odd, was that he’d already scanned the man thoroughly, and he’d found nothing on him save for a small scroll within the sleeves of his robes. Was that scroll to be a present?

Hiashi emerged the scroll, and a puff of smoke emerged as he opened it. 

Zi Wuji’s eyes widened.  Had he not seen it with his Byakugan, he’d not have believed it. He saw rhe movement of chakra from the man to the scroll, and the corresponding shifting of space and time as an ornate box appeared within the man’s hands just as swiftly as the chakra was inserted.

Could it be? Zi Wuji sucked a deep breath. A storage ring? Dimensional bag?

“This is —”

“How did you do that, Uncle?”

“Neji,” his father’s harsh voice came. “Mind your manners. Do not interrupt your uncle.”

Zi Wuji could care less about manners. He’d just witnessed a man pull out a box from within a scroll. Dimensional bags or storage rings weren’t all that rare amongst cultivators, but he’d yet to see anything even vaguely resembling such a thing in the world so far. 

He needed to know how it was done.

“It’s fine, brother,” Hiashi intoned. The man’s eyes observed him closely. “Is this your first time seeing a sealing scroll?”

“Sealing scroll?”

“As long as you have the chakra needed and the know-how, you can keep objects within a sealing scroll. Shinobi often use this to carry sensitive information or extra tools.”

Hiashi handed over his present. It was a black-and-gold and ornate box, with numerous elegant designs engraved along it. At the mere sight alone, Zi Wuji could tell this was the most expensive gift he’d gotten so far. His father’s grimace told him as much, as did the way the man’s jaw clenched even harder.

“Open it.”

Within the box was a pristine wooden brush, along with a small covered vial of a black liquid he assumed was ink. There were also several pieces of parchment, perfectly rolled deep within.

“What is it?”

“It is a calligraphy set that belonged to your mother.”

Zi Wuji knew what calligraphy was. How could he not? Scholars roamed the world in search of enlightenment, and many a time had he encountered such beautiful works which took his breath away. He’d never dabbled in the art himself, finding it to be pointless grandstanding, but he could appreciate it.

“She was a… peculiar woman. She believed that one should be complex,” Hiashi said. “She once told me that a good hand should be used for more than the striking of foes and the ending of lives. A good hand must give to the world as much as it has learned to take.”

The man’s heart did not waver as he spoke. Yet, for some reason, Zi Wuji saw his father’s heart beat even faster and faster. There were no shortage of questions Zi Wuji possessed. If this belonged to my mother, why do you have it? 

He didn’t ask it. He didn’t even think to. He observed his father instead. Outwardly, nothing on Hyūga Hizashi was different, but inwardly, the man’s heart was ready to burst. Adrenaline was pumping through his system at an absurd rate. His chakra was all but bubbling and boiling and looked ready to explode.

…Something is amiss with these brothers.

Was it that his mother knew Hiashi intimately? Then why did she marry his father? Zi Wuji discarded the matter from his mind. In the end, he could care less about the complicated relationship between his father and his uncle.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

As far as Zi Wuji was concerned, the true present he’d gotten was not the calligraphy set. 

After his uncle departed, the festivities returned, albeit, slightly on a more somber tone. Once everyone departed, his father took him aside in private.

“Anything I want?”

“Anything at all, Neji-kun.”

Zi Wuji knew that his father had planned a different gift for him. He’d hidden it in a special compartment in the kitchen, that was generally too tall to reach. The gift was nothing special, it was merely a new pair of shoes.

The man no longer planned on giving it to him. From the way Zi Wuji judged his actions, he deduced that Hizashi simply felt what he’d gotten him was lackluster compared to Hiashi’s gift. He didn’t want to be outdone by his brother, so, rather than giving him a pair of shoes, he was asking him for whatever it was he wanted.

“Sealing Scroll.”

“.You want… a sealing scroll?”

His father looked him over with uncertainty.

“Are you sure? You can ask for anything at all, Neji-kun. I mean it.”

“A sealing scroll and…”

“And?”

“A good book on sealing scrolls.”

His father stared at him oddly. “You want a Fūinjutsu book?”

“Fūin…jutsu?”

Zi Wuji tested the word out.

“Yes. A good book… on Fūinjutsu.”

XXXXX

His father had kept his promise. 

The book he’d gotten him was titled An Introductory Guide to Fūinjutsu, written by a woman called Uzumaki Mito. Zi Wuji zoned out in the classroom, ignoring the non-practical and non-pertinent parts of the lessons in favor of digesting the newfound content with near child-like glee.

After the first page, his glee was tempered to a cautious excitement. After the second, his excitement became wariness. After the third, his wariness became disdain.

Uzumaki Mito was an utter imbecile.

She went on endlessly, about the risks, dangers, potential hazards, and mishaps that could occur if one were not careful with the art of sealing. The first two chapters were nothing but warnings and risks, dangers and pitfalls, with no practical knowledge whatsoever. Tales of a man setting off a storage scroll incorrectly, and accidentally ripping off his arm. Another, was of a woman failing to add an exemption in her barrier for children, and accidentally slaughtering her family. On and on it went with such nonsense.

All of it was described in vivid, graphic detail as well. It felt more like the woman simply wanted to find any and all means to ward off and scare anyone attempting to learn the art than to give them a genuine warning.

Four chapters of pointless warnings that would only weed out the cowardly and draw the attention of the deviant and twisted, and then the fifth chapter began to talk about the history of the art.

She mentioned a village, now collapsed into ruin by the onslaught of three others, and how she was of that village. She mentioned how the art was originally intended to be used to keep enemies at bay and spoke of some myth of some man called the Sage of Six Paths trapping a god in the moon — what was with these people and the moon? — with some sort of seal. 

By lunch break, Zi Wuji had reached the eighth chapter of the book, and it was only then that practical information was available. He moved away from the other children, and sat in silence, munching on a pre-made rice ball as he brought out the sealing scroll his father purchased for him.

With his Byakugan activated, he studied the inner mechanisms. The sealing scroll operated by creating a temporary liminal space, a sub-dimension which an object could be stored within. The exact specifications of said sub-dimension were unclear. The nature of space-time within that sub-dimension was equally unclear. However, all of these were parameters that he wagered could be altered by changing the instructions inherent in the scroll.

Zi Wuji bit down on his finger, drawing a small amount of blood. He unfurled the scroll and drew his blood on it. The chakra in his blood diffused into the scroll, and a puff of smoke emerged from excess chakra before his wooden shuriken and kunai appeared. He placed the wooden shuriken and kunai back onto the center of the scroll, applied chakra, and in a puff of smoke, they vanished.

“...I can’t believe it.”

Fūinjutsu was this world’s equivalent to arrays and formations —

And it was incredibly primitive.

Around the tenth chapter or so, Uzumaki Mito made a statement about how chakra could be sealed, albeit, doing so was considered a high-level utilization of the art. She made numerous hypothetical situations and explanations to support this statement, and all of them convinced Zi Wuji that the woman was a retard. 

Qi could be sealed using numerous formations, and the easiest of said formations was still significantly harder than the hardest hypothesized method of sealing chakra.

To begin with, Fūinjutsu did not inherently need sacrifices, nor did it require valuable consumables, items, relics, specific physiques, elixirs, pills, or a required level of cultivation. 

Setting up the Thousand Demon Scattering Array which could prevent an invasion of demons from the Underworld was so time-tasking and resource-intensive, that it could take years to fully create, and one often needed the blood and viscera of several powerful beasts to create it, along with countless valuable gems, minerals, metals and the supporting Qi of a high-level cultivator.

There was the Grand Expanse Ruination Formation that connected two expanses of land one million kilometers away and enabled cultivators to go through and from those places as easily as entering and exiting one’s backyard. The Absolute Deluge World Barrier was another example of a high-tier formation, and it was one so grand that it separated the Lower Rain World from the Upper Rain World, separating the true immortals from the meager cultivators.

Breaking such a thing was called ‘Ascension,’ and it required one to cultivate past the Spirit Fragmentation stage. 

The most difficult feats of Fūinjutsu the woman mentioned were so easy, that seeing the woman whining about it made Zi Wuji feel like he was watching a child with a papercut on their finger crying about ‘pain’ to a man who’d lost his arm in a war.

This world continues to baffle me.

The first requirement to learn Fūinjutsu was to possess flawless handwriting. Fortunately, Zi Wuji already possessed that, as it was one of the necessary things a Formation Master needed. The next was knowledge of cause-and-effect and chakra-infused components. This could be done easily by mixing one’s blood and ink together in a very specific ratio or directly infusing chakra into ink. The latter was considered extremely difficult and required perfect chakra control, whereas the former was the most commonly used means.

Again, he had perfect chakra control.

Finally, one required a deep understanding of the language. The specific lines and kanji utilized in  Fūinjutsu were deeper and richer than those used in common speech. Essentially, there was a certain ‘Fūinjutsu Language’ one needed mastery of to decipher seals. Once one was fluent enough in this language, they would be capable of glancing at a complex seal and reading it no differently than if one had written words. 

The introductory book contained the most commonly utilized ‘Fūinjutsu Language’ and a cipher to translate it. After a swift glance through the cipher, he’d gained fluency in the language for one reason —

It was laughably simplified.

Eight hundred characters?

Zi Wuji exhaled.

One needs to have knowledge of at least ninety-five hundred characters to even be considered for an apprenticeship with a Formation Master…

The reason arrays and formations were so powerful and complex in the Rain World was a result of warfare and pride. A good formation could protect a dynasty, sect, or world for ten thousand years, and a poor one would last merely a decade. Thus, nefarious individuals attempted their hardest to master the art of breaking formations, and in turn, formation masters improved their skills to ensure their formations would never be broken.

The existence of competition and conflict set a stage that enabled formations to advance rapidly and become more and more complex. It was akin to an evolutionary arms race, wherein one side kept attempting to outdo the other, and the other’s survival depended on not being outdone.

In contrast, Zi Wuji could find no evidence that the Fūinjutsu of this world had experienced such turmoil. It was primitive. Underdeveloped. It was crippled in its infancy. Without sufficient conflict, it had not grown.

I see…

He understood, now, why the woman’s village was destroyed. He understood why she went to such lengths as to give warnings for nearly five straight chapters. The inhabitants of this world were aware of the dangerous potential of Formations, Arrays, and Fūinjutsu. 

Rather than develop the art themselves and improve it, they struck swiftly to destroy those gifted at it and bury it forever.

Had the woman and her village had a couple of thousand more years to practice, refine, and study the art, it would be of a masterful level. It would change the entire world. They would be unrivaled and peerless.

Alas, it was not so.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch break, and Zi Wuji shut the book.

If there were only eight hundred major characters, there was nothing he would learn from it. He’d learned what he needed. Ink, blood, and chakra were the major reagents needed. With that knowledge, as well as his knowledge from the Rain World, he was qualified to be a Fūinjutsu Master.

It was only a matter of knowing what formations and arrays could be reworked with chakra, and what couldn’t. 

He briefly rifled through the book a final time, and, confirmed his suspicions. There were very few mentions of usage in combat. The entire art was still majorly supplementary, due to the fact that it was crippled in its infancy. It was used merely to seal away tools, toys, and trinkets, with a few snippets of mentions of applications for terribly inefficient barriers.

…Perhaps?

As the memory of the eight hundred characters flashed through his mind, he remembered the manji utilized by the Caged Bird Seal, and the mystery that had been plaguing him vanished. He’d had all the answers to the question from the get-go, but the question had been asked in a language he could not understand. Now that he could fluently speak, read and write the same language — 

Surely, it’s not that simple…?

If the answer was truly that simple, he would be irritated.

He would be irritated beyond measure.

Chapter Text

Zi Wuji could not sleep. His back still had not grown accustomed to the beds of this world, and the urge to buy an actual mattress constantly lingered in his mind. His father was absent again, on another mission, the details of which were left unsaid. Inoue had dropped by in the middle of the night, with an excuse that she was there to do the laundry. She’d been looking for his father. Zi Wuji had seen them talk after his birthday, and the man’s interest in her was passing and faint, but she intended to change that. 

He’d always been able to control his body, and after a day of pointless lessons from the teachers, an evening spent training his physical form and martial arts, and a night spent with a healthy dinner, it took him no effort to lay against the bed, however uncomfortable it might be and fall into a slumber.

Today was different. Odd things had happened one after the other. The first was when a young academy student in his class had missed wide with his shuriken throw, and struck a flying dove. The class burst into laughter at the sheer oddity of the entire experience, and the teacher reprimanded the boy endlessly. It was odd, because to Zi Wuji’s knowledge, the migrating path of the flock of doves was wrong. It was as though they were fleeing from something.

After that, he’d seen an accident occur on his way home. A carriage containing several ornate clay and ceramic goods lay shattered on the roadside, and the owner, a pot-bellied merchant, screamed at the top of his voice to the ones responsible. Amongst the shattered goods were several ornate mirrors. Seeing himself in the fragmented reflections brought an odd feeling to his throat.

The events continued. The more he scanned the village with his Byakugan, the more he saw. A black cat lay dead in an alleyway, and a number of children were poking and prodding at it with a stick. Zi Wuji peered deeply and found that the creature’s heart simply stopped, as though scared to death, though he could not fathom what.

He’d placed a finger into his tongue, and emerged it out, feeling for the air. He returned it to his mouth. He tasted copper.

Upon nightfall, his restlessness grew. Goosebumps raced down his skin as he attempted to lay down. 

Goosebumps? Me?

He departed swiftly from his home in the dead of night and returned to the same forest clearing he’d made his personal training grounds. An endless thumping echoed over and over in his chest, and he grasped at it. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his hands shook.

This… could it be?

Zi Wuji swiftly removed a storage scroll from his pocket, bit into his thumb, and smeared his blood on it. His mother’s calligraphy set emerged, as did a piece of parchment, and a bottle of ink. He cut open his right thumb with a small blade and poured it into the ink. Turning the mixture, he applied his chakra judiciously into the entire thing and stopped only when the mixture of blood and ink became a thick, dark red.

He stifled the flow of blood to his thumb with his chakra, took out the brush, and began to make numerous strokes on the paper. His hands became a flurry of motion and movement, his brows creased hard, and the goosebumps on his skin continued to grow.

Once he was complete, the piece of paper was filled with numerous characters and writings, forming into a complex pentagram within an even more complex circle. Zi Wuji channeled his chakra into the paper, adding bit by bit until it began to float upwards.

“To avoid tomorrow's death, one must accept the death of today.” 

The paper morphed, rapidly, into the shape of a sword. The sword pulsated with chakra and lunged forward.

It phased through Zi Wuji as though he were not there, before abruptly turning a brilliant, burning red. The paper sword disintegrated into ash, and a baleful shriek, like the cry of an injured banshee, was released from it. A sword, formed, of pure spiritual energy appeared above Zi Wuji’s head, slowly hovering, turning, and rotating. 

A spiritual blade of Damocles hung above him, and the goosebumps growing on his skin dissipated. 

He exhaled, threw his head backward, let out a sharp laugh, and glanced upwards to the spiritual sword hanging over his head. No one else but him would be able to see it. 

“To think I’d have to use this…” 

The Death Liberator Sword Array was one of the twelve great arrays and twenty formations of the Karma Desolation Way Codex. The functions of the twelve arrays and twenty formations were all heaven-defying, but could only be used sparingly, and possessed numerous limitations.

To begin with, the original Death Liberator Sword Array should have been composed of a hundred such swords each of them circling above him at all times. The fūinjutsu variation he’d remade in a hurry functioned as he expected it, but it was far too weak. Rather than a hundred swords, there was only one, hanging above his head.

The Way Codex so far had been inactive in his life, except for now. Now, it’d warned him of impending doom. Zi Wuji clicked his tongue. He crossed his legs and moved into a meditating position, taking deep, slow breaths as he deactivated his Byakugan, closed his eyes searched deep within himself.

Deep within, he opened the consciousness of his soul. Deep within, a book floated, chained and held in place, with the cover fading away, and the edges torn and frayed. The Way Codex was damaged.

He reached out for it, only to meet resistance. The further his hand moved to touch it, the stronger the resistance grew. There was no power within the floating and chained book. There was no life to it, compared to when Zi Wuji first accessed it.

It needed to be recharged. 

If I could cultivate, the Way Codex would have recharged on its own naturally… 

To power the codex, he needed Qi.

Demonic Qi, Heavenly Qi, and Underworld Qi were the best options, as the sheer energy inherent in such powers would serve as the best fuel. Failing that, Yin Qi absorbed from the life essence of vital women would help, though such a method would be far slower. 

Once the codex was recharged, he would not only be able to benefit from the full power of its Karma Desolating Abilities, but he’d be able to reap the talent of someone else and, if need be, reincarnate once more in a different world.

Yet, he could see no means of recharging it.

Chakra was not Qi. The individual components could potentially be converted to Qi, but Chakra itself could not become Qi. Attempting to use Chakra as Qi was akin to cooking a recipe that called for eggs and milk, and then using a slice of cake as a substitute. Certainly, cake possessed both eggs and milk, but it was not the same as eggs and milk.

Even if he could extract Yin Qi from women to power the Codex, it would require dual-cultivation methods. Alas, he could not cultivate.

Am I truly to be stuck living the life of a lowly mortal assassin?

No. Just now, the Codex had warned him of impending doom. Weakened as it was, it still possessed the means to guide him. Since he’d been reincarnated, it was the first time he’d felt such a strange occurrence in a single day. This meant something had stirred it.

Zi Wuji opened his eyes and reactivated his Byakugan.

…Shinobi?

Five hundred meters away, Zi Wuji spotted them. There were more women than men in the group. Three of them were garbed in the attire customary of individuals in the Konoha Hospital, whilst the others were dressed in medical attire. Of the shinobi present, four of them were Jōnin, six were members of the ANBU corps, and an additional four were members wearing insignia which marked them as the Hokage’s personal guard.

Were he a fool, he’d have called it coincidence. The spot in the forest he chose to practice in the dead of night just happened to be where he managed to spot a strange entourage of individuals moving at high speed to an unknown location, one at a time.

Were it any other day, Zi Wuji would have ignored them. Yet, not tonight. Tonight, anything even remotely suspicious was worthy of his investigation. He wasn’t sure what had spurned the Codex to action, nor did he know why he’d been fated to meet his end today, and he would not rest until he found out the answers to both questions.

Trailing the mysterious group of medic-nin, Jōnin and ANBU wasn’t hard. The range of his eyes enabled him to keep the distance of half a kilometer without ever losing them. His remade Phantom Treading Steps made it so he was undetectable, and using the Earth Skating Steps to slide and glide across the entire forest, his pace never fell behind.

They were cautious. One of them was a sensor of sorts, constantly pausing to check if they were followed. They would never sense him, even if he were directly beside them. They ran deep into parts of the forest Zi Wuji had never been to. They continued until they crossed a threshold that marked the territory of Konoha, and continued further still, which made Zi Wuji increasingly curious.

After about thirty minutes of tailing them, they crossed a barrier. The shimmering wall of purple light was invisible to the regular eye, but not to his Byakugan. The characters and symbols put in place to hold the barrier made his brows furrow. Even stranger, there were eight chūnin covering eight cardinal points, each of them creating a second barrier that acted as a diversion to hide the first one.

What is the point of all this…?

Zi Wuji snorted as he scanned the barriers. Not only were they massively and grossly ineffective, but he could also count no less than ten ways to circumvent them both. They did not account for spatial transferences, they did not make exclusions for means of teleportation or individuals approaching from above the clouds or beneath the earth, and worst of all, the barriers held fatal flaws that could be erased upon finding the location of a central point.

Dealing with this low-tier work is almost insulting…

Zi Wuji stopped at a clearing where the barrier began, and found the characters in the dirt. He readied himself to dispel it, only to pause briefly. With his Byakugan he found no more than four traps in place for those lacking caution, and the further he peered, the more he saw an unexpected layer of complexity.

Eight Trigrams?

Zi Wuji narrowed his brow.

They're at the level of imbuing seals with the Bagua?

The Bagua template was meant to be used to stabilize, protect, adjust or restore balance in life by analyzing and structuring a given space.

In Zi Wuji’s experience, the shinobi of the Elemental Nations should only be aware of two types of Bagua: the Early Heaven Sequence and the Later Heaven Sequence. They worked through balance through opposites and acceptance of change, and both Bagua were associated with the eight compass cardinal directions. Which, in turn, were determined by the marker stars of mega-constellations known as the Four Celestial Animals.

This is the traditional Early Heaven Sequence… utilization of the taiji… if I were to alter this here… using the Autumn Equinox White Tiger as the key…

Twenty seconds after coming across the barrier, Zi Wuji phased through it. He glanced back to the barrier as he crossed, and pressed his hand against his chin.

This handiwork… 

The style was crude and the person who’d set it up had the most atrocious handwriting Zi Wuji had ever seen, as though they were an impatient brat. If he ignored the stupidity of not accounting to block the heavens, the earth, spatial transference, conjurations, and apparitions… 

The work was somewhat passable.

In a world where fūinjutsu had been crippled in its infancy, this level of skill would probably make one a master. If he were to be entirely honest, he had not expected anyone in the Elemental Nations to be capable of such a thing.

I might as well correct the flaws…

Whoever set up the barrier would come back to find it improved a hundred times beyond their capabilities, and as they realized their ineptitude, they would either shake in awe or they would wallow in despair. They would learn the difference between a puddle and the vast ocean, and the thought of it filled Zi Wuji with twisted glee.

No one would ever suspect him, as no one had any cause or reason to. Thus, he had no qualms editing the nature of the barrier to strengthen it. Satisfied that the work was done, he departed from the barrier, to continue in pursuit of the group he’d been tracking.

Zi Wuji raced through the forest blissfully unaware of the changes happening with the Karma Desolation Way Codex within him, and the grander, far-reaching consequences of an inconsequential decision.

XXXXX

“He’s still not here?”

“Yes, Biwako-sama.”

Sarutobi Biwako hissed sharply. She was already feeling somewhat sore from having to run all this way in the dead of night, rather than using the simpler and faster method her husband’s successor possessed. A part of her felt that all of this security was needless, as was all the need for secrecy, but, she was of a different generation, and in the end, she could only accept how things were now with those younger in charge.

The ANBU were stationed in positions to ensure they would watch out for any intruders, not that Biwako believed anyone would find this place with the number of precautions the husband and wife duo had put in place. The barrier was still up to her knowledge, and she was ready, with her gloves and her tools, but the only thing missing, or rather, the only person missing, was the man lauded as the fastest in the world.

Fastest man in the world, but can’t even arrive on time for the birth of your own child?

Within the prepared delivery room, a red-haired woman’s breath came out in short, harsh bursts. Biwako exhaled, sometimes wishing she had the same smoking habit as her husband and son so she’d be able to at least alleviate a bit of her tension. Alas, as a medic-nin, she knew how bad those little sticks were, and she’d often chastised both men time and again to avoid using them.

“Kushina, we’re going to have to start without him.”

“M-Minato will b-be here.”

“We can’t delay this any longer,” Biwako said firmly. “The risks are too great.”

“H-he will be here —”

Biwako frowned. In a way, she understood. The birth of a child was often an unforgettable moment, and they wanted to share it together. Of course, they were kunoichi and things rarely went as they wished. Whilst she’d been in labor, her husband, at the time, had been at the front of the battlefield. In those days the fear lingered in her that her child would only get to know his father from pictures, stories, and a giant carving of his face atop a mountain.

Somehow, he’d lived. Somehow, he’d retired. The only one to do so, as far as Biwako was concerned. No other Kage in history, across all the shinobi villages, had ever successfully retired. They all died in office. Every single last one of them.

Kushina’s ragged breaths came out more forcefully. Sweat pooled across the woman’s brow, and Biwako couldn’t stand it. The woman was resilient, Biwako would give her that. As a relative of Mito-sama, there was no other way she could be. As the jinchūriki of the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox, resilience was an absolute necessity.

The question was whether or not this much resilience was worth it.

“Five minutes,” Biwako announced. “Five minutes is all I’m giving him.”

Better for the man to miss the birth of his child than to lose the boy and regret it his entire life. She turned her gaze to a tri-pronged kunai kept in the center of the room, and exhaled. There was no feasible explanation as to why the man was not yet here when that thing was. Biwako hoped he had a good one, else, his wife would probably never forgive him.

“Biwako-sama, t-there’s a minor problem.”

One of the medic-nin she’d brought with her approached her, nervously. 

“What’s the matter, Taji?”

“M-my sealing scrolls s-stopped working. I-I can’t bring out any of my tools.”

All of Biwako’s danger senses went on full blast. “What do you mean they stopped working?”

“T-they were working fine earlier, b-but they suddenly s-stopped —”

“Move inside. Quickly!”

“H-hai!”

She exited the delivery room and called for the attention of one of the Jōnin guards.

“Yes, Biwako-sama?”

“Do you have any sealing scrolls on you?”

“I —”

“Use them.”

The guard stared blankly at the odd request, before doing as intended. He brought out a sealing scroll from his pocket, bit his finger, and stroked his blood across it. Biwako waited, patiently for ten full seconds, and nothing emerged. 

“That’s…” the Jōnin frowned.

Biwako swiftly formed a set of hand seals, bit her thumb, and struck the ground. “Kuchiyose no Jutsu!”

Nothing.

She sucked in a deep breath of air.

“Check the barriers,” she barked. “Investigate the area and see if you find anything suspicious. Now!”

“Yes, Biwako-sama!”

She spun on the heel of her feet and entered the delivery room. She glanced at the women present and nodded sharply to all of them.

“Get ready. Let’s begin..”

“M-Minato isn’t —”

“He’s not coming,” Biwako said firmly. “Something or someone is blocking all forms of space-time ninjutsu in the area.”

“W-w-what?”

“We don’t have time, Kushina,” Biwako’s eyes sharpened. “We’re doing this. Now.”

XXXXX

…Birthing a child? Here?

Zi Wuji sat on a tree and peered from a distance into the heavily guarded room. The shinobi had been tossed into a frenzy of some sort, and all of them slipped past him, never finding his location. With his eyes, he could see them coming literally miles away, and with his Phantom Treading Steps they were incapable of tracking him.

He didn’t know why they were all guarding the red-haired woman in the delivery room. Granted, Zi Wuji would admit she was on the more attractive side of women he’d seen in this world so far, but beyond that, he could only assume she was an important figure of some sort. 

Why would an important person choose to give birth to their child in the middle of nowhere?

The more he studied the woman, the more abnormalities he found. Her chakra quantity was vast. Incomprehensible, even. No one he’d seen so far in this lifetime had even a quarter as much chakra as she did. Peering further still, he found a seal on her stomach. The signature was familiar to him, and upon deciphering it, a breath hitched in his throat.

There’s something sealed something in her. What could possibly possess so much chakra?

Moments after asking that question, he spotted a blond-haired man in a white coat dashing forward. The man was sweating and breathing heavily, and numerous guards rushed out and bowed to him as one.

I’ve seen him somewhere….

Zi Wuji recognized him. He was the man the teachers often transformed into when teaching the Transformation Technique. His figure and likeness were similar to that of the fourth head on the obnoxious mountain overlooking the village.

“Hokage-sama!”

That’s the Hokage?

Zi Wuji assumed the leader of such a large village would be older and wiser. The leaders of Sects were often elderly individuals because power came with time and age. The man in front of him, with his blond hair and pretty-boy looks, could only be in his twenties.

The longer he watched, the more things began to add up. The red-haired woman was the wife of the Hokage, and the man was here to protect her. There was something sealed in her, something powerful and dangerous, and it was likely the seal would weaken during childbirth. 

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue. He was curious as to the skill level of the man who was the leader of the entire village, and he was curious as to what exactly was within the seal. He could not peer past it at this range. If he were closer, close enough to examine the seal in person —

I would need to get the Hokage’s wife alone and naked…

He’d only unraveled the secrets of the Caged Bird Seal and still needed to wait. He did not know the skill level of the Hokage and needed to acquire more information on the man’s combat abilities. The chakra sealed away in his wife was nigh-infinite. If he could absorb even half of it from her, it would solve nearly all of his problems with the Transformation Technique.

He would be able to transform his body into that of a cultivator.

He’d be able to cultivate again and ascend the heavens.

Unraveling the seal, however, was not wise. He’d be better off slowly draining the chakra from whatever was stuck in the seal without it being able to fight back or resist. This would mean also having to drain the woman’s chakra, which meant, a means of dual cultivation.

I’ll need to recreate my Yin Peculation and Flutter Forcing Finger Art… 

He needed to have an adult, or at least, a pubescent body for that. Transforming into an adult and having sex would not work to properly absorb the energy, as his chakra circulatory system would still be that of a child, and thus, would be incapable of holding the excess chakra.

The amount of chakra was so vast, that he needed to train his body to withhold it all, else, he’d simply die from the excess. This too would take time. 

He was not in a hurry. The woman was the wife of the Hokage, so it was likely she’d be heavily protected at all times, if not skilled in her own regard. Subjugating her would make him the enemy of the entire village. In the time it took for him to reach physical adulthood, he would ensure he was strong enough to kill the Hokage and everyone who’d come after him.

It’s only a matter of time.

He’d followed the entourage thinking that something big was going to happen, all while feeling an impending sense of doom. He’d even used the Death Liberator Sword Array in case he met an overwhelming opponent, but instead, he’d found an opportunity. 

He’d found a means to become a cultivator once again.

The sound of a child’s cry echoed throughout the clearing, and the husband and wife welcomed new life into the world, as Zi Wuji, quietly and unseen as he’d ever been, slipped out of the forest.

It was only a matter of time.

XXXXX

“This shouldn’t be possible.”

His one good eye peered through his mask towards the visible barrier, and his Sharingan spun rapidly within. Once more, he channeled chakra to it, casting Kamui, and once more, an incoherent force slammed him backward, sending him careening and skidding against the ground.

Finally, he’d thought of a solution. Slipping his physical body through the ground, he dug underneath the earth and moved towards the barrier —

Once again, the same incomprehensible force repelled him, outright smacking him out of the ground. He was sent careening through a solid tree, and collapsed on the ground, coughing and hacking as he felt numerous broken ribs.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again, to teleport past the barrier — 

Again, he failed. He tried again, and again, and again, using his old stubborn-headed nature to his advantage, and time after time, it was to no avail.

After the eighteenth failure, he roared in frustration. It made absolutely no sense. His sensei shouldn’t be able to create a barrier of this skill. Was it his wife then? Was Kushina the one behind it? He didn’t think her skill would grow to such absurd levels in a manner of years.

He could not pass the barrier. Attempting to teleport through with Kamui would have the same result as though he’d slammed head first at thousands of miles per hour into a brick wall. 

He could not break the barrier. He had neither the skill nor the patience to dismantle such a complicated thing. He’d only ever dabbled in the most basic and rudimentary fūinjutsu, so the task of breaking it or unraveling it was above and beyond him. 

He could not go under it. Doing so created a far more violent reaction that would injure him even worse than he was injured now.

Then, from above?

Once more, he tried —

Once more, the barrier sent him crashing into the dirt.

“GRAAAAAH!”

He kicked the earth and slashed at the trees in cold fury. He turned to stare at the giant shimmering wall, his gaze consumed with utter rage. That his plans would be foiled by a meager barrier of all things? A measly barrier? 

It was unthinkable.

He couldn’t get through, and, even if he somehow managed it, it was likely that his abilities would not work inside it either. He did not doubt his skills in combat, but without the aid of the invulnerability granted to him by Kamui he wasn’t confident in taking on his sensei, nor was he confident in fighting off the man’s elite guard.

If it was indeed his sensei who set up this barrier, then there was no hope of victory. Using the Flying Thunder God Technique in a space where no one else could escape from was such a disgustingly deadly combination. The odds of defeating such a tactic were slim to none. If they fought, it was very likely that he’d be captured if not outright killed.

Foiled by a barrier.

It stung. Worse than the pain of the boulder, but not as much as the ache in his chest when he saw the love of his life pierced through the heart. His ears picked up the sound of movement, as several shinobi were approaching his position, and against his will, he chuckled.

“You’ve won this round, Minato-sensei…”

On the night of October 10th, a masked man vanished with a swirl of space,

Chapter Text

“What’s your verdict, sensei?”

Jiraiya’s head ached. He wished it was the alcohol he’d drank the previous night, celebrating the birth of his godson. He’d lapped it up like a rogue dog off the tits of two of Nozomi-san’s girls and between their mewls and their pleasure-ridden cries of ‘Jiraiya-sama!’ they’d gotten him to open one bottle of sake after another. 

The sun peered into his eyes, forcing him to squint. The voice of his student was too loud and too silent all at once. The complicated characters he was gazing at did not help alleviate his headache. He brought his fingers up to his temples and pressed them together, wishing once more he’d learned that one alcohol-purifying technique his hime-sama created. Orochimaru mocked it when she first displayed it to them, questioning if she planned on becoming a world-famous alcoholic. 

His former teammate was strange in that regard, in so much as he was a teetotaler. After months of pestering, he’d gotten the man to drink a small sip of sake, and he’d sworn off alcohol for the rest of his life. Jiraiya never understood that part of him. Killing was fine and they lived lives that could be cut short at any moment, but he refused to indulge in the occasional vices, out of a loathing for the long-term consequences. 

Why partake in such foolish acts which serve no purpose but to demean me and hinder my health?

“Sensei?”

“Right, right… the seal.”

The longer he stared at it, the more his mind wandered off. He was never the prideful sort. Admitting when he was out of his element was a character trait that bordered on a character flaw. Yet, his lips would not move to utter that honest truth. Not because he didn’t want to admit it, but because he didn’t know how.

What do I say, exactly?

The work that’d been done before him was not out of his element, it was out of his damned universe. Attempting to unravel it was as futile as gazing into the sky and trying to get an accurate count of the number of stars with nothing but an outstretched finger. The longer he stared, the greater the disbelief within him grew. The more he tried to unravel it, the more a feeling of helplessness and bitterness gnawed at him from the inside out.

Twenty-eight years of experience in fūinjutsu, dabbling in the art since he was an eager ten-year-old who’d learned to hide porn in sealing scrolls, and he’d never seen anything of the sort. He’d managed to get private lessons from Mito-sama herself, all because his teacher was a student of her husband and brother-in-law, and his teammate was her granddaughter. It was a nepotistic advantage that not many would ever dare mention, and one not many would ever connect, but it did help.

He’d never have gotten where he was without those small advantages. He’d never become as skilled in fūinjutsu without those little benefits here and there. Even then, as his surname was not ‘Uzumaki’ and he was not red of hair, there was a limit he could reach with the art. Many in Konoha considered him a foremost expert, but Jiraiya knew better. He was a droplet born of a river, which in turn, was but a mere tributary of a vast and unfathomable ocean.

The work in front of him was something from the lowest depths of that ocean, so how could he, a mere droplet, fathom what it was?

The thought aided him to sober up more than he liked. He sat there, for numerous minutes, gazing at the work. There were layers upon layers. He had the faint idea as to what some layers were meant to do, but he did not know how they did it. It was like attempting to solve for X, but all the other numbers were also X. Not even a god could make X multiplied by X equal Y.

“Did you ask —”

“Kushina-chan?” his student hummed. “I did.”

“And?”

“She’s never seen anything like it.”

“You thought I’d have a better shot?”

“No luck either?”

“Did you search the area? Find anything who might tell you who did this?”

“The sensors couldn’t pick up anything. There were some destroyed trees and disturbed earth opposing the other side of the barrier but —”

“The alterations to this were done internally,” Jiraiya noted.

That much, he could decipher. To make alterations to the barrier, one needed to first bypass it, and then edit it from the inside. This meant someone had first broken through the barrier, strengthened it, and simply… left?

“I had Tsume-san scan the area for any scents, but she didn’t pick up anything unusual. Neither did Shibi-san. His kikaichu couldn’t find any trace of foreign chakra signatures.”

“This is strange, Minato.”

Minato hummed, before crossing his arms and laughing merrily.

“You don’t seem all that concerned.”

“Kushina-chan has a theory that she has a guardian angel,” Minato said. “She believes one of her relatives from the Uzumaki Clan is watching over her in secret.”

Jiraiya gave him a long glance.

“It’s unlikely, I know,” he admitted. “But you know how she is. There are a lot of children who survived the fall of Uzushiogakure.”

“And you?” Jiraiya probed. “What’s your theory?”

“The person who did this doesn’t have any ill will in mind.”.

“You’re sure?”

“With this barrier active, if they’d wanted to attack us, they would have. I couldn’t use the Flying Thunder God Technique to get away nor fight, I couldn’t summon any of the toads for backup, and I’d have to be fighting to protect Kushina-chan as well. If they wanted me dead, it was the prime moment to kill me.”

He pointed to the barrier.

“Yet, the only thing they did was strengthen the barrier.”

That was the part Jiraiya could not understand. To be capable of eliminating any and all space-time ninjutsu in an area, including the Second Hokage’s Flying Thunder God Technique, turned a measly mid-ranked Barrier into a Kage-Level barrier. It must have taken a long amount of time to set it up. Why go to such effort and not even reveal yourself in the end? To what end? For what purpose?

It did not sit well with him. Having the knowledge that there was an unknown Fūinjutsu Master within Konoha with skills that surpassed them all made him uneasy. The most optimistic outcome of such a thing was learning that the mysterious master was a long-lost relative, or perhaps an obsessive super-fan of his student or his student’s wife, but Jiraiya wasn’t that optimistic.

There was a gust of wind, and a spike of chakra and a member of the ANBU corps appeared beside them, bowing immediately. 

“Hokage-sama, Jiraiya-sama.”

“Is everything alright, Toru?”

“A messenger of the Daimyō arrived with an urgent message, Hokage-sama. He’s waiting in your office.”

“Daimyō?” Minato pondered. “I’ll have to leave you here for now, sensei. If figure out anything about the seal —”

“Right, right, run along, brat.”

His student vanished in a flash of yellow. Jiraiya sat and exhaled. The ANBU member vanished, and he was left alone, staring at the complicated work, with a feeling of exhaustion. 

“Where the hell do I even start…”

It was going to be a long, painful day.

XXXXX

The sign at the top of the building read Konohagakure no Sato — Shinobi Library. Two men stood at the entrance. The first was a Chūnin, middle-aged and with a receded hairline. A potent star-shaped scar lay across his nose which he itched slightly, before sneezing, as molecules of dust wafted into his nostrils. His chakra quantity was average for rank, and his elemental nature was fire. Twenty-eight shuriken lay within his pouch attached to his left hip, and a small short sword, a tantō lay on his back. 

The other was younger and equally male. Rotund, with more fat on his body than the average man, with squinted eyes. A stick of sweet confectionary lay in his hand, which he chewed upon slowly. He was less equipped than his contemporary, his chakra quantity was higher, and his element, similarly, was that of fire.

Both men regarded him as he approached, but only the thin one spoke. 

“Well, if it isn’t Inumaki-san! You’re back again?”

“I am.”

“Haaah, must be really hard being a Chūnin Instructor,” the same thin man said. “I swear I’ve seen you come down here every day for the past three weeks.”

Inumaki’s response was a smile and a warm chuckle. “It never gets boring, at least.”

“I hear that,” the man said. “Ugh. I’ve been stuck on guard duty for the past month. I really don’t know why this post exists. The village gates, I get. The Hokage’s Office, I can understand. But the bloody library?”

“There’s lots of valuable knowledge in there,” he provided. “Wouldn’t want random civilians to gain access to it, would we?”

The thin Chūnin scoffed. “As if they’d have the guts to try.”

He walked past both men, lightly tapping the thinner one on the shoulder. “You never know. One of these days, they’d surprise you.”

“Hah! The day a civilian tries to enter the shinobi library is the day Lady Tsunade sucks my big fat —”

“I’m hungry,” the fat Chūnin said abruptly. “I’m leaving for my lunch break.”

“Oi! You just bloody got here, damn it!”

He ignored the bickering pair and made his way deep inside the library. The librarian was a young bespectacled woman. Her chakra quantity was greater than both men outside, and her elemental affinity was closer toward water and earth. She was not armed, not visibly. She gave him a polite nod and he nodded in turn, moving past her, deep into the library, and entering the section labeled ‘Chūnin And Above Only.’

He closed his eyes and began to walk, seemingly, in a random manner. Anyone who saw him would assume he was searching for something, but his eyes were closed, and his motions were slow. As though he were guided, not by his own choice, but by sheer randomness and the fate of the universe, he moved about, his hand brushing past numerous books. He walked past the Ninjutsu section, feeling nothing. He moved past the Taijutsu section with a blank expression. In this manner, he  until he reached an area labeled ‘Miscellaneous And Foreign Arts.’ 

As though struck by lightning, his eyes jerked open, and his hand flashed out and latched on to a book. The book choice, to anyone else, would have seemed utterly random. The book was dusty and the pages were yellowed, but the spine was in perfect condition, as was the back. It appeared as though it’d never been touched, never been used, and never been read.

The Allure of Control: A Kunoichi’s Guide to Seduction and Subjugation

By Senju Shimokawa

He ignored the title and flipped open the first page.

Introduction

Since time immemorial, man has always wished to gain control. Be it to control one’s fate, to control the elements, to control nature to one’s whim, or to control his fellow man. To this end, numerous methods were developed and tested, and many have formed their own means of subjugating their enemies to their whim. 

The Nara Clan spent decades in the mastery of the depths of yang chakra and invented their Shadow Techniques which are capable of turning the non-physical into the physical, halting and controlling a body through the connection between their shadows. 

Their allies, the Yamanaka Clan, did the opposite and developed a means to control yin chakra. Through study and enlightenment, they invented their Mind Techniques, an art that enables them to alter and control the minds of others, and even go as far as projecting their spirits into their enemies. 

In Sunagakure no Sato, the harsh conditions of the desert and deadly wildlife led to the natives inventing puppeteering, a specific sub-set of Ninjutsu that allowed them to finely hone their chakra into threads, and use it to control puppets to serve as doppelgangers capable of attacking and defending from afar. A master of this art is often theorized to be able to control the corpses of humans, and, to an extent, living people.

The secrets to these techniques are guarded fiercely because the individuals responsible for the creation understand what is at stake. For a shinobi, the power to control another is the power to decide life and death. It is the power to bring endless ruin to villages, spark uprisings, and incite wars.

Thus, the most powerful Kunoichi is a kunoichi capable of control over men.

“Yin… chakra?”

‘Inumaki’ swiftly snapped the book shut. He strolled around the library, his gaze traveling to book upon book and title upon title, but nothing he’d found in the Chūnin section mentioned any of the two topics. He approached the librarian and offered a smile.

“Is there anything on Yin and Yang Chakra available?”

“That would be under Chakra Affinities.”

“Chakra Affinities?”

“I’m afraid it’s restricted to the Jōnin section, Inumaki-san.”

‘Inumaki’ departed from the library. He continued a ways away, navigating past the busy and bustling streets of Konoha soundlessly. Swiftly and without hesitation, he turned down an alleyway. A moment later, a young boy emerged out the other side.

Chakra Affinities. Didn’t I get a book on it for my birthday?

The boy recalled the words he’d seen.

Yin Chakra… if such a thing really does exist… 

It’d been a number of weeks since he discovered the Hokage’s wife. Transforming into one of the teachers at the Konoha Academy and studying books at the library had been done in an effort to discover more about the woman.

Zi Wuji learned more than he hoped for. The woman was named Kushina and surnamed Uzumaki. Uzumaki Kushina. Coincidence? Unlikely. Though he failed to find a direct connection, Zi Wuji was certain that the woman was of some relation to Uzumaki Mito. Thus, he searched. He combed, scoured, and studied. Mountains of books piled up, the hours passed, candles melted and the lantern oil dried.

Answers came forth. A photograph, of a woman, red of hair and pale of complexion. Books and journals, autobiographies and references. Damning of them all, was the picture of Uzumaki Mito in clan regalia, standing beside a man with brown hair, known as the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama.

One of the books he’d gotten for his birthday was on The Legend of Hashirama Senju. In it, was the mention that his wife, Uzumaki Mito was the result of an arranged marriage with the distant relatives of the Senju, the Uzumaki Clan.

Within, Zi Wuji found even more answers. 

Tailed Beasts.

Reading their descriptions had brought Zi Wuji no small amount of excitement. The Tailed Beasts were the closest things to the Demonic Beasts he knew of in the Rain World. Yet, they were different. Not only were they sparse, but they were also creatures of pure chakra, not Qi. 

Nine Tailed Beasts roamed the lands unfettered, before, supposedly, Hashirama rounded them up and split them between the villages in an attempt to broker peace. The book did not go into detail as to which village got which, but Zi Wuji was willing to bet that Konoha had gotten the strongest one.

I cannot believe such fools exist in this world.

On one hand, Zi Wuji understood the danger that fear could breed. If Hashirama kept all the beasts for himself, the other villages would gather together like a group of hyenas and attack in hopes of gaining one for themselves. On the other hand, handing out the beasts was utter foolishness, when the man could have merely wiped out and absorbed the villages who would dare attack with overwhelming power.

He’d handed out the beasts in an attempt to prevent war, but there were Three Great Shinobi Wars afterward regardless, which made his decision not only foolish but altogether pointless. In his attempt to placate his enemies, all he’d done was successfully arm them.

The more he studied, the more discrepancies Zi Wuji found. Keeping the strongest-tailed beast would mean the village possessed a powerful trump card. Yet, he’d had seen no giant fox roaming about. Considering how difficult it would be to control such a thing, they must have had a way to keep the beast in check.

The First Hokage collected and gave out tailed beasts for the sake of peace. His wife was an Uzumaki. The Uzumaki Clan possessed the most fūinjutsu knowledge. The Fourth Hokage’s wife was also surnamed Uzumaki. The Fourth Hokage’s wife possessed a near-infinite source of chakra sealed within her.

The pieces connected and fit like a jigsaw puzzle.

Zi Wuji came to a stop on a forked road, which led to numerous clan compounds. His eyes activated, and he zoomed deep into a clan compound that was out of the way, almost completely isolated. A detail of four ANBU members could be found, hidden in the shadows within the clan compound, and the home itself was covered with numerous squiggles and writings which would be invisible to a layman.

It was the Hokage’s Residence, but, beyond that, his research told him the small clan compound was created by the First Hokage to allow his in-laws/relatives in the Uzumaki Clan have a place of their own. 

Zooming into the house, he found no one present save for the red-haired woman, and the blond-haired baby in her arms.

Scanning the rest of the compound, he found layers of defensive seals which were passable to his standards but altogether held the same critical flaws as the barrier he’d seen in the forest.

On examining the protections, Zi Wuji was roughly ninety-five percent certain that the woman, Kushina, was the one who’d contributed majorly to the barrier. The handiwork was just as poor, and the writing just as atrocious. It both amused and irritated him. Had he not decided to absorb the chakra within her, he’d have considered taking her as his disciple, if only because he wanted to reprimand her horrible calligraphy and teach her proper form.

Zi Wuji departed from the fork in the road and continued on his way to the Hyūga Clan.

He’d hit a roadblock in his means of recreating the Yin Peculation Art and the Flutter Forcing Finger Art, and until he mastered both, he could not progress. The major problem he had was the fact that chakra was not Qi, and, due to the lack of an intrinsic yin or yang-natured energy, he could not recreate a technique that relied on the absorption of such energy.

However, he’d learned something new in the library today.

Yin Chakra.

It was time to dive head-first into his studies.

XXXXX

Zi Wuji’s Technique Development and Progress Journal

Year One:

Year Focus:   Chakra and Elemental Affinities

Observation Target : Myself/Others/Multiple

Supplementary Materials : Book on Elemental Affinities/Konoha Library

Observation : Humans possess a different nature of chakra, organized into elemental archetypes. 

Query: Are these elemental archetypes the same as those in the Rain World? What purpose do these archetypes serve? 

Discovery (1) : In the Rain World, the Elemental Archetypes are divided into Earth, Wood, Metal, Fire, and Water. They are called the Wuxing and are the building block and foundation of the universe. They overcome and succeed one another in an immutable cycle and are correlated with the cardinal directions, seasons, colors, musical tones, and bodily organs.

In the Elemental Nations, these elements are Earth, Lightning, Wind, Fire, and Water. There is no greater relation between these elements and the cosmos. However, these elements are the building blocks of nearly all ninjutsu, such that the Five Great Shinobi Villages are named after them. 

Emitting chakra from the body with one’s elements is a process called Nature Transformation, and the corresponding element is called a ‘Release’ Technique. E.g, Fire Release [Katon], Water Release [Suiton], or Earth Release [Doton].

Discovery (2): Utilizing the Byakugan, one is able to determine the nature of chakra that another has by observing the flow of chakra. Fire is the most common, and the chakra flows wildly and forcefully. Earth is slow, stiff, yet deep and unyielding. Water is extremely malleable and fluid. Lightning, the rarest, moves in a jerky, fast and abrupt manner. Then there is wind, which is sharp, yet flows in a manner similar to water.

Experiment: Utilize the Byakugan to decipher and master my own Chakra Affinity. 

Results: My Chakra Affinity has been determined to be towards Wind and Fire. Current Mastery Progress is Underway. 

Notes : Yin and Yang Chakra are special natures that are the backbone of all non-elemental ninjutsu, medical ninjutsu, and the origin of genjutsu. There is Yin Release [Inton], based on the imagination and spiritual energy of a shinobi, and Yang Release [Yōton], based on the vitality and physical energy of a shinobi. Together, they are used to perform Yin–Yang Release [In'yōton/Onmyōton] .

Year Two:

Year Focus:   Yin and Yang Chakra

Observation Target : Genjutsu Users/Akimichi/Nara/Yamanaka Clans

Supplementary Materials : N/A

Observation : Clan-specific Jutsu and genjutsu utilize either Yin or Yang Chakra.

Query: Is the utilization of Yin and Yang Chakra commonplace amongst shinobi? Is a Yin/Yang Chakra Affinity a prerequisite or requirement to learn?

Discovery (1) : Children as early as five years old in the Yamanaka Clan are taught to mold Yin Chakra to be able to project their consciousness out of their body. Children as early as six or seven in the Akimichi Clan are likewise taught simplified Yang Chakra exercises to master their Multi-Size Technique.

Discovery (2): All Genjutsu fall under the category of Yin Release, ergo, all genjutsu users are capable of utilizing Yin Chakra., As such, neither a Yin nor Yang Chakra Affinity is required to learn either Yin or Yang Release Techniques. 

Experiment: Learn/fall under a Genjutsu and dissect the flow of chakra within.

Results: Inconclusive. [Could not find an individual willing to place me in a Genjutsu] [Could not find an individual willing to be placed under a Genjutsu] [Byakugan makes it impossible to cast a Genjutsu on myself].

Notes : A test subject may prove necessary for further experiments. Continuing without one may prove problematic.

Year Three:

Year Focus:   Byakugan and Tenketsu

Observation Target : Hyūga Clan/Myself

Supplementary Materials : N/A

Observation : There are three-hundred-and-sixty-one points at which chakra may be emitted from the body.

Query (1): Can one stimulate Nature Transformation through otherwise unutilized tenketsu? Are there any variations/specialties in the tenketsu?

Discovery (1): The 361 Tenketsu align perfectly with the 361 Acupuncture and Acupressure Points traditionally used in the Rain World Medical Charts, and are the exact specific points on the meridians where Qi is typically accessed.  Beyond this, 12 Major Meridians can be found.

The 12 Major Meridians are composed of Five Yin meridians: Heart, Spleen, Lungs, Kidneys, and Liver;  Five Yang meridians: Small intestines, Stomach, Large intestine, Urinary bladder, Gallbladder; and finally, the Pericardium meridian, and the San Jiao meridian.

These Meridians can be stimulated, and function identically to the Meridians of Cultivators, with the sole exception that Qi does not flow through them, but Chakra. Thus, Nature Transformation may be utilized through any tenketsu.

Discovery (2) : There are Eight Great Tenketsu within the human body. The Eight Great Points act as natural barriers and limiters, holding back the full amount of chakra a body is capable of possessing.  

The First Point is located in the brain's left hemisphere and possesses the power to remove one’s mental inhibitions holding back their physical body. 

The Second Point is located in the brain's right hemisphere and increases one’s physical strength, with the side effect of re-energizing the body and enabling it to rapidly recover from exhaustion.

The Third Point is located on the spinal cord and would stimulate the blood vessels, making one’s skin red and engorged and forcing bulging veins all over the body.

The Fourth Point is located equally on the spinal cord and it could vastly increase one’s speed but at the cost of severe muscle damage.

The Fifth Point is located in the abdomen and it vastly increases one’s strength at the cost of damaging and fracturing the bones. 

The Sixth Point is located in the stomach. It increases all of one’s abilities threefold and forces one to exude enough chakra to create a protective aura. 

The Seventh Point is located below the stomach and would cause the user's body to compress their chakra to such a point that it would secrete from them as sweat, and this sweat would work akin to a protective aura, but at the cost of significantly increased sensitivity and pain. 

The Eighth and final point is located at the heart. Activating this point forces one’s heart to pump at maximum speed, and in turn grants power a hundred times greater than one was usually capable of. In exchange, one’s blood would superheat and evaporate from the flesh, and the body would continually heat up until cooked from the inside out.

Query (2): Can the Eight Great Points be forcefully stimulated? Can they be blocked with the Gentle Fist?

Experiment: Attempt to stimulate All Eight Points and all 12 Meridians with the Gentle Fist.

Results: Inconclusive. [Could not find a suitable test subject] [Could not risk experimentation on self].

Notes : All further developments will be put on hold until a suitable test subject can be found.

XXXXX

“As you are now four years of age, you are to begin proper taijutsu training.”

There were no training dummies. He stood in an open field with his father watching on the side, his uncle, watching on another side, and a man he’d discovered was his grandfather, standing beside him. Across from Zi Wuji on the training ground was a young boy much older than him. Perhaps of seven or eight years of age, garbed in fine clothes and with a metal headband strapped around his arm rather than on his head, a Genin belonging to the Main Family.

“Is this necessary? Neji has no experience whatsoever in the Gentle Fist —”

“Your son is hailed as a genius, Hizashi,” his grandfather’s words came out. “I simply wish to test the veracity of such claims.”

The Genin was taller, meaning he possessed a greater reach. He was older, thus leading to better musculature and muscle mass. The manner in which he glared showed that there was some sort of personal vendetta, which, Zi Wuji could not understand.

In the past three years, Zi Wuji hadn’t paid much attention to the events of the clan. The days flew by in a blur as he set his focus for each year and worked towards deepening his understanding of the topics at hand. Although he’d discovered that one didn’t need a Yin Chakra Affinity to use Yin Release, recreating the Yin Peculation Art required a mastery of Yin Release.

The Yin Peculation Art was to Yin Release what the Grand Fire Annihilation Technique was to Fire Release. It was a high-level art that required he at least be proficient in Nature Transformation, which meant he needed to have mastery of his own two chakra affinities of Wind and Fire before he could begin to master Yin Chakra.

This didn’t account for his other studies on the Eight Great Points and the Meridians, all of which was him laying down the groundwork to learn the Flutter Forcing Finger Art. He needed an understanding of the Great Points and an understanding of Yin and Yang Chakra to be able to recreate the technique.

In short, he’d been lost in his own world, caring little for how he was seen or the drama and petty politics of his Clan and family.

This had come back to bite him.

“Did you not claim he’d learned to activate his Byakugan two whole years ago?”

“He did, but —”

“And did you not loudly declare that he’d mastered both tree walking and water walking before he turned a year old,” his grandfather’s voice was stern. “Whereas Hiashi’s daughter is still learning to waddle and walk at two years old?”

His father winced.

“If he truly is a genius, he should be capable of this much.”

Zi Wuji had encountered his cousin, Hinata, once or twice in the past year. Quiet, meek, soft-spoken and shy, she was found wanting in every conceivable way. She was not a genius. Even if she were, Zi Wuji was a reincarnated Cultivator, so it was impossible for her to catch up to him. 

Others in the clan did not see it that way. 

Rumors had already spread that Hinata lacked talent. She was turning three years of age soon, and still struggled to read properly and form elaborate sentences, as expected of an actual child. 

He’d skewed people’s perspectives and expectations of what a ‘genius’ was meant to be. As the youngest applicant to enter the Shinobi Academy, people could not help but compare her to him. It took only a matter of months before he mastered walking and talking and numerous complex words and characters, whereas she was nearly three years old and nowhere near as fluent as he was at eleven months. 

In the eyes of the Hyūga clan, she was clearly inferior. 

Ever since this comparison started, a strain grew between his father and his uncle. His father took every moment possible to remind the world that his son was a genius. He’d wanted to take another wife and have another child, yet, Hiashi stopped him. Rumors began that Hiashi was worried that Hizashi would give birth to another genius, and the tensions between the branch house and the main house skyrocketed.

Although he’d obsessively watched others fight, no one had formally approached him to teach him martial arts, and his father had been instructed not to teach him the Gentle Fist. To go against an opponent who’d no doubt had extensive tutelage of the Gentle Fist with no experience of lessons whatsoever was a match-up rigged to teach him a lesson and reduce his status.

It was the common face-slapping nonsense Zi Wuji had grown accustomed to in the Rain World. Nails that stuck up were brutally hammered down. If one began to shine too brilliantly, there would always be those who refused to look away and wished to obscure that shine. He had not anticipated encountering such ridiculous setups in another life. 

“Neji, we simply wish to test your aptitude for combat. If you can last three minutes against your opponent, we will consider this your victory.”

Zi Wuji bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t have time for such nonsense. He was already four years old. He hadn’t anticipated that re-creating the Yin Peculation Art and the Flutter Forcing Finger Art would require so much work. In less than a decade or so, he’d reach puberty. Every minute counted.

He’d been contemplating the means of getting test subjects he could practice on, but the problem was, he needed to experiment on shinobi. A civilian had so little chakra and so little understanding of the flow of it that any information gotten from experimenting on them would be inaccurate. To ensure the veracity of his research, he would need to abduct, experiment on, and potentially kill adult shinobi and kunoichi of the village. 

The risks were high. Any autopsy done on a corpse found would draw eyes towards the Hyūga Clan, and although he could perfectly eliminate their corpses and leave no traces, the sudden disappearance of notable members of the workforce would undoubtedly draw much scrutiny.

He did not wish to reveal his cards before they were ready.

Zi Wuji exhaled.

How irritating.

There was too much to be done and not enough time to waste on petty clan conflicts and face-slapping drama.

The reason for all this was his father’s inferiority complex. The man had done nothing at all to contribute to Zi Wuji’s progress, except, perhaps, purchasing him that one fūinjutsu book which Zi Wuji ultimately found useless, and he went around like a braggart, reaping from where he did not sow.

It seems I’ve let this drag on for too long…

If he was going to spend another ten years in the village, he could not let himself be constantly interrupted with nonsense that would get in the way of his progress.

“I understand, uncle.”

His opponent bowed in a respectful gesture, and Zi Wuji copied it. Then, the boy entered a pathetic mockery of a stance. Zi Wuji’s irritation spiked. It was bad enough that time was taken out of his day with this nonsense, but now, his opponent wasn’t even capable. 

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“What is that nonsensical stance? Your legs should be further apart. Your right hand is too low and your center of balance is entirely off.”

His opponent sneered. “What are you talking about?”

“The Gentle Fist is not so pathetic. You should be standing like this.”

Zi Wuji entered into the correct beginning stance for the Hyūga Martial Art. It flowed naturally to him, as he’d long seen it and practiced it in his head thousands upon thousands of times. The muscle memory was engraved and entrenched in him too deeply to have flaws.

His uncle, Hiashi, and his grandfather snapped their gazes toward his father. His grandfather’s expression was thin.

“I thought you were told not to teach him the Gentle Fist, Hizashi.”

“I…” his father’s voice was faint. “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I’ve been occupied with missions. I’ve… never shown him the Gentle Fist.”

His grandfather turned to him immediately, as did his uncle.

“Neji.”

“Yes, grandfather?”

“Who taught you the Gentle Fist?”

“I learned from watching Uncle and others.”

“What?” Hiashi blinked. “Watching me?”

“With my Byakugan. From my room.” 

“You mean to tell me that you learned the Gentle Fist simply from seeing others practice it?”

“Yes, grandfather.”

The field fell silent. His grandfather stroked his chin and did not speak.

“...Proceed.”

“Grandfather,” Zi Wuji exhaled. “Forgive me, but the opponent you’ve brought is lacking in skill. Please provide someone stronger, lest I kill him for making a mockery of our martial art.”

The words rippled out like a wave. The brows of the old man rose significantly. His father looked at him as though seeing him for the first time, and his uncle’s expression tightened.

“Neji!”

Their expressions surprised him, only for a minute, before he grasped why. No one in the clan had ever held a full conversation with him. He’d never gone out of his way to brag about his talents or skills because there was truly no need. What point was there for a tiger to brag to a group of rabbits? What king saw it necessary to brag before paupers?

They’d all believed, erroneously, that he was a humble genius. 

His grandfather’s eyes sharpened. “If you can defeat him in three minutes, I’ll consider it.” 

“As you wish, grandfather.”

Zi Wuji turned to his oppnent. The boy’s morale was shaken. His grandfather shot the boy a glare, and he quickly came to the conclusion that his stance was indeed poor. He attempted to copy the stance Zi Wuji demonstrated, but failed, and ended up with an even worse stance than he started with. 

…This is insulting. 

“Begin!”

Zi Wuji blurred forward. A palm strike came rearing towards his face, an instinctive, ill-thought-out response. It was slow. Laughably, disgustingly, and irritatingly slow. He evaded the palm strike without even thinking of it, and his own palm struck out, striking the chest of his opponent five times in the burst of a single second.

Tsk! Five is not enough?

He’d been aiming for the Eighth Point on the body. Zi Wuji wanted to know what would happen if the tenketsu was struck precisely enough to trigger the Eighth Great Point. Five strikes had not done it. How many, then, would it take, to forcefully activate another person’s Point of Death?

The boy’s eyes went wide. He coughed a mouthful of blood and his expression twisted into one of horror. He grasped at his chest and squeezed tightly. Without a sound, he collapsed to the ground his face burying itself into the dirt.

For three full seconds, silence reigned.

XXXXX

Flawless.

Utterly flawless.

Not a single motion was wasted. Not a single unnecessary motion. Fluid, swift, and lethal — the Gentle Fist at its most effective and beautiful. Coupled with ruthlessness and viciousness that had been lacking in his progeny for so long, it brought a deep and satisfying warmth to the heart of Hyūga Hideyoshi.

“Suzuki!”

Hiashi rushed to the side of the defeated Genin. Hideyoshi wordlessly activated his Byakugan. The five strikes had indeed been imbued with chakra, and they’d all aimed at the heart. There was only one outcome.

“You… killed him.”

His grandson, stood, with his gaze sharp. Hideyoshi’s blood ran wild. His old heart raced as he witnessed the expression on the boy’s face, the complete and utter disregard for a weaker foe, and the sheer expression of disgust that made Hiashi flinch.

“He was too weak to be called a Hyūga.”

Hahahahaha!

Hideyoshi’s lips formed into a wide grin. His old cheeks hurt from the force exerted on them, yet, he could not help it.

He had set out to teach his wayward younger son a lesson about his place and destiny within the clan. Hizashi had been getting too arrogant, and his son’s popularity amongst the Branch Clan was becoming problematic. Ever since Hiashi’s daughter was born, she was compared relentlessly to the more brilliant boy, and the comparison had become a source of discontent. 

He’d sought to nip it in the bud immediately and end whatever exaggerated rumors existed of the boy’s genius. Except, he’d been proven wrong. The rumors of the boy’s genius were not exaggerated.

They were understated.

Hideyoshi knew full-grown adults whose mastery of the Gentle Fist was not as fluid as what he’d witnessed the boy demonstrate. There was no doubting the boy’s talent any longer. He was a self-learned genius, a rare one-in-a-thousand existence that often occurred in clans. 

Alas, no matter how talented, he was still in the Branch Clan and would receive the Caged Bird seal once Hinata turned three years of age.

Hideyoshi felt it was a waste. The fact that Hiashi had given birth to a girl was already something that irked him, as it was not customary for women to lead the Hyūga Clan. Kunoichi were vastly inferior to their shinobi counterparts in all ways from strength to mental fortitude. Worse still, if she were to elope with someone else or marry an outsider, then every investment the clan poured into her would be for nothing. The thought of the leader of the esteemed Hyūga Clan becoming a mere housewife sickened Hideyoshi to no end.

Of course, Hiashi’s wife still lived while Hizashi’s wife was dead, and although he heard rumors of the woman being frail and sickly, he would convince Hiashi to try for another child in hopes of getting a proper male heir. He would never let Hizashi take another wife, however. If the man birthed another genius, there would be no justifiable grounds to keep Hiashi as the Clan Head without sparking a revolt from the Branch House.

Yet, even if Hiashi were to have a son, would he be able to surpass the genius before him? Hideyoshi did not believe it was likely. If he’d simply made it so Hizashi was the Clan Heir and Hiashi had been the one to receive the Caged Bird Seal, then the young boy in front of him would have been the brilliant star that elevated the Hyūga Clan to greatness.

Instead, his fate was to become a servant of a talentless wastrel of a girl.

Impossible!

Were his grandson to be of average skill, Hideyoshi would have let fate take its course. Were the boy to be of exceptional skill, even then, no matter how much it pained him, he would have still let fate take its course. However, the boy was of peerless skill.

And, to sweeten the pot, the boy’s attitude was perfect!

Shinobi of the current era were too weak. Hideyoshi greatly detested the kind of shinobi being bred in the modern day. He was one of the few who was strongly disappointed by the decision of the Third Hokage to hand over the title of Hokage to Namikaze Minato, rather than the more fitting Orochimaru. 

Although he would never consider himself Hiruzen’s rival, he’d grown up in the same era and time as them, and till present, Shimura Danzo remained one of his close confidants. His mindset was different from the rest. He wanted a more militaristic, stronger, and unified Hyūga. He wanted someone in the Hyūga to be a force to be reckoned with.

For too long, they’d been overshadowed by big names such as Hashirama Senju and Uchiha Madara. For too long, individuals such as Fugaku of the Wicked Eye and the Sannin Tsunade stole the spotlight as the geniuses of Uchiha and Senju fortune. Whereas his pitiful sons were of comparatively lacking renown, their peers brought glory and accolade to their ancestors and their clan.

No. 

No longer.

Hideyoshi would stand for it no longer.

The Hyūga Clan was inferior to none! They were not inferior to the Uchiha, and not inferior to the Senju! 

A statement needed to be made to the world that they were strong. A statement had to be made that they were peerless. Before he died, Hyūga Hideyoshi wanted nothing more than to make that grand statement, that the Hyūga were without equal.

Such a statement could not be made if the leader of the clan would be a pitiful, incompetent, wastrel of a woman.

“Neji,” Hizashi approached his son. “This wasn’t a match to the death. You shouldn’t have killed —”

“No,” Hideyoshi declared loudly. “Neji-kun’s actions were correct. Against a potentially stronger, more dangerous opponent, one must be ready to give their all. Young Suzuki slacked in his training, and this is the result. His death is no one’s fault but his own.”

Hideyoshi stroked his chin and approached his grandson. The boy’s gaze did not falter. Unwavering and sharp, even under the pressure of his elders. For the first time in his life, Hideyoshi was indeed proud to be a parent. This was what the Hyūga clan had been missing. This was what it needed. A man who gave no room for his enemies. A person not just strong, but smart and ruthless.

“Hiashi.”

“Yes, otou-sama?”

“Neji.”

“Yes, grandfather?”

Hyūga Hideyoshi smiled.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Grandfather?”

“If you are able to last fifteen minutes against your uncle,” Hideyoshi declared. “You will become the new Heir of the Hyūga Clan.”

The expressions on the faces of his sons were as he anticipated. Their outcry emerged like irritating bees buzzing in his ears. In truth, he blamed their mother for their weakness. It was his fault, having been entrapped by that woman’s sensuous thighs and tightness. He’d never wanted to marry her, as he’d felt she was lacking in many ways and her genes were not fit to lead the next generation, but he’d succumbed to her skilled mouth. Till this day, his lack of self-control that night was his greatest shame.

“Otou-sama! This is not your decision to —”

“I’ll inform the Elders, and we shall have a vote,” Hideyoshi declared. “If the boy lasts fifteen minutes against you, Hiashi, you will adopt him as your son, and Hizashi will adopt Hinata as his daughter. She will be branded as a member of the Branch House and will serve her role dutifully.”

“I will not stand for it,” Hiashi’s eyes burned. “The Clan Laws —”

“The laws allow exceptions for exceptional individuals,” he interrupted him. “And Neji-kun is an exceptional individual.”

Hideyoshi reached out for his grandson and placed his hand on the boy’s head.

“If Neji-kun can last fifteen minutes against the Clan Head at a young age, having self-taught himself our esteemed taijutsu, then he is a genius amongst geniuses and more than deserving of the position of heir.”

“You want me to go all out against my nephew? Otou-sama, he is a child —”

“And we are shinobi,” Hideyoshi said sharply. “If you wish to hold back, you may do so at your own imperative. I have stated the conditions. If you let him last the full fifteen minutes, you will lose yourself a daughter and gain yourself a son.”

“Grandfather.”

“Do you have problems with this arrangement, Neji?”

“I just wish to know what will happen if I accidentally kill Uncle.”

“Neji!” Hizashi called sharply. 

Hideyoshi could not hide his amusement. He barked out a laugh, one so full of mirth and excitement that his old bones felt rejuvenated. Indeed, compared to his incompetent wastes called sons, the boy held far more guts. Any doubts Hideyoshi held were gone. This was not a mistake. This was the right course of action. Such a child would not disappoint him, and such a child would elevate the Hyūga Clan to peerless heights.

“If you somehow kill your uncle,” Hideyoshi mused. “Then your father will take his place as the temporary clan head until you are old enough to assume the position.”

“Understood, grandfather.”

“Good,” Hideyoshi smiled. “It will be a pure taijutsu match. You may only use the Gentle Fist, and its related taijutsu. You will have a week to prepare and polish your skills, Neji-kun. At the end of the week, I will gather the Clan Elders and the match will be held.”

He patted him on the shoulders.

“I hope you will provide an interesting show.”

XXXXX

Hizashi paced back and forth within his room, his lips furrowed into a frown. His father had gotten word to the Elders, and somehow, the Elders collectively agreed. The word spread wild and fast, and everyone in the Hyūga Clan was now aware of the most important event that would happen in their clan in the past century.

It was the dream of those born into the Branch House to someday be able to change their fates. No one wanted to be born a slave and die a slave. No one who had the Caged Bird Seal was content with the situation, but, they’d bore through with it, believing and telling themselves they were doing it for the good of their family.

Now, an opportunity had arisen. One of their own would have a chance to become a member of the Main House. There was no one in the Branch House that this did not excite. Something they’d all thought to be a dream was reachable, albeit, for special circumstances.

Hizashi was conflicted. It’d been his greatest fear that his son, with all his talent, would still be branded, and this was a means to avert that fate. Yet, it would mean losing his son. Biologically, they would still be parent and child, but their social standing would be worlds apart. In exchange, he would gain a daughter he did not particularly care for and knew little about how to raise.

If he was honest, he hadn’t raised Neji at all. The boy’s genius made him independent from a young age, and Hizashi could barely count the number of contributions he’d made to his son’s life. It was why Neji’s ruthlessness stunned him. He hadn’t seen it coming. He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t known he was capable of it.

The more Hizashi thought, the more he realized that he did not know his son at all. He did not know the boy’s favorite meal, he did not know of his hobbies, his strengths, his weaknesses, his likes, and dislikes. He could not speak of his son’s ambitions or dreams, his favorite colors, nor even his burgeoning personality. 

As the de-facto leader of the Branch House, he was often sent on missions in Hiashi’s steed. To ensure the Byakugan never fell into the wrong hands, he handled all of the tasks that would otherwise take Hiashi out of the village, and as such, was often gone for weeks or months at a time. His son never really complained, and in a way, he’d been glad to have a child so independent. 

Now. Hizashi saw his folly.

He’d never instilled any morals or lessons into the boy. He’d never taught him anything of kindness or empathy, nor had he shown him humility and discipline. With no one to truly teach him, his son must have gotten it from elsewhere. The ruthlessness and callousness he’d displayed worried Hizashi. His father loved it, and the man was a relic of older and bygone times with outdated beliefs, so if his father approved of Neji’s behavior, it was, in Hizashi’s eyes, a massive red flag.

Yet, it was that same red flag that gave Neji the opportunity to change his fate.

Alas, Hizashi knew it was just that. An opportunity. His brother loved his daughter too much. The man would never allow her to be branded. Hiashi would be ruthless in the upcoming battle, and though he knew his son was gifted and they were restricted to the Gentle Fist, Hiashi was still a Jōnin.

His son entered the room and caught him pacing. Hizashi swiftly took in a deep breath and forced his voice to be stern.

“Neji.”

“Is something wrong, father?”

Hizashi faltered. He didn’t know where to begin. The boy’s gaze was cold. Piercing. Dare he say it, it was almost mocking. As though he could see right through him, as though he could peer, straight past him, and unravel him, layer by layer, peel by peel.

“D-do you need any help with train —”

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

“T-then,” Hizashi cleared his throat. “Is there any way I can…” 

“No.”

“I… I see.”

“Do you hate Uncle, father?”

“W-what?”

“Do you hate him?”

Hizashi couldn’t answer. 

Did he hate his brother? How could he say that he loved him? From the moment of their birth till present, could he love a man who’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted? A man who’d always had the power to try and abolish the clan customs, but did nothing? A man who’d stolen away the heart of the woman he loved? A man who lived in affluence, enjoyed all the benefits, riches and blessings that he should have had as well?

A man who’d gotten everything, not through hard work or talent, but merely by the fate of being into the world moments earlier?

“I…”

“It’s fine.”

His son’s voice was plain.

“You won’t have to hate him for much longer.”

The boy exited the room.

For the first time in a truly long time —

Hyūga Hizashi felt fear.

Chapter Text

When Hyūga Junichi arrived to tell him that he’d be unable to take any missions for the foreseeable week due to clan obligations, Minato thought nothing of it. The next day, Hyūga Ishimoto arrived to make the same request. By lunch of the same day, it was Hyūga Yasuhiro, and by dinner, it was Hyūga Ikemoto. 

Then, came the third day. Six Chūnin, two Genin, and one Jōnin all arrived, bearing the surname Hyūga, and equally requested a week of leave due to clan affairs.

Most had been unwilling to part with the specific reason, whereas others, without even waiting for his lips to part open and ask, had loudly declared why they needed that specific day off in the next week.

“Neji-sama is challenging Hiashi-sama to be able to become the Clan Heir.”

Hyūga Neji was not a name foreign to Minato. He had no less than two enthusiastic Chūnin Instructors who spouted endless praises of the boy’s intellect and prodigious nature, and often requested the boy be allowed to graduate early. 

“We are not at war. Five years of age is the bare minimum I’ll allow,” he’d told them. “Not a single day younger.”

Had he not instilled this law, he was certain that Hyūga Neji would become the youngest Genin in Konoha’s History.

The boy’s achievements were already staggering, as he possessed the record of being the youngest person to ever be accepted into the Konoha Shinobi Academy. Once he graduated at five years old, he would share the record of the youngest Academy Graduate in Konoha’s history, alongside Kakashi. Minato had hoped the boy would be able to enjoy a few more years as a child at least, but, if it wasn’t to be, then it wasn’t to be.

“Neji-sama is of the Branch Clan, so, this opportunity is one that everyone in the Branch Clan has been waiting for, and no one wants to miss it, Hokage-sama.”

The Hyūga Clan’s Juinjutsu was something that always fundamentally disturbed Minato. He found the practice to be flawed and inefficient, whereas Kushina found it outright disgusting. When they’d been in the academy, she’d often butt heads with Hiashi over the matter.

Minato believed there was a workable solution. As the Hokage, however, he couldn’t act unless the Clan Head or Elders approached him and made it clear they wished to change things. Attempting to intrude into intra-clan traditions and laws would immediately make him various enemies, no matter how well-intentioned his actions were.

Even if he did want to help, he was too swamped. He hadn’t been able to brush up on his Fūinjutsu skill in the past three years, in between his role as the Hokage and his newfound role as a father. 

One particular night, he’d spent more time than he meant to in the office, buried under a small mountain of paperwork, only for a chill to run down his spine as a red-haired woman conjured herself behind him with burning eyes and a frying pan wielded in her right hand.

Kushina made it absolutely clear that his role as the Hokage would not come before his role as a husband and father. 

If it did, he would no longer have a role as a husband and father. 

The threat was not made in jest. His wife was more than capable of raising their son on her own and walking out of their marriage if it came down to it. Uzumaki Kushina loved him, this was true, but she would never be dependent on him. She would never let herself be the second priority of the person she loved. She would not sacrifice her happiness and the happiness of her child for the sake of the village.

She’d already sacrificed too much.

The ground rules were clear. He would be present for dinner every night. He would take time off on the weekends to spend time with his wife and son. Birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays were to be spent with family, no exceptions. If he was going to be unavailable for dinner, then he’d have to send a message via toad or arrive in person explaining so.

In order to make sure he kept to the rules, he used the Flying Thunder God Technique. In the past three years, he’d made about four dozen more of his special tri-pronged kunai and put them in key locations across the village. There were only a handful of places he could not go to and from instantaneously. 

If Minato was being honest, it wasn’t easy juggling his responsibilities. Even then, he was happy Kushina put her foot down when she did. He was happy to have such a strong-willed wife. They were both orphans, so they understood deeply the importance of family. He would be filled with regret if a day ever came wherein he realized that he’d neglected and failed to appreciate the one thing he’d wished for the most as a child. 

He couldn’t imagine what sort of horrible thing it was to fail at being a father.

“Minato.”

Thus, when Hyūga Hizashi approached him in the dead of night, seeking to speak in private, Minato was concerned. He’d already concluded his office work for the day and was comfortably in bed with his wife before two knocks arrived on his doorstep, and a familiar dog-faced ANBU with spiky white hair told him he had an unexpected visitor.

“This is unusual, Hizashi-san.”

Hyūga Hizashi looked like a deflated shell of a man. At a glance, Minato could tell the man had not slept in a while. His pale eyes seemed far-away, distant, and haunting, his cheekbones appeared gaunt, and he gave the impression of a man who was standing on the precipice.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t come to your office. What I have to say… it’s not something I could let others overhear.”

They stood at the entrance to his house within the Uzumaki Clan Compound, and Minato occasionally shot glimpses behind him. Kushina was always a heavy sleeper, but he didn’t really want to wake her up because of a rather specific rule about not bringing ‘work’ home.

“My wife and son are sleeping, and I would rather not —”

“I’m going away, Minato,” Hizashi said. “Far away.”

The announcement gave Minato pause. 

They’d been in the academy together and they’d fought in a war together. They may not have been friends, but as shinobi belonging to the same generation, they were comrades.

“What’s wrong?”

The question seemed to make Hizashi age a few solid decades.

“At the end of the week, I will either lose a son or lose a brother,” Hizashi said. “In the worst case, I will lose both.”

Minato did not speak.

“You must have heard by now about the event.”

Minato faintly nodded. “I have.”

“My father has made it clear. If my son, Neji-kun lasts fifteen minutes against my brother, then he will become the Clan Heir. I know Hiashi. I know how he thinks. If there is even a slim possibility of losing his daughter, he will not take the risk. He will not hesitate.”

Hizashi laughed. The laugh was bitter. It was acrid.

“In turn, I’ve failed to raise my son. Neji-kun… he plans on killing my brother if he gets the chance. At first, I did not believe he’d be capable of it, but I know better now. He thinks it’ll make me happy. He thinks it’s what I want.”

Gently, Minato probed. “Is it?”

Hizashi looked into the sky.

“...I do not know.”

He looked down.

“In my heart, there is hatred for my brother. There is rage and there is bitterness. And yet…” Hizashi’s lips curled. “I remember us playing in our mother’s garden, using her kunai to uproot her plants and getting scolded from dusk till dawn. I remember how I would distract the guards, while he snuck into the pantry to pilfer snacks meant for the Elders during the clan’s founding ceremony. I remember our graduation, our first mission, and the foes we overcame together during the Chūnin Exams.”

Minato recalled those Chūnin Exams as well. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips.

“Minato,” Hizashi’s voice was serious. “How is it that one can hate someone so much, and still find a way to love them?”

Minato could tell Hizashi was not seeking an answer.

“I… I cannot watch my brother kill my son, Minato. Nor can I witness my son kill my brother. I want Neji-kun to have a different fate from his father. Yet, I would rather he have the fate of a slave than no fate at all.” 

Hizashi shook his head.

“Perhaps this is something I should have done long ago. Had I more courage… the moment I’d been branded, I’d have taken my fate into my own hands. Now, all I can do is make sure that my son does not suffer for my mistakes.”

“Hizashi,” Minato’s voice was firm. “If there’s something I can —”

“Intervening in a clan matter won’t end well. Neither for you nor the village,” Hizashi said. “I won’t ask the impossible. Even if I could, this is something I have to see to the end myself.”

Minato fell silent.

“Will you take care of Neji-kun for me? There is a darkness in him. He needs light, Minato. He needs light, but I cannot be the one to give it to him. I… I do not know how.”

“I understand.”

Hyūga Hizashi proffered a faint smile. 

“Thank you, Minato. No, thank you, Hokage-sama.”

Hyūga Hizashi departed the Uzumaki Clan Compound as silently as he left. Minato stood there, gritting his teeth tightly for several minutes. A familiar dog-masked ANBU appeared beside him, silently gazing down the path Hizashi left. As they were the only two individuals present, the dog-masked ANBU spoke casually.

“Should I notify the hunter-nin, sensei?”

Minato slowly shook his head.

“Hizashi isn’t leaving the village.”

The dog-masked ANBU fell silent.

“He said that he’s going away.”

“Yes,” Minato said.

The dog-masked ANBU didn’t say a word further.

“Notify the Council, and contact Shikaku,” Minato exhaled. “Things are going to be unpleasant in the coming days.”

XXXXX

At the start of the week, he was approached by two members of the Branch Clan who wished to spar with him. He rebuffed them, to which, they took offense. A minute and a half later, when their limp hands rubbed against the ground and their knees were buried in the dirt, they understood he did not wish to be disturbed.

The following day, two members of the Main Clan approached. 

Unlike the Branch Clan, who’d come with bowed heads and wild smiles, their countenance was firm, their expressions were rigid, and the sneers they wore announced their flagrant hostility. They’d spouted off the usual nonsense, declaring that he was not worthy to fight Hiashi, claiming that a person of low birth should know his place. 

After thirty minutes of ignoring them in his meditative state, they huffed and puffed like a frustrated wolf blowing on a brick house, before departing without another word. 

Their plan, if such a blatantly obvious thing could even be called that, was to force him to initiate combat, cripple him, and thus, claim they’d acted in self-defense. Such an obvious tactic was almost outright insulting, as far as Zi Wuji was concerned. He would not demean himself by being baited by novices in the art of scheming.

On the third day, the third temptation came. 

Not grown men, but a young girl, twelve, perhaps thirteen of age. Offering a false smile and providing a handful of sweets, she offered to let him rest his weary head on her lap. She announced demurely how impressed she was by him and how much she admired him. 

Zi Wuji gave only a sparing look at the blatant honeytrap, laughed, and told the wench to go bewitch her useless father.

When he’d enjoyed beauties beyond beauties in his past life, there was no way such a girl would move him. Zi Wuji’s singular focus was on his meditation. He sat atop a rock underneath a spot in the grove of the Hyūga Clan, and had not moved for three full days. He had not slept. He had not eaten. Legs crossed and eyes closed, the third day came and went.

By the fourth day, his father arrived. 

The man carefully asked why he was not preparing. He pondered and inquired if Zi Wuji intended to surrender. Zi Wuji provided the man one-word answers, each shorter and briefer than the last. 

His answers came in the form of positives or negatives, and, for questions that could not be answered with an affirmation or a rebuff, silence sufficed. The man belayed his worries, which, as far as Zi Wuji was concerned, were but the troubling buzzing of mosquitoes within his ears. One or two maids were told to provide him food, which, Zi Wuji did not touch, nor did he even regard. His eyes remained closed, and his mediation continued. 

By the fifth day, there was no one in the Hyūga Clan who did not know of the fact that he’d remained on that rock for five straight days, with neither food nor water.

His grandfather was next to approach him, voicing clear discontent and confusion as to his actions. The man was old by the lifespan standards of a mortal, of a shinobi, but to Zi Wuji, he was too young. He could not see beyond his immediate years. He could not see beyond his looming death. He was crippled, in both intellect, ability, and wisdom, by the inevitable fact that he feared his demise.

Zi Wuji nearly sneered.

Mortals obsessed over immortality. They desired to leave a legacy, due to the terror which gripped their hearts once they thought of being forgotten. Such a legacy was often in the form of scions and family. 

It was pathetic.

An Immortal did not obsess over Immortality, just as a fish did not obsess over the oceans, a bird did not obsess over the sky, and a worm did not obsess over the earth. 

Yet, it was true that many Immortals left Legacies to be found, scattered throughout the Rain World, such that individuals who would be born thousands of years after their demise would rise and profit. An Immortal Legacy was something that shaped and changed the world, and it was the cumulation of their efforts, their sweat, their years of knowledge and experience, and their boundless power which forced the heavens to quake and tremble. 

Anyone could fuck. Creating a child took no effort.

To believe that the greatest legacy one could contribute to the cosmos was the fruit of one’s loins was to admit that one had wasted their existence achieving nothing of note.

By the sixth day, Zi Wuji’s meditation was disturbed, once more, by another woman. Of all the people he’d expected to come and disturb his meditation, the woman who arrived was not one of them.

“I’ve brought you some pastries, Neji-kun.”

His aunt was a slender woman, of shapely, if not somewhat sickly build. She possessed dark raven hair, of a shade much darker than her daughter, and her face was distinctly heart-shaped. Her complexion was pale, and she was notably skinnier than most women of her age. 

“You’re unwell.”

The woman tried to smile, but it did not entirely reach her eyes.

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

Zi Wuji knew otherwise. A cursory glance with his eyes told him the source of her disease was in her blood. The veins were thin, the red blood cells were sickled, and their production was sparse and few. In the Rain World, such a disease could be cured by using the Hemorrhage Forcing Pill to purge the bad cells from her body and the Marrow Conflagration Pill to rebuild her bone marrow and ensure all future blood cells would be properly created.

The ingredients to refine both pills were rare, albeit, a more powerful Sect would have them in their inventory. Unfortunately, Zi Wuji had seen no evidence of Alchemists in this world, nor could he find any proof of individuals who knew how to refine medicinal pills. Without either, the woman before him was doomed to live half a regular lifespan, barring stressful incidents or occurrences.

If she were to attempt to have another child, Zi Wuji was certain she would die.

“Neji-kun, please withdraw from the fight tomorrow.”

Zi Wuji did not respond.

“My husband… Hiashi… he….”

The woman’s voice wavered.

“He doesn’t intend to let you last the match. He’s decided that this is a fight between your life and that of Hinata. If it comes down to it… he’ll do anything to protect Hinata.”

“You mean if it comes down to it, he will kill me.”

His aunt’s expression was grim.

“I see.”

“Please, you don’t have to —”

“I have nothing left to say to you, aunt,” Zi Wuji announced. “Please leave.”

The rest of the woman’s words entered in one ear and went out the other. She departed, and Zi Wuji continued his meditation in peace. His body, mortal, was unlike that of a cultivator. The lack of food and water for six days had done to him as one would expect.

His lips were dry and flaking. His muscles felt weak, and his stomach, long deprived of nutrients, had its acid bubbling to a point where he would not be surprised if it began to eat him from the inside out. Even then, Zi Wuji remained on the rock, his eyes closed, his body motionless.

Then came the Seventh Day.

XXXXX

Fifteen minutes.

To a man drowning, fifteen minutes was torture. To a kunoichi in the hands of the enemy, fifteen minutes was hell. To a shinobi on the battlefield, fifteen minutes was the difference between life and death.

The Elders of the Hyūga Clan gathered, with mixed opinions. Many did not believe Hideyoshi’s claim that his grandson would last the full fifteen minutes against his son. Some were there merely because they felt the outcome of the fight would be inevitable. 

This was the opportunity they’d been looking for to quell the resentment lingering in the Branch Clan, by making it absolute that no one could change their fate.

Others were there because they hoped the young Neji would indeed last fifteen minutes. They hated the idea of the Branch House scion becoming the Heir of the Main House, but, they were pragmatists first and foremost, and preferred to have a strong heir over a weak one.

Numerous members of the Branch House had been relieved of their duties so they’d be able to witness the glorious event. Nearly all of them had shown up, in contrast to the Main House, wherein only a scanty number of individuals appeared. In the eyes of many, there was no need to watch such a fight. No matter how talented a genius was, there were limits to their power.

The news that Hyūga Neji had not prepared at all in the past week spread, and made many believe the outcome was set in stone. 

The boy had been confirmed to have been seen, sitting on a rock, motionless, for seven straight days. No one knew why. No one could explain why. Not a single person understood what purpose such an action was meant to serve.

One rumor spread that the boy was doing so as a means of pre-emptive surrender. Another claimed he was practicing a secret technique. A third said this was his way of mentally preparing himself.

The rumors were endless. Only the arrival of Hyūga Hiashi to the field put an end to them. The leader of the Hyūga Clan stood tall and proud. His eyes were keen. His gaze was sharp. There was a different air to him than most had seen.

Hiashi bowed to the elders, greeting them in turn, and the grumblings quickly came as to the disrespectful nature of Hyūga Neji, in so much as he was the only person who’d yet to arrive.

The expected time of the spar arrived and there was still no sighting of Neji. Hyūga Hideyoshi was seen fuming, Hiashi was confused, and the elders grumbling increased tenfold.

“He’s probably already fled…” someone muttered.

“Maybe he got cold feet against Hiashi-sama…?“

“Well, he is still a child after all…”

“Genius? What genius? A coward is what he is —”

As the grumblings continued and the complaints increased, a person was sent out to fetch Hyūga Neji from wherever he may be and summon him to the grounds. Refreshment was served to appease the anger and annoyance of the Clan Elders, and many wondered if Hyūga Neji had indeed fled.

Moments later, a boy arrived on the scene. 

Those people who saw him barely recognized him. Thin and waif-like, he did not at all resemble someone who was ready to fight. He appeared as though he were a person who needed urgent medical attention. Murmurs swept through the entire crowd as Hyūga Neji approached, and the murmurs continued as he bowed in front of the Elders, before turning towards Hiashi, and bowing towards him in turn.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hiashi asked. “Why have you reduced yourself to such a state?”

Despite appearing sickly and starved, Hyūga Neji did not back down. Rather, in his current state, the boy smiled with an expression that seemed out of place on a child barely five years of age.

“I know you will give me no quarter, Uncle, for I know the significance of this fight, and I know that it is unlikely that I taste victory,” Neji’s voice came out in a deep rasp. With everyone quietly observing, his words passed through the crowd without mistake.

 “...Uncle, I have not eaten nor slept, nor have I drank water. To exert myself for fifteen minutes in a fight — it is now a matter of life and death. To prove myself beyond worthiness, to prove beyond all doubt, that my fate is not decided by the circumstance of my birth, I have come to face you not at my strongest, but at my weakest.”

Numerous outcries came out at once. “What?”

“Is the boy mad?”

“At his weakest?”

Whispers and mutters swept up the crowd. Complaints, murmurs, and questions were brought as one. Hiashi simply stared forward, unflinching, towards his nephew.

“Do you believe you can last fifteen minutes against me in such a state?”

Neji slowly moved into position. “In yielding is completion, in bent is strength.” Slowly, he got into the stance of the Hyūga Clan’s Gentle Fist. “In hollow is full, in exhaustion is renewal. In little is contentment and in much is confusion.”

The boy’s eyes became fierce.

“The Gentle Fist was never designed to require strength. Our ancestors devised it as an art for the weak to triumph against the strong. To touch lightly and move minimally — to bring victory and hope where there is only defeat and despair. I have come today, Uncle, to show the true essence of the Gentle Fist.”

“As you are, there is no guarantee that you will not be grievously injured in this spar. You may be too tired, move too slow, and in turn, may suffer a fatal attack,” Hiashi’s voice was akin to ice. “Do you still intend to continue?”

“I do not fear death, Uncle,” Neji announced. “I have come to change my fate. Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of slavery?”

Neji shook his head.

“Today, I shall either leave this place as the Heir of the Hyūga Clan, or I shall not leave at all.”

The crowd was silent. It was speechless. Many knew of Hyūga Neji only as the silent genius of the Hyūga Clan, the boy who earned the academy record for the youngest entrant. No one had actually ever spoken to him at length, so no one knew of his oratory skills. No one had ever approached him for his opinions, thoughts, and dreams, so little was none of what the fabled clan genius believed.

Now, they were getting to experience it firsthand. Hyūga Neji opposed the Hyūga Clan’s systems. He opposed it strongly and was opposing it at the cost of his own life. 

The words, the speech, the actions, and indeed, the performance were flawless. There was no one who could glance at the boy and not find themselves moved, and others found themselves awed.

Many in the Branch Clan hung their heads in shame. There, before them, was a child fighting against a fate they had so easily succumbed to. How could they raise their heads again? How could they compare?

It was in human nature to root for the underdog. It was in human nature to wish to see them triumph and succeed. No one wished to have them be crushed and destroyed, and worse, no one would want them to lose after giving their hardest. 

Therein lay the madness and the beauty of Hyūga Neji’s actions. Hiashi was more than aware now, that he could not kill the boy. If he dared to, he was almost guaranteed that his image would be shattered forever in the clan.

Standing weakly, with such fierce eyes and motivation, the death of Hyūga Neji in such a place would elevate him to the status of a martyr. The fallout of such an occurrence would be utterly catastrophic.

Hiashi’s countenance was neutral, but he gritted his teeth within him. Already, he was having difficulties accepting that he would have to murder his own nephew to save his daughter, and he’d steeled his mind for such a thing, but now, with but a few words —

No. It was not just a few words.

The boy had planned this from the beginning. A full week ago, the plan was already in action.

His behavior today, when present before the entire clan, stood in sharp contrast to the brutal and ruthless expression he’d had a week prior, when in front of his grandfather.

…Was this his plan all along?

Changing his behavior and mannerisms to fit and gain the most out of those around him at the moment, and playing the emotions of others to his benefit — it had started once Hideyoshi believed he was ruthless, and now, was coming to culmination here, in front of the entire Clan, where he displayed a noble and valiant persona. 

Hiashi could no longer deny it.

Gazing into the lavender-white eyes before him, the truth was no longer in doubt.

Hyūga Neji was a genius.

His genius extended beyond merely his skills as a shinobi but extended towards skills as a manipulator of the human psyche. Such a trap was something one would expect of Morino Ibiki or Yamanaka Inoichi, but they’d come from the mind of a child barely five years of age.

If Hyūga Neji became the Clan Head, there was no doubt that the Hyūga Clan would soar.

Hiashi was certain, that the rest of the elders were thinking the same thing. He could see his father, out of the corner of his eyes, grinning like a maniac, having discovered the true depths of Neji’s plan.

The battle was already won.

There was no action Hiashi would take that would grant him victory. 

Going all out against a boy who’d starved himself and not slept for seven days, and claiming it was his victory would make him the laughingstock of the clan. 

Not being able to finish off an opponent who was starved, sleep deprived, and several years his junior in under fifteen minutes would bring his skills into question and significantly elevate Neji’s own skills in comparison. If he could indeed hold his own so long against a superior opponent while greatly handicapped, was he not a genius?

Killing the boy would make him a martyr, and would most likely spark outrage throughout the entire clan, and Hiashi would not be surprised if it turned into a full rebellion by the Branch House.

There was no outcome from this event in which Hiashi emerged victorious. 

Without landing a single strike, Hyūga Neji had won.

Already, Hiashi knew in his bones that Neji was the superior candidate to be chosen as the Hyūga Clan Heir. It was no longer a battle between choosing the fate of his daughter versus the fate of his nephew.

It was a battle between choosing the fate of his daughter against the future prosperity of his clan.

The goalposts had moved considerably. A bitter feeling emanated from the depths of Hiashi’s throat which he could barely swallow. 

No matter how much he cared for his daughter, the Clan would always come first. Even if he was a father, he was not so selfish as to put the life of one individual over the benefit of hundreds.

“Now that Neji-kun has arrived, let the fight between Hiashi-sama and —”

“That will not be necessary.”

Hiashi’s voice emerged sharply.

Everyone turned to him, staring in confusion.

“Hiashi-sama?”

“Neji has displayed the courage and steadfastness necessary to represent the Hyūga Clan. He is worthy to be given the title of Heir of the Hyūga Clan.”

The Hyūga Clan fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop.

“I withdraw from this fight.”

XXXXX

Hizashi could not believe his ears. 

He was certain he was not the only one. The men around him, some of his closest companions and colleagues all glanced towards the location of the fight, each of them prior armed and their entire bodies wrapped with explosive tags, ready to sacrifice their lives for the sake of others who would come after them —

Only to see Hiashi withdraw from the fight.

They’d all steeled their minds that today would be the day the Hyūga Clan ended. That it would be a bloody day in the pages of history, the Hyūga Uprising, it would be called —

Yet, with just a few words, all of that was gone.

Hiashi withdrew from the fight.

“Hizashi-sama… what… what just happened?”

Hizashi remained speechless. He’d prepared himself to die today. He’d summoned up all of the courage he had to prepare his plan. He intended to dive in the moment the battle started and give his brother a final embrace at which point they would depart from this world together. 

He did not foresee a future wherein his son would emerge victorious before the match would even commence.

The words of Hiashi echoed throughout the clan, and there was shocked silence for several long minutes, before, like a maddened frenzy, the members of the Branch Clan burst into jubilous celebration.

They swarmed around his son and elevated him into the air, raising him high and crying out his name. 

“Neji-sama is amazing!”

“Our Neji-sama is the Clan Heir!”

“You’ve moved our hearts, Neji-sama!”

Hizashi watched with a dream-like sensation, as many wept with joy, others shed tears as they laughed, all as his son stood at the center of their joy, their happiness.

He had proven to them all that the impossible could be done.

He had changed his fate.

The Caged Bird had been set free.

A long, hollow laugh emerged from Hizashi’s throat. One so loud and bitter, that he couldn’t help but feel drenched with shame.

Is this what you meant… Neji-kun, when you said I would not have to hate him much longer? 

Staring at his son’s face as the boy was lifted up and up over again by the crowd of pleased and joyous branch members, Hizashi saw the exhausted, yet, surprised expression the boy held.

Had I misunderstood your intentions, all along?

“What do we do now, Hizashi-sama?”

Hizashi took in a deep breath.

“A day I believed would be one of bloodshed and sorrow has turned into one of joy and jubilation…”

He smiled dryly.

“It would be a grave sin to ruin it.”

It seemed the Hyūga Clan would remain as one a bit longer.

Hizashi chuckled.

…I ought to apologize to Hokage-sama for worrying him over nothing.

XXXXX

How did this happen?

Zi Wuji didn’t understand it.

Why did he withdraw from the fight?

He was being celebrated and lifted by the crowd, his frail, starved and malnourished body being lighter than a feather. His expression was one of genuine surprise and disbelief.

Is he a coward? I don’t understand.

None of this had been in his plans. 

He’d starved himself for a full week because he believed it was the only way his uncle would stand a fighting chance against him. He’d gone out of his way to handicap himself for the benefit of his opponent simply because he wanted to take his time beating and humiliating the man.

The Gentle Fist did not allow for long drawn-out battles. As long as you were precise and you landed your hits, the fight would end almost as soon as it began. Zi Wuji wanted to kill his uncle to send a clear message to the rest of the Hyūga Clan about his strength, and end the stupid feud between the man and his father —

But somehow, the man had withdrawn?

Did he sense his death? No, or is it that he believed I wouldn’t be able to fight in this state?

Zi Wuji could only bite the inside of his cheeks in frustration. 

Was my act too convincing? 

He’d only said the words he said and uttered the phrases he uttered to give a convincing explanation for why he’d not eaten, drank, or slept in a week. He’d strung together a little bit of the knowledge he’d acquired from the library and acted in the manner of ‘righteousness’ as he typically did when playing the part of the upstanding Zodiac Formation King. He’d not meant a single word he’d uttered. 

Weak defeating the strong?

Rubbish!

Utter balderdash!

To defeat the strong, one needed to be stronger! That was the law of the universe!

What sort of fool would hear such words and eat them like rice?

“Neji-sama is amazing!”

“All hail Neji-sama!”

“The pride of the Branch House!”

“Neji-sama!”

“Oh, hail the Noble Neji-sama!”

The endless words and praises assaulted his ears and vexed Zi Wuji. He didn’t want to be loved by such a disgusting clan of slaves who bowed their heads in servitude. Fear was what he wanted from them. 

He’d wanted them to fear him enough so they’d leave him be!

Of all the unfortunate…

“Neji-sama!”

“Neji!”

Was it the hunger? The sleep-deprivation?

No, neither of such things should have been enough to overwhelm his superior will. Yet, his vision spun. A burning sensation ignited in his chest. Consciousness slowly receded from him,  and the last thing he saw before being embraced by darkness, was his father’s face as the man rushed toward him. 

Chapter Text

Worthless.

“Your duties as the clan heir?”

“Yes, Elder.”

“Well, as the Clan Heir you’ll inherit the position of Clan Head once the current Clan Head either retires or dies —”

“Besides that.”

“You’ll gain access to Clan-specific Jutsu and techniques —”

“Ninjutsu?”

“Certainly not. I’m referring to more advanced forms of our esteemed taijutsu  —”

“Anything else?”

“Anything else? Is that not enough?”

“Do I get special privileges?”

“What sort of privileges?”

“Unlimited funding, private tutoring from the best craftsmen in the village, unrestricted access to high-level tools and resources to boost my cultiva— I mean, my progress as a shinobi.”

“Haha, no one ever told me you were quite a jokester, Neji-kun!”

Worthless.

Utterly Worthless.

It had been a week since the fight between himself and his uncle was ended prematurely to the man’s decision to forefeit. He’d spent half of that time recuperating in bed, having consumed a significant portion of his physical energy and spiritual energy to have survived a week with neither food nor water. 

As agreed with his grandfather, Hideyoshi, he had been moved into the residence of the Clan Head, and was now recuperating in a bed that had previously belonged to his cousin. 

In the process, he’d endured being fretted upon and fawned upon by numerous maids and servants, and received different visitors in the form of the Clan Elders and others of the Main House.

Elder Suguru was one such Elder, and Zi Wuji sought to learn more about his ill-fated position as the Clan Heir. Seeing as how his plan to kill his uncle had failed, and he was now more of a mighty and noble figure in the Clan, he decided to lean in fully and reap the benefits of his newfound reputation and position, wherever they may be.

Except, the benefits were utterly worthless. 

In the Rain World, the Heirs of powerful Clans were venerated and untouchable. Not only did they enjoy a vast amount of status and power, but they were also personally tutored, given access to the best resources, given all sorts of elixirs, pills, tonics, cultivation manuals, swords, and techniques that a layman would only dream of.

To be the Heir of a Clan should have been the equivalent of prince hood. It should have meant being able to do and undo as one wished. A position of power was meant to be balanced, to have benefits and advantages that came with responsibility and authority. Responsibility without authority was slavery, and power without privilege was merely punishment.

“The position is one of serious responsibility, Neji-kun! As the Clan Heir, you’re now the face of the clan! Your actions will represent us as a whole and —”

Worthless.

The position of Clan Heir was worthless. Beyond that, the entire Hyūga Clan was worthless. His attempt to gleam at the silver lining was soured beyond salvation. Of what benefit was such a perfunctory title to him? He cared little for the secret techniques of the Hyūga, as no matter how good their techniques were, they would vastly pale in comparison to the repertoire of techniques he knew as a Cultivator.

If their techniques held no value to him, then surely, the Hyūga would possess a vault of treasures and special tools which he could make use of, certainly?

No.

The entire clan was filled with nothing but taijutsu-obsessed fools. Hyūga did not use weapons. They were not an alchemical family nor were they a craftsman clan, so they had no pills, no herbs, no mystical remedies, no ancient treasures —

They had nothing.

Bar a couple of plots of farmland, the Hyūga Clan’s major source of income was utilizing shinobi to go out and undertake missions, at which point, the shinobi that returned would contribute about 10% to 30% of their earnings, depending on their rank.

Watching the Elder ramble endlessly about the prestigious nature of his newfound title, Zi Wuji’s teeth slowly began grinding against each other. Shall I just kill them all and be done with it?

As things were, he did not doubt that his progress in recreating the Yin Peculation Art and the Flutter-Forcing Finger Art would be diminished to a great degree. He’d previously estimated being able to fully recreate both techniques once he turned thirteen of age, but now, he could no longer be sure how long it would take.

“...he has even started contemplating who will be a suitable fiancée, and receiving offers for arranged marriages! Haha, I’ve never seen Hideyoshi so spirited to —”

“What?”

Elder Suguru quickly realized he’d spoken too much.

“Elder, did you just say that my grandfather is —”

“No, no, you must have misheard,” the Elder cleared his throat. “A-anyway, I should leave you to recuperate —”

“Elder.”

Zi Wuji latched on to the old man’s hand. His smile was sickeningly sweet.

“You have a young grandson, correct? Would you not like to ensure your grandson can comfortably live life in future, in a cushy position?”

Elder Suguru hesitated. “W-well —”

“As the future Clan Head, I am certain there are ways I can ensure his prosperity.”

The old man swiftly activated his Byakugan and deactivated it, ensuring that no one was watching them.

“You did not hear this from me, Neji-kun, okay?” the Elder grumbled. “Hideyoshi is over the moon with your actions and victory. He has been bragging nonstop to his old allies and teammates from other clans about his prodigious grandson, and, some of them have displayed an interest in forming an alliance with us via marriage.”  

Elder Suguru suddenly had a smug and satisfied look.

“Hideyoshi has never been one to brag, even considering both of his sons, your father, and uncle, as merely being inferior or average talents. So, when he started bragging about you, his old friends must have realized that you truly were a genius, and are now desperate to curry favor with us now, before our meteoric rise!”

Zi Wuji’s teeth were grinding so hard blood started pouring from his lips.

“Is that so?”

Elder Suguru didn’t notice and continued rambling. “Truly, it is a new dawn. We’ve not received marriage requests from other clans since the era of Hashirama and Tobirama! Hah! Back then, as we were rivals to the Uchiha, Tobirama was insistent on having us on his side, so much so that the Senju Clan would send their little vixens to try and seduce us… heh… they didn’t know that we’d seen all they had to offer, and weren’t interested — ah! Neji-kun! You’re bleeding!”

The Elder quickly called over a maidservant, much to Neji’s distaste, and they began fretting and worrying over him again. Through it all, Zi Wuji’s irritation with the situation continued to grow. The entire Hyūga Clan had put their hopes and dreams on him, and they sought to use him in the manner a merchant dragged their most lustrous goat to the market to be seen and admired.

Zi Wuji pursued away all servants and turned down all visitors in an attempt to think of a means to approach.

Massacring the entire Clan was not an option, if only because it would make him an enemy of Konoha and force him to go into hiding. He’d yet to successfully recreate the Flutter Forcing Finger Art nor had he recreated the Yin Peculation Art, and it would be more difficult to do so whilst he was a wanted fugitive on the run. 

Besides that, being a fugitive would make it more difficult to target the Uzumaki woman and drain the copious amount of chakra she possessed.

Although he was certain that he could kill them all with minor difficulty, it would only hinder his plans rather than accelerate them. So, that meant he needed to find a solution that would enable him to reap the most benefits and at the same time, ensure that the Hyūga Clan members kept their distance from him.

Another day passed with him remaining in bed, and although he believed himself fully healed, he was told to take his time properly resting. At the very least, one minor benefit of his new position was that the meals he ate were of a richer quality and taste than the ones he’d previously enjoyed while in the Branch Clan, and they came on a strict, almost perfect schedule.

He’d learned from one of the maidservants that his aunt was responsible for the meals. The fact had surprised Zi Wuji. Ever since moving into the room which previously belonged to his cousin, he’d seen his aunt only once. His uncle, likewise, had arrived only once, simply telling him to heal quickly so his ‘advanced’ lessons would commence.

Despite living underneath the same roof, his aunt seemed confined to her bedroom almost all the time. Alas, the Hyūga Clan was a Clan where no secrets could exist. Zi Wuji’s Byakugan was always active, and as such,  he found that the woman’s sickly condition had amplified tenfold. She busied herself with meaningless housework and tasks, and would often weep solemnly in her bedroom while lamenting her daughter’s name.

Upon his uncle's return, the two would argue incessantly. The woman never rose her voice or screamed, and his uncle in turn never yielded. It was not hard for him to decipher what they were arguing about. Only one thing could make a couple argue that intensely.

“You promised me, Hiashi! You promised that I wouldn’t lose Hinata!”

“And what would you have me do, woman? It is not my fault that the heavens decided to make Hizashi’s son a once-in-a-generation prodigy. If I were to leave the clan in Hinata’s hands when there is someone with far more talent —”

“I don’t care about his talent! I don’t care about the clan! I just want my daughter, Hiashi! I want my Hinata!”

“Enough! Do you think I do not care for her too? Were you not aware of the depths I was ready to dive in order to keep her?”

“You surrendered! Had you fought —”

“I am not foolish enough to fight an unwinnable battle. Had I killed him as you begged me to, I’d have made the entire Branch Clan revolt against us. Had I won with him in such a state, I’d have been made a laughingstock. My pride as the Clan Head —”

A loud slap echoed. Zi Wuji’s brow rose sharply. He’d not expected such a frail woman to actually raise a hand against the Clan Head. Even more so, he was shocked that his uncle had not retaliated.

“Is your pride more valuable than our daughter, Hiashi?”

“”I will forgive that offense, only once, because of the circumstances. Our daughter is still alive. Even though she will no longer be under the same roof, there is nothing stopping you from summoning her over as much as you want under the guise of having her do chores —” 

“She will be made into a slave!” 

Hiashi fell silent.

“... Sacrifices must be made for the good of the clan.”

“Hiashi… you — you would sacrifice our only daughter?”

“If she is the cost I must pay to ensure the clan’s prosperity, then so be it.”

A hand moved again. Hiashi caught it firmly. The sickly woman’s face burned with a fiery intensity that Zi Wuji did not expect.

“I should never have married you.”

After that argument, his aunt slept in a separate room, one reserved for guests, whereas his uncle slept alone in their bedroom. The entire debacle did not bother Zi Wuji. He could not let himself be concerned with such matters. The clan had planted such fruit by possessing such a stupid law in the first place, as such, they were only reaping what they sowed.

He doubted that the woman would have fought so hard for his sake, where he the one to have been branded a slave. No, in spite of how kind she appeared, she’d likely remain silent and let ‘fate’ take its course. Now that it was her daughter being moved by ‘fate’ she found a voice to cry foul.

Zi Wuji snorted.

Still, he’d found it odd that the woman was the one preparing his meals. He decided to be cautious with anything he ate. Poison was the most commonly chosen weapon of discontented housewives. Regardless how kind she appeared, Zi Wuji was more than aware that when pushed to the brink… 

Even a worm will turn.

XXXXX

“Awaken, Neji-kun!.”

The next morning, he was awoken by his grandfather, Hideyoshi, who appeared with a grinning face. The man swiftly ordered the maids to move him out of bed, bathe him, and place him in the finest robes, which, he’d learned, the man had bought himself. 

His aunt greeted the elderly man frostily, but if he noticed, he did not show it.

“Yes, you have to eat well and enough to ensure you grow up strong Neji-kun!”

“These meals are fine, but the quality is just so-so. Hiashi, is your wife lacking money for proper ingredients? Remember that this is the future of the clan! Spare no expense on Neji-kun’s welfare!”

It was the first time he had eaten breakfast with his grandfather. He’d also learned that it was the first time that was not a holiday or special occassion that the man had eaten breakfast with one of his sons.

“Is there something you need Neji for, otou-sama?”

“Do I need a reason to come and visit my grandson, eh, Hiashi?”

Hideyoshi’s expression soured.

“Even so, otou-sama, this is —”

“Bah, do not worry. I won’t be staying long. I want Neji-kun to accompany me somewhere. There are a few tricks of mine that I want to show him. Heh… with his talent, he should pick them up before lunch.”

Zi Wuji tried his hardest not to grind his teeth into paste. As expected, his personal time was greatly cut short now that he was idolized and beloved by the Clan as its ‘prodigious’ Heir.

His grandfather had all but dragged him away after breakfast was finished, and Zi Wuji was certain that his aunt did not poison it, because not only had she eaten out of it, her husband and his father had eaten from it as well.

As they moved through the halls of the Main Branch, many deferred their heads in respect to his grandfather, and others, towards him. There were still a few frosty expressions, but none of them would dare show defiance before the previous Head of the Hyūga Clan.

“Where are we going, grandfather?”

“It is a surprise.”

They departed from the Main Branch, and continued deeper into the Hyūga Clan Territory. They followed a footpath along a densely populated forest and passed the numerous farms by which the Hyūga Clan grew its personal produce. They walked for nearly thirty full minutes, before arriving at a river that flowed downstream into a waterfall.

Zi Wuji knew of all the secluded forest beyond the farmland, and he’d even glimpsed at the river as well using his Byakugan. Even then, he’d never personally gone there to train, not willing to risk someone else using their own Byakugan to spy on him.

“Come, this way.”

His grandfather led him behind the waterfall, and there, to Zi Wuji’s surprise, was an ornate, grand wooden door. Seeing the door surprised him because the sheer size and elegance of it was enough that it should have been visible prior to moving behind the waterfall. Even stranger, he could see that the door possessed an inordinate amount of chakra. The chakra was special somehow, being so abundant with life energy that it seemed almost natural. The door felt less like a door and more like a living tree.

“Activate your Byakugan, Neji-kun.”

He removed the ‘transformation’ from his face, allowing it to appear that he just now activated his Byakugan, in order to hide the secret that he’d long mastered how to keep it activate 24/7. Then, he allowed surprise to come across his face.

“I cannot see through it?”

His grandfather laughed. “That is what surprises you? Not the fact that it couldn’t be seen ordinarily?”

What?

Swiftly, he deactivated his eyes and found, that without his Byakugan activated, the door vanished. In its place, was nothing but an ordinary rock, albeit one covered with green moss. He activated his eyes again, and the door reappeared.

“...How?”

Hideyoshi’s grin widened significantly. The old man approached the door and bit against his thumb. Then, he smeared his blood all over the wooden door. At once, a sharp breath escaped Neji’s lips. He understood immediately.

The door was suddenly lit up with several kanji. There were seals, and Zi Wuji analyzed each and every one of the seals as easily as reading letters on a page. It was high-level work, at least, when compared to the low standards that this world possessed. The work was engraved beautifully, but there was a strange sense of familiarity to the style.

No, familiarity would not cover it. The letters looked as though he were reading the handiwork of someone who he already knew. Except, there were only two fūinjutsu styles he’d so far encountered. Both of which belonged to women named Uzumaki.

“Grandfather, were those seals engraved by Uzumaki Mito?”

Hideyoshi spun towards him, eyes wide. The disbelief on his face slowly turned into incredulity, and the old man let out a bark of a laugh. “Truly, you’ve surprised me once again, Neji-kun. How did you know she was the one who engraved this door?”

The style and handwriting gave it away… 

He looked over the work again.

Although, it seems less… mature. 

There was a nonchalant airiness to the style. He deduced it was done when the woman was far younger. At least, younger than when she’d written that annoying book.

“Father once granted me a fūinjutsu book for my birthday. I took an interest in it, and noticed the writing style was similar to the works done by the First Hokage’s wife.” 

“A book on fūinjutsu? That useless son of mine did that…?”

Hideyoshi bore a thoughtful expression. A wicked grin appeared on Hideyoshi’s face.

“If such is the case… then perhaps…”

The large wooden door opened inwards with a long, sharp creak. His grandfather stepped forward, and Zi Wuji followed. They entered a long, ornate, and highly stylized corridor, filled with numerous portraits, many of which were drawn, before, eventually, they were ‘photographed’. 

Past the corridor, they entered into a large room that Zi Wuji could feel was designed according to the proper rules of feng shui. There was sand on the ground, white and black sand, arranged into the pattern of the Taiji Symbol, with yin and yang being engulfed, and there being yin in yang and yang in yin.

The room was clearly a training room, and it was overflowing with a form of energy Zi Wuji had not experienced before. He almost mistook it for True Qi but he did not believe it was the same. It felt too… natural.

“From now on, Neji-kun, you’ll be able to come here to get away from the busybodies in the clan and train quietly to your heart’s content.”

Zi Wuji rapidly snapped his head towards his grandfather.

“Hah, you geniuses are all the same,” his grandfather snorted, but, there was amusement in his eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? You must be itching to hone your skills and grow even stronger. My grandfather, your great—great—grandfather was just the same. He hated people interrupting his training more than anything. He had even grievously injured those who would dare disturb his progress on occasion.”

“Was it your grandfather who built this place?”

At that, Hideyoshi’s expression fell significantly. 

“Scan the surroundings.”

Zi Wuji didn’t understand why the question discontented the man so much. Still, he utilized his Byakugan and peered through the walls to get a full scope of this hidden area.

To his surprise, there was another room hidden deep inside. It stood out because of how ridiculously extravagant it was. It was enamored with gold, expensive pelts, a large, king-sized bed, and all manner of trinkets, gemstones, and treasures that were designed to draw the eye.

Beside that room, was a kitchen that dwarfed the one his uncle had, and the shelves were all stocked to the brim with ingredients, many of which looked like meat or other perishables, yet, they remained in perfect condition.

The entire place was in perfect condition. Not a speck of dust could be found, or so much as a single cobweb.

Stasis seals?

Zi Wuji’s eyes furrowed. He recognized the stasis seal which was typically deeply entrenched in the creation of storage scrolls which enabled whatever material placed into the scroll to emerge in the exact same condition when removed.

To place so many stasis … who would… no, why would anyone…

Glancing deeper into shelves, he noticed that nearly all the food items available were exotic. Tiger’s penis, red ginseng, saffron, fenugreek, rhinoceros horns, violet gingers — 

Wait.

Zi Wuji’s brows rose sharply.

These are all aphrodisiac foods meant to increase one’s virility and sexual prowess.

Zi Wuji glanced towards the luxurious bed chambers, and the items in the cupboard, and he put one plus one together.

“This place was created by my father, your great-grandfather,” Hideyoshi’s voice clearly exuded distaste. “He was a man who fell easily into his vices. So, he had this place created so he could meet in secret with his lover, under the guise of a private place for Clan Heads to train in seclusion.”

“His… lover?”

“They had been smitten with each other since they were children. However, their families had them engaged to different people for political reasons. Rather than letting any affection they held for each other die, they debased themselves with adultery…” 

Hideyoshi spat to the side.

“Disgraceful.”

Zi Wuji zoomed in on the wooden door, and particularly to the etchings written upon it. Such things were common in the Rain World. Even he knew, that there were many individuals in arranged marriages who would often pluck fruit from the roadside. For some, their childhood sweethearts would always remain dearer than the individual they’d sworn an oath of obligation to. 

“Did my uncle —”

“You and I are the only two living people aware of the existence of this place. To begin with, the seals on the door make it so it can only be detected when up close, and only be seen by the Byakugan of someone from our bloodline, someone bearing my father’s blood.”

His grandfather let out a long sigh.

“In truth, I wanted to completely destroy this place when I was younger. It served as a constant reminder of my father’s weakness of character. Yet, as I became the Clan Head and fought in the wars, there were so many responsibilities on my plate that I forgot about it entirely. I only remembered its existence after your match with Hiashi.”

Hideyoshi ruffled his hair, regaining a smile.

“Though he was a wastrel, he will contribute to your progress now, through having this place built. No expense was spared in the construction of this place. Even the Shodai contributed by making that door with his Kekkai Genkai. The fool had believed he was doing so for the overall benefit of the Hyūga Clan.”

Hideyoshi snorted.

“In a way, he’d not been wrong.”

Zi Wuji’s lips twitched.

“I sense that you do not like the First Hokage, grandfather.”

“Of course, I do not like him.” 

Hideyoshi replied instantly. 

“Never in the history of warfare has peace been attained by arming one’s enemies.”

Zi Wuji held the same sentiment. He knew the event by which Hideyoshi was referring to. Even he had considered such an action to be bereft in logical thinking. There was no Sect Leader, Demonic or otherwise, that would ever believe that arming other Sects was the best way to attain peace. Such a method of thinking would lead to ruin and destruction, and that Sect Leader would all but certainly be assassinated and replaced.

“The Shodai was an optimistic fool,” Hideyoshi continued. “He sought to see the good in everything and everyone. Usually, such individuals do not live long in our world, but, he was a rare case. He was fortunate enough to have been strong, and his strength shielded him from the consequences of his optimism.”

Hideyoshi paused, stroking his frayed grey beard.

“No, it is better to say that he was at liberty to be an optimist, only because he was strong. A powerful optimist can sway any individual with power, and not realize their power had been what brought their optimistic ideals to fruition. Whereas a weak optimist?”

Hideyoshi snorted. 

“A weak optimist is a dead optimist.”

Zi Wuji’s lips twitched once more.

“The reason numerous clans joined together to form this village was not because they shared his mad ideal. No. It was because he was powerful. Frighteningly so. Being his enemy would spell disaster. Likewise, being the enemy of his then-partner, Uchiha Madara. Had they no power, Konohagakure no Sato would not exist.”

His grandfather then turned to him, eyes sharp.

“Which is why you must remember, Neji-kun, that power is the most important thing for a shinobi. Your instructors in the Academy and other shinobi will try to convince you of that useless Will of Fire, but it is a lie. Konoha can only believe in the Will of Fire because it is strong. If we were the weakest village, we would not dare spread such nonsense.”

“I understand, grandfather.”

He bowed formally.

“I will cherish this gift.”

For once, Zi Wuji meant his words. A private place to train where he would not be bothered or disturbed by anyone? Better still, it was undetectable to everyone except those with the same blood?

Could he have asked for a better gift?

“If you wish to show your gratitude, then impress your grandpa and learn these in one week.”

Hideyoshi withdrew three scrolls from his pocket and handed them to Zi Wuji. 

“These are…?”

“The first scroll contains the prized defensive technique of the Hyūga Clan. it is a secret taijutsu art learned only by the Clan Head and the Heir. It is called Hakkeshō: Kaiten.”

The words were somewhat new to his ears, so it took a moment for Zi Wuji to translate them as Eight Trigrams Palms: Revolving Heaven.

“The second is the prized offensive technique of our clan. It is also only learned by the Clan Head and Heir. It is called Jūkenhō: Hakke Rokujūyon Shō.” 

Zi Wuji translated those words to mean: Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms. 

“And the third?”

“The third scroll contains the method to engrave the Caged Bird Seal.”

His eyes snapped towards his grandfather.

“Grandfather?”

“It is typically tradition that the Caged Bird Seal be applied to a new generation on the third birthday of the Clan Heir. However, your cousin is no longer the Clan Heir… and you are nearing five years of age.”

Hideyoshi grumbled.

“We will go ahead with the ceremony anyway. But you will be the one to brand the next generation.”

“Understood, grandfather.”

Zi Wuji did not bother protesting or inquiring more. He didn’t need to. Considering he finally had a place to pursue his efforts in private, he had started to look at Hideyoshi in a slightly positive light.

“Good,” Hideyoshi grinned. “I’ll leave for now and give you time to practice. In the meanwhile, I’ll instruct your cousin to deliver meals here to you in secret, so you can focus completely on your training.”

Hideyoshi departed shortly after, showing him the method to exit and re-enter the secret training spot behind the waterfall. After he departed, Zi Wuji quickly raced towards the center of the white and black sand and tossed the scrolls he’d been given unto them.

He wanted to have them done by the end of the day at the very latest, so he could pursue his more worthwhile endeavors.

Revolving Heaven? Such a paltry clan dares use the heavens as a name for a technique… I bet it’s not even remotely…

…

…

…

…

What utter fuckery is this?

XXXXX

Zi Wuji’s Technique Breakdown Journal

Technique Name: Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven

Learning Difficulty: Mid-Heaven Tier [B-Rank](Special Jōnin Level)

Mastery Difficulty: High-Heaven Tier [A-Rank](Jōnin Level)

Mastery Requirements: Three

Effective Range: Short

…

Zi Wuji stood in the center of the black and white Taiji sand, then, with a single deep breath, began spinning his body counterclockwise. As the same time, he exuded chakra from every single tenketsu in his body. The sheer speed of the rotation and the force of the chakra created a great barrier around him, a giant sphere by which nothing could leave and nothing could enter.

Once he completed the spinning, he stopped, feeling an immense amount of irritation.

Two Hours.

It had taken him two hours to finally get the blasted thing down.

There was only one reason he managed to master it so quickly. The most difficult step in utilizing the technique required one to be able to project chakra from every single tenketsu and maintain that projection for a long period of time while spinning rapidly. It was considered an extremely difficult task, and, supposedly, the part of the technique that many failed to grasp.

This, however, was something Zi Wuji already knew how to do. 

His Phantom Treading Steps that enabled him to turn invisible was a technique he’d painstakingly learned, and it worked by expelling chakra from every tenketsu to reflect light. It was a technique he’d been able to recreate from the common Tree-Walking exercise. He’d believed it was something others would also be able to learn, that is, if they had the time and energy to spend mastering it down.

Except, according to the scroll his grandfather gave him, being able to naturally expel chakra from every tenketsu was something exclusive to those born in the Hyūga Clan. Those outside of the clan could only do so after rigorous or harsh training, and even then, there would be some tenketsu in which they could not expel chakra from. Learning to expel chakra from the perineum or the tailbone would be utterly beyond most people, because they could not see those places, and as such, could not properly mold and guide the chakra to such a tiny spot.

The Byakugan granted a Hyūga shinobi absolute knowledge of their body. They could peer into every single corner of themselves, and peer deeper still into the tenketsu. Whereas someone without the Byakugan would be unable to even see the tenketsu, making it even more difficult for them to be able to mold chakra in a place they were not even aware could do so.  

As such, his Phantom Treading Steps was technically an exclusive Hyūga-only technique. This was because only a Hyūga would be able to expel chakra that finely and precisely throughout their entire body, and do so with enough control to perfectly reflect both sound and light. Even more so, one would need the Byakugan to be able to ensure the technique was properly performed, such that the areas of the body they could not see would also be shrouded.

Yet, none of these things bothered Zi Wuji. 

Am I indeed to believe this?

What bothered him, was the ridiculous nature of the technique.

One can attain invulnerability simply by… spinning?

At first, he hadn’t believed it was possible. Zi Wuji searched hard for a flaw or weakness of the Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven. He tried his hardest to find a means wherein one could break through the defense and attack the user inside.

Yet, he’d not found a single one.

Once the technique was activated, that was it.

Absolute Invulnerability.

Nothing could break through it. The only way to stop the defense was to prevent him from spinning. If one failed to do so, then they would essentially have no choice but to watch helplessly as their opponent remained out of their reach.

Of course, if there was some absurd chakra-cutting sword out there, then it would be possible to dispel the technique by slicing through the chakra within. Though, doing so would be difficult. The sheer might of centrifugal forces supporting chakra made the revolving sphere akin to a solid object. Anything which struck it would be repelled. 

It seems I have underestimated the might of this Clan…

The technique truly was worthy of being referred to in the same breath as the Heavens. It was an absolute defense. It was already an absolute defense before he was brought into the equation. 

It must be improved! 

The easiest and fastest way Zi Wuji could fathom improving the technique was by removing the need to rotate. Doing so would mean he could cast the technique instantly. This would mean an absurd level of chakra control, enough so that he would essentially be using his own will to rotate chakra at an absurdly high speed.

Heh… I do not believe anyone has ever performed such a technique!

The difficulty of such a thing would easily place it at the pinnacle of Shape Transformation. Creating a sphere of incredibly fast rotating chakra instantly would be out of the realm of possibility for many. 

Would I not be able to use such a thing for attacks as well?

Zi Wuji momentarily pondered the thought. 

What if he were to compress the rotating centrifugal force of chakra into a palm-sized ball? From there, it would simply be a task of firing it at his enemies, which would cover for his lack of long-range combat abilities.  

Yes… yes… such a thing…

After doing that, he would need to shrink the overall radius and diameter not only of the technique but of the sphere. Rather than palm-sized, finger-sized would be far better. Also, if he could shrink the rotation enough so the technique simply covered his skin in a rapidly rotating layer of chakra…

Even better, were he able to reverse the force of the rotation, such that rather than being a centrifugal force, it was a centripetal one, it would eliminate the major weakness of the limited range of his techniques…

And this was all without even adding Nature Transformation into the equation! 

Zi Wuji glanced toward the other two scrolls. He already knew how to engrave the Caged Bird Seal, and add alterations and moderations to it. As the Zodiac Formation King, such a thing was child's play.  

The Eight Trigrams Sixty Four Palms on the other hand was nothing special. He’d mastered it on his first attempt. One only needed to possess the necessary speed and have an understanding of the Taiji and the key tenketsu to strike their enemies sixty-four times in rapid succession.

The Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven was the true gem of the lot. Zi Wuji had not realized that chakra was bound to numerous physical laws, such as obedience towards space, time, strong forces, weak forces, and gravity. For if chakra was not constrained by certain physical laws as Qi was, then one merely spinning their body should have had no effect on their chakra. 

Having this knowledge deeply enriched his understanding of Chakra! The sheer number of applications it possessed were boundless!

I see! All this while, I’ve been on the wrong path!

A bark of a laugh escaped from his lips.

Truly a Heavenly Technique! Merely from learning it, I have received enlightenment!

Zi Wuji did not hesitate to intensify his attempts to improve the technique. From what he had now discovered, this technique would be what would aid him in being able to successfully recreate the Yin Peculation Art!

Day rapidly turned to night, and night turned to day once more. Throughout that time, Zi Wuji did nothing but practice the Revolving Heaven, fine-tuning his perfect chakra control and tweaking it bit by bit, making astronomical progress with each passing minute.

Seven days!

Zi Wuji declared.

If I have not completed my goal in these seven days, let the heavens render my name from me, for I am no longer Zi Wuji!

Chapter Text

It rained on that fortuitous day.

The heavens rumbled, dark clouds obscured the night sky, and the beat of raindrops on rooftops played like the heavy drums of a band of performers declaring the arrival of a benevolent Emperor. The wind howled. Massive, pained howls, like a dozen injured wolves stuck in traps meant for their ursine superiors. Howls like laments for the injustice of their situation, and the bitterness and indignation and futility of their plight.

Flashes of lightning streaked the sky, illuminating darkened recesses of corners where street mice and alley cats parleyed to evade nature's fury. Shinobi dashed from rooftop to rooftop, their steps muffled by the torrent, just as civilian feet splattered against puddles, lips cursing and eyes darting in search of shelter.

Aged bones creaked and the minds within them commanded lips to suck in cold air. Windows were locked shut and oil lamps and lanterns emerged from their resting spots to once again begin their sempiternal task of abating the darkness.

In spite of the rain, within a particular clan, the downpour did not dissuade any spirits. The air was charged, as though a weary lightning cloud had descended for a moment's rest.

The spirits of the members of the branch clan were high. They lined up within the main corridor, one after the other, young and younger, old and older, each and all prepared for the fate that awaited them.

Before, today would have been an accursed day. It would have been a day they loathed would arrive. For some, they'd feared the day worse than their death.

Yet, it was such no longer.

Hope had been restored. Dreams and ambitions had been made into reality. Many believed, if the fate of one of their own could be changed, then destiny was no longer a recalcitrant mistress. Fortune was no longer a cruel master.

"We will now begin the 11th Caged Bird Ceremony."

It was a ceremony in name only. The older ones amongst them were old enough to have had parents and grandparents even older, who'd told them of how grandiose the event used to be. 

Those old ones heard only of tales of a time when the event would be attended to with music and merriment, sake, and budōshu. They'd heard only through the grapevine of a time when those who would be branded were honored and celebrated for their sacrifices. A time lost to history and misery and war and death.

Eleven Ceremonies seemed small, yet, as they would only ever be branded upon the coming of age of a young heir, eleven Ceremonies meant eleven generations. A generation lasted fifty years, or, in times of peace, seventy years.

Alas, times of peace were few and far between.

Two sets of sliding doors opened, and a young boy dressed in formal robes emerged. The hearts of the members of the branch clan gathered were moved by his appearance. It had been two weeks now since the boy reversed his fate, and sightings of him had been scarce. Many had feared some ill befell him, yet, seeing him arrive well made them happy.

The elders were the next to arrive, as was the Head of the Clan, Hiashi. Many averted their eyes from Hiashi's cold gaze, but those who did not realized something was different. The man seemed unusually irritated, if not somewhat outright infuriated. 

A few shot glanced towards the young girl with raven hair amongst them, who could not match the man's gaze, and pondered if she was the reason for his expression.

A moment later, the previous Clan Head Hideyoshi entered the hall, and the man seemed extraordinarily pleased with something, which made those who were aware of his character nervous.

The elders all took their places on their seats, sitting in order of importance. The Clan Head sat at the center, and the Heir sat to the right. 

"Retrieve the ceremonial ink."

At the Clan Head's command, a massive steel pot was provided. Ornate and covered with layers upon layers of seals and tags, it was not moved without difficulty. The pot was placed in front of the Clan Head, and the ones carrying it bowed as they departed.

"Present the ceremonial quill."

Another individual brought forth a strange, wooden quill. Everyone could sense the chakra emanating from the object, which gave off an air of danger. Many sucked in deep breaths at the malevolent feeling, reminding them that this was indeed a Juinjutsu — a cursed and Forbidden Technique.

The wooden quill was placed in the hands of, the Clan Head and he turned, to the surprise of everyone, to the new heir.

"This pot contains the ink that has been mixed with the blood of all the past Clan Heads. It is with this blood that we engrave the Caged Bird Seal. Your blood is supposed to be added to it upon the day that you become the Clan Head…"

There was an uneven sound that emerged from Hiashi's throat.

"But as the elders have unanimously voted, it shall be added today, and you shall perform the ceremony in my stead."

His words brought absolute silence. Thunder crashed outside, as though the heavens were equally responding to the announcement, and all the Branch Clan members were left speechless.

"As you command, uncle."

Many of them held their reservations. The older ones amongst them were the most cautious. This was a Juinjutsu. The slightest mistake could mean death or worse. Entrusting such a duty upon a boy who was merely four years of age seemed risky.

Yet, how could they voice their reservations? To do so would be to admit they had no faith in their hero. It would be to affirm that they did not believe him up to the task. 

If they, a court of his own peers doubted him, how would the Main Clan view him? 

The majority stayed silent, deciding to let fate take its course. They watched as the boy pricked his finger against the pen, and a drop of his blood poured down into the ceremonial pot. 

The pot stirred. A sizzling and hissing sound emerged, as did crackling and popping. As the sounds died, the Elders collectively nodded in approval.

Hiashi declared with a cold, sharp voice: 

"You may commence the engraving."

Neji bowed towards his uncle, then he turned, with a princely aura to those who stood in wait.

"Who would have the honor of being first bound in service to the future Head of this clan?"

With the confidence in his voice, the doubt in the hearts of many faded. A young man was the first to step forward, bowing on one knee in front of the young Neji.

"I would, Neji-dono."

"What is your name?"

"Isshin, Neji-dono."

The young heir made a strange movement with his hands. To some, it seemed like a handsign, yet, others had never seen a handsign such as that one before. Nor had they seen one perform a handsign whilst holding a quill.

There was a flourish of a movement. A glint of steel. Then, Neji was once again still, like undisturbed water.

"I thank you, Isshin, for your dedication and sacrifice. You bent on one knee as a man of no renown. Now, rise, as a proud warrior and a noble defender of the Hyūga."

Isshin rose his head, confused. "Neji-dono?"

Neji smiled.

"The process is done."

There was a clamor of noise. The elders, sitting began to grumble. The only person not grumbling was Hideyoshi, who sat there, grinning as though he knew a secret that no one else did. The Clan Head turned towards Neji, his brows thin.

"What is the meaning of this, Neji?"

"I do not understand, Uncle."

"This is not the time for frivolous jokes. Your task is to engrave the seal by —"

"I know what my task is, Uncle," Neji announced clearly. "And I have done so."

"You have… engraved the seal?" 

"I have."

Everyone stared at the boy as though he were speaking a different language. They all turned towards Isshin, and indeed, no one could see any sign that he'd been branded.

"I cannot see it."

"Then," Neji pointed to his eyes. "You are not looking."

At once, everyone understood. And at once, everyone activated their Byakugan.

Collective gasps echoed throughout the hall. There, upon the brow of the young boy named Isshin, was an ephemeral, green seal that could be seen as clear as day. The seal was not that of the Swastika as they'd been accustomed to.

In its place was a single Kanji:

鳳.

"This… word," an Elder spoke. "Fire… bird?"

"Phoenix, elder," Neji bowed. "The word means Phoenix."

He turned to the rest of the elders, bowing even more politely until his eyes could not be seen. 

"My grandfather tasked me to master the method to engrave the Caged Bird Seal within a week. However, I managed to do so within a day, and, upon doing so, I was struck with an epiphany which I brought to him."

Everyone turned to Hideyoshi, who was simply nodding and stroking his beard, confirming Neji's words without a single utterance.

"If the goal of the Caged Bird Seal is to protect our eyes, then, why must it be carved so into the scalp, thus that our enemies may know whose eyes they are free to take and whose they cannot?"

Neji shook his head.

"My father has worn a headband all his life, whereas I have never seen my uncle wear one. If the mere act of covering one's head hints as to who is branded and who is not, does that not defeat the purpose?"

There were numerous begrudging murmurs.

"My grandfather, being wise and capable, said he had also long thought of this problem, and asked if I sought to improve it. With his guidance, I was able to make vast improvements to the seal." 

Neji rose his head, before his hands raised as though he were a messiah bringing salvation.

"Henceforth, as long as one does not have the Byakugan, they will be unable to tell who is a Branch Clan member and who is not!"

Another clap of thunder arrived, letting the announcement sink into the minds of everyone present. The Branch Clan members could not believe their ears any more than the elders could, yet, the proof remained. Several individuals turned off their Byakugan and turned it on again to confirm that it was indeed true.

Only someone with the Byakugan could see the seal.

"Unbelievable!"

"It's true! It's really true!"

"This, this is a miracle!"

Those in the branch clan forgot themselves and began to celebrate, jubilating loudly. 

Their fate had not been changed, yet, the framing of it had. For they had seen others who bared their marks upon their skulls like sins or shameful wounds, taking to eternally covering a part of themselves.

Now, such a thing would no longer be their lot.

There were those amongst the Elders who looked slightly disgruntled with the change. Yet, they had no justification to refute it. Such a thing would make it far more difficult for their enemies to steal their eyes. To be against it was to be against the betterment of the Clan.

Hideyoshi let out a bark of laughter. 

"It is indeed the start of a new era of the Hyūga!"

"Hah, Hideyoshi, so you planned this?"

"Still playing tricks at your old age—"

"No wonder he's been so happy lately—"

A large harrumph broke through the merriment.

"Does it still work as intended?"

One grumpy female elder spoke up, her voice tart.

"Seeing as how Hideyoshi was supervising you, I don't believe he'd do anything unnecessary. I just want to ensure that the seal has not changed in any way other than visually."

"What did you say, Kazuhiko?" Hideyoshi turned to the elder, hissing as he did so.

"I am only expressing my concern about making changes to our long-established Juinjutsu —"

"Who are you doubting? Me or my grandson? If it is him you doubt, then do not worry, I supervised him. If it is me you doubt…"

Hideyoshi's killing intent peaked.

"Have you forgotten who I am?"

The air was suffocating with the sheer bloodlust of an experienced shinobi. The younger ones in the Branch Clan went stiff with terror. Kazuhiko recoiled, sweat dripping down from her brow.

"F-forgive me, I-I misspoke…"

The woman went silent, shrinking like a defeated mouse. All the other elders who wanted to voice their complaints wisely swallowed them. No one would dare doubt Hideyoshi's skills. The younger generation may have forgotten, or they may not be aware, but the man had been a prodigious monster in his own right.

Hyūga Hideyoshi may not have a wartime legacy as great as the Sannin, the Salamander, or Hatake Sakumo, but he'd been a force to reckon with all the same.

No one would dare offend him.

“Continue the ceremony!” Hideyoshi barked a laugh. “To a new era of the Hyūga!”

The young heir bowed formally to his grandfather, before turning to the rest of the members of the Branch Clan who’d been yet to be branded. He smiled in a kind and gentle manner, bequeathing himself as a benevolent lord.

“Who shall step forward next?”

One by one, the members of the Branch Clan stepped forward of their own will, all to be branded. A process that was once long, painful, and arduous had been truncated thus that it could happen in a breath and the individual would feel not a single thing. 

Even the Elders who’d previously had their reservations were now openly in support of this new means. If the Branch Clan were no longer unwilling to be branded, it would smooth relations and reduce any risk of resentment from them. Many turned to Hideyoshi, nodding at the man’s effective genius, and at the same time, their estimation of the young Heir grew. 

A process that would have taken a whole day was shortened to a single afternoon, and, eventually, the last person to be branded remained. The hall fell uneasily silent, as many shot side glances toward Hiashi, pondering if the man would interfere. 

The young raven-haired girl stepped forward uneasily. The former heiress of their clan did not make for an impressive sight. Not only was she clearly meek of character, but she also did not have the eyes of a leader. When standing in front of Neji, the comparison between the two was like night and day. The girl could not even meet his gaze, and she shook like a frail leaf caught in the midst of the turbulent storm brewing outside.

For a moment, Neji glanced at the girl and paused. No, it was more apt to say he froze. He quickly caught himself and regained his regal bearing, but everyone had seen the momentary hesitation. Some even shook their heads, sighing at the unfortunate situation. Those in the Branch Clan believed he’d hesitated because of the conflicting feelings he must have towards seeing his cousin, the girl whose position he’d taken. There must have been some sort of turmoil going through his mind.

The seconds passed in silence, and the moment drew longer. Everyone could tell from the expression on his face: 

He did not wish to brand his cousin.

“Neji,” Hiashi’s voice coldly cut in. “Continue the ceremony.”

“Uncle, are you certain?” Neji turned to the man. “I’m certain we can make an excep —”

“Continue the ceremony.”

The man’s tone broke no room for argument. Neji turned to his cousin, a bitter smile on his face, before he took in a deep breath, and spoke to the girl. 

“Are you scared?”

“N-no, N-Neji-nisama — I —”

His hand landed on the girl’s shoulder. She went stiff. Then, he smiled, shaking his head as he did so.

“There is nothing to be scared of. You may be joining the Branch Clan, but you are still my flesh and blood. My father is your father, your father is my father. No one will treat you unfairly, and I shall ensure you grow to be strong and courageous.”

Neji’s eyes closed into a smile.

“We cannot fathom the whims of fate. Today, I may have taken your position, but if any ill were to befall me in the future, it is you who will stand tall and lead this clan. For that reason, I hope you do not harbor any ill will. Yet, even if you do, I understand.”

The girl shook her head furiously. “N-no, N-Neji-sama — I — I  c-couldn’t p-p-p-possibly h-h-harbor any ill w-will.” 

“That is good. You are my dear cousin, after all.”

Neji turned to the Elders, and then his gaze turned to those who’d been branded, with his eyes suddenly possessing a fiery hot intensity.

“Should anyone make life difficult for you, tell me at once. I will kill them myself.”

His declaration made many people take sharp breaths. The Elders were stunned by the sudden ruthlessness in his gaze, as were those of the Branch Clan. They’d only ever seen him as a kind and benevolent soul, so hearing that he would murder someone took them by surprise.

No one looked more surprised than Hiashi, who had a fish-out-of-water expression. He’d clearly not been expecting those words. Whispers moved around the Branch House, each one coming out faster than the prior.

“Neji-sama truly loves his family!”

“How terrifying! He must mean it…”

“To be so kind to her! He truly is amazing!”

The girl herself was stunned. Her eyes went wide, and she quickly bowed.

“I-I w-w-w-would not wish to t-t-trouble you, N-Neji-nisama…”

“It will be no trouble at all.”

Neji smiled.

“Now, are you ready, cousin?”

“H-hai.”

“This will only take a moment.”

With a strange handseal and a flick of his wrist, the branding process was started and completed all at once. Neji moved his hand atop the hair of his cousin, ruffling it with clear fondness.

“It is done.”

The girl bowed even deeper.

“T-thank you, N-Neji-sama.”

Neji smiled, but his smile seemed strained. He turned back to the elders, bowing once more. Hideyoshi’s grinning face could be seen amongst the lot. Hiashi addressed the newly branded Branch Clan members.

“Henceforth, those of you who are yet to become shinobi are to make it your utmost priority, so you may begin contributing of funds to the clan. Those who are lacking in combat skills or desire other endeavors may make a formal request to my brother, Hizashi once he returns from his mission, and you will be assigned to either the farm division or the trade division.” 

With a clash of thunder and a flash of lightning, the final announcement came. 

“The 11th Caged Bird Ceremony is now concluded.”

XXXXX

“Excellent work, Neji-kun!”

“Indeed, you’ve done well —”

“Thank you Elders. I am afraid I must return to my quarters for much-needed rest.”

“Of course, of course!”

“Rest as long as you need!”

Zi Wuji departed the hall, and as soon as he did, his smile and pleasant expression dropped immediately. His entire body was screaming. His chakra reserves, in particular, were running nearly empty. No, it was better to say that it was emptied out and was now completely dry. He’d been using his physical essence as a substitute to keep him moving, but that was a temporary measure, and he truly did require rest.

As he moved towards his room, his grandfather approached him, also leaving the hall.

“Well done, boy. You’ve gone above and beyond my expectations.”

“I thank you, grandfather.”

The old man stroked his beard, before giving him a sharp look.

“I did not expect you’d lie so blatantly in front of the Elders, you brat. When did you come to me with improvements? To think you’d have the guts to invoke my name to give validity to your work. Did you not fear I’d deny any involvement?”

Zi Wuji smiled.

“But you really did aid me, grandfather.”

“Hoh? I did?”

“I could only make those improvements because I studied the seals on the door of that secret cave. You were the one who showed me the secret place, so I had to give you your due credit, grandfather.”

His grandfather paused. “You studied the works of an Uzumaki Fūinjutsu Master… and copied them?”

“I improved them,” Zi Wuji corrected. “Her work was only so-so.”

“Haha! Hahahaha!”

Hideyoshi laughed until his voice nearly went hoarse.

“Indeed, I thank you, my boy. In the past few weeks, you’ve given me more joy than anyone has in the past fifty years. Yes, truly…”

Hideyoshi smiled again.

“Tell me the truth, Neji-kun. There are other improvements are there not?“ 

Once more, Zi Wuji simply smiled.

“Hahahaha! Good! Good!”

His grandfather patted him on the back.

“Do not tell me what they are. I look forward to finding out myself.”

“Ah, that reminds me, grandfather, regarding the Clan techniques you gave me —”

“Not today,” Hideyoshi shook his head. “I have enjoyed enough sweet surprises for one day. I do not wish my teeth to rot. Tomorrow, tell me your progress. For now, I can see you are nearly empty on chakra. Go, rest. You have earned it.”

“As you wish, grandfather.”

Zi Wuji departed from the old man and made his way back into his bedroom, exhaling tiredly as he did so. He’d expended a significant amount of chakra to apply those seals, and, he’d not just done it for the sake of making Hideyoshi happy.

No, Zi Wuji was no altruist. There was nothing he did that did not benefit him in one way or another. He would never take an action that he stood nothing to gain from. Except, of course, in cases of pride, but this was not such a case. 

There was meaning to the fact that he’d branded them all with the symbol for ‘Phoenix.’

I now have seventy-nine extra-lives. Hah… Am I not already immortal at this point?

His major ‘improvement’ to the seal was an insidious one. He’d recreated a devious technique that had belonged to the Clan Master of the Blood Hand Sect, called the Cardinal Kindred Sacrifice Technique. 

He had been an ancestor of a powerful clan, who’d settled down in a remote area, founded a family and village, and had that village grow to over ten thousand individuals. After which, he returned to reap his spoils by sacrificing every last member of his family to massively boost his cultivation and gain ten-thousand souls — ten thousand lives.

It was one of the reasons the Blood Hand Sect was one of the most feared Demonic Sects in the Lower Rain World. It was also the reason they managed to rise to prominence. When the Clan Master had ten thousand lives, it made killing him a nigh-impossible feat.

Zi Wuji had stolen this technique from the Blood Hand Sect himself, during the numerous years he spent searching for a means to break the bottleneck of his cultivation. Of course, he’d had neither the patience nor the desire to use it back then. He’d been an orphan, and his lifespan would not be long enough for him to reap the full benefits. 

It was a different story now.

To his disappointment, there had only been seventy-nine members of the Branch Clan who’d yet to be branded. The last branding had taken place when his uncle was three years of age, so, it was expected that the number would be scarce. In fact, seventy-nine was already amazing, considering it had only been about two decades since the last Caged Bird Ceremony. 

Still, the mark would work as intended. Whenever one of the seventy-nine individuals died, their ‘cultivation’ would transfer directly to him. However, as they did not have any cultivation, the technique was reworked such that their chakra would be transferred instead, as would their soul. It would be kept as a ‘reserve.’ That way, were he to encounter a killing blow, that ‘reserve’ soul would be consumed rather than his own.

However, there was one unfortunate caveat of the technique.

They had to die before he could reap the benefits.

Zi Wuji was not worried. He had plans. Before he turned twelve, he intended to ensure all seventy-nine of them would see the grave. 

Well, not all seventy-nine.

There was an outlier he didn’t expect. The only hiccup in his plans.

His cousin.

Zi Wuji bit his lip harshly.

To think I’d meet someone with this world’s equivalent of the True Yin Heavenly Physique… and she happened to be under my nose all along.

Zi Wuji couldn’t let her die. Under any circumstances, he had to ensure she would not die.

What was her name again… Hinata?

Hinata. A seemingly unassuming name, yet, her condition was not unassuming whatsoever. From a cursory glance, he’d deciphered she possessed a stupidly obscene amount of Yin Chakra. The sheer amount of Yin Chakra was something he could feel emanating from her. 

He was momentarily surprised others could not feel it, but, he remembered not everyone had been training their ability to sense and manipulate Yin Chakra as he had.

She was the embodiment of absolute femininity. There was not a single trace of masculine energy in her bloodstream. Not a single ounce of it whatsoever could be found in her chakra.

In the Rain World, a woman who possessed such a rare state would be considered blessed with the True Yin Heavenly Physique. A rare, innate, bodily structure that granted them absolute power over yin-related aspects and elements. Such women could either become the purest of fairies whose mere presence chased away demons, or the most dangerous of seductresses and temptresses who could lead empires to ruin.

They were also heavily prized for Dual Cultivation, as they had nigh-infinite Yin Energy to reap from.

However, it brought a problem. Zi Wuji did not want to brand her. Rather, there were problems with branding such a person. Alas, he hadn’t been able get out of the situation. If he suddenly changed the seal, others would notice. If he decided to use the ‘unimproved’ version instead, others would question it. As such, he’d been forced to brand her all the same.

Were she to die, and were he to gain her chakra, the flood of raw, pure yin chakra would completely throw his own body into chaos. It would change him on a fundamental level.

In the worst-case scenario, taking her chakra would immediately turn him into a woman.

In the best-case scenario, if he didn’t suddenly grow breasts or lose his manhood, he’d become a highly effeminate male. The kind many would mistake for a woman all the same.

Regardless of whether it was the worst-case or best-case scenario, he would no longer be able to utilize his Yin Peculation Art, which relied on high levels of masculine energy to derive power from feminine energy.

As such, he’d meant his words when he said that if anyone were to give her trouble, he’d kill them. He’d invested too much to suddenly have his progress be halted by transforming into a woman. That aside, it’d be extremely hard to explain such a transformation to these bumpkins, who considered the dull scribblings of Uzumaki Mito to be the work of a ‘master.’

I must take precautions.

Rather than rest to recover his chakra, Zi Wuji began the process of writing and drawing numerous seals on a piece of paper. Then, once he was done, he folded the paper into the form of an ornate origami rabbit. The entire process took him scarcely any time, though, he took care to make it look as realistic as possible. 

As the rain pounded outside, it muffled the sounds of his work, and he took a knife to his hair, and cut out a single, long strand, before placing it beside the origami rabbit. Finally, he utilized the last remnants of his chakra to perform the Transformation Technique.

The hair turned into a long, sturdy twine, and the origami rabbit transformed into a beautiful bluish-purple jade pendant, with the same rabbit engraved atop. He completed the final steps, putting together the twine and the pendant before he was claimed by exhaustion. 

This should do for now.

Zi Wuji pocketed the jade rabbit pendant, climbed into bed, and waited for sleep to claim him. Come morning, he would do what needed to be done.

XXXXX

“This is her?”

Two men cloaked in black from head to toe stood in a room, their bodies letting off light steam as they peered into an empty apartment, save for only one girl, sleeping soundly in a bedroom. 

“The intel said that the Clan Head only has one daughter. Raven hair. About two or three years old.”

The first man took a glance around the room and frowned.

“Something is off. Be on your guard.”

“Why? It’s like you said, the Hyūga bastards are too reliant on sight. With such a heavy thunderstorm, those guards didn’t even notice us sneak in…”

The second man sighed.

“Sensei, you could have done this as a solo mission. I don’t know why they had to force me to tag along as well.”

“We can’t dismiss the possibility that the Yellow Flash has those accursed kunai of his within every major Clan. If he does appear, your summons are the only way we’ll make it out alive.” 

The first man re-examined the room.

“This makes me uneasy. There are no guards around her. More so, if she’s the Heiress, why isn’t she living with the Clan Head?”

“I don’t know. But, look, see? No mark on her head. That means she’s from the Main Clan, right?”

“I suppose.”

The first man grunted. 

“Fine. Grab her and let’s get out of here.”

The second man brought out a large sack and a piece of tape. He rapidly taped the girl’s mouth shut, just as she woke up, then immediately threw the bag over her head.

“Raikage-sama is going to be pleased.”

Chapter Text

Two shinobi moved through the thickets of the forest as the rain thundered and poured down upon them. One, shorter, was carrying a brown sac, squirming and struggling, whilst the other, taller, kept his eyes sharpened as he followed the route he’d been given by his intelligence officer, only to momentarily pause and stop upon a tree, taking brief shelter from the storm.

“Sensei? What’s wrong?”

He gestured towards a large fork in the road, which led out into two different paths.

“There’s a fork.”

“What?”

“There should only be one road.”

The older man retraced from memory the exact specific route he’d been given, and then attempted to connect it to the lush and vast trees and thickets before him. The darkness and the rain cloaked their escape as allies, yet, it also hindered him. Only petrichor and the scent of wet leaves entered his nostrils, preventing him from utilizing olfactory cues to find his way. 

Worse still, the escape route he’d long memorized to evade patrols told him that there was no fork here. At which, he was supposed to continue straight and he’d make his escape out of the village and complete his mission.

“Could the intel have been wrong?”

“Impossible.”

He dismissed the notion as soon as it came. The information they’d received had been peerless. No, it was better to claim that it was absolute. No one, not even their Raikage, obsessed as he was with bloodlines and Dōjutsu, would have risked this mission without concrete belief in their intel.

Their intel was what provided them with the layout of the Hyūga Estate. Their intel provided them with the details of the appearance of the Hyūga Heiress. Their intel told them about the patrols, and hinted at the susceptibility of the Hyūga ocular prowess to unfavorable weather. Their intel even covered the little-known detail that members of the Main Clan did not have markings on their heads, while those in the Branch Clan did.

With such in-depth detail given to everything else, it was highly improbable for the intel to have been inaccurate at such a critical juncture. Having a clear escape route from the village that would evade the eyes and ears of patrolling shinobi or ANBU was an absolute necessity for the success of the mission. 

It wasn’t as though they could just saunter out the main gate with their captive. Not without drawing the entire might of the Konoha Shinobi Force upon them.

He leaped down from the treeline towards the forked road, his eyes peering both for tracks. Nothing could be glimmered, all washed away by the torrential downpour, and the darkness cloaking the forest canopies made it difficult to ascertain which road would lead to safety, and which to damnation.

He stared further, his brow furrowing into a thin line. Neither road looked new, nor did any of them seem particularly more or less worn than the other. Advancing without absolute certainty as to the path he was to take would be no different from gambling with his life. 

“Kurai. Use your summon.”

“Sensei?”

“Now.”

“Hai!”

His student laid down the satchel with their captive, and rapidly formed a set of hand signs. With a small, barely detectable burst of chakra, he slammed his palm into the wet earth.

“Kuchiyose no Jutsu!”

A puff of smoke emerged a second later, and along with it, a creature emerged. With dark fur and white stripes, the being wore a headband and a small puffy jacket. Its long claws were akin to knives, and it shuddered under the rain and cold, turning to its summoner with displeasure.

“Didn’t I tell ya not to summon me under foul weather?”

“There’s no time,” his student interrupted. “We’re in a pickle, Guma-san.”

Guma, the badger, examined their surroundings, sniffing into the air, and then, quickly shot its gaze towards the satchel with a squirming figure inside.

He didn’t like his student’s summons. Not that he had anything against badgers, but he disliked intelligent creatures with whom he could not ascertain their absolute loyalty.

“Which path leads out of the village?” he asked swiftly. “Time is of the essence.”

“This is… Konoha?”

The badger sniffed with his nose once more and turned abruptly towards its summoner.

“Is this some sorta prank?”

“What do you mean, prank?” Kurai frowned.

“There’s only one road ahead of ya. What d’ya mean which path leads out of the village?”

Jōnin and Chūnin both turned to each other, then swiftly turned their gaze back to the road before them, which, as they could clearly see, was split into a fork. Their eyes widened simultaneously.

“KAI!”

As one, they slammed their hands together and sent a pulse of chakra through their systems. The world shimmered around them, the sound of glass shattering echoed in their ears.

The two paths vanished and revealed three paths in its stead.

A deep sense of foreboding began to seep into his mind. Something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong. The pulse of chakra they utilized to break what they’d assumed was a Genjutsu had no doubt raised an alarm. 

“Show us the correct path. Quickly!”

“Show ya the — there’s only one path ya daft monkey!”

“Guma-san!”

“Fine! Fine!”

The badger burrowed into the ground and lunged forward. He picked up their captive and raced after the creature. Yet, as soon as the badger reached the crossroad, it completely vanished.

“G-Guma-san?!”

As soon as he saw the badger disappear, a cold feeling washed over him. A memory, long forgotten, welled up deep from his subconscious. He closed his eyes, and a laugh burrowed out from the depth of his throat. His student looked to him, confused and terrified. He didn’t blame the boy. He was too young to not realize what was happening.

He’d been a Genin in that war, looking to earn merits. He’d thought it absurd, back then, to see an alliance of several major villages combining just to take down a small village of individuals stuck on an island. He didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Yet, he remembered, firmly, the way in which for every one of those red-haired bastards that were struck down, ten shinobi would fall in tandem.

He didn’t have the chance to speak a single word, nay, he didn’t have the opportunity to utter a single sentence, before he was surrounded on all sides by men and women in animal-clad masks, and had sharp kunai pressed against his throat and organs. 

His student was buried into the dirt, pinned to the ground by more mask-clad individuals, just as a blond-haired man appeared in a flash of yellow, a tri-pronged kunai in one hand, and a struggling badger in another.

XXXXX

Within a vast room, a blue-jacket wearing toad appeared in a puff of smoke, only to immediately let out a cry as it was buried underneath several layers upon layers of paper and scrolls. It crawled its way out from underneath the papers, glowering mildly as it glanced at the room.

The room was covered with ink. An endless plethora of scribblings and writings, seals and formulas, all written, spiraling, circling every inch of visible space. From floors to walls, doors to ceilings, all of it was filled with ink. As for the rest of the room, there was only parchment and paper, some stacked as high as the ceiling, and others crumbled up into balls and overflowing from waste bins.

The toad navigated its way past the towering debris of paper and parchment, until it found a man sitting in the middle, his long spiky hair flowering down beneath him, and a long, white, unkempt beard overflowing from his chin. He was skinny, thin, as though he’d forgotten to eat in days if not weeks. There were bags underneath his eyes, as though he’d not known the definition of sleep.

Yet, amidst it all, his hand continued to move, flawlessly, with his brush drawing ink against parchment. He muttered underneath his breath and cursed out in frustration.

“Wrong! Still wrong! The Bagua still isn’t right! Arrrgh!”

He rolled the paper into a ball and tossed it, forcing the toad to evade the paper with a brief maneuver, and let out a yelp.

“Hey! Watch it!”

The long-bearded man blinked at the voice, before turning to examine the tiny toad. “Gamahiro?”

The toad, Gamahiro, frowned at him. “You’re stinky, Jiraiya-sama. Stinky, stinky.”

Jiraiya took a whiff of himself. He grimaced and cleared his throat. “Nevermind that. What are you doing here?”

“You need sunlight, Jiraiya-sama. Pa and Ma are getting worried.”

“Like I told them, and like I told Minato, I’m fine.” 

There was a hint of annoyance in his voice which neither of his former teammates would ever have believed. He caught himself, calmed himself, and scratched the back of his neck before grabbing another parchment.

“It’s been nearly four years, Jiraiya-sama. They’re calling you the Hermit Sannin.”

The reminder of time made him wince.

“You all make it sound like I haven’t gone out at all,” Jiraiya sighed. “I do a lot of work around the village.”

Gamahiro nodded.

“That’s why Minato sent me.”

Jiraiya rose an eyebrow.

“One of the Fūinjutsu Barriers you put up caught two Kumo-nin trying to escape with Hyūga Hiashi’s daughter.”

“Where?”

“At the edge of the Eastern Forest.”

“Eastern Forest?” Jiraiya closed his eyes. “...the False Path Illusion Barrier?”

Gamahiro tilted his head. “Hai.”

Jiraiya scratched his long, unkempt beard. “That’s what caught them?”

“Hai…?”

“It’s one of the most elementary barrier techniques from the Uzumaki Clan,” Jiraiya mumbled. “Compared to the Blood Barrier I put at the Gates, or even the Reverse-Summoning Barrier at the Southern Walls, or the Mind Distortion Barrier at the Forest of Death…”

Gamahiro frowned. “Jiraiya-sama, how many barriers have you put all over Konoha?”

Jiraiya sat there, silent for several seconds, until Gamahiro stared in disbelief.

“You don’t remember?”

“It can’t be less than sixty-nine,” Jiraiya murmured. “I remember joking to Minato about making the sixty-ninth barrier lead into Ibiki’s secret sex dungeon, and Little Naruto overheard and asked what a sex dungeon was, which caused Kushina to hit me over the head with that damn frying pan…”

Gamahiro’s stare lingered on.

“Bah, it’s fine,” Jiraiya waved his hand dismissively. “Every barrier is linked to an alarm, and has a Hiraishin seal hidden. Minato and his squad can arrive at the locations and handle any issues in case of false positives.”

Jiraiya stretched his neck. 

“If that’s all I need to get back to work.”

Gamahiro’s frown deepened. “Jiraiya-sama…”

“The Hiraishin is Minato’s strongest jutsu, and summoning is his strongest supplemental jutsu. There’s someone out there who can disable his best cards, and we don’t know who they are or what their intentions are.”

Jiraiya grit his teeth.

“I need to know how they did it, and I need to know how to prevent it from happening again. Because if I don’t and something happens…”

Jiraiya slumped. For once, his age showed. He looked older, far older, than he had any right to be.

“I’ve failed my true love and failed my best friend. I won’t fail my student too.’

He smiled, dryly. 

“I can’t.”

Gamahiro said nothing, The toad merely stood, for a few moments, watching as the ‘Hermit Sannin’ continued onwards with his mad obsession, his skinny hand brushing ink against parchment, in another attempt to unravel the secrets behind the mysterious circumstances surrounding his godson’s birth.

You’ve improved more than you think, Jiraiya-sama. 

The words didn’t escape the toad’s mouth. Jiraiya would never believe it. He could not see it. In the past three years, his Fūinjutsu mastery had evolved as though he’d spent three decades engrossed in the art.

Gamahiro did not believe there was anyone in the Elemental Nations that could rightfully call themselves a true Fūinjutsu Master, if not the man before him. It was what made it even more worrying, that in spite of how much he’d grown, in spite of the literal months, weeks and years holed up in study and practice, he was still unable to find the answers he sought.

What sort of monster, then, was the person who’d set Jiraiya on this path to begin with?

Gamahiro did not know. 

He hoped he would never find out.

XXXXX

“Kidnapped?”

The word entered Zi Wuji’s ears, yet, he had difficulty believing it. The clamor that had taken up the entire clan by storm had not bothered him. What bothered him was the sudden arrival of the Fourth Hokage, the pretty-boy looking blond, having come to deliver not only the news of their clan’s ineptitude but deliver back the shy and shivering Hinata.

Even as the adults discussed furiously amidst themselves, and his uncle went forth to profusely thank the Hokage, all whilst hiding his fury, Zi Wuji had not believed it. He did not believe any of it.

No, he could not believe it.

A clan filled with people who could see through walls, see in all three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, and see hundreds of miles at a glance, and yet, not a single soul had been stirred when someone snuck into their home and made off with one of their own?

His own excuse was sheer exhaustion. After all, he’d spent the entire day implementing powerful seals upon the foreheads of others, and had slumbered deeply. What, then, was the excuse of others? 

What excuse had the guards, whose jobs were to prevent intruders? What excuse had the night-owls and perverts, who spent the evenings lost in literature and poetry, or rutting away like rabbits in heat?

To add insult to injury, the person the intruders had made away with had been the one person in the entire clan that Zi Wuji could not let out of his sight. What, indeed, would have happened had they successfully carted her off to heaven-knows-where?

Inept!

UTTERLY INEPT!

A ground-shaking killing intent burst out of his form and flooded the entirety of the Hyūga Estate. 

Must I do everything myself?!

He did not care about the Hyūga Clan. He cared little for whether it triumphed or failed, whether it was destroyed or ravished. As long as he gained the benefits of safety and a place to bide his time and recover his strength and cultivation, he was fine.

Yet, that was no longer true.

Had the mission of those intruders been to kill the Clan Heir rather than abduct the previous Heiress, his journey would have been over before it ever began. He could not consider the Hyūga Clan to be a safe place. They were too inept to protect him from future dangers.

Even worse, such blatant ineptitude reflected badly upon him, as he was designated their future leader. What pride lay in being the Heir of an inept and pathetic clan? None!

This was no different from slapping him in the face!

It was a personal affront!

Their incompetence was a disgrace to him!

Their weakness was his humiliation!

Zi Wuji did not believe himself to be inferior to anyone under the heavens. For his own glory to be hampered by the inadequateness of those to whom he shared a surname —

Unacceptable! 

He truly desired nothing more than to destroy them! To erase the blemish from his memory and from existence as a whole!

Yet, he couldn’t. For unleashing his rage upon the entire clan would only put setbacks to his goals. It would not bring him any closer to his desires.

I cannot allow myself to be associated with such patheticness. 

The name, Zi Wuji, cannot be dragged through the mud!

If I cannot destroy them to wipe away this slight, then I must —

“N-Neji-sama, p-please, calm down!”

Everyone in the clan was staring at him. Everyone focused in his direction. His killing intent was still radiating, so much so that even the adults were sweating. The people who seemed most stunned were not only his uncle, Hiashi, but the young Hinata herself.

Calming his mind, Zi Wuji withdrew his killing intent and walked slowly over to her.

“Are you unharmed?”

“I — y-y-y-yes, N-Neji-sama.”

He let out a large breath of air.

“That is all that matters.”

If I cannot destroy them…

Zi Wuji decided he was left with no choice.

Then I must remake them.

Zi Wuji slowly embraced his cousin, using her to hide the turmoil of rage bubbling in his throat.

To hell with the Hyūga Clan. I’ll reform it!

He sucked in air.

And when I’m done, I’ll change the name…It shall become a Sect. My Sect.

Zi Wuji nodded to himself.

I, Zi Wuji, shall not be the Clan Head of Hyūga… I shall be Master of the Heavenly Palm Sect!

Chapter Text

The sudden summons did not bother Uchiha Fugaku. 

Gone were the days when he held reservations and griped about seeing his life-long rival hold the position of the leader of the village. Gone was the fiery temperament in his youth, the spark and blaze that licked up enemies and scalded allies. Somewhere between the metamorphosis of boy to man, man to leader, and leader to father, those flames had been tempered and sheathed.

The murmur of debate was strong as he approached the chamber. The Unified Clan Council Chamber had only been recently formed, as it was one of his rival’s smartest decisions as village leader to bring together the Clan Heads of Konoha whenever it came to a matter that involved the entire welfare of the village. 

Pushing the doors into the room, eleven figures sat in a semicircle, each occupying a large chair crafted from the gnarled roots of a thousand-year-old tree. As for where Minato had found such a specimen, Fugaku wagered it was another of his many, many keepsakes from Mount Myōboku. He was aware that the toads treated Minato akin to a messiah. Believing in one prophecy or the other, they granted him untold amounts of gifts and blessings, far, far beyond anything they’d ever given to the man’s mentor, the one who bore the title of Toad Sage.

There was a purpose to the chairs, one which his expert eyes had seen from the very first day.  The man’s wife had aided him in making such a thing. As for how Fugaku knew this, it was because his own wife, Mikoto, happened to be close friends with the woman, and she’d narrated the tale of the surprising sight of finding not one, not two, but over twenty-five Shadow Clones of the Uzumaki woman diligently carving those chairs.

Engraved with tens if not potentially hundreds of seals, the chairs possessed a means of sensing negative energy and emotions. Specifically, the negative emotions generated from deceit and deception, the minute fluctuation of emotions present when one was dishonest or fraudulent.

Fugaku did not care much for Senjutsu nor Fuinjutsu, but he was not a fool who would snort in the face of powers he did not fully understand. The chairs were special, as long as everyone sat down as one, and someone spoke, the moment they uttered a false statement, everyone would know. Even they, themselves, would become aware that everyone knew they were lying.

A few individuals had strongly opposed the idea at first, and Fugaku would never forget the scene of his rival, standing, with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, and loudly proclaiming that if one was not willing to accept a change that would prove the honesty of their hearts and validity of their words when discussing matters that determined the fate of the village, then one was unworthy of sitting at the table to discuss matters that determined the fate of the village.

There would be no room for deception in the courtroom of the Fourth Hokage. No room for resentment to form, no room for hatred and secret grudges to gather and fester. Everyone would know the heart of everyone else, everyone would know who hated who, who wanted to kill who, who wanted to destroy who, or who had unresolved sexual tension with who. 

It was brazen. Audacious. Some even laughed at that last part, but when they realized that if you had an affair with another clan head, everyone would know, they stopped laughing. 

Namikaze Minato was a genius, but he had his flaws. One of said flaws was what Fugaku knew too well, and it was that as a genius, he saw things on a grander scale than most, and grasped things faster and quicker than others, and did not understand the struggles of those who were not as gifted. In that same breath, he held no enemies in his heart. He did not understand the innate envy of the inferior, nor cruel ambition of the lacking, nor could he fathom what caused things like inner-conflict and betrayal. Viewing the entire village as his family, he had no secrets to keep from it. 

He believed only through absolute honesty would there be absolute trust. It was a sort of thing Fugaku often found a bit unfathomable, but, at the same time, he understood. Minato was too kind and too trusting. He was the sort of person who could leave his son in the hands of total strangers, and believe they would have no ill intentions.

It was why Fugaku was almost certain that the man’s wife was the one who thought up the idea for him. She likely knew just how trusting he was, and how much of a fatal flaw it would be for him to be betrayed by those he viewed as family.

Fugaku found his way to his seat, and had only so much as sat down for a hair’s breadth before he felt the unbridled, cold, and malevolent killing intent coming from a chair directly opposing him.

The man who sat directly opposing him was calm. Quiet. His white eyes were tranquil, as though it were a peaceful sea. Glancing only at his outside expression and temperment, it would be impossible even for the most skilled masters of body language to tell he was unbelievably furious.

“Now that everyone has gathered…” 

An ANBU, appeared in the center of the room, wearing a familiar dog mask. He placed down a crystal orb in the center of the large semi-circle sphere, performed a single handseal, and vanished.

Everyone turned to the crystal orb. Fugaku recognized it as one of the most peerless tools of the Hokage: the Pure Leaf Pearl. According to records, it was a priceless, peerless treasure crafted by the father-in-law of Senju Hashirama, and gifted to him upon his union with the man’s daughter, Uzumaki Mito.

A brief flash of his Sharingan revealed that the Pure Leaf Pearl possessed an uncountable array of seals with numerous functions. The most famous of which, was that it granted the wielder the ability to view everyone and everything within the range of Konohagakure no Sato.

The image on the pearl began to play itself. The stormy night showed events that had everyone present quiet and grave. Fugaku was aware that the Pure Leaf Pearl didn’t always have the ability to record the past, nor did it originally have the ability to record things that you did not use it to personally witness. 

According to his rival, this change had come only a mere six months ago, courtesy of Jiraiya of the Sannin. 

Fugaku did not know the details, but, he knew there was some mystery regarding the birth of Minato’s son that haunted the Sannin, which was why the man had become a reclusive hermit, eating, drinking and breathing Fūinjutsu. 

The pearl could not divine or witness things viewed before the time of its upgrade. If it could, it would be an absolute treasure. The fact that it was limited to Konoha’s walls was also unfortunate. For if the Pure Leaf Pearl were capable of seeing everything, everyone, everywhere, both in the present and the past…

The images continued, displaying two individuals. It displayed everything from the moment they snuck into the Hyūga Clan, to the moment they escaped with their captive. It showed how, in spite of their best efforts, they were foiled by a genjutsu barrier. It showed as Minato and the Thunder God Squadron appeared, effortlessly apprehending both intruders.

The images changed, until they unveiled an interrogation room. A brief scene appeared with an individual Fugaku recognized as Morino Ibiki of the Torture and Interrogation Department entering a room with the younger of the captives. Moments later, terrifying screams followed, after which, the orb went blank. Once the scene returned, it was of the captive speaking, crying and weeping, sputtering out incoherent words and confessions, all of which were damning.

For several long seconds after the images ended, silence filled the Chamber.

"There is no denying the offense," the Aburame Clan Head, Shibi, of all people, began. His voice was a mesh of buzzing and humming, of cricket-like chirping and cicada-like cries.  "But to retaliate is to tread upon dangerous territory.."

Killing intent rushed towards Shibi, as did a sharp, piercing gaze.

“Were it your child,” Hiashi’s words were cold. “Would you have the courage to utter such words?”

The Sarutobi Clan Head, nodded slightly. No one there, not even Fugaku, had expected Biwako to side with the Hyūga. "Hiashi-dono seeks to regain his honor, and the honor of his clan in retaliation. I sympathize with him."

Fugaku shot a cursory glance towards the old woman. He was aware she was merely a stand-in, currently taking the role of the Clan Head in place of her husband, the God of Shinobi. The Third Hokage had taken his vow of retirement to the extreme. 

Fugaku’s lips almost twitched as he recalled the reports he’d gotten from members of his clan, the Uchiha Police Force, about how they would find the Third Hokage flying kites over the Hokage Monument, wearing flip-flops and shorts while fishing next to a lake, or sitting in public parks, eating ice cream and playing chess. 

He was the first, and only Kage in recorded history to have ever retired from his position, so Fugaku couldn’t blame him for enjoying his retirement. Still, he hadn’t thought the man would be so fatigued with village matters that he’d surrender his Clan Head seat after leaving the fate of the village to his successor.

Biwako was only taking the role of Clan Head temporarily. In a matter of years, her eldest son, Asuma, would take her place. Despite that, not a single person here objected to Biwako’s presence, nor was there anyone who’d be stupid enough to offend her.

The Akimichi Clan Head, Chōza, cleared his throat. "I also sympathize with Hiashi, but… the ramifications of retaliation are just too hard to digest.”

A grunt echoed from a spot opposing him. A wild-haired woman, with marks on her cheeks and a hulking wolf of a dog beside her thumped her fist on the round table. "When did we become dogs who’ll roll over after being kicked instead of baring our fangs?”

As she spoke, everyone could feel her fiery temper. Fugaku almost shook his head. 

“What do you think will happen if we don’t respond? What kind of message will we send, if Kumo shinobi can saunter into our homes and abduct our children and we decide to turn the other cheek?"

The Yamanaka Clan Head, Inoichi, responded quietly. "We cannot stoop to their level, Tsume. We should respond, yes, but within reason. An all-out attack might lead to victory, but at what cost?"

"The cost of our pride, of our honor," replied Tsume sharply. "Damn it, Inoichi! These aren’t bones to be bartered!"

"Neither are the lives of our people," Fugaku finally spoke. "For honor you want to send another generation of children to die on the battlefield? For pride you would condemn your son and daughter to the same pointless struggles we faced as children? Are we samurai, to be so concerned about pride? About honor?”

Tsume flinched slightly. Her temper, as always, had her speaking first and thinking second. A bit of heat rushed to her cheeks, and she immediately pointed at him.

“And if it were your son who was nearly abducted? You, Fugaku? I don’t believe for a second you wouldn’t —”

“Even if my son were killed before me, I would not seek retaliation by condemning hundreds of innocent fathers to the same tragedy…” Fugaku closed his eyes. “I’ve learned from Minato that such a thing only breeds a vicious cycle of hatred.”

Maybe, if it were in the past, he’d be so hotblooded. Yet, over the years, watching his rival grow, and seeing the impact that the war had on his son, Fugaku was a changed man. His oldest, Itachi, was already affected by that cycle that Minato had spoken to him of. Having partaken in the latter ending of the previous war at a young age due to his prodigious talent, something had changed in him. 

He did not wish for Itachi to return to such a bloody battlefield. No, he’d rather have peace. In addition, the thought of condemning his youngest, Sasuke, to the same fate was unthinkable.

A snort came sharply. A young man, with sharp eyes glanced at the rest of the table, his ire clear. “Is Konoha so weak, so cowardly, that we whore out our dignity for the price of peace? We are the strongest Shinobi Village. Not Kumo, not Suna, not Iwa or Kiri. Yet, for generations, our fangs have been blunted and our claws sheathed. Because of the likes of you,” he spat. “Cowards.”

Fugaku was about to respond with something scathing, but Biwako beat him to it.

“Shimura-dono, be cautious of your words. The strength we possess exists to protect ourselves and our loved ones, not to trample upon our enemies. This is the essence of the Will of Fire… not whatever heretical teachings your father has imbued into you.”

“You need not protect your loved ones if you have eliminated everything that can endanger them. The Will of Flame is not heretical. Mock it as you may, but the fact remains that we are only in this position because the world views us as paper tigers. Threatening from afar but harmless when up-close. Had my father not been —” 

He did not continue, wisely interrupting himself and sharpening his gaze. Fugaku resisted the urge to scoff at the youngster. It was not hard for everyone present to feel the simmering resentment held by Shimura Yoshito.

The Head of the Shimura Clan was not very popular. He’d only ascended to power following the unofficial imprisonment of his adoptive father, Shimura Danzo. Fugaku had done his research and found that the young man’s existence was all documented, despite the fact that none of his fellow clan members or comrades remembered ever seeing him before. No one expected him to be named as Danzo’s successor, the leader of the Shimura Clan.

The imprisonment of Shimura Danzo was considered ‘unofficial’ due to the fact that he was constrained to house arrest. He could not leave his home nor carry out any official duties in service to Konoha and its people. If it were up to Fugaku, he’d have had the man executed. He did not understand Minato’s decision to be so merciful to him, in spite of uncovering the sheer number of crimes the man had committed. He also didn’t know why the man’s imprisonment had been suppressed to a point where most individuals didn’t even know the once illustrious Elder was now a captive in his own home.

Danzo’s crimes had come to light entirely by accident. It was common knowledge to Fugaku, the Uchiha Police Force, and perhaps the entire Konoha Shinobi Force, that Jiraiya of the Sannin was a changed man. He had replaced his previous unscrupulous habit of peeping on women’s baths to going around like a madman, placing and practicing fūinjutsu seals and barriers on anything and everything. 

About five months ago, one of said barriers was triggered, and the Thunder God Squadron arrived with alarm, believing they’d caught a whole group of intruders.

Said intruders happened to be a Squadron of ANBU wearing blank masks. A squadron that Minato, the Hokage, was not aware of. Each and every one of those operatives possessed powerful seals on their tongues which prevented them from speaking. To everyone’s surprise, Jiraiya admitted he could not remove the seals. Instead, what he did, was reverse them, essentially inverting their function. Rather than being unable to speak about certain topics, he made it so they couldn’t stop speaking about those same topics.

From there, the rest was history.

Despite the sheer number of grievous offenses Shimura Danzo had committed, he’d managed to escape the executioner's blade. Fugaku refused to believe Minato had spared him out of the kindness of his heart, and felt Danzo held a trump card that Minato couldn’t be rid of. Some of his Clan Elders suggested that Danzo was an old relic so terrifying that if he really was executed, he’d take down the entire of Konoha with him, whilst the rest speculated that there must be something Danzo possessed that Minato needed, which was the only reason he still drew breath. 

Regardless of what the truth was, it was indisputable that ever since the Elder Council was abolished and the Unified Clan Council was formed following Minato’s rise as the Fourth Hokage, the former Elders of the Village were now powerless old crones, and Shimura Danzo was no exception. 

Not many people had anticipated so many great changes would come with the young Namikaze Minato taking his post as the Hokage. Minato was not like the Kages of old. He was brazen, innovative, daring, and willing to abandon old conventions and step on toes to bring progress to the village.

It was not an exaggeration to claim that there had been more changes to the village in the past half-decade than in the previous thirty years the God of Shinobi had ruled.

It was why this current matter was so important.

“...It’s bothersome.”

A voice broke the discussion. Everyone turned to the scar-faced man with the pineapple-styled haircut.

“What is it, Shikaku?” Inoichi asked.

Shikaku looked extremely bored, yet, his eyes were sharp. “They’re provoking us.” Shikaku exhaled. “Despite knowing the inherent risk involved, they sent a Jōnin and a Chūnin on a mission to abduct the Hyūga Clan Heiress. The consequences of failure far outweigh the rewards of success, yet they did so anyway.”

Everyone turned to him, silent. The thought had stumbled into their minds, and then they all recalled the very argument they just had.

Tsume growled. “You’re saying —”

“They’re not gambling on the fact that we won’t retaliate, but the fact that we can’t.”

“That’s absurd,” Fugaku responded. “Do they think us so weak? The amount of Iwa Shinobi that Minato alone killed in the last war —”

“Earned him his flee-on-sight bingo book rating, yes,” Shikaku drawled. “But it also earned Konoha the complete hatred of Iwagakure. Even now, whenever our Genin encounter theirs outside… it leads to a fight to the death. If we were to make a repeat performance with Kumo…”

Shikaku fell silent for a moment. The entire chamber fell silent as well.

“...I see. So that’s it.”

Shikaku closed his eyes.

“If we go to war with Kumo. Either Iwa sides with them, or they wait and watch until we are weakened and swoop down finish us off. There is no world in which they ally with us.”

Shikaku lifted a finger and put it down.

“Kiri is currently undergoing internal strife, and even if they weren’t, their hatred of Kekkai Genkai is public knowledge. They are more likely to side with Kumo than with us.”

He lifted another finger and put it down.

“Suna holds grievances against us, courtesy of the Wind Daimyo’s favoritism, and the fact that we’ve been slowly taking more and more of their mission requests. Outwardly, they may not seem hostile, but the current Kazekage is a man whose well known for his ruthlessness. We share borders with them, and our downfall will mean their rise, so it is more likely that they oppose us than aid us.”

With every word he spoke, every finger placed down, people’s expressions darkened.

“Without a doubt,” Shikaku said. “Attacking Kumo will be the spark that begins the next Great Shinobi War. However, in this war, Konoha will fight without allies. If anything, it is likely the other four villages will pool their might and attempt to eliminate us.”

“Hah! They’re welcome to try!” Tsume slammed her fist on the table. “We aren’t afraid of —”

“I would caution you against such reckless confidence, Tsume,” Fugaku uttered sharply. “Even the likes of Uzushiogakure were unable to stop the combined might of several villages. I do not doubt that Konoha will prevail, but as Yamanaka-dono has already asked, at what cost?”

Fugaku’s words resonated with those who gathered. Yes, Konoha most likely could survive fighting the other four villages at once, but at what cost? How many would die doing so? How many atrocities and tragedies would commence from doing so?

Even a genius as gifted as Minato had lost two of his three students in the previous War. One of said students lost his father in that War. The world’s most unrivaled medic nin, Tsunade, lost her brother, grandfather, granduncle, and lover to war. Over ninety-nine percent of her clan, the Senju Clan, one of the two founding clans of Konoha, was wiped out over the course of the First, Second and Third Great Wars. There were countless others, whose lives were cut short and abrupt.

Who was to say, in their attempt at seeking justice, it would not be the Hyūga Clan that would be reduced to a fraction of its numbers? What would they have gained, then, that in their choice to fight for their pride, they’d lost more than if they’d simply turned the other cheek?

“How ruthless,” Biwako said, her nose scrunching up in disgust.

Others couldn’t help but agree. Only a completely ruthless leader would gamble the lives of his people in such a manner. The gamble here was that even if the mission ended in failure, Konoha could not retaliate, because the cost of retaliation was too great.

It was like being stung by a wild bee that flew over a chasm. The bee did not care if it died, and it knew that if you chased after it for vengeance, you’d fall and die with it. 

Minato cared for the lives of his people and his shinobi. Even if he didn’t, a child could tell that Konoha stood nearly nothing to gain from starting a war, but had nearly everything to lose.

They had no need for Kumo’s lands nor resources. No need for their shinobi or weapons, their tools, women, or jinchūriki. Why then, would they charge into battle? For their pride? Dignity? To get vengeance for an abduction that had ultimately been foiled?

If the abduction had succeeded, it’d have been a different matter. Then, Konoha would have had a true reason to fight. They were fighting to retrieve one of their own. Such a thing would have kept morale up and high and there would not even be a need for discussion of whether or not they needed to retaliate.

But the abduction attempt failed.

In what world was the failed abduction of one girl worth the lives of thousands of shinobi?

“Perhaps if we were to demand reparations?” Shibi spoke up.

“They’re unlikely to answer us. The Raikage clearly does not fear war. He does not place much value on the lives of his shinobi. In such a case, they’d only provoke us even further by refusing our demands. Once they do so and we still do not declare war…”

The chamber fell into another lapse of silence. Everyone turned to glance at Hiashi, who, to their surprise appeared calm. There was still an undercurrent of anger, but it was far more subdued than at the start of the meeting.

“Hinata is not the Heiress of the Hyūga Clan,” Hiashi said, after a long while. “She is a member of the Hyūga Branch Family. Her purpose, and duty, is to sacrifice herself for the Main Clan. As such, the matter of her abduction cannot be blown out of proportion, for it would have been a… negligible loss to the Hyūga Clan.”

His words brought a rush of surprise throughout the chamber. Fugaku himself found his brows raising immensely. 

Tsume frowned. “Your daughter isn’t the Heiress?”

“About two weeks ago, my nephew, Neji, was officially made the Heir of the Hyūga Clan.”

No one said anything. No one knew what to say. There were all aware of the Hyūga Clan’s practices. If Hinata was in the Branch Clan, although they wouldn’t use the specific word, they were all aware that it meant she was no better than a slave.

That changed everything.

It would be the height of idiocy to go to war because someone who was essentially a slave was nearly kidnapped. Even if the abduction had been successful, it would still be considered folly to declare a war to rescue her.

The life of one slave clan girl versus the lives of thousands of shinobi?

It was a joke of a comparison.

“You didn’t think to mention this earlier, Hiashi?” Yoshito, the Shimura Clan Head, sneered. “I was wondering why Hokage-sama wasn’t present. Of course he wouldn’t be. You’ve wasted our time for nothing.”

“No, this was not for nothing,” Shikaku spoke up. “We’ve learned valuable information from this.”

“It is most unusual,” Inoichi agreed with a sigh. “To have such a frighteningly high understanding of Konoha’s nature and make such a calculated gamble… I didn’t expect such a thing from Kumo.”

Shikaku shook his head.

“This wasn’t done solely by Kumo.”

Everyone turned to him as one.

“Only someone who knows Minato’s character well enough, who knows Konoha well enough, would be willing to perform such a gamble.”

As soon as the words escaped Shikaku’s mouth, something seemed to click in everyone’s heads. As one, turned to the White Leaf Pearl, to the paused image of the captured enemy Chūnin.

“How did they know the what route to use to escape the village? Why weren’t there any ANBU on patrol there?”

“That is the Eastern Forest Secret Evacuation Path. It was created during the First Shinobi War and intended to be used by the joint efforts of Uchiha and Senju clans for the evacuation of their non-combatants in the case of an attack against the village,” Shikaku slowly explained. “It isn’t something just anyone is aware exists.”

All at once everyone turned, abruptly, to Fugaku. 

“I have no idea as to how they learned of this. Neither I, nor the Uchiha Clan are related to this matter.”

The words were uttered, and silence descended. Not a single fluctuation of negative emotion was felt from the chairs connecting them. Not a single person present doubted him.

No, it was better to say that not a single person doubted the chairs they were currently sitting on. No one doubted Minato, Jiraiya and Kushina’s fūinjutsu expertise. For if he had lied, everyone would know.

“You have a target on your back, Fugaku,” Tsume barked a laugh.

Fugaku did not laugh with her. His mind was racing, scurrying to make connections and find answers. Without the absolute guarantee granted by the chairs they were sitting on that he was being honest, there was no way he’d have been able to convince everyone that he truly knew nothing of this matter. 

The Senju Clan was all but dust, and it was far more likely to believe that the Uchiha had decided to plot against the Hyūga than it was to believe that Tsunade of the Sannin had sold out her home.

Someone was plotting against the Uchiha Clan. Someone was trying to make them out to be traitors to the village, and Fugaku had not the slightest idea as to who it could be. The fact that this person had worked with Kumo made their identity impossible to ascertain.

There were no Rogue Uchiha out in the world. Any Uchiha who went rogue was immediately hunted down and killed to preserve the secrets of the clan and ensure their eyes did not fall into the hands of outsiders. The likelihood of one of them within Konoha colluding with Kumo was bordering on impossible, and that was what deeply concerned him.

“This matter is more complex than we thought,” Biwako sighed.

The attempted abduction was a scheme that, if successful and undiscovered, would lead to Kumo acquiring a new bloodline. If successful and discovered, it would lead to a full-scale war. If unsuccessful, there would be negligible threat of repercussion, because the cost far outweighed the gain.

However, regardless of the outcome, whether the plot was successful or not, as long as it was discovered, the Uchiha Clan would be framed as traitors.

The more they all thought of it, the more they all realized that the Hyūga were never even the main target of this plan. Everything was an intricately elaborate scheme to plant a seed of suspicion and hatred against the Uchiha Clan.

But just who out there hated the Uchiha Clan enough to go to such lengths? Who out there had the motive to form such a complex, multi-layered plan for the aim of sowing discord?

Fugaku did not know.

And it deeply worried him.

XXXXX

The matter of the attempted abduction of Hyūga Hinata swept through Konohagakure no Sato within days. Despite an initial order to suppress the news, it somehow spread amongst everyone, from civilians to Jōnin. Konoha collectively held its breath, waiting for the response that would come from its higher-ups. 

An unspoken tension could be felt within the streets and within the village, as though everyone was dancing precariously atop the edge of a needle. Those old enough to have experienced the previous wars were the most tense, and no one was certain that they would not descend once more into those dark times.

The days passed in silence. There were no calls-to-arms. No one was rallying their forces, massive orders for kunai and shuriken were not placed, and the merchant partners and traders were told they would be no disruption in their businesses. From this, many deciphered that Konoha would not be delivering a retaliating blow against Kumo.

The decision by the Fourth Hokage was met with controversy. Some heavily criticized the decision, calling it a blatant show of weakness. Others staunchly supported it. War was not a game. They would rather have a Hokage who valued the peace and lives of his people than one who would risk it all for no benefit.

For several days after the realization that Konoha would not be striking back, the Uchiha Police Force was swamped with duties. Bar fights and arguments would break out between both civilians and shinobi alike, due to drunken words being uttered without care. Some, brazen, called Minato a coward, no different from Hiruzen before him, and those who were truly loyal to the Fourth Hokage, would lash out, leading to several scuffles, the destruction of public property, and in one case, the grievous injury of a bystander.

A strange undercurrent of tension swept throughout the village. Although the threat of a storm had passed, there was still an unavoidable downpour.

Mere days after the confirmation that Konoha was turning the other cheek, they lost several high-level clients. These individuals viewed shinobi as peerless killing tools, and only cared for who was the most bloodthirsty. The lives of shinobi mattered little to them, and the lack of ruthlessness from the Fourth Hokage compelled them to take their businesses elsewhere.

Whilst several clients were lost, others were gained. The new clients were moved by Konoha’s magnanimity because they had the foresight to realize that such a retaliation would lead to another Great War. Konoha was choosing to sacrifice its own reputation rather than pointlessly sacrifice countless lives, and such a calm-headed approach made them feel Konoha was not only trustworthy but that it was righteous.

In the following weeks, more and more ripples would emerge. One of such ripples was an unexpected spike in the number of civilian immigrants, many of whom were tired of bloodshed and war. Seeing that Konoha was a place that valued peace, they decided it was the best place to live.

It was not long before knowledge of the matter spread to other villages. Some outright criticized Kumo for their shameless behavior, whilst others, such as Iwa, sent mocking missives indirectly claiming that Minato was scared of the battlefield.

Changes, innumerous and countless occurred, but no one, not Kumo, not Iwa, not even Konoha, could anticipate that there would be a place that would have the biggest, grandest change of all, and topple the balance of the world.

No one expected it to come from the Hyūga Clan.

XXXXX

“N-Neji-n-ni-sama — I-I c-can’t —”

There was no great equalizer.

“Endure longer,” Zi Wuji spoke up. “The longer you endure, the better it will be.”

There was no great equalizer. 

This thought, amongst others, became apparent as he watched his young cousin lay within the pool of his own construction. He paid no attention to her clothless form, and focused his eyes instead on the flow of chakra within the pool, and how much of it was capable of entering into the girl’s body.

At the extreme end of the pool, was a sequence of minor fūinjutsu seals that formed into a formation. Despite its apparent complexity, they were no different from the seals on sealing scroll, in so much that their function was to seal something away. However, numerous characters and kanji had been added and removed, editing the function enough thus that what it currently sealed away was not an item, but energy. 

Specifically, heat.

Depriving the pool of the presence of heat enabled it to reach above-freezing temperatures without freezing. It was then he’d stripped the young girl of her clothes and pushed her into the deep end, ordering her to stay there for one hour while slowly circulating chakra counterclockwise through her tenketsu.

Yet, a mere five minutes in, the girl was already bemoaning that she could go no longer.

Here I am, spraying golden fertilizer upon a wastrel sprout, and she does not even know how to appreciate it.

Zi Wuji shook his head, as he saw the girl continue to shiver relentlessly while looking at him with eyes pleading for mercy. The foolish child assumed he was punishing her for being abducted, as though he had the thickness of skin to do such a thing.

“This is not a punishment,” he said calmly. “This is for your own growth.”

“N-N-Neji-ni-sama… p-p-please —”

Zi Wuji could tell she did not believe him.

Despite lacking talent, she also lacked conviction and will. Some would mock him for judging her with such harsh standards, but to Zi Wuji, age was not a factor. Mental will was innate. Although one’s mental realm could indeed be cultivated, there was a certain conviction and potency born within all peerless experts and individuals of greatness. Such a thing could be seen even before they were able to walk and formulate words. If one had the domineering will of a king at three years old, barring any unexpected setbacks, they would not suddenly have the will of a chicken when they were thirty.

Seeing her continue to shudder and whimper within the water, occasionally looking to him for mercy, Zi Wuji could only click his tongue in annoyance. She was making him out to be some sort of unscrupulous and merciless fellow when he was doing his best to help her, and such a thing could only leave him vexed.

As far as Zi Wuji was concerned, his cousin was not suited to this world. Even if she was a peerless, once-in-a-generation genius, so long as her will was so lacking, her best fate was perhaps to find a loving spouse and become a housewife. Such a person had no business training to be a ruthless killer, an assassin, and most certainly, they had no business aspiring to be a leader.

Indecisive individuals could not be leaders. Merciful and soft-hearted people could be leaders, but at best, they could only be second-rate. Zi Wuji was certain that even if he had not been born, there was no world in which his cousin, with her temperament, would have become the Head of the Hyūga clan.

However, as she had chosen to walk down this path, the path of life and death, he had no choice but to be ruthless to her. Seeing her like this, Zi Wuji was certain he had to be more ruthless to her than anyone else, because this world lacked a great equalizer.

In the Rain World, Cultivation was the great equalizer. There, had he someone like his cousin whom he could not let die at any cost, he would simply find a means to increase her cultivation base. Between men and women, the differences in power could be breached and eclipsed so long as one cultivated diligently. A Soul Fragmentation Realm twelve year old girl could effortlessly slaughter hundreds of thousands of adult Qi Refining experts with nothing but the sound of her heartbeat. It would not matter even if those experts were built like statues, body cultivators, or if they’d lived to see their daughter’s daughters. 

The Elemental Nations were not so fortunate. It followed the law of the secular world. Zi Wuji learned in his studies that chakra was not an equalizer, because chakra was not given to men and women equally. It was the combination of physical energy and mental energy. Whereas shinobi and kunoichi could possess equal amounts of mental energy, they did not possess equal amounts of physical energy. Shinobi, with their stronger bodies, denser bone structure, and more musculature, would possess far greater physical energy. 

This meant, on average, men possessed greater and denser chakra quantity than women.

Greater chakra quantity meant being able to cast more jutsu and go longer in fights before becoming exhausted. When coupled with the other physical advantages of strength, endurance and stamina, Zi Wuji had almost pondered why women even bothered becoming kunoichi in such a ruthless world. A shinobi and kunoichi may be of the same rank, but that one shinobi could potentially be a match for three of that same kunoichi. He then realized it was the very ruthless nature of the world that drove them down such paths. 

In spite of all the Rain World’s flaws, one’s gender had little to no bearing on their future prospects. When he thought of existences at the top of the martial path, there were countless terrifying old crones who were at times even more ruthless and daring than their male counterparts. 

He shuddered slightly, remembering the time he’d snuck into the Immortal Ensnaring Music Palace to abduct one of their disciples, only to encounter the Palace Master. Even with his Flutter Forcing Finger Art that made him the natural bane of female cultivators, he’d still nearly died to her Thousand Heart Seizing Devil Music. As he touched her, a single twang from a zither of that woman had forced him to encounter a thousand heart-devils from the hearts of a thousand cultivators. It was truly one of the few times he’d nearly died, and he’d sworn never again to target any disciples of that place.

Exhaling loudly, Zi Wuji shook his head. The inherent differences in gender was not something he could fix for his cousin, so he did not try. Regardless, he was no stranger to being born at a disadvantage compared to others. He had been born an orphan, and he’d not only been lacking in talent, he’d been lacking in cultivation resources. He’d fought, clawed, bitten, robbed, cheated and defiled his way to the top, in spite of him coming from nothing and having nothing. 

Being born with an inherent disadvantage was not the end, no, in fact, as far as Zi Wuji was concerned, it was those who hungered and lacked the most that were the most ambitious. A man with a full stomach could not fathom the zeal of the man with an empty plate. Being born with disadvantages was the thing that would propel many to greater heights. 

Yet, glancing at his cousin, he felt it did the opposite. 

“N-N-Neji-ni-sama… p-p-p-please…” her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I-I — I w-w-w-won’t g-g-g-get k-k-kidnapped a-a-a-again… f-f-f-f-forgive… m-m-m-me…”

Zi Wuji rubbed his nose in irritation.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I’ve already said this isn’t a punishment.”

Adversity did not temper his cousin like a whetstone sharpening a blade, instead, it blunted her, making her shrink more and more into herself.

Zi Wuji scowled as he saw tears began to drip down her cheeks. This little brat still didn’t believe he wasn’t punishing her. 

Should I just discard her? 

Seeing her cry, Zi Wuji wanted to immediately abandon his efforts to make her stronger and discard her to the wind. Such a trash person had no destiny with him. To mistake his profound kindness for malice was already infuriating him. Did she not know how many others would beg for such an opportunity? How many would kill for this boon?

Let alone discarding her, the urge to kill her almost spiked. It was simply unfortunate that the pure Yin Chakra she possessed would ruin him were she to die. That same pure Yin Chakra was the reason he had her undergoing her current trial, and yet, she could barely endure. 

How could someone so lacking in will, someone so meek, someone without an iota of self-belief or confidence be born with such a blessing? Were the heavens blind? 

Wouldn’t it be easier to just cripple her?

Upon crushing her arms or legs, she’d no longer be able to be a kunoichi. From what he’d gathered, the current Elemental Nations did not have the means to heal such injuries. Upon doing so her activities would be constrained, and the amount of danger she would face in life would be minuscule once she was confined to a bed or her home. 

If she was crippled, he could simply put a powerful formation around where she stayed, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her dying. It was not only an easier solution, but it was also a cheaper, faster, and less irritating one.

Zi Wuji’s eyes shone as he approached the pool, pondering why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. However, upon seeing her teary face, he scowled once more.

Can she even handle such a thing?

Being a cripple was mentally tasking. You would constantly rely on another for everything, and that loss of power was something that shook even the most sturdy of men. With her pitiable willpower, in what world would she be able to endure the life of a cripple? To endure the sneers, jeers, mockery and derision? 

She would feel more and more like a burden to everyone around her, and, in a misguided attempt to alleviate that burden, she would sooner or later take her own life.

I cannot kill her, I cannot cripple her, and I cannot let her die. At the same time, I lack the patience to train her.

Zi Wuji laughed bitterly.

How truly unfortunate. 

“N-Neji-ni-sama —”

Examining the girl’s weeping form, Zi Wuji shook his head. Perhaps if he told her why she was in the above-freezing water, she would have the will to continue, but he could not do so and either way, the knowledge would not aid her. Having knowledge of why she was doing what she was doing would actually make the process more difficult.

There were things in this world that one did on instinct. They were so instinctual that one did not even need to think of them. Thinking of doing them while doing them would actually impair the ability to do them. Such things, like blinking, or breathing, were done automatically all the time. If someone were to suddenly tell you that you had to count the number of times your blinks matched with your breaths or you would die, a process that was previously done without problem would suddenly become problematic. 

So telling her why he’d tossed her into freezing water and told her to circulate her chakra would hinder her, but by not telling her, she assumed he was punishing her.

“P-P-P-P-Please…. N-N-N-Neji-s-s-s-sama…”

Her face was blue. Zi Wuji checked the time to see that ten minutes had passed. Sighing, he reached out a hand, and pulled the girl out of the freezing water. She collapsed immediately, shaking and shivering as she did so. Her teeth clattered loudly against each other, the chattering was almost deafening to his ears.

Were she a normal person, frostbite would have already set in, irreversibly damaging her body. Yet, it hadn’t. As for why, Zi Wuji already knew.

It is indeed as I suspected.

He peered deep into her body with his Byakugan, focusing on the nature of her chakra. For a brief, tiny moment, it was rigid and sharp, before it resumed its usual fluid nature.

“Rest for thirty minutes, and then, you go back in.”

All the blood drained from her face. She looked at him, with something akin to horror on her face. Before Zi Wuji could speak any further, she latched unto his leg.

“I-I’m s-s-s-sorry, I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, I —”

“Enough.”

Seeing her pleading like this almost made him angry enough to cough blood.

Have I not been considerate enough?!

Yin was the female principle of the universe. It was the earth, darkness, moon, and cold. It held the closest connection to the underworld and to death.

He’d been considerate, feeling that burying her alive for several weeks would have a high risk of killing her, and locking her in a pitch-black abyss with neither light nor sound for several weeks would have a high risk of making her go insane.

Having her bathe in frigid water was the most merciful of the three options. He’d even been planning on letting her just bathe in it for one hour a day, slowly improving over time, and yet, she could barely endure ten minutes. 

There was another option. Not for her, but for him. That would be to slowly drain out her Yin Chakra over time, such that once she died, his body would have already become accustomed to it, and there would be little fear of it changing him.

That method, of course, would mean treating her no different from a cauldron — an object. It would mean engaging in sexual relations with a child. Whilst Zi Wuji cared little about the moral quandries of it, he held his pride as a cultivator. Would he not lose all his face before his peers if it were ever discovered he’d sunk to such low depths?

This was the least threatening, and the most merciful path he was already taking, and even then, the girl was looking up at him as though he were a monster. Had he simply dug the earth and tossed her inside without saying a word, wouldn’t she think of him as the devil then?

Glancing at the girl clinging at his legs, Zi Wuji’s eyes hardened. He needed to find a way to build up her will. As he’d already proven, utilizing a harsh fist would do more harm than good. So, did that mean he had to use a soft approach? 

“My dear cousin,” he lifted her up, smiling as brightly as he could. “You misunderstand me. How could I punish you for such a thing? This truly is not a punishment. I cherish you too much to hurt you.”

He wiped away the tears from her cheeks, sighing dramatically. 

“I wish for you to become strong. Strong enough, so that I do not have to worry about someone taking you from me.”

“You… Y-y-you aren’t punishing me?”

“I would not dream of it.”

The girl looked at him with eyes belaying uncertainty. Zi Wuji peered into her heart, literally, and saw the tiniest fluctuations. Not just her heart, he could see other things, within her organs, and her body. Through reading those organs, he continued his words carefully.

“My dear cousin, you do not know how much I value you. If you were to leave me, well, I would be forced to take my life with my own hands.”

“N-no!”

Her heartbeat quickened. The thought of him killing himself because of her terrified her. “

It is true,” Zi Wuji placed her hand unto his chest, allowing her to feel the calmness of his heartbeat. The steadiness that belayed no fluctiations had only one meaning. Even for someone as young as she was, so long as she had her Byakugan, she could tell that there were ways to know when one was lying.

Yet, letting her feel his chest as he did, she was certain that he spoke the truth. Her own heart rate began to soar with unbelievable terror.

“My dear cousin,” Zi Wuji continued, allowing a bitter smile to come upon his face. “Your death would render my life meaningless. It would make my pursuits, my goals, my passions worthless. I would fall into despair. Into madness. In the end, I would only find respite in death.”

“N-Neji-ni-sama y-y-you c-c-c-can’t! You — n-n-not f-f-for me!”

“Yes, for you,” he said. “I cannot let anyone else have you, my dear cousin.”

His eyes shone with light.

“Not even death can take you from me. If it wants to have you, then it must have me as well.”

His words weren’t empty. If she truly were to die, a lot of his current efforts would be ruined. Zi Wuji truly would not mind killing himself again  on the gamble that the Way Codex would reincarnate him into a better body with better prospects.

“It is why, I want you to become strong. Strong enough to make sure no one can ever take you from me. Can you do that for me? My dear… Hinata?”

Speaking her name, Zi Wuji saw the effects immediately. To his surprise, his utter befuddlement, there seemed to be a change in her mental realm. It was not overt, and only a cultivator with decades of life experience would be able to notice it. Yet, it was there.

“I— I— will d-d-do it… f-f-for you, N-Neji-ni-sama.”

What manner of joke is this? Are you saying a few honeyed words were all that was needed to boost her confidence…?

Zi Wuji resisted the urge to curse himself. He had not wanted to use this approach because he felt there was no way it would work. After all, as Long Gongji, he had countless years of experience using honeyed words to entrap young female cultivators into his bed chambers. Such a method was within his capabilities, but he felt his cousin was too young for such an approach, would not understand it, or worse, would be repulsed by it.

It seemed he’d severely overestimated his cousin.

Was she so miserable in spirit, that so long as one showed her an iota of kindness, gave her a bit of trust, she would dedicate her heart and soul to that person?

Zi Wuji almost wanted to pity her.

Glancing into her eyes, and peering into how quickly her heart was beating, Zi Wuji pondered if this was the right decision. She was still young, so there was no worry, but the current type of sentiment she held towards him was unmistakable.

This kind of affection could easily become a double-edged sword.

It does not matter. 

“Thank you, my dear cousin.”

He slowly stroked the back of the girl’s head, smiling as he did so.

So long as she does not die, this much is enough.

Zi Wuji smiled deep within himself.

Now, to work on the rest of these fools. Hyūga Clan… hahaha… just wait. I, Zi Wuji, will use you to overturn the heavens.

XXXXX

Elsewhere, a masked man sat atop a mountain, overlooking a village within it. A messenger bird appeared and perched on his extended arm. Withdrawing the message from it, a laugh escaped the man’s lips.

“So it failed.”

The paper vanished into flame.

“Sensei… you’re one step ahead, as always. But I haven’t just been idling around…”

The man rose to his feet. Beside him, was another individual, with dark skin and blond hair. He had eight swords on his back, but his eyes were vacant and blank, and one could only vaguely see the slow spinning of a Sharingan within it. It appeared only for a minute, before vanishing.

“Since you’ve gotten stronger, for the sake of my dream… I have no choice but to get stronger too.”

With a pulse of chakra, the dark-skinned man with the eight swords on his back dropped immediately to his knees.

“Tell the Raikage to advance with the plan.” 

"...As you command, Madara-sama."

Chapter Text

“Finally!”

Within a dark room, filled to the depths with endless papers and scrunched-up balls, a man with white hair and fingers stained permanently black with ink stared down at his work, his heart pounding and his lips trembling.

There, before him, was a complex series of seals engraved onto a paper, one that the average Fūinjutsu practitioner would have no hopes of deciphering and one that even a Fūinjutsu Master would stare at in befuddlement. Yet, the white-haired man glanced at the seals and yelped a cry of joy.

“Once I add this Bagua here and edit it to account for the eightfold sequence…”

This man was none other than Jiraiya of the Sannin. Yet, anyone who saw him would not recognize him. Having maintained a poor diet, having conducted almost no exercise or physical activity, and having only sparse amounts of sunlight, he looked like a shadow of his former self. His skin was pale, save for his inky-black fingers, he was thinner and lean, and his previously spiky hair had somehow straightened out, falling smoothly behind his back like a waterfall.

Despite the change in his appearance, his expression held hidden delight. For so long he’d strived and worked to solve the matter of his godson’s birth and now, he felt he was on the cusp of finding the answer.

These four years had not been in vain. 

Jiraiya’s fingers danced in the air, and ink followed, forming seals and numerous kanji that danced with every flicker and every movement. It appeared as though he were playing an invisible instrument; leading a phantom orchestra. 

This was a Jutsu he’d personally devised after tirelessly breaking numerous quills and pots in frustration. His blackened fingers would forever remain that way, but in exchange, he could create and implant seals with mere movements of his fingers. Seals that would take others minutes or hours to write down could be performed with a single finger flick. It was effectively a shortcut to perform all Fūinjutsu.

Numerous sigils floated in the air one after the other, before slamming down on the paper before him. They contorted to fit the image, twisting and bending to match what came before like an amorphous jigsaw puzzle. With every additional flick, ink blasted down and slammed unto the page, continuing in this manner until —

“It’s done.”

The paper began to glow. Jiraiya’s heart roared in his chest as he saw it. The exact same seal he’d encountered there, within the forest.

“All that’s left…”

His goal was to decipher how to break the seal. The power to limit all space-time jutsu in the area made it the ultimate counter to Minato’s fighting style which relied on the Flying Thunder God Technique and his Toad Summons. Only by figuring out how to disable such a thing did Jiraiya feel he would attain peace of mind.

After all this time, and all efforts, he’d finally be able to —

A large spark emerged upon the glowing paper, before fizzling out. Jiraiya paused and slowly began to examine what caused it. It didn’t take him long to figure it out, but his mind refused to accept it.

“This kind of reaction only occurs with sequence seals… but…”

He stared at the paper for several seconds, before snapping his right hand. A burst of ink emerged from his fingers, and the glowing paper shattered. Upon doing so, it split out into exactly one hundred different fragments. Each one of those fragments had the kanji for: SEAL.

“...no.”

His voice became barely audible.

“That’s not… that’s not possible… what sort of monster would be able to…”

His voice was hoarse. It sounded almost like a toad croaking. The hundred different fragments floated in the air around him, as though mocking his disbelief. He was like a man who’d found out the existence of god, and yet swore and cursed and claimed god was not real. Staring upon those hundred fragments, it was as though he were staring straight up, at the heavens themselves, scoffing down at him for being a toad in a well.

“Four… years…. for four years…”

What he felt was not mere frustration. It was not mere disappointment. It was something else. Something profound and inexplicable. Glancing at those hundred floating fragments, an urge within him almost compelled him to bow and prostrate. An urge almost told him to grab a sword and atone for his foolishness by piercing it into his stomach.

Blindly, Jiraiya stood up, waving his hand. The entirety of the room’s contents, the scrunched-up balls of paper, the scrolls, everything — all of it vanished with that single wave. Banished into a space beyond space, the realm of destroyed sealing scrolls, where the laws of spacetime were unstable and chaotic.

The simple action caused him to pause mid-stride, staring at his own blackened fingers as though he was unfamiliar with the power he now wielded. A power that would have made others conceited, yet, he stared at the floating one-hundred fragments and found there was no room for conceit.

Jiraiya exited the room, leaving his apartment with his hands behind his back. It was past midnight, and he walked down the streets of Konoha, taking in the sights. He breathed in the air and gazed out into the stars, but his mind was not there. It was not present. He simply moved, as though in a trance.

Everywhere he walked, he recalled images of his past. Memories of himself and his then-rival, Orochimaru. The time they’d both painted a house while completing a D-Rank Mission and he’d splashed him with black paint. The days they’d run through the streets, hurrying to be deployed to the battlefield. That one particular nightmare of an evening, when he’d returned with the corpse of Tsunade’s brother —

He saw himself in his youth and saw Minato as well, as a young, bright boy in need of guidance. He saw others, those little orphans from Amegakure that he’d taken pity on and trained. He’d not thought of them in a while. Konan, Yahiko, and Nagato… he saw them, and he saw himself, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, and then he saw another group, his student’s students, Kakashi, Rin, and the one who’d died, Obito. He saw more, and more, of the same cycle, repeating itself.

And in this manner, as he walked, he continued to wander, his gaze to the sky.

Questions and doubts filled him at once. As did regrets. So many regrets. He pondered himself, he pondered the sky, he pondered the world. 

Why was he here? 

Why was anyone?

What was Life? What was Death? What was Hope? What was Love?

What misgivings had he? What fears had he? What regrets shall pile up, upon the end?

Glancing down at his own body, and glancing up at the sky, a strange sense of tranquility rushed through him. There were a thousand things he’d never been able to understand, that all began to unravel one after the other. At that moment, his hands behind his back, and his eyes to the sky, Jiraiya remained perfectly still.

If Zi Wuji was present, he’d have been baffled as he recognized the state Jiraiya had entered. A state of oneness with the Dao was rare even within the Rain World. It was a state where clarity and comprehension overfilled one’s mind and soul, a state that removed all bottlenecks and brought about a transformative change.

Many assumed the only way to attain this state was to suffer a resounding defeat in the area where one was best confident, but this was just not true. For those stubborn-hearted, for those without the capacity for self-reflection, those with poor mental realms, suffering such a catastrophic defeat would lead to the end of their cultivation. They would be infested by a heart-devil, a simmering resentment that will build up akin to a parasite and would unleash itself upon their next tribulation, almost certainly killing them.

Jiraiya could only attain this state because he’d been properly stimulated and tempered by numerous failures and regrets throughout his life. Furthermore, for the past four years, his obsessive pursuit of fūinjutsu could be called a kind of cultivation in of itself — a single-minded pursuit of one path to defy fate, to change destiny.

The stars aligned. The energy of the world swept forth from the surrounding trees and forests, from the earth, the air, the lakes, and the rivers, and they resonated within the body of this man, this starved-looking, malnourished, filthy man.

Hours passed and dawn came. Civilians began to bustle around, only to be shocked upon seeing a man akin to a statue, standing still in the middle of the road. Shinobi were rapidly informed, and it did not take long for Jiraiya to be recognized. The matter quickly reached the ears of Minato.  He and his Thunder God Squadron arrived, and upon seeing his teacher standing still and feeling the rush of natural energy toward him, Minato ordered the area sealed off, preventing access to civilians and even to shinobi without a certain clearance level.

Once Jiraiya opened his eyes once more, he saw light. 

“You perfected it, sensei.”

Life bloomed without limits around him. Grass grew from underneath the soil, blossoming with flowers. Energy pulsated from his body, the world’s energy, stood at perfect peace with his own chakra.

This state was called Sage Mode. 

And it was perfect.

Jiraiya flexed his hands. A qualitative boost of power rushed through him. The emotions of everything and everyone within a few hundred meters were clear as day. The temperaments of their hearts, their fears, their worries —

He inhaled, and the world inhaled with him. He exhaled, and nature exhaled with him.

Sage Mode was a thing he’d never been able to master. A thing he’d always needed the aid of Pa and Ma to accomplish. In his darkest hour, the answer seemd to have wandered into his mind, allowing him to accomplish it. However, it did not fill him with anything. In his current state, there was neither joy nor elation. If anything, this accomplishment felt bitter, as though it were simply a consolation prize from the universe.

“Sensei?”

“I failed.”

It took Minato a single moment. “You couldn’t decipher it.”

“I did.”

“You… did?”

“I know how to break it. But I cannot. No one can. Not in one lifetime.”

Minato frowned. “Why?”

“It’s an additive sequence seal.”

Jiraiya flicked his fingers into the air. With his Senjutsu chakra, ripples formed in the air, mixing with ink. Exactly one hundred identical seals emerged, surrounding both of them.

“A hundred-additive sequence seal.”

Minato went quiet. He stared at the one-hundred seals, his eyes alight. He swiftly examined them, yet, even as he tried, he found he could not sense a difference. 

“Incredible.”

Jiraiya laughed, his laugh acrid. “It really is.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like a complete novice,” Minato smiled. “But I don’t think even Mito-sama would be able to make such a thing. Even she thought a nine-additive sequence seal was the limit.”

Sequence seals were already difficult for the average Fūinjutsu Master. A three-sequence seal composed of three identical seals which were intricately linked, and could only be broken one after the other. You’d have to break one, then two, then three, in that specific sequence in order to successfully break the entire thing. However, if you were not the one who put the seal, you had no way of knowing which was one, which was two, and which was three. 

In such a scenario, trial and error was your only hope. However, each failure would reset your progress. If you accidentally broke one, then three, then two, your entire progress would be reset. It was not a problem for something like three sequences, but when it was a hundred, it was damning. If you made it all the way to a hundred, but somewhere along the line, you made a mistake, such as accidentally breaking the seventh seal before the sixth seal, you would not know until you broke the final one, meaning all that time and effort was wasted for nothing.

To make things even more difficult, it was an additive sequence seal. These were sequence seals that added the power of the previous sequence on top of each new seal. Once the first seal was broken, the second seal would gain the power of the first and become stronger, and once the second seal was broken, the third seal would gain the power of the first and the strengthened second.

A hundred-additive sequence seal meant after somehow finding the correct first seal out of the one-hundred identical seals, which possessed a 1 in 100 chance of finding it on the first attempt, and deciphering how to break it, the second seal would appear no different, but it would now gain the strength of the first seal, and essentially double the difficulty and time it took to break it. 

The second seal would have the power of two seals at once. If he broke that, and through some miracle found the correct third seal, the third seal would contain the strength of the first and second, which was no different from trying to break through three seals at once, which cost even more time and effort. After that, if again, by some divine miracle, he found the correct fourth seal, that seal would contain the strength of the first, second, and third seals.

On and on until a hundred.

The seal was akin to a hundred-digit password. A hundred-digit password wherein correctly guessing one digit would double the next amount of digits you needed to guess. A person trying to crack it was inputting one digit at a time at random. There was only one correct sequence of digits, and you could not know that correct sequence of digits until you tried every possible sequence.

In theory, it could be broken. 

In reality, doing so would take hundreds, if not thousands of years. 

Jiraiya and Minato stood there, both silent. Jiraiya with a resigned expression, and Minato with one of curiosity and intrigue. As Fūinjutsu Masters, they and they alone understood the absurd difficulty of such a thing. Minato had not been exaggerating when he stated that Uzumaki Mito, a person with the expertise to create seals that could restrain tailed beasts, had only ever been able to create a nine-additive sequence seal, and she had stated it to be the absolute limit.

This meant whoever created this seal was someone far beyond even the likes of Uzumaki Mito, a woman considered to be an unrivaled genius of Fūinjutsu.

It toppled their understanding of the art. That was to say, even Mito could only drop to her knees in despair and beg the creator of such a thing to be her Master.

The fact that Jiraiya was not drowning in depression right now could already be a testament to his character. Any other person would have felt an indescribable level of despair. It was like an Uchiha finding some random person with a Dōjutsu that could do everything their eyes could, but a million times better.  

“You need a trump card other than the Flying Thunder God Technique,” Jiraiya spoke at last. “Something to make up for summoning as well.”

“Sensei, I scarcely have the time,” Minato shook his head. “I’m swamped as it is. Between my duties as the Hokage, and still ensuring I have enough time for Naruto and now that Kushina is —”

Minato suddenly went silent.

“What happened to Kushina?”

“I didn’t want to keep this from you, because I knew how busy you were but…”

Jiraiya understood. The natural chakra in his body began to slowly dissipate, and his Sage Mode released, revealing his somewhat tired, but still, strangely warm eyes.

“How far along is she?”

“Two months.”

Jiraiya smiled.

“Congratulations.”

“Sensei…” Minato shook his head. “We’ll be far more prepared this time. With your help, there won’t be any problems.”

Jiraiya nodded faintly. His attention seemed to be elsewhere. Even now, he could only see seals and scrolls, and smell ink and paper. With a fond smile, he thought of the lengths he’d gone for his godson, for his student. The depths he’d crossed, the sheer amount of time and effort he’d spent in trying to unravel that mystery. Now, he had reached the end, but he felt no satisfaction. In the end, he’d been defeated. Completely and utterly outclassed.

Yet, this was something he was glad for.

A person who could create such a thing was out of the realm of his comprehension. If they truly wished Minato harm, Minato would long be dead. There were no ifs, buts, or ands. Of this, Jiraiya was certain. There was nothing he or Minato would be able to do to change that fate.

The fact that Minato still continued to live meant that at the very least, for now, that person was not their enemy. If anything, considering the aid they’d offered, it was likely the person was an ally.

This eased the burden on his shoulders, and for the first time in a long while, Jiraiya barked a large laugh.

I truly am a toad in a well.

“I’ll be leaving the village for a while, Minato.”

“You will?”

“There are a few things I have to do. Things I’ve put off for too long.” 

Jiraiya snapped his fingers. Space rippled, and a familiar tri-pronged kunai emerged in his hand. However, this tri-pronged kunai was different from the one Minato often used. The kunai was pitch black from hilt to blade, but if one were to look closely, one would see it was covered with thousands if not hundreds of thousands of little scribbles. Those little kanji were so much it gave the appearance of black paint.

“Have this. Use it, in case something unexpected happens while I’m gone.”

Minato swiftly examined the thousands of little kanji, his eyes growing wider and wider with each second. “Sensei… you…”

“If I can’t do this much for my student, I’d be a terrible teacher.”

He reached out and ruffled Minato’s hair, laughing.

“ Sensei,” Minato warned.

“What? Because you’re the Hokage I can’t ruffle your hair anymore? You’ll always be a little baby-faced brat to me, so don’t think about changing that.”

Minato felt something was different about his sensei. He could not put a particular finger on what it was. However, before he could say any more, his sensei waved his hand in the air again, and there was another ripple of space-time. A toad appeared, looking utterly baffled, before glancing around and finding out where he was.

“Huh? Was I summoned? How did’ya summon me without —”

Before he could question it. Jiraiya grabbed onto the toad and waved his hand again.

“Tell Naru-chan, I’ll get him a big present for his birthday.”

With those words, Jiraiya vanished alongside the toad. Minato glanced at the spot where his sensei stood, and shook his head, smiling fondly. His sensei’s fūinjutsu skill was beyond comprehension now, so much so that he could trigger the effects of different types of fūinjutsu from sealing scrolls to summoning, all with finger gestures.

With his newfound mastery of Perfect Sage Mode and his Fūinjutsu skill, even Minato could not claim with absolute certainty that he could defeat his teacher.

It seemed Konoha was about to enter the most prosperous era in its history.

XXXXX

A white staircase manifested overnight.

The individuals of the Hyūga Clan were befuddled to see it. No one understood where it’d come from or how it had suddenly appeared in the very center of the Main Clan’s central sparring grounds. The staircase started from the bottom, exactly above a small pond, floating on the surface of the pond without so much as making a single ripple, and it ascended upwards, almost as though it were peering beyond the clouds. It was pristine, akin to finely polished steel, and had a sheen akin to glass. 

Some, the older ones amongst them, sucked in sharp breaths of air as they recognized the material used to make the staircase to be jade.

Jade was rare in the elemental nations, and incomparably precious. Akin to gold, it was often used for ornamentations or jewelry, mostly by royalty. Yet, here, there was an entire staircase made of it, and it had appeared as though made from thin air.

At the very bottom of the staircase were words carved into the jade: Tempering Heaven Staircase.

The sudden appearance of the staircase brought everyone within the clan to investigate it. Young and old alike, the members of the Hyūga Clan could only stare at the marvel before them, each pondering how or where it had come from. The Elders were stirred from their rooms and the elite shinobi of the clan were summoned, each of them standing guard in case the staircase proved to be dangerous.

The fact that the staircase hovered over a pond made it seem more mystical than it had any right to be. It was a marvel, not only of architectural design but of aesthetics as well. No one had seen such a thing in the Elemental Nations before, and no one believed they’d see such a thing anywhere else.

Yet, something even stranger happened.

The staircase was massive, and it ascended almost to the clouds, yet, no one, not a single person outside of the Hyūga Clan had come to question why and how such a thing existed. People quickly left the clan to see how far it could be seen, only to discover that it couldn’t be seen at all.

The staircase was only visible within the walls of the Hyūga Clan. The moment you exited the clan territory, the staircase vanished.

As if that wasn’t strange enough, they quickly realized that once they got a certain distance away from the territory of the Hyūga Clan, they immediately forgot about the staircase's existence. It was as though some unknown force reached into their minds and cleared it completely after a certain point, and it was only as they reached closer and closer to the clan that the memory of such a thing returned.

Some tried to send a message to the Hokage, only to find that as soon as the word ‘staircase’ was written on any parchment within the clan, the paper would immediately catch fire and burn to ash.

Attempting to use synonyms or changing the words to write in code did not work either. So long as they had the intent to transmit the knowledge of the staircase, the paper would suddenly be set alight.

Eventually, the matter blew up until Hideyoshi Hyūga, the former Head of the Hyūga Clan, emerged. He glanced upon the staircase, and uttered, with a large breath of disbelief.

“So, the legends were true.”

His words were not uttered loudly, but everyone heard them. They shook the entire clan. Young and old turned to him as one.

“Hideyoshi-sama, you know something about this staircase?”

Hideyoshi let out a bark of a laugh and swayed his head from side to side.

“It is something my father spoke of, only once, before his passing. A myth passed down from Clan Head to Clan Head for generations, but only on their dying breath, or left behind in a secret place for them to access after their passing.”

Hideyoshi’s words brought a large clamor. Even the elders, those stern, taciturn old fogies who were cynical and skeptical about everything, listened with rapt attention as Hideyoshi slowly approached the staircase, a hint of melancholy appearing on his face.

“Long ago, our Hyūga Clan was split into two branches. One branch stayed on the earth, the other, ascended the skies. They went to the moon, to inhabit it, to guard against the corpse of a powerful demon sealed away by the Sage of Six Paths.”

Hideyoshi stroked his chin, his gaze seemingly far away. Others, however, were shaken. The youngest amongst them looked around each other in confusion, but the older ones, having known and heard about the legendary Sage of Six Paths, were greatly unnerved. After all, they were aware that the Sage was not just a myth. His artifacts truly existed out there in the world.

As for the matter of powerful demons, they understood even more. Not many remembered the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox and the sheer power it had these days. Tailed Beasts were as real as they were, and to claim that demons did not exist would be utter foolishness.

“To reach the moon, they climbed a series of stairs stretching beyond the clouds and above the atmosphere. Never stopping, never faltering, all in dedication to the Sage.”

Hideyoshi activated his Byakugan, and glanced straight into the sky, laughing. 

“It was said that doing so metamorphosed them, granting them power beyond their wildest imaginations by the Sage himself, such that they could carry out his will and forever protect the world from the demon he sealed. A prophecy was uttered, that when the demon nears its resurrection, our fellow clan members, the Demon Guardians who live within the moon, will send down the staircase once more, so we may ascend and rejoin them to begin a fight that will determine the fate of the world.”

His words were akin to thunder resounding in everyone’s ears. If anyone else had uttered such a thing, they’d have scoffed and laughed, but this was Hyūga Hideyoshi, the Patriarch of the Hyūga Clan. No one dared doubt his words. No one dared question them.

Hideyoshi turned to everyone, his expression grave and his eyes dark.

“This is a secret matter of the Hyūga Clan. A task left to us by our ancestors. No one outside of this clan is to know of this matter. Anyone who dares speak of it to those not of Hyūga blood will be summarily executed.”

There were numerous sharp intakes of air.

“Fortunately, our fellow clan members who reside above are prudent. The Tempering Heaven Staircase possesses some quality that prevents outsiders from learning about its existence.”

Hideyoshi’s expression softened, and his laugh returned, louder than before.

“Do you not all see? The Hyūga Clan’s roots are deeper than you know. Deeper even than the Senju and the Uchiha. For an unrivaled genius like my grandson to have been born in this era, it is an auspicious sign. He was born to lead us against this tribulation. To have us fight the battle that concerns the fate of this world.”

Hideyoshi spun around, his hands clasped behind his back, a large, proud smile on his face.

“All of you, raise your heads! You are Hyūga! Your greatness awaits! Millions of lives depend on you! This burden is not a light one, but it is one we must carry for we are the only ones with the strength and conviction to carry it! We are gifted, and it is due to these gifts that we must bear this responsibility! Forgo your fears and abandon your weaknesses! Flee from your anxieties and lay to rest your search for purpose! Destiny has come knocking on your doorstep, and who amongst you dare not answer the door?!”

Hideyoshi’s words reverberated throughout the entire clan. One by one, individuals clenched their fists and others gnashed their teeth. Many had their chests puff out, others suddenly had their backs straightened. Even the most cowardly members gained a sudden light in their eyes. 

“Raise your heads! I said raise your heads! Look to your brethren beside you, and seek their strengths as your own! With the support of our clan members above, our brilliance will no longer be hidden! Under the banner of the sky, across the Five Great Villages and Hundred Nations, only we, the Hyūga, shall rise to glory!”

The cheers were deafening. They were ear-splitting. Everyone had been swept up. Blood boiled within the body of young youths and old crones alike. An unspoken bond had formed that forced out the most primal of roars from the throats of the shy and fervent. As one voice, one mind, one soul — 

The Hyūga Clan roared.

“Hyūga Clan! ASCEND!” 

As though impassioned by the flames of heaven and hell, one by one, people began to ascend the staircase, pursuing a path to the heavens.

XXXXX

Hyūga Hideyoshi stood off to the distance, watching with his Byakugan. He watched as hundreds of his clan members moved with a fervor and passion he’d never seen before, with a spirit and sense of purpose that utterly befuddled his mind. One by one, they raced up a jade staircase, as though attempting to wage war against the sun and sky.

Some managed to only make it a single step forward before they were blasted off. Others managed two or three before being flung backward.

Yet, even those who were flung backwards would immediately get up on their feet and once more attempt it again. Their Byakugan activated, they quickly grasped the nature of the staircase. They didn’t understand how, but information flooded their mind once they were blasted off it. They knew at once that the initial steps were a test of chakra control. Only those with excellent control would have an easier time and those without would not only be flung off.

However, the longer they stayed on a step, the greater their control of chakra would become.

As soon as they realized this, dozens, if not hundreds of Hyūga Clan members rushed once more, each more eager than the last.

Hideyoshi saw old rivals and enemies within the clan reconcile their differences, becoming one unit, he saw individuals who he’d always considered to be too timid and lacking somehow grew spines in mere minutes, rushing ahead so as not to be left behind by their peers. The division between Main Clan and Branch Clan was all but forgotten as everyone put their efforts together solely on climbing those stairs.

Seeing it all, Hideyoshi could only shake his head and laugh. He continued to laugh, as someone appeared beside him. An exact duplicate of him, so perfect in fact, that even with his Byakugan activated, Hideyoshi could not tell a single flaw. Everything from the duplicate’s chakra signature to bone structure was identical to his own.

“You have a gifted tongue, Neji-kun.”

His duplicate vanished in a puff of smoke, and a young boy was replaced in his place.

“You honor me with your words, grandfather.”

Hideyoshi snorted. “Impetuous brat. For you to tell such brazen lies with my face… were you not afraid of someone calling your bluff?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Hideyoshi acquiesced, laughing once more. “No one would dare.”

Silence lingered between them for several long seconds.

“How did you come up with such nonsense? A split part of our clan on the moon? Protecting the corpse of a demon sealed by the Sage of Six Paths?”

“From the clan library's records. Most were incomplete and fragmented, but there was enough for the story to be believable.”

“And the staircase?”

“An ordinary staircase with the transformation technique on it, sustained by a series of formations made up of stasis seals from the Clan Head Hidden Cave. The imposing height is caused by a perspective-based illusion.”

“Hahahaha… you used the seals Mito-sama made?” Hideyoshi declared, then, he suddenly realized something. “Don’t tell me, you also used the one on the door? The seal that allowed something to only be seen by a specific bloodline?” 

“Grandfather’s vision is acute.” 

“An elaborate illusion only Hyūga can see… and one they forget about once they leave the clan premises...”

“But they won’t forget their mission,” Neji said. “Nor the purpose that now drives them forward.”

Hideyoshi stroked his beard. He did not say anything else for several seconds.

“You terrify me sometimes, Neji-kun.” 

“Grandfather?”

“None of the things you’ve done to create this miracle are particularly groundbreaking. It could be said that I provided you with over half of the tools, yet, the things you’ve done with them, I could never envision.”

There was another pause of silence.

“Do you like your cousin, Neji?”

“I — what?”

“All of this is because she was abducted, isn’t it?”

Neji did not answer. Hideyoshi took his silence as a confirmation.

“Hahaha… regardless of the reason, whether you wish to admit it or deny it, it is fine.”

Hideyoshi’s smile returned.

“Thank you, truly.”

“Grandfather?”

“You’ve accomplished a long-held wish of this old man. I never believed I would see this day, where the entire Hyūga Clan could come together like this. To think all it took was a fabricated enemy… and an absurd goal.”

Hideyoshi shook his head.

“No, I’m underselling you. Without your brilliant mind to put everything together, none of this could have occurred. So truly, thank you.” 

“...There is no need. I did this for selfish reasons.”

There was only one selfish reason Hideyoshi could think of. Mere weeks after his cousin was abducted, he conjures an elaborate plan to strengthen the clan? Not even regarding the potent killing intent he’d unleashed when he found out she’d been taken, this was more proof than he needed of his theory.

“I see,” Hideyoshi smiled. “You have my blessing.”

“Grandfather, I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding —”

“It is fine,” Hideyoshi laughed. “I won’t bring it up again.”

He felt his grandson would never admit it and Hideyoshi couldn’t blame him. Yet, he would not chide or reprimand him for it, nor would he bring it up further. It was closer than was typically allowed within their clan, due to concerns of birth defects, but Hideyoshi felt with his grandson’s genius mind, he’d no doubt have solutions to such problems should they ever arise.

It was the start of the most glorious era of the Hyūga Clan.

And it was his greatest pride and joy, to be alive to see it.

Chapter Text

It was a high card again.

“Oh, tough luck!”

The double-chinned bastard sitting across from her wore a greasy smile. The two attendants beside him wore matching expressions, and the longer their greasy gaze lingered, the more she desired to take a shower and scrub herself clean. 

The longer the gaze lingered, the harder she found it to keep back her temper, to reign in the muscle twitch that would have her fist fly forward. Thrice now, she had reminded herself to hold back. The amount of money she stood to lose was the only leash holding back her temper. 

Whether she and her apprentice would be sleeping underneath the open skies again or in a nice cushy six-star inn all depended on how much restraint she could display.

Her opponent was as shrewd as he was ugly. Her grandfather often said that the world was not unkind. Talent and beauty were distributed unevenly, and it was as a result of their absence that the talentless and the aesthetically lacking were motivated to attain greatness. It was through the absence of birth-given merit that such people built guts and perseverance. 

Yet, it had to be more than mere guts that made the man sitting across from her continue to leer at her chest so openly. His eyes seemed desperate to burn holes through her attire.

She could not act brazenly, not after running from the debt collectors last time. She remembered the expression someone had when they’d heard her utter that sentence.

A mighty Sannin, running from debt collectors? They’d uttered with all the naivete of a child who was just told their parents' income was finite.

Being a legendary figure in the world did not mean one was exempt from the law. What was she going to do to the debt collectors? Kill them because she didn’t want to pay? That was the fastest way to get her name sky-high in the Bingo Books with a large fat bounty. 

She wouldn’t have to worry about debt collectors after that. The ones knocking on her door would be wearing headbands with steel plates, licking their blades and asking politely if her preferences were dead or alive. Tangling with hunter-nin on a daily basis was suicide — especially because of her condition.

“Your mind seems to be wandering a little bit, hmmm?”

The fool sitting across from her licked his lips, and her jaw clenched. 

Calm, yourself, Tsunade… calm…

She couldn’t let her temper be the reason she and Shizune got into an argument again.

She couldn’t remember when she'd ever gotten so angry. Then, she remembered the words, and her anger would flare once more.

“Do you think if I just used my mouth, they’d forgive the debt?”

The scene was distorted every time she remembered it. From Shizune asking the question as they’d set out to sleep under the moonlight, to her telling her apprentice not to make such jokes, to the girl’s expression revealing that she hadn’t been joking, to the words that followed, the justifications, the excuses —

“Kunoichi are trained for such stuff so it shouldn’t be a big deal — “

“Dignity? Tsunade-sama, we leave every town broke and and with people chasing after us for money, I don’t see how this would be any more of a hit to my dignity —”

It was there, after her hand had gone up, after the slap had been delivered, in lieu of the girl’s stunned silence, in lieu of the tears that welled up in her eyes, that she saw the disgusting truth stare back at her.

It’s my fault.

She’d dragged the girl out of that village and every day since then had been spent wandering like vagrants, treating individuals here and there for the occasional bundle of yen, and then gambling away all those earnings just so she could drown herself in more alcohol.

Shizune had no friends. She had no close bonds. She had neither lovers nor rivals. She had no ambitions. She had no dreams. Her desires, whatever they were, were suppressed for the sake of someone else. The only person she truly knew and cherished in this world was her dysfunctional alcoholic gambling-addict of a teacher —

A teacher she’d sacrifice everything — even her own body — for.

Why, then, wouldn’t she think so little of herself? Why then, after countless nights of escaping debt collectors and camping in the woods, after seeing her beloved teacher humiliate herself time and again, wouldn’t she propose such a thing just so they could afford a proper night of rest?

It’s my fault. 

The most formative years of an adolescent’s life weren’t to be spent in such an unstable environment, even for shinobi. They were not to be spent picking up the slack of an older, dysfunctional adult. The result of drowning in her own grief was coming back to bite her. The consequences of taking for granted the one person who followed and cherished her without a word were starting to pile up.

She’d apologized. She’d promised her apprentice that she would change. That if she couldn’t change for herself, then for the love she shared for her closest confidant and only apprentice, she would give up on the alcohol, abandon the gambling, and reform her ways. She would change, so that her apprentice would never again dare assume they’d reach a point so low as to sell her body for minor comfort.

She would change.

The very next day, she passed at a bar and had to be carried out by her apprentice.

Two evenings later, she lost another 100,000 yen in the gambling den.

Shizune had not said a word.

If the girl had raged and ranted, if she’d looked at her with disappointment, it’d have been better. It was her lack of scathing condescension that hurt. It was the lack of judgment. It was the utter absence of hatred and vitriol from watching her break those promises that really, really got to her.

There was no hate, because there were no expectations.

Shizune never believed she was capable of upholding those promises. 

Not even a little. 

Her own apprentice, the one person in the world who she could argue knew her best —

Had no faith in her.

“All in.”

“Are you sure you can afford it, Senju-hime?” 

The pork-like bastard across from her offered a broad smile.

“It’s none of your business. And if you want to live longer, don’t call me that.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t focus on the game. Something had changed between her and her apprentice. Ever since those incidents, there was a distance growing between them. Shizune’s method of address had become more and more formal over time. The girl kept pestering her for more and more medical ninjutsu knowledge.

She’s going to leave me.

The lump stuck in her throat felt like it was about to explode. She gripped her hand tight underneath the table.

She’s going to leave me. Like everyone leaves me. 

She almost wished some calamity had befallen Konoha so she could have a good reason to convince her apprentice not to go back. However, from what she’d heard, Konoha was doing extraordinarily well. 

Why? Why were you the lucky one?

She had always believed Minato wouldn’t last as the Hokage. It was universally proven that talented, kindhearted shinobi like him would definitely face one ill or the other and die young, just as… they died young. 

If such a thing had happened, she’d have turned to her apprentice and told her “See? Konoha is cursed. The Hokage position is cursed. There’s no point in going back. Stay with me.” 

Yet, in this regard, she was a terrible gambler. Minato was alive and Konoha was prospering under his reign. Even worse, his wife kept pestering her with those damn letters. 

She didn’t know how Kushina kept accurately finding their location to send letters to them. Every other month, a letter would arrive, asking how Tsunade was doing, and inquiring about Shizune’s wellbeing as well. Along with the letters, there’d also be a lump sum of cash and pictures — the cash she’d gamble away or spend on drinks, but the pictures she couldn’t get rid of. 

Over the years, the pictures changed from pictures of Kushina’s wedding with Minato, to pictures of the woman during her pregnancy, to pictures of a little blonde-haired baby, Naruto, and most recently, pictures of her new twin daughters. 

The older twin was named Mito, in honor of her grandmother, but instead of being written in the traditional kanji: ミト, it was written using a different set of kanji, 望杜, to mean hope and forest. The younger one was called Biwako, in honor of her sensei’s wife. Kushina made her their honorary godmother, just as Minato made Jiraiya their son’s godfather, even though she’d never asked for such a stupid thing.

I didn’t ask… to be the godmother of some bratty twins. 

The girl had good intentions, thinking that by sending those pictures and telling her about her life, she’d be moved enough to consider coming back to Konoha.

Why you? 

If Dan hadn’t died, wouldn’t she also have her own little blond brats by now? If the world hadn’t taken him from her, wouldn’t she also look happy in a wedding gown?

…Why?

It was a bitter, irrational dislike, and Tsunade knew it. Kushina was her family. They shared the same great-great-grandfather. They were blood-related, however distant it was.

Why couldn’t my life… be like that? 

The more pictures Kushina sent, the happier she appeared, the more Tsunade’s dislike morphed into resentment.

Now, Kushina was taking the only thing she had left. 

Shizune swooned when she saw the baby pictures. She remembered seeing her apprentice blush, gushing on and on about Kushina’s wedding dress. She’d groaned as the girl would stay up all night, ignoring her hangover, just to ask intimate questions about romance, sex, and relationships. 

If Uzumaki Kushina wasn’t in the picture, then no matter how unsightly she appeared, no matter how much she drank or gambled, Shizune would never think about leaving her side, because her apprentice didn’t have anywhere to go. She didn’t have anywhere to call home.

But Kushina was in the picture.

Kushina made it clear that they were always welcome at the Uzumaki Clan Compound. 

If Shizune left her, the girl would have a place where she’d be welcomed and accepted without question. She’d even be given an elevated position — the personal attendant of the Fourth Hokage’s wife.

From there, her life would move on an upward trajectory. She’d probably meet someone, she’d fall in love, she’d have her own family, kids, live a fulfilled life —

She’d leave me behind. 

The only thing stopping her, the only thing keeping her from success and happiness was her… teacher.

I can’t have you leave me.

“I heard you possessed extraordinary bad luck, but seeing it in person…”

The cards on the table were revealed.

High card versus a full house.

Her seventh high card in a row.

She’d lost. She’d lost it all. Her last chance. The last bit of cash she’d earned from healing a rich merchant’s son that had passed through the area. Not only was she destitute now, the amount of money she owed could leave even princes crying in despair.

Every last coin of her wealth and inheritance from the Senju Clan had been gambled away. Tsunade grit her teeth slowly. Her fingers dug into her palms. Hard. 

The pork man in front of her was laughing. An obnoxious, wheezing laugh in a manner that made her ears ring. Her blood pumped in her ears rapidly. Her breathing slowed.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm yourself —

“Hmmm… now, now, I don’t think you have anything else of value I can take, but, I took a liking to that young girl who follows you about. Her figure is just my type. If put her up as the stakes, we can make it all or nothi —”

Blood splattered across the room.

There was a strange sound, like a watermelon being crushed. She didn’t know when her hand shot out. She wasn’t sure how it happened. Usually, when people tried to provoke her, she controlled her strength to ensure she beat them to a pulp, but she never killed them.

Never.

It was a mistake. A minor miscalculation. The specific words the pig-like man uttered triggered her killing intent. She’d subconsciously granted the punch about five percent more power than it would usually have.

But he was a civilian. 

Even a paltry five percent increase was too much.

Screams filled the entire gambling house. The sound of blades being drawn rapidly entered her ears. She was not focused on any of that. The wall before her and her face was splattered in the remnants of gray matter and flesh. A half-squashed eyeball fell and rolled in front of her. 

Blood.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Blood.

All the world’s color faded. 

Blood.

Nawaki lay in her arms.

Blood.

The smell of copper hung in the air. 

Blood. 

The grass was dyed red. The ground was dyed red.

Blood.

Her hands were red. Her body was red.

Blood.

Flowers. Corpses. Graves.

Blood.

Faces. Smiles. Tears.

Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood—  

“...sama! Tsunade-sama!”

The world regained its color. The smell of wet leaves and fresh rain assaulted her nostrils. She found herself in a large forest, so thick and huge that the sun was blocked out by a canopy of leaves. Her apprentice stood before her, panting desperately.

“Shi…zune?”

Something off about her apprentice. Her chakra was completely depleted. Her skin was covered in numerous fresh wounds, the angle and direction reminiscent of being inflicted by immensely sharp blades. Yet, they appeared too sharp to be swords.

Her clothes were tattered and scorched, leaving the lingering smell of burnt hair and flesh wafting into her nostrils. 

She glanced down at her own condition. Her clothes were ripped in an indecent manner. She was basically down to her undergarments. There were bruises on her skin she didn’t recall having before, all of them resembling hand prints, and all of them in inappropriate places.

A cold feeling seeped into her chest. A primal fear sparked from the depths of her soul. She tried to speak, only to find her voice emerging as a croak.

“What —”

“I got there before anything could happen!” her apprentice shuddered. “T-t-they said you killed someone Tsunade-sama… t-they said t-the person you killed…  was the nephew of the Wind Daimyo… a-a-and they wanted… r-r-reparations…”

The Wind Daimyo’s Nephew? 

She hadn’t known that. No wonder he’d been so brave. No wonder he dared ogle her so openly. He’d thought she was aware of his status. He’d thought himself untouchable. The family members of a Daimyo were, in truth, untouchable. A Daimyo had an entire shinobi village at his beck and call. No one dared offend them without cause.  

Yet she’d killed him.

She didn’t trust her voice. Didn’t trust herself to speak. Her gaze landed on her apprentice’s wounds, feeling her world spin as she saw the faint red outline coming from those cuts.

”We… can’t continue like this, Tsunade-sama.”

Tsunade’s head snapped up.

“W-what?”

“We should go back to Konoha.”

“No.”

“Tsunade-sama, y-y-you were almost —”

“I said no, Shizune.”

Go back to Konoha? 

It couldn’t happen. Never. 

Return so everyone could see how miserable she was? So they could see her drown her sorrows in alcohol and debt? So they tell her to ‘suck it up’ and move on? So they could constantly remind her that her grandfather built Konoha, and she’d failed to live up to his legacy?

She couldn’t return to the medical division even if she wanted to. What kind of world-renowned medical expert froze up completely at the sight of blood? With her condition, re-entering the shinobi corps was also a fanciful dream. Going into the battlefield was asking to be killed or worse.

What was she supposed to do, let herself live off the generosity and sympathy of others, like some sort of parasitic leech? 

Was she to become a person whom others would point at in hushed whispers? Was she supposed to ignore others clicking their tongues, crying ‘what a shame!’ whenever they saw her? Was she merely to accept a life amidst a sea of pitying gazes?

No.

She’d rather be dead in a ditch and defiled a thousand times over.

“I c-can’t keep watching you do this, Tsunade-sama. I can’t… I — I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself….”

The words were like ice pouring over her body.

“Shizune —?”

The girl’s tears fell.

“I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t hurt me! Watching you drink and drown your miseries every day! Watching you throw your life away! If my uncle saw what you’d become — he’d — he’d be heartbroken!”

She flinched.

“Shizune I — ”

“Tsunade-sama, if — I can’t — I can’t keep following you — I can’t… I can't keep watching you destroy yourself. I just… I can’t, Tsunade-sama.”

All the color drained her face. She’d feared it coming. She’d anticipated this moment coming. Her apprentice could only take so much. Yet, even then, she’d hoped it would take a little longer. 

She’d hoped it would be much, much longer before they reached this point.

“Fine,” her words were hoarse. “Go. Abandon your sensei — I’m already used to people I love leaving me.”

“Tsunade-sama t-that isn’t fair!”

“As of today, we sever our relationship as master and apprentice,” her voice was hoarse. “You’re free. You no longer have to pick up after your failure of a teacher. I don’t have to be a burden on your shoulders anymore. Good for you. Go. Go become a kunoichi. Dedicate yourself to that hell hole. See if I care.”

“Tsunade-sama! That’s not — I don’t think you’re a burden — I just —”

“You just — what?”

“I want — I want what’s best for you —”

“What’s best for me? I’ve lost everything! Everyone! The only people in the world I’ve loved are dead! They’re gone, Shizune! That place took everything, and now — now it’s going to take you too! And you’re too blind, too stubborn to see it!”

“You can’t blame Konoha for the deaths!”

“Then who am I to blame? Kami? The Shinigami? Fate? Who do I blame, Shizune? Who do I blame?!”

Her apprentice didn’t answer.

“We have to keep moving, Tsunade-sama. Suna… Suna will send hunter-nin after us. If we’re in Konoha —”

“I’m not going back, Shizune.”

The silence that lasted between them lasted ages. It lasted centuries. It lasted more. Her apprentice knelt before her, gripping tightly onto the hem of her kimono. The girl sat, and, after the silence passed, she took a deep breath. There was a difference in her gaze. Steely. Hard. Pained. 

“I — I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Tsunade-sama.”

Her apprentice got up. The footsteps were light and heavy at the same time. Thunderous and silent, at the same time. She sat there, for minutes, and then, for a full hour.

“I’m sorry, too… Shizune.”

No one heard her words — as no one would, in the coming nights and weeks. The silence ached at her chest, and forced her to bite down on lip.

She had to get accustomed to it.

From now on, it would be her sole companion.

XXXXX

“Ten Exchanges?”

Shiranui Genma had a headache. 

He never had the intention of becoming a Jōnin tutor. He was more than fine to continue in his position, working as part of the Hokage Elite Guard and a member of the Thunder God Squadron. Staying close to the Hokage was a more relaxing job, and one even far more high-paying than going to the field. Minato was the only shinobi with an SS-Rank rating in the bingo book. Who would be stupid enough to try and assassinate him?

However, Minato wanted everyone in his Squadron to experience the joys of teaching, feeling that it would help their skills improve and give them new perspectives on life. So he, Raidō and the others had all been elevated to Jōnin, and they’d all been given their tasks.

Being one of the more skilled members of that group, he was chosen to become the Jōnin teacher of one the most unrivaled geniuses of the era. Said genius was the one standing in front of him, completely ignoring the angry looks of his older teammates, and stating his cause.

“Yes.”

“You have me at a loss, Hyūga-san.”

“I cannot accept a teacher who is inferior to me. I will not call a person ‘sensei’ if I do not believe they are worthy of the title. You must survive ten exchanges with me in a taijutsu match. Only then shall I begrudgingly consider you worthy of being my teacher.”

There was no shinobi in Konohagakure no Sato who had not heard of Hyūga Neji. An unprecedented genius, the youngest ever to enter the academy, confirmed and recorded to possess an IQ of 280. He would have been the youngest ever academy graduate, had it not been for Minato’s rule of not allowing anyone younger than five years old to graduate the Academy.

Having been given the responsibility to train such a genius, it appeared this was the Hokage’s method of grooming him for more serious positions in the future. It was also a show of his trust, and a show of the Hokage’s goodwill to the Hyūga Clan, having one of his own personal elite guards become a Jonin instructor.

At least, that was what it looked like on the surface.

In the past several months, the Hyūga Clan had suddenly exploded with talent. Their mission success rate had skyrocketed, doubling if not tripling that of other clans with ease. There had been reports of something happening in the Hyūga Clan, some change or another, but no one outside of the clan was capable of figuring out what it was.

What was more disconcerting was the fact that the clan members had not gotten more arrogant. It was one thing for the Hyūga Clan to grow in power and grow in corresponding levels of stick-up-the-assery, but they hadn’t. Instead, they’d somehow gotten kinder. They aided in solving petty disputes, were more willing to look the other way and turn the other cheek to grievances that they’d previously blown out of proportion.

Needless to say, this was a cause for concern.

The other clans were growing wary of the Hyūga’s newfound military might, as well as their sudden altruism. Suspicions were slowly rising day by day, with more and more conspiracies forming. A few people had already been arrested for spreading false rumors that the Hyūga were planning a coup, others had been jailed for claiming they had intent to leave Konoha entirely and form their own shinobi village. 

No one knew what was true and what wasn’t, and as the Hyūga had refused to comment on the reason for the change, the speculations and rumors grew ever more rampant.

His secondary mission in being the boy’s sensei was to see if he could uncover some highly sought-after answers. It was, without a doubt, one of the most important missions he had ever been given.

However, it didn’t seem he would get the chance to complete it.

“If you can endure ten exchanges in close combat, I will kowtow and call you sensei. If you cannot, I will leave this team and request the Hokage grant me a suitable teacher.”

Genma felt his headache growing. He wanted to sigh inside, wondering if Minato had expected this when he gave him this task. Geniuses often had with them a certain amount of pride, but this was his first time seeing a Genin challenge a Jōnin. Even if Neji was touted to be the greatest genius ever produced by the Hyūga, there was a qualitative difference in battle experience between the two.

“Alright.”

He had no reason to disagree because he could already tell that this was something necessary. Not only did he want to get a rough handle on the boy’s skills, but there was also the problem that Neji’s teammates seemed not only jealous of him, but annoyed by him. They were older than he was by a fair amount, after all. The boy was five, while they were both twelve. Having a genius like him on the team fanned the flames of their insecurity, so it truly would be a hassle to get them to work together.

Perhaps a little humbling would be needed so they’d not hate him?

They fought in an open clearing on Training Ground 14. With a senbon lazily in his mouth, Genma twirled a kunai in his right hand, while his opponent entered into what he recognized as the Hyūga Clan’s penultimate technique, the Gentle Fist.

There was a distance of about twelve feet separating them. At first, Genma had worried that the boy would choose to start close, as it would be somewhat troubling to evade the Gentle Fist from close range, but seeing him move so far away, he couldn’t help but question his motives.

“Ready yourself. If you do not take me seriously, you will die.”

Genma resisted the urge for his cheek to twitch. For such a young kid to be giving him warnings, did the Hyūga Clan pamper him without restraint?

Before he could chide him, he felt a strange gust of wind. All his instincts screamed at once. An automatic reflex forced him to tilt his head, just as a palm tore through the air where it was a single moment ago. A sharp breath escaped his lips, his eyes widened.

Neji was in front of him. The twelve-foot gap had vanished without warning. The pressure from his palm sent Genma’s hair flying back, and the suddenness of the attack immediately forced him on the defensive.

Another palm rushed forward. Genma rose his kunai. To his utter befuddlement, Neji’s palm grabbed the blade as though it were not a sharp object, and pulled him in with it. Before Genma could question it, his kunai was sent towards his solar plexus.

On instinct, he channeled his chakra through his body to perform the substitution jutsu —

It didn’t work.

There’s no way —

The scent of blood filled the air. He stared down, seeing his own hand, his own kunai, pierced into his body, and feeling an inexplicable chill. That split moment of disbelief, that rare second of hesitation was all he needed, before another palm struck, this time, striking squarely to the center of his forehead.

Genma’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

The palm landed on his forehead, however, it was soft. There was no attacking intent. The burst of chakra that usually followed did not come. Sweat uncomfortably dribbled down Genma’s forehead.

“You lasted a single exchange. You are not qualified enough to be my teacher.”

Neji withdrew his palm. 

Sweat fell down Genma’s brow. 

Had he wanted to, in that moment, the world would no longer have a person named Shiranui Genma.

The boy’s teammates stood there, in shock and silence. Neji did not regard them. He simply placed his hands behind his back, walking off calmly into the distance. There was an unspoken grace to his movements. There was a refined air to his actions. A sense of nobility, of grandness and presence. It was as if the world and everything within it could not hinder him. As though it could not hold him.

As though it was all beneath him.

Genma coughed out blood, feeling himself go faint from the injury. He tried to move, only to find that his body no longer listened to his commands. He couldn’t understand why the substitution jutsu failed. It wasn’t until he tried circulating his chakra, that he sucked in a deep breath in terror.

How?

Then, and only then did he realize his tenketsu had been sealed.

XXXXX

There was silence in the Hokage’s Office.

The images on the Pure Leaf Pearl played over and over again, and every person in the room couldn’t help but feel a little unnerved. One individual, with blue eyes and blond hair, watched the image unfold, again and again, his eyes sparkling.

“I don’t believe genius is an apt term for him,” mumbled a soft voice. “He’s a monster.”

There was a universal murmur of approval. The gathered team of Jōnin present shot a few uncertain glances to each other.

“I’d already suspected putting Neji-kun in a normal team would not work,” Minato said. “All of his academy instructors claimed his taijutsu is peerless. On his graduation document, Fushiguro-san said, ‘as long as it’s a taijutsu match, Hyūga Neji will never lose.’”

Minato leaned back, and smiled.

“His words are correct. Having a teacher who can’t compete in pure taijutsu wouldn’t be beneficial to his growth, as there’ll be little he’ll stand to learn. As such… I will make special arrangements for his —”

“Hokage-sama!”

The room was immediately silenced as a Chūnin burst through the doors. Several pairs of eyes glanced at the nervous girl, before she swallowed deeply, and gestured out a letter.

“S-s-sorry! Hokage-sama! But — but it’s urgent! There — there’s a missive from the Kazekage!”

 XXXXX

A bird landed directly upon the hand of a masked man, with a small furled piece of paper attached to its right leg. The man grasped the paper and let the bird fly off, before unfurling it to read its contents.

This was unexpected.

Tsunade of the Senju was wanted in the Land of Wind for the murder of Kazuhiko Kuniyoshi, the nephew of the Wind Daimyō. The Wind Daimyō had ordered the cessation of all exports to and imports from the Land of Fire until she was captured and brought before him for trial. He’d also placed an edict upon Sunagakure no Sato, limiting the funding to the shinobi nation as well as massively hiking taxation fees — until they captured and brought the killer of his nephew to justice.

“Konoha won’t give up Tsunade. They won’t surrender the First Hokage’s only remaining descendant. And Suna will starve, shrivel and suffer until they have her.”

The masked man laughed, burning the parchment in his hands to ash.

“It really is a wretched world, sensei.”

Sooner than he’d anticipated, and faster than any could have calculated —

The Shinobi World would once again be engulfed in War.

Chapter Text

Training Ground 10 wasn’t a place she wanted to be.

Every moment she stood and glanced around was a moment wherein needles stabbed relentlessly into her chest. The reality of standing here stung more than the insults of those idiot villagers. It stung more than the suspicion of her fellow shinobi, who would spit as she passed, whispering words of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ and ‘snake.’

“I can sense your killing intent.”

A voice emerged behind her. Her watcher wore an ANBU mask and spoke in a dry monotone.

“Fuck.”

She cursed almost instinctively, grinding her teeth.

“Mitarashi-san, I understand that you’re not pleased with your current predicament —”

“That’s a fucking understatement!”

“Be that as it may,” the ANBU’s words were sharp. “You must restrain yourself. Hokage-sama’s words were clear. During your probationary period, you will be evaluated on numerous criteria. If you do not pass them all, your previous rank will not be reinstated. ”

“I know!” she spat. “One year, right? It’s just one year. I can handle it. Just fucking watch me!”

The ANBU didn’t respond. She didn’t know what it was, but it irritated her even further. Her killing intent almost spiked, but she suppressed it. She balled her fists and clenched her teeth so hard blood would almost have started spurting out.

The most frustrating thing about this situation was that she had no one to blame. Who was she going to blame for her demotion? The Hokage? It was already extremely magnanimous of him to not expel her from the shinobi corps outright. The fact that she could still be a kunoichi was him being kind.

Was she to blame his mentor, Jiraiya of the Sannin? No. She was the one who went in search of him, after hearing of how the man had excelled in fūinjutsu, after hearing of his newfound prowess in the art. She was the one who got on her knees like a whore and begged him to remove that fucking parasitic mark on her neck. 

She remembered how he’d examined it for an hour without saying anything, before shaking his head and muttering some nonsense about his teammate’s genius. He’d told her that his former teammate had placed numerous failsafes and with his current skill there could be unexpected side effects if he removed it now. He’d said, confidently, that if she was patient, in five or so years, he’d be capable of removing it without the risk of side effects. 

She’d been the one who refused to wait. Five years? She couldn’t last another five seconds feeling that filth on her. Every second the mark was on her was one in which she felt constantly defiled. Every additional second was one which drove her insane. To have a permanent reminder of that betrayal etched on her flesh and branded into her skin was something that made her wake up every morning and vomit.

Just hearing that he could remove it was enough for her. She said damn the consequences. Fuck them where they lay. She’d handle it. She could handle it.

Of course, it wasn’t like she could force him to remove it. She could bitch and moan and whine all she wanted, but there was no way to make him remove it if he didn’t want to. He’d been adamant at first, insisting on her waiting, and it was only after she started to strip in front of him that he changed his tune.

She’d heard that Jiraiya was a famous pervert. She’d been more than willing to give him a little show if it meant changing his mind. However, not only had he stopped her once she’d started stripping, he appeared outright insulted.

She’d somehow offended him by offering herself as eye candy. If Anko was being honest, it was a first. She didn’t have a habit of offering a show to just anyone, and it stung to be so bluntly shut down. Worse, never had she offered herself to someone and had them be offended. 

To get rid of her, he agreed, saying that as long as she was willing to endure the consequences, he’d remove the seal immediately. 

She got her wish. The Cursed Seal of Heaven was gone.

Unfortunately, a huge chunk of her memories vanished with it.

She remembered who Orochimaru was, she remembered her grievances and hatred, but a lot of things were gone entirely. She completely forgot the correct sequence of hand seals to numerous jutsu she could have sworn she’d mastered, and for some, she completely forgot their names.

Her snake summoning contract was severed the moment the seal vanished. How? She didn’t know. Even Jiraiya didn’t know. Some bullshit about Orochimaru implementing a clause that connected master and apprentice. It didn’t matter the specifics. All that mattered was that the snakes no longer answered her call, meaning over a good chunk of her techniques were just gone — smoked.

As if that wasn’t enough, her chakra quantity regressed to the level of a fucking academy student as a result of the removal process. There were probably Genin with greater reserves than she had. The sudden reduction in chakra quantity also threw her chakra control out of balance, because she was used to controlling more, not less, her control was utterly atrocious. 

The worst of all the side effects, however, had to be the damage to her emotions. 

She’d always channeled her emotions into the Cursed Seal without knowing it. For years, her resentment, rage, vitriol, regret, despair, terror, and more were all pumped into that seal so she didn’t have to deal with any of it.

Once the seal was gone, there was nowhere left to channel those emotions, and she had no experience in controlling them — no experience in dealing with them. 

She’d become someone whose mouth had no filter. Her emotions were worn on her sleeve, her temper was akin to a giant ball of explosive seals, and her feelings were as open as a geisha’s legs. 

She cursed anyone who cursed her. She flipped the middle finger to anyone who annoyed her. Flirted openly with anyone who caught her interest. Said the most brazen, damning, daring, and foolish things at inappropriate moments, and could spin on a dime from being happy to ripping out someone’s throat.

Anyone who saw her now would believe she was either neurotic or had several screws loose. 

Less than a week ago, she’d gone from happily sharing a story and laughing drunkenly in a bar to smashing the face of a fellow shinobi twelve times into a barstool in rage because she’d mistakenly thought he’d been trying to cop a feel.

With terrible chakra quantity, atrocious chakra control, having lost access to all of her higher-ranked summoning techniques, and possessing an uncontrollable temper and unstable emotions that could turn on allies and enemies alike —

It was a complete miracle she was still allowed in the field.

That was why she couldn’t place any hatred on the Hokage. The fact that she’d only been demoted showed the depths of his compassion. Anyone else would have sneered, laughed, and given her the boot immediately considering how much of a hindrance she’d be.

Thus, she, at sixteen years of age, four whole years after being promoted to Chūnin, was now being forced back into a Genin three-man team. The probationary period Minato had given her was one year. In other words, she had one year to get her chakra quantity, control, and emotions in order. If in one year, she hadn’t made any significant progress, then to prevent further incidents, she would be discharged from the Konoha Shinobi Corps.

Thinking of it almost made her fury spike. 

After all, all of this was her fault. It was her impatience that caused her to be in such a predicament. Jiraiya warned her. He told her. Yet, she didn't listen. She’d insisted.

Who could she blame but herself?

Who the fuck could she blame?

“Your new teammates should be arriving shortly.”

“I’ve got eyes,” she cursed. “Are you going to stay here to make sure I don’t traumatize the brats? I might not be all there, but I’m not going to kill them.”

“I’m staying to make sure they don’t kill you.”

She barked a laugh. Then she remembered that ANBU stiffs didn’t have a sense of humor.

“You’re shitting me.”

“One of your new teammates is someone whose former teammate died in action as a result of envying his genius and was requested by his father to be put in a team with individuals who would not begrudge his talent. The other beat and hospitalized the man previously assigned to be his Jōnin Instructor before requesting a different team from Hokage-sama himself. Believe me when I say this, Mitarashi-san, despite your former rank and experience, you will be the least skilled member of your new team.”

“Now I know you’re fucking with me,” she scoffed. “What kind of itty-bitty, wet-behind-the-ears Genin can beat their Jōnin instructor? That’s bullshit.”

“A Genius.”

“No amount of genius can breach the gap between a Genin and a fucking Jōnin.”

“You should hope you’re wrong.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“If your teammates were not considered exceptional, Hokage-sama would not have signed off on letting you join them. He expects the relative skills of both your teammates and Jōnin Instructor will be more than enough to offset having you burden the team. In other words, the more skilled they are, the more likely you can continue your career.”

She bit down on her lip. “Fuck.”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Throwing her into an unsuspecting Genin Team would just be torture for the poor brats. Hells, even her former fellow Chūnin didn’t want to touch her with a ten-foot pole right now. The Hokage wouldn’t be so heartless as to force a bunch of fresh out the academy Genin to deal with her. Even she wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Who the fuck’s my instructor anyway? I wasn’t told.”

“Someone who’s also a genius — in his own right.”

Anko did not like the sound of that. Few individuals amongst the Jōnin Corps qualified to be considered geniuses, and all who did weren’t much older than herself. Nothing would be more mortifying than being put on a team with someone who was her former colleague and having them become her new leader.

It didn’t take long for the first of her new teammates to arrive. If the black hair and tantō placed against his back did not give away his identity, then the shirt he wore, emblazoned with the logo of a fan sectioned into two parts, one red and one white, made it clearer than ever.

“...You’re fucking joking.”

Anko bit down harshly on her lip. The person who approached was younger than her by a good amount, and she wagered he was, or should be around nine or ten years old. He was someone who everyone knew or had at least heard of, given his prodigious talent. He was also someone that a former classmate and colleague of hers never shut up about.

In the few times she’d listened to Uchiha Shisui ramble on in the general shinobi lounge, she remembered him particularly praising his little ‘brother’ and calling him a talent beyond talents.

Said talent stood before her, offering only a slightly polite bow.

“Mitarashi-san. ANBU-san.”

The ANBU behind her was supposed to be hidden. No, he was hidden. Even then, the brat in front of her had found and addressed him as though he wasn’t. 

Fuck.

Even Anko couldn’t claim to be able to find a hidden member of the ANBU corps as a Genin. 

“You’re the brat Shisui goes on and on about.” 

“I apologize if Shisui-ni has troubled you.”

Anko opened her lips but swallowed the snarky remark that wanted to fire off on reflex. Despite everything, her sense of self-preservation had not diminished.

This brat was someone Shisui cared a lot about. Besides this, he was the heir to the Uchiha Clan. The future head of one of the two founding clans of Konoha.

If anyone got word she insulted or said shit to his face, she might face the ire of Shisui. He was a shinobi who was terrifying on his own, but even more terrifying considering there were rumors that Shisui was one of Minato’s potential future successors — a contender for Fifth Hokage.

If he didn’t look for her, she’d also face the pissed-off members of the entire Uchiha Police Force. Those bastards would do anything for their clan heir, and some might lock her up in a cell for the tiniest of infractions, simply because she insulted the boy in front of her.

Anko couldn’t claim she cared enough about the boy’s background, but there was no denying that there were simply some people that were not worth offending.

The boy calmly moved underneath the shade of a tree, and sat, closing his eyes. Anko didn’t say anything to him, nor did her ANBU guide, but the silence that the group lapsed into was somehow so oppressive it made her unsettled.

Barely ten minutes had gone by before another figure appeared. The moment she saw him, Anko’s stomach dropped.

“Fuck. Me.” 

The pale pupil-less eyes only belonged to one clan in Konoha, and they were not, in any way, less problematic than the Uchiha Clan. More so, the boy who approached was remarkably young, even younger than the Uchiha heir. He was someone she had heard about in passing from Chūnin who worked as academy instructors.

“Fuckity-fuck.”

He was a child praised to be a genius on the level of, if not surpassing, the likes of Hatake Kakashi, the Fourth Hokage’s last-living student and protégé, and some even suggested that the boy far surpassed the Hokage himself when the man was his age.

There was no one, absolutely no one, who lived in Konohagakure no Sato that had not heard of the Hyūga Clan’s unprecedented genius — a child who rose from being a member of the branch clan to becoming the Clan Heir with nothing but his prodigious talent and cunning.

The boy’s gaze was something that sent uncertain chills running down Anko’s spine, considering how utterly aloof it appeared. He approached, garbed in pristine white robes. His gaze glanced over to the Uchiha Heir, and there was a small, tiny, fraction of a raised brow. The Uchiha Heir in turn regarded the younger boy with a strange, odd smile.

The two stared at each other for what seemed to be hours. It was as if they were equally sizing the other up, but, at the same time, not. 

Anko bit the inside of her cheek.

Was this what happened when geniuses met geniuses? Did they have the ability to instantly recognize the skill of their peers at a glance? 

More irritating, however, was the fact that the boy had never even glanced once in her direction or regarded her since he arrived. She’d heard about the Hyūga and their arrogance, but wasn’t it said that they were changing? Getting less arrogant? That they’d become more and more peaceful and friendly?

Even the Uchiha had at least provided her with a greeting, but the Hyūga didn’t even seem to acknowledge her existence. It was insulting. Was he saying she was so far below him that he didn’t need to recognize her presence?

“Oi,” Anko snapped. “Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude not to greet?”

He turned over to her. His gaze lingered, and a shudder ran through her. She felt as though all her secrets were being laid bare.

“Mere trash.”

Something in her snapped.

She lunged after him, planning on teaching the itty-bitty Genin a lesson, only to blink the moment she entered melee range, and saw the clouds above her head. 

Huh?

“Hyūga-san, please refrain from killing your new teammate.”

It took a moment for her to regain her wits. She was flat on the ground, without understanding even for a moment how she got there. There was a palm hovering in front of her breast. A tiny palm, all things considered, yet, it possessed such a potent killing intent that it made Anko unable to breathe.

The palm was being held back by the ANBU stiff. If not for him —

He — he would have —

There was no mistaking the intent there. 

The Hyūga truly would have killed her in that moment, had the ANBU not intervened.

No, that’s — that’s crazy. Not even I would — how fucked do you — the Hokage wouldn’t allow —

Except, the further she thought about it, the more a cold chill ran down her spine. Status-wise, the difference between the Clan Heir of the Hyūga Clan, a once-in-a-generation genius, and a near-crippled, demoted Chūnin was like night and day.

If the boy killed her, to give him any sort of serious reprimand would essentially be to slap the face of the entirety of the Hyūga Clan. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, all that mattered was that the Hyūga Clan would not stand for the imprisonment or trial of their Heir. In the absolute worst-case scenario, they would revolt, rebel, and either cause a civil war or leave Konoha entirely. 

The Hokage would never allow that. What was the life of one Mitarashi Anko compared to an entire clan of Dōjutsu users? What was it compared to the peace of Konoha? 

Worse, because she was the one who attacked, he could claim it was self-defense, and no one could argue otherwise. After all, she’d already been proven to be emotionally unstable, and had attacked others before — so who was to say she hadn’t lost her mind completely?

The boy absolutely could get away with murder — he could get away with killing her.

Cold sweat drenched Anko’s back as she stared at the masked ANBU, and recalled his words.

“I’m staying to make sure they don’t kill you.”

The fucker had not been joking.

A tremble lingered on her lips as she snapped her gaze over to the Uchiha heir. The boy was simply watching it all passively, with those creepy red eyes spinning, and it occurred to her that he had not moved to intervene. It occurred to her that, if the Uchiha heir was the one to kill her, he, likewise, would be able to get away with murder.

She wanted to laugh, but at the same time, she couldn’t make a sound.

The Hokage had put her on a team with two Genin who could restrain her worst impulses because they had ‘Get-Out-Of-Killing-Anko-Free” cards branded into their damned bloodlines. Both could kill her and only receive a slap on the wrist for doing so — if even that.

Regardless of how unstable she might be, she did not want to die. Hell no. Knowing that both her teammates were all but authorized to kill her was more than enough to force her to think things rationally, and motivate her to reign in her temper, urges, and emotions —

Because otherwise, she’d die.

What softness? Softness? They’re all fucking fools.

Anyone who ever said Namikaze Minato was a softie was talking out of their ass. She shuddered at the sheer insidiousness of the plan behind the assignment of her teammates.

The Hokage thought things out, because he, like these two, was also a bloody genius.

“HAHAHA! SUCH PASSION! TRULY, NEJI-KUN, YOU BURN WITH THE FLAMES OF YOUTH!”

A large yell almost broke her eardrums, and everyone’s attention snapped upwards to the person who arrived. Anko’s eyes almost bled at the sight of the green spandex, and she felt a sense of dread she’d not felt in a truly, truly long while.

Hokage-sama… truly wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…

“Your sensei is here. That completes my task,” the ANBU let go of the Hyūga’s hand, and vanished.

Anko swore. He would.

The Hokage assigned Might Guy as her sensei.

“Fuck. Me.”

XXXXX

His mother had told him, on one of those days where she was particularly conversational, that the Hokage was his father’s rival. She’d mentioned, sighing in reminisce, how when they were younger, both of them would compete against each other often, and in their attempts to outdo the other, they would somehow shine brighter than if they were pursuing their paths alone.

She’d stated, often, that “Wicked Eye Fugaku” would only be half the man he was today, were it not for the “Yellow Flash” Namikaze Minato.

It was not a concept he intrinsically understood. Non-intrinsically, he easily grasped the message that steel sharpened steel. Competition was the fire that lit growth and innovation. Yet, it was something he’d believed he would never experience, nor have the opportunity to experience.

A rival would imply that the individual was of similar skill level and capability as himself. It was not conceit, nor arrogance, nor was it with an exaggerated swagger that he would state such an occurrence was unlikely — if not outright impossible.

This was the conclusion he came to after encountering and interacting with his peers and outstripping them in every way. This was the conclusion he’d surmised after the death of Tenma, a death that could have been avoided had he not been desperate, been eager, to prove himself as equal to his younger ‘genius’ teammate.

There would be no rivals on his path. It would be trodden alone, all the way, to the end. 

This was what he’d thought.

That was what he truly believed.

Before he encountered Hyūga Neji.

Outwardly, the cursory glance that had devolved into a stare-off between the two of them had seemed completely banal. Outwardly, there was no reaction whatsoever from his features. Yet, deep within, every additional second that their glance lingered filled Itachi with a sense of disbelief.

His Byakugan is activated.

It is constantly activated. Yet, the chakra consumption from keeping it activated is so minuscule as to be absolutely nothing. That would imply a level of chakra control that far surpasses that of an Expert Medical Nin. Even beyond that. 

Perfect Chakra Control.

Absolutely no waste. Not even a Sensor Nin would notice anything amiss with his eyes.

The illusion placed over his eyes prevents others from noticing that he has his Byakugan activated. No, not an illusion. My eyes can detect trace amounts of chakra but it isn’t the same reaction I receive from Genjutsu.

A transformation. The Transformation Jutsu? Partial Transformation. He attained a Partial Transformation and has it constantly active only around his eyes to prevent others from discerning that his Dōjutsu is always active —

Beyond that, his First and Second Gates are open.

He’s managed to find a method to open both the First and Second Gates and keep them open without causing undue stress or damage to his body, and without any outwardly visible signs —

The only reason he had detected the varying abnormalities was due to his habit of instinctively activating his Sharingan for a brief moment when meeting new individuals. Without his Sharingan, without its ability to detect the flow of chakra and its perfect recall, it would have been utterly impossible to find anything amiss with Hyūga Neji.

Yet, somehow, in that brief moment they’d glanced at each other, Hyūga Neji realized it. 

He realized his secrets had been discovered.

And in the same moment —

They were all gone.

Gone.

Even with his Sharingan, Itachi could no longer see the abnormalities.

How?

For the first time in a truly long while, the Uchiha Prodigy found his mind stimulated. His heart raced. There was a strange stimulation in his chest he’d never felt before. This was a conundrum he’d never encountered, a problem that was forcing him to use every iota of his wit and mind to arrive at an answer. 

The fact that I was capable of seeing through the varying secrets indicates he has never encountered a Sharingan User directly before, otherwise, he’d have long been exposed by another and realize where he erred, preventing any Sharingan User from discovering his secrets in the future. 

With that in mind, the ability to mask things from the Sharingan would imply an innate understanding of its visual capabilities and loopholes —

That is to say, within the span of meeting me and realizing I could see his hidden cards, he devised a countermeasure to the Sharingan?

Impossible.

No, improbable.

It is more likely that he already has similar countermeasures for the Byakugan, to prevent others in his clan from noticing, and extrapolated them toward the Sharingan —

Yet, even that would require a level of innate understanding of how the Sharingan functions. How would he —

It suddenly clicked.

Of course.

The Byakugan’s ability to peer into and through any object and read the flow of chakra. It can see the tenketsu that even the Sharingan is blind to. He directly looked into my eyes and saw the inner biological workings of my Sharingan, the tenketsu involved in the flow of chakra, the photoreceptor cells in my retina, rods, and cones, and the manner in which light refracts. He analyzed all of it and from there, reverse-engineered a method to alter his chakra’s visibility in a way that directly blocked the visual information from reaching my mind.

It isn’t the Sharingan he’s countering but my ability to interpret signals and wavelengths of light. Just as there are wavelengths of light that a normal human eye cannot see, he utilized partial transformation within himself to mask his secrets using a series of wavelengths the Sharingan cannot see.

And he did this in the span of seconds — 

No, even shorter.

It was the first time, that a feeling surged within Uchiha Itachi, a feeling that made him say, deep within his mind —

…Genius.

Was this sense of disbelief, incredulity, befuddlement, and wonder, was it how he constantly made his peers, mentors, and family members feel? This feeling of watching someone do the highly improbable with relative ease —

Was this what they felt?

I see.

A rare, odd smile formed on Itachi’s lips.

Is this why Hokage-sama put me on the same team as him?

Before today, he had never even contemplated the possibility of masking his usage of the Sharingan. It did not seem something overtly necessary. The Sharingan was both the pride of the Uchiha and their calling card, and no Uchiha who felt pride in their kekkai genkai would ever mask their use of it. 

The same should apply to the Hyūga, but here, the Clan Heir maintained an entirely different approach.

Having his eyes active constantly, but without his foes being aware of it would make it impossible for any method of ambush to ever succeed, and it would cause his opponents to vastly underestimate him.

It was why he was not surprised at all when Mitarashi Anko launched her attack, that Hyūga Neji effortlessly evaded with a single sidestep, and swept her off her feet with the back of his palm lightly pushing her right heel, offsetting her center of gravity.

The action was done so quickly he doubted the woman even understood how she’d fallen. 

Itachi did not even blink when the boy’s palm made a beeline for the older girl’s heart because he understood, almost instinctively, that the genius wasn’t interested in killing the woman. From his eyes, he could see it. He had no interest whatsoever in Mitarashi Anko. Not enough to even kill her. 

Mitarashi Anko wasn’t the target of his attack.

Hyūga Neji was testing the hidden ANBU.

He was testing the reaction speed of the village’s elite.

Even as the ANBU arrived and grabbed his palm, preventing his teammate’s death, Itachi felt troubled. Not troubled that his new teammate’s life was spared, but troubled only for one reason. 

Too slow.

The ANBU arrived too slowly.

Hyūga Neji’s palm hadn’t been stopped by the ANBU.

Hyūga Neji had allowed himself to be stopped.

There was a deliberate half-fraction of a second’s delay in his attack. Just enough for the girl’s life to be saved. This was what his Sharingan deduced.

…He didn’t notice.

He could ascertain from the ANBU’s body language that the man hadn’t realized that he’d entirely failed to stop a Genin from being able to kill someone under his protection. He was blissfully under the impression that he’d arrived in the nick of time.

Itachi found himself in silent contemplation.

Hyūga Neji was younger than him by about four years, but the boy’s skill, intelligence, quick-witted thinking, reaction time, and ingenuity was in no way inferior to his own.

He could not claim, with absolute certainty, that when he was Neji’s age, he could do the same. He could not claim that he’d have the confidence or the ability to test the reaction speed of a member of the ANBU Corps as a Genin fresh out of the academy —

And get away with it without that member ever realizing it.

This feeling…?

He understood.

He understood, now.

Uchiha Itachi finally understood what it felt like —

To meet a person worthy of being a rival.

XXXXX

“Your former teammate is making waves,” came a rasping voice. “Suna has put out a bounty on her head. It’s a sizable sum.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I have no ties to my former village, and I care little for money. Kakuzu on the other hand…”

There was a silence that stretched, before the sound of mechanical parts, shifting and moving, echoed out within a forest.

“He has unresolved business with the First Hokage, and now, it’s open season on the man's only living descendant with a large monetary reward.”

“He plans on hunting her.”

“Yes.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

“I don’t like meaningless fights. Nor does our leader.” 

“Kukuku. I could care less what happens to Tsunade.”

“Do you know why she would kill the Wind Daimyo’s relative?”

“She’s always been prone to childish outbursts of rage.”

“The hardest Jinchuriki to capture will be the Fourth Hokage’s wife. The Uzumaki and Senju are considered distant relatives. If we could recruit —”

There was an abrupt laugh.

“I cannot see a world in which Tsunade betrays Konoha.”

“Many said the same about you.”

Another chuckle came. A non-committal chuckle.

“Why did she leave your village?”

“You seem unusually interested in my former teammate.”

“Her actions might be the thing that sparks the next War,“ there was a pause. “And, it might lead to conflict within the organization.”

“Oh?” 

“Do you think she can defeat Kakuzu?”

There was a moment of silence.

“If he ends up delivering her head to the Wind Daimyo, you will kill him.”

There was an even longer moment of silence.

“Not out of anger, or rage, or for vengeance. But out of principle.”

“Principle?” The word was dripping with amusement.

“If someone were to destroy a puppet of mine, even one I had long abandoned, one I had forgotten, one I had discarded — I would kill them. Because even if I did not care for it, the puppet was mine. It was not theirs to destroy.”

“Kukuku… I underestimated you, Sasori. I thought you were slow when it came to such matters.”

Sasori of the Red Sands let out a grunt. “Am I wrong?”

“Unfortunately I don’t hold as much value towards relics of my past as you do.”

“I see.”

The faint sound of mechanical parts moving echoed away, leaving only one pale-skinned man standing underneath the shade of a tree, garbed in a black cloak with red clouds.

The man’s serpentine eyes flickered occasionally, as his hand slowly rubbed at his chin.

“To think he was the sentimental type…”

A flicker of a memory ran through the mind of the man. A woman with blond hair kneeling, healing a grievous wound on his stomach and berating him. Another, an idiot with white hair laughing at the side, and the three of them, together, smiling.

Then, just as quickly as the memory came —

It vanished.

Chapter Text

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re serious? There’s no fucking way you’re serious.”

“Anyone unqualified to handle ten exchanges is unsuitable to be my teacher.”

“Yosh! Wonderful! I accept your challenge, Neji-kun!”

Anko bit down on her lip.

For fuck’s sake! You’re really going to indulge this spoiled brat?!

She wanted to snap at Guy, but she couldn’t. Might Guy was the last person in the world she wanted to get on the bad side of. Many claimed the man had no bad side, and honestly, Anko didn’t want to be the one to fuck around and find out.

On some intuitive level, she understood the man wasn't that bad a choice of a sensei. First, there was no world in which she’d try to flirt with him. He wasn’t bad but no. Fucking no. Absolutely fucking no. Even at her worst, or most horny, it would be sub-zero degrees in the underworld before she thought about Might Guy sexually.

Beyond that, the man had the patience of a saint, the kindness of a monk, and the determination of a god-forsaken demon. If there was anyone, anyone at all, who wouldn’t give up on her, anyone who wouldn’t consider helping her control her emotions a waste of time — it would be Might Guy.

She knew she was going to be shitty to handle. It was part of her recovery process. Her words would likely sting. Or hurt. And she’d likely be very, very, bitchy — enough that most people would probably flip her off or generally start hating her for it.

Guy was probably the only person who would shrug off even the most fucked up statements that may or may not fly out of her mouth with a laugh.

Sticks and fucking stones did not break his bones.

That aside, considering she didn’t have access to her snake-summoning ninjutsu anymore, it meant she needed to directly pivot her area of expertise. With her currently abysmal chakra control and terrible chakra quantity, attempting to specialize in ninjutsu or genjutsu was a pipe dream. It left only one avenue for her to be effective in the field — Taijutsu.

And she honestly couldn’t think of a better person to learn taijutsu from.

However, the itty-bitty stick-up-the-ass Hyūga brat was actually challenging Guy with some bullshit about worthiness?

She glared even harder at him.

Hope he knocks out all of your fucking baby teeth…

The Uchiha beside her quietly moved away from the center of Training Ground 10, taking a spot beneath a tree to observe.

She huffed as she followed him, and stood to the side.

“If he’s stupid enough to think he can fight a Jōnin — it’s probably best if he gets a fucking reality check now.”

The Uchiha did not answer. He did not speak. Although he did tilt his head slightly to signify that he’d heard her, and that he wasn’t ignoring her. Even then, the silence wanted to make her continue talking, because she’d go fucking crazy if she ended up in a team with two stoic-quiet types who communicated less than a sentence per day.

The Hyūga brat stood at the traditional sparring distance away from Guy, and the two of them stood in silence.

Then, he looked up, clear surprise on his features.

“You can open your Eight Great Points.”

Huh? The fuck?

Guy blinked. “Eight Great — you mean the Eight Gates?”

“Gates?” 

“Very sharp Neji-kun! The Eight Gates.”

The boy fell silent. Anko’s brows furrowed. What the fuck does the Eight Gates have to do with this?

“You are the only one.”

The Hyūga cupped his right fist into his left palm and gave a strangely polite bow.

“In the entirety of Konoha, you are the only one worthy of receiving the appellation of sensei from me. I will not be discontent with you as my sensei.”

Of all the arrogant bullshit! Anko was struggling not to curse at him. She opened her lips, only to nearly choke on her saliva as the scene in front of her changed.

One second, Hyūga Neji was standing fifteen feet away, the next, he was directly in front of Guy.

What the fuck —

She hadn’t seen him move.

“Hahahaha! Brilliant Neji-kun!”

There was a blur of green spandex and white clothes. An exchange that occurred, a blur of limbs, actions, and reactions, movements and motions that blended so seamlessly into each other that her eyes could not track any of it.

She couldn’t tell where a palm strike ended and where a punch began. She couldn’t tell where a block started and where it transitioned into a kick. Then, the duo’s motion sped up, until she couldn’t make out anything. 

She blinked several times, before instinctively making the corresponding motion to dispel Genjutsu and whispering “KAI!”

There was no Genjutsu.

There was no deception.

All she could see was a green and white blur.

What… what the fuck? What the fucking fuckity fuck? 

I can’t — I can’t follow their movements?

Had something altered her sense of perception? No, no that couldn’t be it. The Cursed Seal on her neck had never — it hadn’t possessed any benefits. There was no way its removal made her mind slower — there was no fucking way.

The only time when it was impossible to follow the movements of an individual was when there was a gap in their relative skills. A massive, stretching gap.

It was one thing if she couldn’t follow the attacks of Guy, but the brat? The Hyūga brat? The Genin? 

You’re telling me a Genin — a fresh-out-the-academy genin — has Jōnin-level Taijutsu skills?

She snapped her gaze towards the Uchiha beside her, opening her lips to comment, only to stop as she saw those creepy red eyes of his spinning like crazy, and found him thoroughly entranced.

Am I — am I the only fucking one who can’t see shit?!

An increasingly hard lump formed in her throat that made her unable to swallow. She remembered the words the ANBU stiff had told her.

Despite your former rank, you will be the least skilled member of your new team.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck.”

XXXXX

At first, deep within, he’d thought this was going to be a somewhat farcical performance. Even he, with his Three-Tomoe Sharingan would not wish to engage in a bout with Might Guy. No, even if he were to have another five, seven, or eight years of experience, he would do his hardest to avoid fighting Might Guy head-on in a taijutsu match.

Itachi’s eyes spun as rapidly.

No footsteps. His feet slid flawlessly across the ground as though he were gliding or skating. 

A Ninjutsu technique? A technique that allowed him to eliminate friction between his feet and the ground, and allow for near-instantaneous and sudden movement.

That isn’t a technique known to belong to the Hyūga Clan.

Self-made? 

Highly likely.

The theory behind it utilizes the same principle in the Water-Walking Exercise. Precise and fine-tuned application of chakra expelled at the feet to counteract the buoyancy of a liquid. Only, in this case, it’s counteracting friction —

Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. It would require extremely precise control of one’s chakra, a perfect understanding of one’s spatial positioning to avoid overshooting or undershooting targets, and the ability to nullify the sudden disorientation from moving too quickly and coming to abrupt stops — all things that the Byakugan perfectly covers.

The entire thing occurred to Itachi’s eyes at regular speed.

His Sharingan would typically present the motions and movements of people in slow motion. Yet, his new teammate and sensei were moving at regular speed.

First Exchange.

Neji’s right palm soared straight for Guy’s heart as his left aimed for the solar plexus. 

Guy diverted the first palm with a downward kick on the boy’s wrist, and the force sent Neji off-balance.

Second Exchange.

Just as it seemed he would fall, the Hyūga’s feet smacked back and rooted to the ground with chakra and he slid, as if skating on ice, directly behind the man with another two palms aimed for his spine.

The older Jōnin spun on the balls of his feet and landed two punches in response, aimed perfectly at the Hyūga’s wrists again — intentionally avoiding his palms.

Third Exchange.

The Hyūga abandoned his initial palm strikes, spun in place like a dancer, and aimed two jabs toward the outstretched arm that had been sent to counter the palm strikes.

Guy’s response to the feint was a foot, snapping out like a serpent towards the smaller boy’s jaw, forcing to choose between attacking or defending.

Fourth Exchange.

Three palm strikes connected on Guy’s right arm, just as Guy’s foot smashed into the Hyūga’s jaw.

The duo separated. One appeared disoriented, and the other amazed, as his right arm seemed to hang limply.

“Wonderful! Wonderful, Neji-kun! It seems I have to take this a little more seriously!”

With the sound of something snapping, the wristband on Guy’s right arm fell off.

BOOM!

A cloud of dust exploded from the impact of the object falling off his right hand. Itachi’s eyes grew unfathomably wide as he saw the object — the weights — create a small crater on the ground.

Given the distance to the ground and the relative impact force… that should be at the barest minimum… four to five thousand kilograms… 

Itachi’s gaze quickly snapped to the other wristbands. There was still another one on Guy’s left arm, and there were ankle bands on his left and right leg. He saw the Hyūga’s eyes widen comically in disbelief, as he, too, had quickly come to the same realization.

Around ten thousand kilograms… eleven tons?

An average thoroughbred horse weighed about 500 kilograms. It would mean Might Guy had been fighting, thus far, with the equivalent weight of five horses on each limb.

Did he not see them prior?

No. His expression shows he isn’t surprised about the presence of the weights —

He was aware of them, but he vastly underestimated their heaviness.

Itachi found a strange smile.

Because it defies common sense.

“Brace yourself Neji-kun! DYNAMIC! ENTRY!”

Fifth Exchange.

Guy vanished.

A massive boom echoed out, and there was a green blur as a foot slammed into the stomach of a smaller boy in white. The Hyūga folded in half like a chair, and Itachi vividly saw the saliva and spittle fly out of his mouth as his eyes bulged out.

He skidded across the dirt and ground like a stone skipping across a lake, before righting himself in mid-air, his feet catching the earth and attaching chakra to it to stop himself from continuing to skid backward.

He stood, tall, for a single, valiant second, before he cupped his right fist into his left palm.

“I, Hyūga Neji, pay my respects to Master Guy.”

Then, he collapsed.

“Ah! Neji-kun!”

Itachi turned off his Sharingan.

Five Exchanges.

Hyūga Neji had said he would not accept a teacher who could not last ten exchanges with him in taijutsu.

But against Might Guy, he’d lost in five.

XXXXX

Within a forest deep in the Land of Fire, a young, blonde-haired woman stopped at a nearby river, and glanced into her reflection deep within it. For a moment, the transformation that kept her appearing as a woman in her twenties faded.

She took note of the pronounced dark circles under her eyes, and how her eyelids were swollen and heavy as a result of fluid retention. The redness of her sclera came from the expansion of blood vessels. The increase in wrinkles was a result of impaired collagen production, her features were notably dull and pale, her skin was lacking in moisture, and her hands which she kept in front of her face had subtle tremors.

She didn’t need to be a medical-nin to analyze the clear signs of sleep deprivation.

At the same time, a growl roared from her stomach, and she clenched her teeth as she was temporarily wracked by abdominal pain.

Hunger? I’m… hungry?

Almost as the thought came, she fell silent.

Tsunade-sama, you went without eating again! You can’t just drink alcohol and call it a day!

Tsunade-sama, you’ve been pushing yourself too hard! If you keep going without rest, it won’t be good for your health!

Tsunade-sama, I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep.

Tsunade-sama! Look! I was able to hunt this rabbit. I’ll cook it up for us! We can save on meals today! 

The whispered voices echoed one after the other, before vanishing.

Shizune…

Her stomach growled a second time, and she winced again.

Hunger had never truly been a concern before now. Even when they had absolutely no money, even when they lacked the funds to sit down and purchase a meal, her apprentice always tried to make sure she was at least fed.

The girl would head into the forest, strike a senbon at a rabbit’s head, skin it, prepare it, and then cook a meal for them both.

It’s just hunting a rabbit. I can —

The image of her bloodied hands flashed through her mind. 

I — I —

She clenched her teeth hard.

I can’t.

She couldn’t hunt or skin an animal. Blood would trigger those memories. Deeply inhaling, and then exhaling, she considered her options.

Berries or fruit. I can sustain myself on those for now…

As for protein… Fish. I don’t need to skin it or debone it. I can roast it over an open flame —

Her gaze shot to the river.

If I follow the river… I might find fish but at the same time…

She pressed her lips tight against each other. She’d been avoiding cities and deeply populated settlements because she was certain Sunagakure would send out many of its elite to find her. Besides them, it was likely that Konoha-nin would be looking for her. They might see it fit to drag her back to the village by force.

She was no different from a wanted fugitive.

Tsunade was aware she lacked experience with such a thing. She didn’t know the ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ of being a person on the run. The only one she’d had so far was to ‘avoid cities, towns, and villages.’

Transformation…

The transformation technique she’d devised that kept her looking young wasn’t something that could be easily altered, but even if she did do so, and changed her appearance, it would not help her.

A woman traveling across the Land of Fire alone?

Any shinobi with a brain cell would discern that something was amiss. The amount of danger involved in solitary travel made it perilous for the average man, much less a woman who was a more attractive target for bandits, slavers, and brigands.

The inherent risks in travel were one of the reasons shinobi stayed in business. It was why a large percentage of shinobi missions were protection, escort, and bodyguard missions. 

A man traveling alone wouldn’t draw half as much scrutiny. At worst, people would think he was an overconfident, cocky fool who would end up being waylaid and robbed of his valuables, before encountering death. No one would question it beyond that.

If she were to mask her identity, she’d have to do so as a man. 

No.

She wouldn’t.

The transformation of her features returned, hiding the signs of sleep deprivation and exhaustion as followed the river’s path deeper into the forest. Her stomach would sound out intermittently, as would the pang of hunger.

It didn’t take long for her to find the river’s end, as it cascaded down into a flowing waterfall. Hopping down, she walked across the river’s flowing edge and found enough fish swimming at the bottom.

This would be the perfect place to take a shower, but without Shizune keeping an eye out… If I knew how to create a barrier, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Tsunade sighed.

I should have properly learned barrier fūinjutsu...

Several years ago, Jiraiya asked her why she didn’t become a fūinjutsu specialist. He’d argued that as she had Uzumaki blood in her veins from her grandmother, she would possess an innate talent in the art that greatly surpassed his.

She had given him the excuse that she wished to be known as "Tsunade" not "Mito the Second."

The truth was, she’d never been on good terms with her grandmother.

Uzumaki Mito often detested the way her husband, Hashirama, spoiled and pampered her. She was the only one who would chastise him for buying her excessive sweets or indulging in her acts of gambling.

That wasn’t enough to cause a divide between them, however. The true cause was that Uzumaki Mito had initially opposed her becoming a kunoichi.

As a woman who’d grown up in the Warring Clans Era, to her grandmother, the concept of “kunoichi” had been synonymous with ‘honeytrap.’ The only role a kunoichi could play, the only role they were often allowed to play, was to seduce and assassinate the enemies of their clan. They did not engage in direct physical combat or fight on the front lines.

She’d even once stated that even being a geisha had more dignity, as at the very least, they would not willingly spread their legs for the same men who butchered their fathers, brothers, and sons.

The ‘modern’ notions of kunoichi had only come into existence after her grandfather established Konoha. The formation of a three-man team and the distinctions of rank had also done wonders to equalize the disparity and dispel the belief that kunoichi were only good for one thing. 

By the time her grandmother realized it was a different era, by the time she realized the role of kunoichi had changed and it was a viable path —

It had been too late to repair the rift between them.

Instead, she found a different person to take the role of granddaughter. A person who she could pass down all of her wisdom and techniques, a person who would replace the bond she should have had with her own flesh and blood —

Kushina.

Tsunade let out a bitter laugh.

Uzumaki Kushina.

In the end, it came back to Kushina.

As Tsunade recalled how her apprentice had been swayed by those images of the woman’s perfect life, marrying her childhood sweetheart, having a wonderful wedding, and living a life that she could only dream of, a massive lump in her throat grew.

Kushina.

Kushina.

If it wasn’t for Kushina —

If it wasn’t for her —

The tightness in her throat burned further as she caught a glimpse of her rippling reflection on the water. 

She stared deep, and she stared long.

She stared until she found a face she could not recognize.

XXXXX

“Oh, I love it! Tora will also find it cute? Don’t you Tora! Don’t you? Who’s a cutie-pie? Who’s a cutie-pie? You, yes you! Yes, you are!”

Namikaze Minato made it clear not to pay attention to the pitiful expression on the features of Tora. The cat had it the sentience or intelligence of a summoning animal, would likely have been cursing him violently and spewing obscenities within his office.

Wrapped in the meaty arms of Madam Shijimi and pressed against her fattened cheeks, whatever attempts it made to flee ended in repeated, consecutive failure. Eventually, surrendering to its fate, it hung limply from her arms, allowing the bow tie with a tiny bell to remain on its neck.

“I have to say, you managed to find Tora-chan more quickly this time! The quality of your Genin seems to be improving, Minato-kun.”

Within the walls of the Hokage’s office, the chubby-faced woman adorned with heavy make-up gave a large smile to the younger, blond-haired man sitting on his desk.

The comment, by all means, would appear to seem as direct praise, but Minato knew better.

“All the better to allow yourself and Lord Daichi to sleep calmly at night.”

Without much ceremony, as though such a thing was done a hundred times before, a chair was brought into the room by a dog-masked ANBU, allowing Madam Shijimi to take a seat. Another ANBU provided a table that served a cup of tea, and, without much delay, both ANBU made corresponding hand signs.

Invisible to the naked eye and detectable only to the most expert of sensor nin, a small pulse of chakra extended out of the Hokage’s Office, as did a zone of silence emerged, completely blocking out the remnant chatter and background noises of the village.

Madam Shijimi placed Tora down at her feet, and the usually unruly cat appeared completely docile as it began nuzzling against her leg.  Grabbing the cup of tea, the woman let out a snort. 

“My husband is too busy enjoying his newest consort. He barely does any sleeping.”

Minato didn’t speak on the matter. He didn’t add a single word.

“How is Hiruzen?”

Minato paused. “Enjoying his retirement.”

“And leaving all the troublesome matters and burdens of leadership onto your young handsome shoulders…" Madam Shijimi smiled. “I hope you don’t go gray in the hair, Minato-kun. It truly wouldn’t suit you.”

Minato offered a polite smile.

The woman took a sip from the tea set before her, before putting it down.

“Do you know why I issued the mission to find Tora?”

“The Wind Daimyō’s decree.”

Madam Shimiji rapped her nails against the porcelain.

“Kazuhiko Tokugawa’s mandate is not only affecting the Land of Wind. By barring trade with the Land of Fire, he has cut off a significant portion of income for many merchants, among which, are the husbands of my friends and members of my own family.”

Although the woman smiled, the smile was not warm.

“The Land of Water is seeped in conflict and trade routes are often plundered by pirates. The Land of Lightning has steep hills and mountains that lengthen and add difficulty to the journeys of caravans which often leads to significant loss of goods. The shinobi of the Land of Earth have a deep hatred against your shinobi, which reflects itself in ways such as exaggerated taxation fees, and unreasonable prices, alongside the blackmail, coercion, and exploitation of traders and merchants.”

The woman’s long nails made increasingly loud sounds against the ceramic.

“Even though we trade with varying others, such as the Land of Hot Springs, Land of Waterfalls, Land of Iron, in contrast to the Land of Wind, a country in a desert that relies heavily on importation, I’m certain you understand how this embargo is not something I nor others wish to see continue for long.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Madam Shijimi said. “From what I gather, it is Hiruzen’s former student who committed the offense. She has not been an active part of your village for years and is all but a rogue in name. Capture her, hand her over and this matter is resolved.”

Minato shook his head. “She is the sole remaining descendant of the First Hokage.”

“And she has utterly failed to live up to his legacy.”

Minato’s expression thinned. “With respect, it is not your place to say.”

Madam Shijimi frowned. The woman fell silent for several long, terse seconds.

“I have good information that Kazuhiko has never cared for his nephew. His nephew was a fool known to indulge in every vice — gambling, whoring, alcohol — I would not be surprised if he had done or said something brazen that got him killed. Yet, Kazuhiko reacted so strongly to his murder. Do you understand why?”

Minato thought for a moment. A hundred different thoughts came and went before he settled on an answer. “He cannot allow for there to be a precedent.”

“Yes,” Madam Shijimi nodded. “A man in a high position of power is surrounded by enemies. If his political adversaries see that he was unmoved by the murder of his own flesh and blood, they would use it as an opportunity to sow discontent amongst his retainers and retinue. They would say ‘If such and such were to happen to you, the lord you have sworn loyalty to would not seek vengeance for you. Hence, why be loyal to one who does not care to avenge even his own family?’”

Madam Shijimi made a clicking sound with her tongue. It was part distaste and part exasperation.

“So he must perform. He must be staunch, so others will think ‘If he goes to such lengths for even a prodigal son like his nephew, what more for his trusted confidants?’ In so doing, he preemptively prevents discontent amongst his followers, and his gains in reputation offsets what he loses.”

Minato grasped the unsaid meaning between her words. “He won’t compromise.”

“There is no hope of such a thing,” Madam Shijimi acquiesced. “He will not accept anything other than the head of his nephew’s killer. To do so would only backfire tremendously — it would expose the nature of his ploy. His allies would be repulsed and his adversaries would descend upon him like a plague.”

Minato's brows furrowed. “The longer this goes on — the more backed into a corner Suna will feel. Hundreds will likely starve. Innocents will suffer.”

“If you know this, then ask yourself: do you truly believe the man who sought peace, who sought to end the endless wars of your kind, would wish for his successor to sacrifice so many lives for one person? Even if that person is his own family?”

Minato sat in silence. Madam Shijimi did not speak any further. She picked up Tora from the ground. The two ANBU hidden in the room made corresponding hand signs, and the silence vanished entirely. 

“I have to get going now! Tora-chan and I have plans to get our nails done! Don’t you want to get shiny nails, Tora-chan? I know you do!”

The woman departed, exactly as she left. Three members of ANBU followed along with her from the shadows and left the Hokage’s office steeped in silence. Before he was given the moment to think, he felt a pull.

Someone had just sent a pulse of chakra into one of his kunai.

This was —

The kunai he gave to Kushina.

The scene instantly changed. From sitting in the Hokage’s office, he was standing in his living room parlor. His taut nerves relaxed as his eyes confirmed there was no visible danger. A black-haired young woman was sitting on her knees in his parlor across from his wife.

It took Minato only a second. The woman’s features were familiar, albeit, distant. His mind ran through the list of kunoichi active in the village, then he ran through the list of those who would fit the age and features of the woman, crossing them one after the other before he found a match. 

She was Dan Kato’s niece.

Shizune.

Chapter Text

Monday Evening.

“The motions he made… it was… like so?”

Within the Hyūga Clan Head Hidden Cave, Zi Wuji stood, shirtless, covered from head to toe in sweat. There, on the ground, the sand that made the bagua, the yin-yang symbol, appeared completely undisturbed.

Then, without warning, his hand blurred forward, moving at such a speed that they vanished from the naked eye, leaving a sharp crack echoing throughout the air.

His palm strike had broken the sound barrier.

With the three-hundred and sixty-degree vision granted by the Byakugan, he didn’t need to move his head to examine his arm. Contrary to what one would expect, there was almost no visible damage from the action, as if he were used to performing such feats regularly.

“Hahaha! Truly worthy of the appellation of Master!”

There was a large preliminary movement inside the body when a human attempted to move. If one were to raise the right hand, the pectoral muscle, the latissimus dorsi muscle, and the muscle on the shoulder would move first, and these potions preceded the eventual movement of the hand itself.

As someone whose Byakugan was activated 24/7, Zi Wuji constantly saw the preliminary movements of individuals in their muscular systems. For one with normal eyes, it was possible to train hard enough to predict an attack by seeing the external cues of such movements, but for someone with eyes who could see the nitty-gritty detail in depth and analyze it step by step?

Prediction was the least he could do.

He could mimic those exact movements.

He could mimic muscle memory.

Usually, there would be drawbacks from such an action, such as the muscles needed to perform the corresponding action lacking the flexibility or ‘knowledge’ and so, imitating those unfamiliar actions would lead to soreness, injury, or severe damage. Similarly, if one’s bones were not strong enough to withstand the force exerted, they could break or otherwise shatter.

It would be the same as a man who had never lifted a pebble suddenly attempting to lift a hundred horses.

“In the end, all things conjoin into one. I did not spend a whole year observing those three Clans in vain.”

During his second year of creating his Technique Journal, he had spent the entire year observing Genjutsu users, as well as the Yamanaka, Akimichi, and Nara Clans from a distance with his Byakugan.

That was how he learned that children as young as six or seven in the Akimichi clan were taught how to use Yang Chakra to alter, expand, and contract their bones, muscles, organs, and flesh. It was a primary ‘training exercise’ similar to the water walking technique that prepared them for the complexity of the Baika no Jutsu — the Multi-Size Technique.

The Multi-Size Technique was not a ‘transformation’ in the same vein as the Transformation Technique. That clan of fat mortals had a genuine technique that altered their size and the physical proportions of their body along with its organs, bones, and muscles, allowing them to become giants, or make certain parts of their body larger than others.

The technique was, in Zi Wuji’s opinion, one of the deadliest to learn. If a fool were to unwittingly try to learn it and attempt to expand their entire body with the technique but failed to expand the size of the organs, they could end up with a giant body pumping blood into a tiny heart, which would instantly cause the heart to explode and kill the user.

Zi Wuji had learned their Yang Chakra exercises and knew how to alter his body on a minuscule level. He knew, in detail, the specific amount of Yang Chakra he needed to inject into his muscles at the exact moment, to allow them to ‘grow’ and ‘expand’ into the specific form needed to perform an action it usually wouldn’t be capable of, and then instantly revert it.

This was something that was utterly impossible for anyone without completely perfect control of their chakra to pull off. The timing and specificity were such that a delay of milliseconds would cause unfathomable injury.

But he was Zi Wuji. The Zodiac Formation King. How could he, a once great cultivator, ever make such an error?

As for the other implementations of the Multi-Size Technique, he never bothered learning it in its entirety, as he would sooner end his existence than tolerate the idea of rolling around like a fat dumpling.

However, his distaste for their ‘human boulder’ technique aside, their principles of body alteration were things he held in high value as he’d long been searching for multiple avenues to turn his mortal body back into that of a cultivator.

Stretching out his arms, Zi Wuji grabbed a towel he’d kept on the side and began wiping himself down.

“Neji-ni-sama… it’s… b-b-been one… h-hour…”

Moving towards the sound of slightly chattering teeth, Zi Wuji nodded in approval as Byakugan’s gaze fell upon his cousin deep in the frigid water. Peering past her naked form until he caught a glimpse of the flow of her chakra, he resisted the urge for his brow to twitch.

This brat progresses faster than I expected…

Zi Wuji’s brows furrowed in befuddlement. Over the course of the past few months, his cousin’s skin had begun to show minor changes. There were higher cheekbones, a softer jawline, thinner eyebrows, and fuller lips, along with a luster to her skin, as it became more and more fair in complexion. Her hair similarly had grown far faster than usual, already reaching waist length. More noticeably, his gaze could start to see the development of certain secondary sexual characteristics.

Yin represents femininity, and this exercise which is designed to increase the purity of her Yin Chakra will also enhance her femininity… so in three or four years this child will be as developed as girls twice her age… and as she grows, her beauty will also undergo a revolutionary change…

Zi Wuji found great amusement in this.

To think a day would come when I would end up nurturing one of those so-called flawless Jade Beauties.

It seems I’ll have to teach her how to perform a Partial Transformation in the future and constantly keep it active, otherwise, she’ll never know peace… boys will desire her, and girls will desire to be her.

Haha… she might soon be worthy enough of being my cousin in the end.

“It’s enough.”

“H-hai.”

The girl clambered out of the water, and Zi Wuji felt the air around him drop significantly as she did so.

“Have you been practicing what I taught you?”

Without a word, the girl took a step forward. The ‘her’ that was where she was, vanished entirely into a gust of wind and left behind a few lingering snowflakes. A new ‘her’ immediately appeared in front of him.

The technique did not require any hand seals.

“Good. Remember, this movement technique should not be taught to anyone. Only use it when I send you on errands, or when your life is in danger.”

“H-h-hai, N-Neji-ni-sama.”

The effects of the Yin Training Method seem to be working wonders on her, and as for the rest of the Clan…

The vast majority of the Hyūga had thrown themselves diligently into training, climbing the Tempering Heaven Staircase day after day in an attempt to increase their chakra control. It would be enough to motivate them in the short term, for at least another five years. 

But by then — he wouldn’t need such a thing.

Five years…?

Given his current rate of progress, in five years, there would be no one in the entire village who would be his equal. He could simply abandon it, whisk away that Kushina woman, and return to his rightful place as a cultivator — throughout heaven and earth, he alone would be supreme.

Except — he couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Is this the guidance of the Karma Desolation Way Codex?

Zi Wuji thought the matter over carefully.

A cultivator, one who sought to defy the heavens, was allowed to only bow to three people in their lifetime: their father, their mother, and their master.

There was a sacred bond between master and disciple. A karmic link that connected them. The choice of a master could often have grave or severe consequences on one’s karmic destiny.

The enemies of the master became the enemies of the disciple. The grudges and unresolved matters, karmic luck, and fate would be passed down similarly. A master was more than a teacher to a cultivator, they were a spiritual and life guide, as the cultivation methods, philosophy, and ideology of the master were ingrained into the student.

If a once-in-a-million-years heavenly genius with a profound destiny were given a subpar master of lacking or even average fate, the inevitable outcome for that heavenly genius was to become second-rate.

So important was the bond between them, that one of the greatest crimes one could commit that would earn one the scorn of both heaven and earth was to betray their master. 

It was often seen by many to be more vile than betraying one’s parents, as, in the end, you did not choose your parents, but in most cases, you willingly selected and kowtowed three times before the heavens to your master. No individual who had ever betrayed their master, in Zi Wuji’s memory, had possessed a good end.

Of course, the Karma Desolation Way Codex could completely wash away the karmic debt from doing such a thing. However, it was currently in a sealed state, and required a copious amount of qi to activate all its heaven-defying features. An amount that he’d likely not have until at least the Foundation Establishment Realm. This also meant the negative karma from betraying his Master could not be erased until after he became a powerful Cultivator.

But, the longer such a thing lingered, the more likely that it would hinder his future cultivation progress, and likely evolve into a heart devil.

Zi Wuji did not wish for such a thing to happen. In this second life of his, his path of cultivation must be without blemish.

As such by accepting Guy as his Master, he would have to avoid any actions that would be considered a betrayal of his Master. 

That included betraying Konoha.

‘…Is the Karma Desolation Way Codex pushing me towards this outcome?’

Originally, he wanted to avoid being assigned a sensei.

To start with, he had not believed that there was a single mortal alive that was capable of receiving the appellation of ‘Master’ from him. What could a mere brat of twenty or thirty or forty years teach him, the Zodiac Formation King, Zi Wuji? 

There were years he had spent in seclusion that were longer than their lifespans! 

Even more so, he did not wish for his karmic luck to be tied to that of an unfortunate and useless individual. No! Absolutely not!

Such an outcome would be catastrophic.

Were he to have a master who was doomed for misfortune, then his future endeavors would also be doomed for misfortune!

All of these were the reasons he developed his ‘ten exchanges’ rule.

At best, he would allow one who could manage to withstand ten exchanges from him to begrudgingly be considered his teacher, but he would not acknowledge them as a Master.

It was not ideal, but, any who could survive ten exchanges with him was at the very least, of passable skill.

Not once, at all, in his mind, had he expected to find the existence of a person like Might Guy.

Might Guy had defeated him in five exchanges. Of course, he had not gone all out, nor had he used all the means at his disposal, but neither had his opponent. He was aware that if both parties went all out, Might Guy would hold the advantage with his ability to open all Eight Gates, his longer reach, his older body and greater physicality. As such his defeat would still be without question.

He had his pride as a cultivator. To eat his own words in claiming that he would only acknowledge those who could last ten exchanges would be to diminish himself.

By defeating him, Might Guy was worthy of receiving the acknowledgment of ‘Master’ from him. It was no exaggeration to claim the man was the only one alive in Konoha, no, in the entire Elemental Nations, worthy of it.

By genuinely accepting him as his Master, their karma was now bound.

Master Guy… 

The speed displayed had baffled and upturned his understanding of the mortals of this world. The attack Master Guy had launched was in no way inferior to that of a First or Second Layer Body Strengthening Realm Cultivator.

Breaking the barrier of sound with one’s attacks was above the limits of most common mortals in the Rain World.

If Master Guy were to open all Eight Great Points — no, Gates — he would at least, be at the level of an Eight or Ninth Layer Body Strengthening Realm Cultivator. 

Of course doing so would kill him… such temporary strength is unsuitable for one I’ve acknowledged…

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue.

This has made matters more complicated…

Hei paced about, his mind ablaze.

There are only three ways to avoid the negative karma from the betrayal of one’s master. One is if one’s Master betrays them first… but given the behavior and attitude of Master Guy….

It was unlikely, if not outright impossible, for such a person to betray him. In fact, Zi Wuji was so certain, that as long as he did not cross Might Guy’s bottom line by betraying Konoha or its inhabitants, there was no world in which that man backstabbed or betrayed him first.

The other is if Konoha betrays me first, as such, my actions would not be considered a betrayal…

Again, such an outcome was also unlikely. Konoha, as of yet, had no reason to betray him or attempt to wish him death. He was considered a ‘promising young genius’ of the village. He was one of the village's golden geese. They had no reason to chop off its neck before it laid the precious eggs.

The third is if the Master dies or severs the relation…

Zi Wuji did not see Might Guy dying any time soon. He could not kill the man, as that would be betrayal, as would leaving him to die, or setting up scenarios where he fell. Moreso, he doubted there was anything he could say that did not constitute a betrayal that would cause the man to sever the bond between them. 

I see, I see… so it’s like this. 

This must indeed be a subtle influence of the Karmic Desolation Way Codex…

I did not feel any strange sense of repulsion when I encountered him… no, if anything, there was a feeling of acceptance immediately.

Is it that, to some degree, ‘Hyūga Neji’ and ‘Might Guy’ have an intertwined fate as Master and Disciple? A fate so strong, that even had my soul not been reborn into this body, their life paths would still intersect? 

Zi Wuji pondered things slowly.

If such is the case, it would be easier to change my plans to account for finding a way to regain my cultivation without betraying the village, than it would be to think of a way to break this karmic bond of Master and Disciple.

Abducting the Hokage’s wife was no longer on the table. Even if he were to disguise himself, even if he were to make sure no one was aware it was him, he would still possess knowledge of that ‘betrayal of the Master’, which would cause problems with his cultivation down the line.

No one, not Might Guy, not Zi Wuji, not even the Toad Oracle of Mt. Myōboku had realized, that in a strange, unexpected twist of fate —

Might Guy had saved the village of Konohagakure no Sato from destruction.

For it was guaranteed that as long as he lived, Zi Wuji would not take any actions to destroy or harm his Master’s village. 

On the contrary, he would have to defend it from invaders and enemies.

Because it was a place — a thing — that his master cherished.

In my past life, I acknowledged only one man as my Master, but he was already weakened and frail, and he passed away shortly after imparting to me the bits of knowledge he possessed…

Had Master Gu been in his prime… would I also have qualms as I do now?

Without warning, Zi Wuji burst out into odd, indecipherable laughter.

“N-Neji-ni-sama?”

Glancing at the confusion, and minute fear in his cousin’s gaze, his lips curled upwards.

“I recalled a funny tale.”

Yes, truly a funny tale.

If my enemies who knew my identity as Long Gongji were to hear that even I have a bottom line, they would cripple the cultivation of anyone who told them such a thing. A man who can lie, cheat, steal and rob countless women of their chastity, possesses lines he does not dare cross? Such a man still dares honor the bond between himself and his Master?

In the end, I can deceive the world, I can deceive the heavens, I can deceive Gods, Immortals, and Buddhas, but I cannot deceive myself. No matter what, I cannot be the sort of person who accepts a Master, only to stab them in the back.

Such individuals are truly the scum of the cosmos.

If he, Zi Wuji, were to ever encounter such an unfortunate individual who betrayed their master for personal benefit, who abandoned the teachings, lessons, and knowledge imparted by one who was considered their teacher, he would not hesitate at all to slam his palm against their head and send them on their way to the Yellow Springs.

So how then, could he become such a person?

No.

This meant he needed a change of approach. 

Must I slowly ingratiate myself with the Hokage’s family and inner circle? By doing so I may yet find a means. The Flutter-Forcing Finger Art may still be of use once I successfully recreate it…

The problem was finding a method to slowly ingratiate himself that wouldn’t draw suspicion. 

Alternatively, there are eight other tailed beasts that were shared by that fool Hashirama. It is not out of the expectation that they will also be sealed in varying vessels…

Gathering the chakra of eight of them may yet be sufficient for my purposes of truly transforming my body. However, the matter of difficulty won’t be any lower. I do not have sufficient enough knowledge of these other villages, and what trump cards they possess…

He would need to begin accruing information.

Rubbing his forehead at the unneeded complexity of the matters before him, Zi Wuji realized there was still another issue.

My ‘team’ or, rather, as I’ve accepted Master Guy and they are similarly his students, they should be called my Junior Disciple-Brother, and Junior Disciple-Sister…

Zi Wuji had paid no interest whatsoever in the wastrel girl who was his new Disciple-Sister. A simple glance had told him that she had recently lost a significant portion of her chakra. One seal or another had been improperly or impatiently removed from her body, which left negative impacts on her psyche and capabilities.

Yet, he doubted her capabilities were all that impressive even before she was reduced to being barely better than a cripple. The revealing fishnets she wore had no effect on him, and, compared to the countless Jade Beauties he’d seen in his lifetime, she was barely fit to be his servant girl.

She was, in every category, from looks to skills, complete trash.

But at the same time, she was also a fellow ‘disciple’ of Master Guy. She was his ‘Junior Disciple-Sister.’

Ergo, she was now his trash.

His Byakugan recentered his gaze on his cousin who was drying herself off with a towel, and Zi Wuji contemplated his options. 

One of the variants of the Yin Training Method will be effective. The results will be slower given her age, but, fortunately, despite appearances, she still has her chastity, so the chance of success is not low.

With the Byakugan, it was relatively easy to know such things. A casual glance within a specific spot and the fluctuations of yin within her confirmed that she was still a virgin. Perhaps beyond using her own fingers or toys, she had yet to receive a man.

Is she one of those types that acts provocatively and promiscuous, but is secretly traditional and demure? Or is it maybe that few would dare approach her for such matters because they assumed her legs have been spread countless times by others?

No one wants to plow in a field that has seen a thousand farmers? So even here, the attitudes are the same.

In the Rain World, oftentimes, if a cultivator pursued a beauty, but found out she had lost her chastity, not only would he lose all interest in her, he might even scorn her and desire to kill her.

No male cultivator wanted to be told, discover, or suspect that they were lacking in sexual matters compared to one or multiple previous partners of their woman.

No male cultivator, similarly, desired to learn that the object of their affection had been won over by someone else. They would either seek to destroy that object of affection or the one who won them over.

This was not a matter of petty pride or mere ego.

It was a matter of survival. 

To be subjected to such knowledge, the knowledge that one was ‘lacking’ in one way or the other, could cause them to develop a heart devil.

It would cause them to be afflicted with a deep-seated mental flaw that could hinder their cultivation paths, creating bottlenecks in their progression for the pinnacle of the Dao, and ultimately drive them insane, leading to qi deviation and death.

As such, the chastity of female cultivators was regarded highly — because in that regard, one didn’t need to worry. If the woman had never had any sexual partners, how would she know if her Dao Partner was lacking? How could she make comparisons?

This was one of the main reasons why Long Gongji was so hated. As one who ‘stole’ the virtue of women, it meant he had, in a way, left them as ‘used goods.’ Cultivators who lacked absolute confidence in their sexual skills would never dare pursue those women again, as to do so was to court death.

Zi Wuji had even heard a tale of a man who had done so once — pursuing a priestess who had managed to keep the secret of being one of those Zi Wuji had deflowered. Supposedly, upon hearing the words ‘Why is it so small?’ he immediately spat out blood and collapsed, his previously unshakeable Dao Heart shattering instantly.

Shaking his head, he disregarded the matter.

Lastly, there’s that ‘Disciple-Brother’ of mine…

The Uchiha on his team was a Heavenly Genius. A true Prodigy. Zi Wuji could tell the moment he encountered him. Everything about the boy gave him uncomfortable flashbacks towards Ye Fangchen, the Heir of the Celestial Moon Devil Pavilion. A person whose cultivation speed was above and beyond his peers, a person who could fight against those of higher realms, a person whose very existence seemed to be ordained before their birth as the ‘protagonist’ of an era.

A so-called Favored Son of Heaven.

Zi Wuji was curious. He wanted to know what the ‘true’ standard for a genius was. He, despite the claims of others, did not qualify as a genius. He was, after all, a reincarnated cultivator. That child on the other hand, was not.

He had not done much research on the Uchiha Clan, but he gathered they possessed a Dōjutsu of their own, which allowed them varying access to certain techniques. Zi Wuji hadn’t been aware that they could see the chakra flow of others until he saw the boy do just that.

He should already be aware of one or two of my trump cards. As expected of one worthy of being my ‘Disciple-Brother.’ 

A Favored Son of Heaven and a Trash of No Renown… why does this sound familiar?

Zi Wuji shook his head.

Regardless… it may yet be possible for me to kill three birds with a single stone.

“Hinata.”

“Y-yes, Neji-ni-sama?”

“I need you to tell the servants to purchase a few things for me.”

“O-of course, Neji-ni-sama!”

“How much does ten yards of spandex cost?”

Hinata blinked.

“...s-spandex?”

XXXXX

…Is she a fool?

A man wearing a black robe enamored with red clouds stood inside of a small inn located in a nondescript gambling town and found his lips forming into a frown, behind his mask.

Is she a fool?

There were not many belongings within the room, but there was enough. A few sealing scrolls, some bags, and clothes, and minor other items. There was enough. Enough to paint the picture that his prey had not thought to come back for the seemingly minor belongings they left behind.

The only thing even worthy of being considered a challenge had been evading the Sunagakure no Sato shinobi who were keeping watch over the town. After all, this was where the nephew of their Daimyō had been brutally murdered.

But the Chūnin and Jōnin of such mediocre skill would not be able to sense him. They would not find him if he did not wish to be found. He’d managed, once upon a time, to sneak into the likes of Konohagakure no Sato in pursuit of assassinating their Kage. Compared to the quality of shinobi of that village, in that era, the ones guarding this town may well have been blind and deaf.

He strode across the room without uttering a word, before he picked up an article of clothing.

Any shinobi with ninken should be capable of tracking her location by scent alone. Konoha should still have no shortage of members of the Inuzuka Clan…

It would not be hard for them to find her.

Sunagakure no Sato on the other hand did not possess ninken, nor did they train specialized hounds. Hounds did not do well in the desert. There were few creatures with enhanced senses adapted for tracking prey that could thrive in the desert and that could be domesticated. The environment the village was situated in was the reason why their specialties were puppets, poison, fan techniques, and wind-style techniques.

Not a single member of the many Suna shinobi who arrived here would possibly consider using the clothes left behind to track her because none of them were capable of doing so.

It was hard to learn how to track others in a land where one’s footsteps could and would easily be obscured by the ever-shifting sands and ever-present sandstorms in a matter of moments.

Silently, and softly, a strange blue mask emerged out of the man’s chest, going past his red-cloud-covered robes. The mask’s jaw unhinged into rows upon rows of sharp teeth, before it took a deep, long whiff of the room and the article of cloth in his hand.

Then, the mask turned towards a specific direction.

Without making a sound, the man in the room took a single step forward and then vanished.

The single innocuous piece of clothing, and the blue mask, vanished along with him.

XXXXX

“You have a delivery, Itachi-sama.”

“Delivery?”

Itachi’s gaze glanced outside. His eyes did not deceive him. The sun had yet to rise. It was not even yet six o’clock in the morning. The only reason he was awake was because he had long developed a habit of waking early to help his mother take care of little Sasuke when he was still a baby. His younger brother was no longer a child that needed his diapers changed, but the habit had not entirely left him. 

He slowly turned his attention to the Uchiha Clan Guard who had arrived with a box in hand, his unasked question being clearer than day.

“The delivery… came from a maid of the Hyūga Clan.”

There was only one connection he possessed with any individual of that clan. It was a fairly recent connection as well.

“I see.”

The box was left in front of him, and Itachi opened it, only for his brows to furrow completely.

Within it, was a surprisingly well-made black bodysuit, neatly folded.

An outfit made of spandex.

His first instinct was to close the box and keep it to the side, but he fought it down and began to think.

Without a doubt, Hyūga Neji had sent this to him. Having seen and experienced the boy’s genius himself, Itachi did not believe there was not a message or a reason behind this.

The most obvious was that the skin-tight black bodysuit was nearly a one-for-one replica of the one his latest sensei, Might Guy, wore. Yet, calling it a replica would somehow do it a disservice. There were obvious differences, because this one was, dare he say it, fashionable.

The black color provided the attire a strangely more appealing flair than the bright green worn by the famed taijutsu expert. Yet, Itachi was certain that there was still more to it.

The Uchiha Heir swiftly activated his Sharingan.

His eyes rapidly shrunk to the point of pin-pricks.

He went rigid. Ramrod stiff.

He sat there, staring at the black spandex bodysuit in silence for several minutes.

“Itachi-kun! Are you awake? I need your help in the kitch —”

His mother stepped into his room. It took him a few moments to realize that he’d been so lost simply staring at the skin-tight spandex suit he’d not noticed her entering.

“What’s this?”

He turned to her, yet found himself strangely unable to speak. He wanted to say something, but no matter how he thought about conveying the information, his brain drew blanks. Instead, he stared with his Sharingan at his mother in silence, then turned back to the spandex bodysuit.

“Itachi-kun?”

A former veteran kunoichi in her own right, Mikoto immediately noticed the oddity. Her Sharingan spun to life, only for her eyes to similarly shrink in the exact same manner as she stared at the black spandex.

“Itachi-kun… Did Jiraiya-sama —”

“No.”

“Then Kushina —”

“Hyūga Neji sent this.”

The silence in the room grew.

“You need to show this to your father. Immediately.”

Itachi allowed a slow nod.

“Yes, ka-san.”

Itachi closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Everyone, every single person in Konoha, himself included —

Had grossly underestimated the depths of Hyūga Neji’s genius.

XXXXX

Mitarashi Anko wasn’t certain whether she should laugh or cry.

A part of her wanted to do both. A small part of her wanted to burst out into laughter, and then curl up into a ball and weep, and then laugh as she curled into a ball, and weep as she doubled over, her stomach hurting.

It hadn’t been easy accepting the fact that she was the least skilled member of her new team. It still had not yet fully sunk in. Despite being the oldest amongst the group of brats, and despite being the one who had once previously been a Chūnin, she'd been nothing but an observer as they both ignored her and left her completely in the dust.

She’d not had an easy time sleeping. 

It was why she’d been awake when someone rang her doorbell at around five in the morning, and why she’d been baffled when she found a young pale-eye Hyūga girl politely offering her a box. The brat in question looked to be even younger than the itty-bitty Hyūga Genin and left her brows furrowing for a few moments.

The raven-haired girl was young, but she was strangely pretty. The further Anko stared at her face, the odder and stranger a weird sense of doubt about her own attractiveness began to pierce her heart.

“From Neji-ni-sama.”

“...What?”

The girl pushed the box into her hands, bowed, and then immediately vanished in a light gust of wind, leaving behind tiny snowflakes in her wake. Anko blinked several times in befuddlement. 

That was… Body Flicker? No… there’s no way. A Clone? No — that can’t be it. It was solid. What the hell?

She couldn’t identify, at all, how the girl vanished. Furrowing her lips, she glanced at the box that had been given to her. Her first instinct was to toss it into the trash can, but she reigned the impulse in.

If it ended up being something of significant importance, how would she explain herself?

Also, how the fuck does the bastard know where I live?

It was a little unnerving. Sure, she knew he lived in his big ass mansion with the rest of the white-eyed pricks, and she also knew her other teammate lived in his Clan compound —

But she didn’t recall telling him about where she lived. They’d not even spoken more than three words between them yesterday. 

Grumbling, she shut her door, put the box down, and immediately opened it.

“...What the fuck?”

Lifting its contents high, she found it to be a skin-tight black spandex bodysuit. The exact same kind of body suit that Might Guy wore. The only difference was the color, and that, for some reason, it looked slightly more fashionable with a turtle-neck addition.

“He’s fucking with me. That shitty brat is fucking with me…”

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her kunai and slashed it. A sharp pain emerged from her wrists as she met an unfathomable resistance, and the kunai was knocked clean out of her hands.

Anko stared at her aching hand and stared back at the black bodysuit.

“What the fuck?”

She grabbed the kunai again, and then this time, tried to slowly pierce it. Instead of meeting a flimsy resistance, something held it strong. No matter how much force she used, it did not go through. Instead, it was as if she was trying to pierce a wall of steel.

“What the fucking fuck?”

She swiftly grabbed a pair of scissors. Upon trying to cut the bodysuit, the sound of steel grating against rock echoed in her ears. Yet, when she lifted the outfit, held it, touched it, it felt, to her, like plain, ordinary black spandex.

Holding the strange item underneath her night light, she frowned for a moment as she squinted, trying to figure out what sort of magic was happening.

Instead, she found a strange set of lines, faintly, and almost completely invisible, that blended in with the black spandex. If it wasn’t for her looking for something out of the ordinary, she wouldn’t have seen it.

“What. The. Fuck?”

The entire spandex bodysuit was covered with these lines. 

It was covered in hundreds if not thousands —

Of fūinjutsu seals.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?!”

Chapter Text

Mitarashi Anko’s cheeks were hot as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Despite her caution, she’d put on the blasted black spandex suit. She didn’t think it would kill her, or hurt her, because she didn’t think the itty-bitty Hyūga brat had any reason to want to kill her without provocation. Not even he could get away with a blatant assassination.

Besides, she was curious.

A damn suit that could stop kunai from piercing skin was worth thrice her weight in gold. As far as she knew, she’d never heard of anything like that in Konoha or the entire fucking Elemental Nations. With the exception of maybe Kiri’s Seven Swordsmen, no shinobi relied on gear.

She could barely remember the few lessons that the bastard taught her about fūinjutsu and sealing techniques, but what she could remember was that applying seals was not done on clothes because it was supposedly an extremely difficult process.

So after debating with herself for a while, she’d put it on.

And then, it vanished.

Except, it didn’t.

But it felt like it did.

She couldn’t feel it on her skin. She’d immediately run to the nearest mirror to confirm it hadn’t gone poof, and despite seeing herself clearly wearing it in the mirror, despite seeing it on her body with her own two eyes, her brain kept telling her that she was completely naked.

“What… the fuck?”

It also didn’t help matters that the spandex was skin-tight. Most people forgot this fact when it was Guy wearing it because well, he was Might Guy. However, by nature of being a different gender, she was endowed in areas Guy wasn’t, and the skin-tight nature really made those areas obvious. She could practically trace every single curve of her breasts, her hips, her ass, and if she bent —

…Is that a fucking cameltoe?

Just bending over would probably send copious amounts of blood through the cocks of any straight, hot-blooded male who looked at her.

Hells, just looking at herself in the damned mirror was turning her on. She’d always known she wasn’t bad on the eyes, but somehow, it felt like the spandex took the latent sex appeal she had and amplified it tenfold.

There’s no fucking way I can go on missions in this.

She knew there were kunoichi who relied on and weaponized their sex appeal, but it’d be a cold fucking day in the Underworld before she went down that path. People already thought she was a slut and this would be dumping a gallon of oil on that fire.

But…

She bit down on her lower lip.

The fuck does it matter what they think?

The outfit would protect her from blades and sharp objects. It would be stupid of her not to use it, as merely having it would vastly increase her odds of surviving out in the field, especially now that her skills had all gone to shit.

As far as gifts went, this was the most valuable one she had ever received.

Huh… Gifts…

When was the last time she’d received a gift?

…

She couldn’t remember.

A small laugh escaped her lips.

Fuck. Fuck Me.

The itty-bitty Hyūga brat gave her a priceless gift.

There’s no fucking way he won’t want something in return…

Sure, there were rumors that the Hyūga were slowly dislodging that ten-foot stick that had been stuck up their asses for years and had been getting kinder and more generous, but she wasn’t going to believe he’d grant her something this valuable without wanting something in turn.

Yet try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything she had to offer him. She didn’t have a giant ass clan supporting her financial needs, didn’t have any noteworthy skills he’d want to learn, and as much as she hated to admit it, he could probably wipe the floor with her ass with one hand tied behind his back.

“Mere trash,” was what he’d called her.

So why would he give something so valuable to what he saw as trash?

What the fuck does he want?

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at the curves of her breasts and the fullness of her hips emphasized by the spandex.

No, no, get a fucking grip! There’s no fucking way. He doesn’t even have hair down there yet. Fuck no. Gross. That’s fucking gross.

She shuddered.

But the brat is from a Clan, and those Clan fucks…

A vast number of shinobi that came from prominent clans believed in the ‘old enough to kill, old enough to fuck’ argument. 

They could get fucking castrated with a rusty spoon as far as she was concerned.

The bastard told her the reason for it. He told her that in the Warring Clans Era, young shinobi were sent off to war almost as soon as they could walk, so they were often killed even long before they reached puberty. To ensure bloodlines continued and clans weren’t wiped out, boys aged six or seven would be given wives aged thirteen or fourteen to pump their baby-dicks into, impregnate, and spread their seed.

The practice had lost justification with the establishment of Shinobi Villages and an increase in the age that one was allowed to become a shinobi, but those changes had been implemented by the First and Second Hokage and weren’t more than fifty years old.

Several hundred years of tradition couldn’t die in less than half a fucking century.

I’m fucking overthinking this — I’ll just ask him.

Shaking her head, she sighed as she began attempting to take the spandex outfit off.

How the fuck do I —

A cold chill ran through her.

No, no, no, no — 

Her brain kept telling her she wasn’t wearing anything, so she couldn’t grab the outfit to pull it off. Doing so felt like she was trying to tear off her own skin.

There were no zippers, no buttons, no hooks, or clasps.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

She couldn’t even cut herself out of it if she wanted to because the damned thing couldn’t be cut.

“FUCK!”

XXXXX

His sensei had never argued with his wife.

Having lived in the Uzumaki Clan Compound for the past several years at the behest of the red-haired woman, who insisted that he was part of their family, he had observed the behavior of both of them for a long, long time.

To say that the two were lovebirds would be an understatement. Sometimes their sickeningly sweet displays of affection would have him either rolling his one visible eye underneath his mask or grabbing a copy of Icha Icha to obscure his view — an action which would earn the red-haired woman’s ire as she would immediately forget about whatever she was doing and immediately destroy the copy.

She would then chastise him, insisting he was not to read such trashy works, or at the very least, not do so openly.

That wasn’t to say he’d never seen the married couple have the occasional lover’s spat. There were many of such moments, such as when Kushina had deciphered a hidden seal in their bedroom one day and found out that Minato not only also possessed a hidden collection of Jiraiya-sama’s Icha Icha books, but that he also possessed several unpublished drafts, and had been one of the earliest contributors who helped the man write several parts, correct a few continuity errors and use better diction.

She’d burned them all, almost instinctively, which had, of course, caused an altercation after his sensei found out. To her, they were but a trashy porn collection, but to him, the works contained fond memories, and had personal sentiments deeply entwined within.

The argument had ended, shortly after his sensei accidentally let slip that one of the main reasons those drafts had never been published was because the characters were based upon himself and her — and the entire love story involved was just a collection of his younger self’s fantasies about the woman who would become his wife.

She was at first, flattered, then incensed, then embarrassed, then enraged, then deeply regretful. She had destroyed what was a collection of her husband’s teenage fantasies and love stories about her without realizing it.

Even then, that debacle had still been, considerably, a minor matter. Their marriage was filled with such minor marital spats, which were often quickly resolved. It was enough so that some part of him had instinctively believed there would never be anything that could cause them to truly be at odds ends. 

At least, until today.

“You can’t be serious, Minato!”

“I have to think about the village, Kushina.”

It was one of the few times his sensei did not add the affectionate honorific when calling his wife’s name. Some part of it felt odd, to hear him not call her ‘Kushina-chan.’

He hadn’t bothered with his ANBU mask as he let his visible single eye roll over the young woman who was the source of the argument, the one who had become a temporary guest, and was likely to soon become a permanent new addition to their little ‘family.’

There was a lot he could gather from the way the girl called Shizune carried herself. There was an almost instinctive level of deference she possessed towards others, that spoke of someone whose entire life had consisted of complete subservience. Kakashi had seen such attitudes once, years ago, in the mannerism of recently freed slaves.

Those who had recently become unshackled, who had freed themselves from bonds of servitude, often found themselves having no knowledge of what to do with their freedom.

Many would begin to search, simply, for a new master to serve.

Beyond her bearing, Kakashi estimated her skill level to hover somewhere around low-to-mid Chūnin. It wasn’t particularly bad, but at the same time, he couldn’t entirely say it was good. She’d left the village several years ago and had traveled around the world with one of the Legendary Sannin, and despite that, he could estimate that her skill was only slightly around that of the average Academy Instructor or designated Village Gate Guards.

Hmmm… Did she even train her seriously at all?

In the past several years, by sheer virtue of living in the Uzumaki Clan Compound, Kakashi had been constantly trained not only by his sensei, his sensei’s wife but also his sensei’s sensei — Jiraiya. Even the occasional few spars he’d had with the man while little Naruto watched and cheered from the sidelines were enough to elevate his skills and sharpen them.

He didn’t believe that Tsunade, who was Jiraiya-sama’s former teammate, was any less of an effective shinobi. He expected, at the very least, that the woman’s sole apprentice should have been Jōnin level. Doubly so considering she was supposed to be a medic-nin, and the stronger a medic was, the more effective they would be at evading or avoiding harm and danger, surviving enemy attacks, and assisting their comrades.

Their survivability and effectiveness were directly correlated with their personal strength.

Ma… ma… I should have known… Jiraiya-sama has a weird taste in women…

To say that Kakashi held a dismal opinion of Tsunade of the Sannin would be a vast understatement.

He’d heard that her reason for leaving the village was that her brother and lover had died. Her excuse for leaving her home and becoming a wandering shinobi was that Konoha had taken her family from her, and as such, she owed nothing to it.

Ma… seems pretty spoiled…

Anyone who knew the story of his father, Hatake Sakumo, would understand why he’d hold such an opinion. Anyone who learned the fate of his teammates would understand why he’d considered such an attitude to be borne from immense, disgusting privilege.

His opinion of the woman was even lower when he considered his sensei’s wife. Her entire village, Uzushiogakure no Sato, was wiped off the map. In spite of that, she did not blame Konoha for not being able to save her people. She did not whine and bemoan that everyone she knew and loved had perished and point accusatory fingers, traveling the world to drink, gamble, and waste away her life.

Kakashi felt the only reason Tsunade could do so was because she was a spoiled brat. She had always been a spoiled brat. She had grown up always getting her way, and the result was an adult with the mentality of a child. 

Despite it all, his sensei’s wife was arguing for said spoiled brat.

“She’s family, Minato!”

“The Wind Daimyō won’t back down on this matter, neither will Suna. Returning her to Konoha is no different from declaring war.”

The duo argued in the bedroom, but he and Shizune, in the living room, could hear almost every word being uttered between them. He saw the girl shudder at the mention of ‘war.’

Kakashi did not feel his sensei was being cold-hearted, or even illogical. There were very few cases where the life of one individual was worth the amount of turmoil and death inflicted by war — and this was not one of them.

If the choice was between Tsunade of the Sannin and Konoha, he would not hesitate to choose Konoha.

His sensei, hopefully, would come to the same conclusion.

To sacrifice Tsunade for the safety of his home and loved ones.

It was not an easy decision, no doubt. Kakashi was aware of Jiraiya-sama’s affection for the woman in question, and he was aware that sacrificing her was something the Sannin would find hard to digest, or even accept —

But these were the hard decisions one needed to make as the Hokage.

He hoped his sensei would rather strain the relationship he had with his wife and teacher than he would send thousands to their death for an individual who possessed little overall value to the village.

No amount of the woman’s medical expertise and knowledge was enough to offset the loss of lives and the myriad of tragedies that emerged from a war. Not even her status as the last of the Senju, the only one who could potentially have descendants born with Hashirama’s bloodline, was worth the sacrifice.

Besides which, Tsunade would never accept the notion of having children for the sake of her bloodline or the sake of the village. Not only was she nearing her forties, a woman who spent years mourning her dead lover was unlikely to ever take another in her lifetime. There was no room in her heart for love, much less marriage, duty, or motherhood. 

As such, rescuing her or not rescuing her would not change the fact that the Senju bloodline died with her.

Yet, his sensei’s wife still wanted to rescue her.

Kakashi didn’t quite understand why, and he was certain his sensei didn’t either.

Yes, as the granddaughter of Uzumaki Mito, Tsunade was one of the few remaining individuals with Uzumaki blood alive — a number that could be counted on one hand.

To some degree, he could grasp she did not want that number to diminish any more than it already had. Yet, such a rationale was not enough to explain how or why she felt that even if many individuals had to die to ensure Tsunade was safe, then so be it.

“Kushina, what aren’t you telling me?”

The argument on the other side of the room had fallen silent. The voices were softer, but still enough for Kakashi to hear.

“She had regrets, -ttebane! So many regrets!”

“She?”

“Mito-sama.”

All at once, a lot of things clicked in Kakashi’s head.

“She regretted a lot of things she said to Tsunade when she was young. Regretted not spending more time with her. She hoped that I would… that we could…”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“I can’t give up on her, Minato. If I was in her shoes… a small part of me would hope that someone wouldn’t give up on me. What better way… what other way can we show her, how much we care, if we aren’t willing to fight for her?”

“Kushina…”

“Just give me a chance to talk to her! If I can just talk to her, I know I can get through to her! She’s been grieving for so long, Minato. She just… just needs our help. She needs us, Minato.” 

There was another moment of silence.

Sensei, don’t tell me you’re considering —

“Alright,” there was a long sigh. 

Kakashi’s lips formed a thin line. Not that anyone would be able to tell underneath his mask.

I don’t understand.

Nothing would change if Kushina met Tsunade. At best, his sensei’s wife would convince the woman to return to Konoha, but that wouldn’t end hostilities with Sunagakure. If anything, it would immediately escalate it.

The best outcome was if Tsunade refused entirely to return to Konoha, that way, there could still be a chance of avoiding war and suing for peace.

So why was his sensei agreeing to his wife’s request?

“I should contact Jiraiya-sensei. He’ll —”

“No — no. Jiraiya-sama might not be the best person to see her. You and I know how he feels about her… it might just remind her of some of the reasons she left to begin with. If anyone’s going to get through to her, it has to be just me and Shizune-chan.”

“You — what?”

“Showing up with a whole team of shinobi will send the wrong message, -ttebane! I don’t want to spook her, or make her think we’re there to apprehend her!”

“You can’t leave the village alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Shizune-chan will be with me. Besides, if anything happens — you’ll be there in a flash.”

“Kushina, I can’t agree to this unless I know you’re being protected.”

“I can protect myself, Minato. I’m not helpless, dattebane! I was a Jōnin before I married you, and just because I’ve not been in active duty for the past five years —”

“As the Hokage, I cannot allow you to leave the village unsupervised.”

There was a sharp silence.

“Minato —”

“And as a husband and father, I can’t rest unless I’m certain that my wife, the mother of my three children, is safe.”

“...Good save.” There was a large sigh. “But showing up with an entourage of ANBU guards won’t end well.” 

“I’ll assign a team of Chūnin.” 

“Genin.”

“Genin?”

“You heard me -ttebane! Genin. Three of them. Baby-faced too.”

“Kushina, you can’t expect a team of Genin to be able to protect —”

There was a momentary pause.

“Alright.”

“Huh?”

“Three Genin. I’ll accept it.”

Kakashi did not say anything even after the duo left the bedroom. He remained silent, all the while, as his sensei’s wife took Shizune away, no doubt to show her the area where she’d be sleeping. He remained as a silent shadow, hiding in the darkness of the Uzumaki Clan Compound, right up until he heard his sensei’s sigh.

“I can tell when you’re not happy about something, Kakashi-kun.”

Reappearing in front of his teacher, Hatake Kakashi couldn’t help the question that burned at his mind.

“Why, sensei?”

His sensei understood. He always had. With Minato-sensei, as long as Kakashi could remember, the man had always been able to somehow read him easily. He didn’t need superfluous words to get his intentions across. They understood each other and operated on similar wavelengths. He supposed it was the perk of both being ‘geniuses.’

He’d asked only one question, but there were three questions loaded in.

His sensei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “What do you think Sandaime-sama would do?”

The Third Hokage? When faced with the matter of deciding his student’s life or death, more so, the fact that said student was the granddaughter of his own teacher —

“He would try to save her.”

“He would,” his sensei chuckled. 

“Is that not illogical, sensei?”

His sensei looked at him for a while and smiled. “It is.”

His sensei patted him on the shoulder.

“That is exactly why, Kakashi-kun, it is the only correct choice.”

His sensei vanished, and Kakashi stood there, contemplating the man’s words.

From the outside, everyone would consider Konohagakure no Sato as a village of fools who would go to war over a single prodigal daughter.

But from the inside —

Everyone in Konohagakure no Sato would know —

Their village would go to war for a single prodigal daughter.

The Will of Fire would burn all in its path —

Even for those who were lost from the brilliance of its light.

XXXXX

The flickering night flames danced in the darkness of the night, and the air of the forest was filled with the lingering scent of roasting fish. Even if the smoke had been obscured by one method or another, the bright flame in the middle of a dark forest was no different from a screaming beacon, announcing to anyone with a working brain that a human was present.

It was a rookie mistake that a wanted fugitive would think twice about making. No one who had ever been on the run, no one who had ever survived being on the run, would err in that manner. More so, setting a camp a short walkable distance away from a nearby river was all but asking to be found.

…A trap?

His partner, that sorry excuse for a shinobi, had whined far too much about doing things that strayed from their mission, and, tired of the needless whining, in their last combat encounter, he’d not cared for the man’s positioning when he’d launched his barrage of techniques.

The Leader would likely reprimand him for killing his second partner in a row.

Still, he was glad the fool was gone. From the moment he decided he would take on the job of hunting the granddaughter of the First Hokage, he’d anticipated there to be no small amount of difficulty involved and didn’t want the dead weight slowing him down.

Yet, completely contrary to his expectations, it was the opposite.

There was no difficulty.

She’d not attempted to mask her scent? She did not perform any concealing techniques to hide away her traces? Not even a rudimentary one?

The question that had come to him earlier, came to him once more.

Is she a fool?

He’d been treating the matter of hunting Senju Tsunade with the same level of seriousness as he would hunt someone like Orochimaru. 

Despite not being the man’s partner, they had worked together on occasion, and he held no doubts about the man’s abilities and skills. He’d assumed that someone who had not only been the man’s teammate but was a descendant of the most powerful shinobi to ever live would be of similar or greater caliber to that snake.

If anyone claimed they could hunt and find Orochimaru merely by tracking the man by scent, he’d laugh, before killing the offending fool who knew nothing about the ways of the shinobi world.

It is more than likely a trap.

As one who could be considered the oldest living shinobi in existence, a man to whom even the likes of Ōnoki of the Twin Scales and Hiruzen the Professor were mere brats, he would be an utter fool if he did not possess extreme caution.

If there were one or two rookie mistakes made, then he would have dismissed them all as a result of the girl’s lack of experience. However, there were far too many to not be deliberate. 

Either Senju Tsunade had received abysmal training in evading being hunted by enemy shinobi and was a complete fool or, she was setting an elaborate trap for the individuals who would hunt her, but had overplayed her hand in displaying herself as someone inept.

However, the former was impossible. The girl was not only the Heiress of the Senju Clan, a Descendant of Hashirama who would or should have been targeted often by the man’s many enemies, but she was also a woman who had fought in Two of the Three Great Shinobi World Wars, environments wherein hunting, capturing and raping enemy kunoichi was commonplace.

If she had poor training in such a matter, she’d have been long killed or captured and turned into a breeding mare by Konoha’s many enemies. Kumogakure in particular was fond of staging kidnapping attempts on clan heiresses.

Beyond that, he gathered intel that she’d supposedly left Konoha for one reason or another and been wandering the world. Was he truly to believe that she had never been pursued, hunted, or chased by anyone despite being the last living relative of the God of Shinobi?

Even if she only exclusively traveled and roamed around the Land of Fire —

Even then, it seemed too far a stretch. Not a single soul had an interest in that man’s legacy? His genes? His bloodline? His secret techniques?

Or was it merely that her reputation as a ‘Sannin’ was what kept people at bay?

Perhaps his perspective was skewed. Those three had gotten the title of ‘Sannin’ from merely losing to that brat, Hanzo of the Salamander. What title, then, would he, who had attempted to assassinate the God of Shinobi and escaped to tell the tale be granted?

To him, the title of ‘Sannin’ was meaningless. It was not a deterrent. Yet, he could not see from the viewpoints of those vastly weaker than himself, so perhaps, it was why no one had considered hunting her.

Even then —

He struggled to believe she was truly this inept. It would not make sense unless she spent several years allowing her skills and alertness to gradually dwindle, or she heavily relied on another to the point of codependence.

No.

A descendant of that man could not be so pathetic.

As someone who’d survived against the man, he did not believe one born of Hashirama’s genes could be that piteous.

Impossible.

No one could convince him it was not a trap.

In fact, it was a trap so brilliant and insidious, that it even had him questioning whether or not it was one at all.

Such genius would be more in line with his expectations of hunting Hashirama’s granddaughter.

Unfortunately, it is a wasted effort.

He’d participated and fought in all Three Great Shinobi Wars and had lived his entire life hunting high-bounty targets. There were few, no, there was no shinobi, none, at all, who could match him in sheer experience. All those who were once his peers were already old, past their prime, and decrepit, if not outright dead. However, he was vastly unlike them. Time was a concept that was meaningless to him, as due to his Kinjutsu, he would never age and never die.

He did not tire, nor did he need to rest. As such, he could afford to be patient. He could afford to spend days sitting in one spot, observing a target with neither food nor water. He could spend months learning their ins and outs, their daily routine, their habits, behaviors, and mannerisms, and if need be, entire years could be wasted away with nothing but observation to ensure his hunt was successful.

To his knowledge, no other shinobi had his advantage.

The advantage of unlimited time.

One of his major conditions to join the Akatsuki was that the Leader not stop nor hinder him from hunting targets. The persona he displayed to the organization was that of a man of pure avarice, a man who took on bounty hunting because of greed and his desire for money.

Of course, such a thing was foolish to anyone who thought deeply about it.

He was an immortal shinobi.

The compound interest he possessed from depositing money in various banks across the Elemental Nations would accrue overtime until he had more money than he knew what to do with. Five or six decades’ worth of interest was enough to live several lifetimes in vast affluence.

What value was money to one who had, and would continue to outlive nations?

What did they think he planned to do with his vast wealth? Spend it on whores, wine, land, and property? Turn from a wanted S-Rank Missing Nin into a famed business tycoon? Start his own shinobi village?

The Leader was both young and inexperienced because the man had bought the persona at face value. Still, it was no surprise. Let alone the members of Akatsuki, the current and previous Five Kage were young and inexperienced in his eyes.

Taking his time, he took up his position high upon a forest branch, becoming so motionless and still that even his breathing could no longer be sensed. From his position, he had an unobstructed view of the blonde woman roasting fish over an open flame in the forest.

From there —

Kakuzu watched.

And Kakuzu waited.

Chapter Text

When a child wishes to catch a bird, it is always out of reach. Yet when they decide it is no longer worthy of pursuit, the bird perches in hand.

Zi Wuji understood this principle. He had seen it, time and again, with those young foolish masters who chased after Jade Beauties like toads lusting for swan meat. They did not realize it was their very act of chasing and needlessly desiring said beauties that made those beauties view them as vile excreta they inherently were.

Many times, he had noticed that once those foolish young masters began pursuing their cultivation far more earnestly, becoming stronger and more independent, the very same beauties would now begin to gather around them of their own volition.

Yes, indeed, he, Zi Wuji, deeply understood this core principle.

He just had not expected such a thing to occur to him.

“He’s so cute 'ttebane!”

He resisted the urge for a thousand and one insults to spew forth from his lips as the red-haired woman pinched both of his cheeks. He further held back the urge to unleash a devastating palm strike — because he was in the Hokage’s Office.

With the exception of the meek, black-haired young girl who stood beside the woman, Zi Wuji counted six ANBU members within the room. These six were trained. Skilled. More so than the average quality of Jōnin in the village. Yet, they would utterly fall within one or two attacks of his. They were ten thousand years too early to even qualify for an exchange of pointers with him.

The reason he held back was not because of those ANBU hidden in the office, however. It was due to the unassuming blond man who sat behind the desk.

The heavens must be blind.

Uzumaki Kushina continued to grab his cheeks, and Zi Wuji’s expression remained as blank as ever, all the while he contemplated a thousand and one ways to make her pay for this insult.

For months, no, years, even, he contemplated ways to abduct the woman, steal her of her chakra, and return to being a cultivator. None of the methods or means to get her alone would be easy, which was one of the reasons he could not do so.

Only yesterday, yesterday, after had he decided that abducting her doing so would constitute a betrayal of the master, and hence, decided he would not pursue such a path —

Only then, was he given the opportunity to meet with her, and likely would undergo his very first 'mission' with her company.

The moment he no longer desired to hunt the bird --

The bird landed in hand.

“Kushina-chan…” the Fourth Hokage cleared his throat behind his desk. “You’re making Neji-kun uncomfortable.”

Kushina blinked. “I am?”

Zi Wuji felt his brow furrow.

Are all Uzumaki women complete idiots?

First, it was the dull-witted Mito with that horrid book of hers, and having had the opportunity to meet and converse with this woman directly, he was starting to suspect she may be just as slow, if not slower.

Even a fool could have told her of his discomfort. No one had treated him like a child in a truly long time, that he’d almost begun to forget he was still inhabiting the body of one.

Yet, this woman, was that all she saw when she looked at him? A cute child? Was something broken in her brain?

Zi Wuji’s blank gaze locked onto her features.

Seeing her up close for the first time, he felt her beauty was overrated. It had diminished since last he’d gazed upon her.

She was by no means a wretched hag, but she showed all the clear signs of a woman pushing into her late twenties. In his past life, many women he encountered were cultivators who used various techniques, herbs, pills, and remedies to maintain their youth, so seeing women who did not look to be in their early twenties was rare enough.

Even those who decided to go for a more ‘mature’ look in their mid-twenties, thirties, or forties had an ageless charm, perfect, flawless skin devoid of wrinkles, a body with very little fat percentage, and long, clear, white legs. 

They were not called ‘Jade Beauties’ for no reason.

She may have been considered truly beautiful by the standards of this world, but Zi Wuji’s standards were not of this world.

His attention diverted from the red-haired woman over to the blond man in the white coat emblazoned with red flames. 

The Fourth Hokage.

The man who was considered the ‘strongest’ in the village by many. Zi Wuji had not been able to get a good grasp of the man’s skill and bearing when he'd last seen him, on the day of his son’s birth. Now that he did…

Their eyes met.

The Fourth Hokage offered him an apologetic smile, but also, a different, knowing smile. With his Byakugan always activated, yet masked, he could see the man’s bones, his muscles, and even peer directly into his brain.

Zi Wuji did not like what he saw.

“Forgive my wife, Neji-kun. She can be a little excitable.”

“Wouldn’t you know about that? Hmmm~?” 

“Kushina…” the man gave her a warning look that Zi Wuji loosely translated to ‘not in public.’

“In any case,” the Fourth Hokage shook his head. “Do you mind me asking how you arrived so quickly? I sent out the order for your team to gather, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to arrive less than five minutes after I sent out the request.”

The Hokage’s blue eyes almost sparkled.

“It’s almost as though you were expecting to be summoned to my office this morning.”

“I was.”

The man was taken aback. He didn’t seem to expect the blunt admission. Even his wife, standing off to the side in a Jōnin flak jacket, her long red hair flowing past her back, expressed inaudible surprise. 

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Three minutes.”

The Hokage blinked again, then he laughed. “Alright, Neji-kun.”

It did not surprise Zi Wuji that the man understood. Just as it did not surprise him that his wife did not.

“Eh? What’s he talking about Minato-kun?”

“He means for us to wait.”

“What are we waiting for, dattebane?”

Zi Wuji glanced at the woman, and then he glanced back at the Fourth Hokage, offering an almost sympathetic, pitying look. If the man was offended by it, he did not show it, instead, he smiled.

Do not smile as though you did not choose this idiot as your wife, fool!

Had he chosen her merely for eye-candy? From what he gathered of the man of the way people spoke of him, and from their brief interactions, Zi Wuji understood he could not be so shallow.

So where then was the redeeming feature within Uzumaki Kushina that had been enough to have her selected as his wife?

Unless it is due to that.

Again, Zi Wuji’s Byakugan scanned Uzumaki Kushina’s body. The overwhelming amount of chakra gathered within her was like a beacon that threatened to blind him, but he ignored it, focusing on the seal etched upon her stomach. The seal would normally only be visible if the woman was channeling chakra, but how could his eyes not see it regardless?

Eight Trigrams Sealing Style.

It was no doubt the other idiot’s work. Uzumaki Mito’s signature was clear as day.

Was it the reason why the Fourth Hokage had married her? To possess a measure of control over the one imprisoning that near-limitless source of chakra?

In such a case would the next vessel of that chakra have to be one of her children?

Amidst the seal, Zi Wuji noticed something that did not belong. Something that was added, or implemented as an afterthought. It was not as rigid as Mito’s but was not as crass and eye-gorging as Kushina’s. It belonged to neither Uzumaki women and was clean and precise.

Excellently precise. The line work impressed him. Barring minor errors, it would not be out of place on an Apprentice of an esteemed Formation Master.

This is… a Space-Time Movement Technique?

There was the brand of a Space-Time Movement Technique added to the seal. It took him only a moment to decipher its purpose. The technique would allow whoever had branded it to instantly teleport to the woman’s location, wherever she was in the world. In that same vein, the woman could also be instantly teleported to the location of the one who branded it.

More so, it was permanent.

Even he could not erase it. 

There was no doubt as to who had put that seal in place. Similarly, there was no way he would have known of the seal without an opportunity to directly and carefully examine the woman.

I cannot believe this…

Kidnapping Uzumaki Kushina was impossible.

It could not be done. 

If one wished to do so, they would need to set up a barrier that blocked all space-time ninjutsu to prevent the Fourth Hokage from either immediately teleporting to her location, or teleporting her back to the safety of her home.

But barriers were stationary.

If he made a barrier around her home and absconded with her, she would immediately vanish from his hands the moment he crossed the barrier’s threshold.

There was no such thing as a mobile barrier. Not even in the Rain World could a Formation Master dare claim they could create a barrier that could be moved anywhere at will and function without problem.

If such were the case, would they not be gods?

Who, then, would dare fight a Formation Master, if they could put powerful world-shattering formations in their pockets and travel as they pleased?

No.

The Heavens sought balance in many things. Formations were powerful, yes, heaven-defying, yes, but in exchange, they required time to prepare and were stationary, with a specified range of effect and specified purpose.

Had he rashly attempted to kidnap the woman, unaware of this fact —

He would have failed.

Could it be…? The Karma Desolation Way Codex…?

Was he being subtly protected by it, even in its inactive state?

Impossible.

Without powering the Codex with Qi, there was no way it would work to subtly guide fate and destiny in his favor.

The only other way the codex could do such a thing was if he had accrued a significant amount of positive karma — if he had saved thousands of lives or prevented great catastrophes.

However, that method was a myth. An excuse spread by the followers of the Codex’s creator to try and convince others that the Codex’s purpose was for good. They claimed the Codex did such a thing only after their master was denounced for making something that allowed evil people to undo their negative karma and become blessed with fortune.

Besides, as far as he was aware, there were no major events that had changed because of him. He’d not prevented any wars or saved any lives, so how could he have accrued positive karma?

Exactly three minutes from when he’d spoken, to the very second —

The doors of the Hokage’s office swung open.

XXXXX

It’s… dawn?

Seeing the sunrise bask the entire forest with its light didn’t do much to relieve her. She had not been able to sleep. The tiniest of noises echoing from the forest had prevented her from doing so.

At first, she thought she was imagining things when she heard them. Growls. Snarls. Something within the darkness gazing at her with red eyes, but staying just out of the reach of her makeshift flame, of the light. 

Twice she’d gone to find what it was and be rid of it —

Twice, she’d entered the darkness and found absolutely nothing.

No tracks, no trails, no droppings, no sign that there was any beast at all.

Then, she’d go back to her camp, her eyes drooping slightly, only for the snarls and growls to return.

She’d thought it to be the result of her sleep deprivation. Auditory hallucinations born from the fatigue and exhaustion of her brain. Yet, it didn’t seem that way. Despite the creatures never exiting the darkness, the growls never stopped, leaving her nerves taut throughout the night.

Konoha trained its shinobi to sleep in shifts, to rely on teamwork, and to overcome obstacles together. It did not train its shinobi to be able to thrive on their lonesome. Normally. without a partner to keep watch, sleeping out in the wild was dangerous.

There were methods one could learn, and traps one could use to ensure that one would remain vigilant of their surroundings and be able to react in time to unexpected threats when alone —

But she did not know them.

She wanted to laugh at the stupidity of her younger self.

She’d never seen the need to learn such methods, as a matter of pride. As a Medic-Nin, if she were ever in a position where she was on her lonesome, it meant everyone else had died, and she had failed in her primary duty of keeping her comrades alive. 

She’d convinced herself that learning such methods was an admission of expecting defeat, and stubbornly refused to do so.

If everyone else is dead, then I’ll die along with them!

Delusional. Stubborn. Stupid.

No one had pressured her otherwise either. How could they? She was the Senju Princess — so not a single soul could force her to do something she didn’t want.

And there were a lot of things she didn’t want to do.

A Medic-Nin doesn’t need to know how to seduce people!

I’m Medic-Nin, not a scout!

I’ve told you already, that making barriers is not my job — it’s to heal the injured!

She was a genius in the field of medical ninjutsu and had pioneered her own world-class brand of taijutsu, but that was where her genius began and where it ended. Outside of those fields — she was either barely passable or below average at best.

If only someone… if only someone had told me —

‘No’.

Tsunade had not been told ‘no’ often.

Sarutobi-sensei failed her in that regard. He was her grandfather’s student and had known her since she was a child. It was hard not to be biased. To not suffer the burden of disappointing his own teacher, Sarutobi-sensei rarely ever berated her. He rarely ever refused her requests.

As for Jiraiya?

She was not blind. Any woman with a pair of eyes could see that the idiot was madly in love with her. She recalled how badly he’d failed to mask the pain in his voice the first time she told him she’d started dating Dan. She recalled how he’d swallowed down his dejection when she’d told him about Dan’s proposal.

He couldn’t tell her no even if it killed him.

A part of her often wondered if he’d been a little bit happy, or even relieved when he’d found out that Dan died.

He probably was ecstatic… maybe… maybe he even saw it as the world giving him another chance…

Laughing to herself, she got up and began to clear up her makeshift camp. She was not sure how long she would need to keep on the move. No one told her what it was like being a fugitive.

There should be a small town nearby…

Her initial plan had been to avoid cities and settlements altogether, but she was finding out that it wasn’t feasible. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d gone without sleep, but she couldn’t keep doing it. She needed a place to be able to sleep in relative safety, and that couldn’t be done while alone in the forest.

I’ll have to use the Transformation Technique.

She’d transform into someone else, find a city, an inn —

Except she didn’t have any money.

She wouldn’t be able to pay for an inn.

Maybe…. Maybe… if I can track down some bandits and lowlifes…

She bit down on her lip.

But —

If, in the course of fighting bandits, even one of them bled, it would be over. There was no Shizune by her side to whisk her to safety once her hemophobia kicked in and paralyzed her.

There were only two outcomes to suddenly becoming paralyzed while fighting a group of bandits. Of those two, death was the more preferable.

Tsunade ran her hand through her hair. She needed to find a safe place to sleep so she could think properly and come up with a plan, but she couldn’t find a safe place to sleep and think clearly until she came up with a plan that would allow her to find a safe place to sleep and think clearly.

I can’t….

She was tired.

She was exhausted.

Damn it.

She would head to the nearest city, and stay at an inn. So what if she couldn’t pay? She'd simply run away. It wasn’t like the civilians could catch her. Sure, they might send debt collectors after her, but what difference would a few more people hunting her make?

She made her decision.

She would head to the nearby town, she would go to an inn, and she would get some rest. Damn the consequences where they lay. She’d already lost everything she cared about, she’d already lost everyone she’d loved —

What more did she have to lose?

XXXXX

Namikaze Minato rarely found himself at a loss for words.

“Hey… I’m not… imagining this, am I, Minato-kun? Tell me I’m not imagining this, ‘ttebane!”

“You aren’t.”

“The moment Itachi showed it to me, I could not believe my eyes either,” Fugaku let out a sigh. “I thought it was one of you who was responsible or Jiraiya-sama. Yet it seemed excessive, even for him.”

Minato wasn’t entirely sure why the young Hyūga had asked him to wait three minutes, until his former teammate, Fugaku, stepped into his office with his son, and the boy’s own teammate, Itachi.

Even then, he wasn’t sure what was happening, until the box was laid on his table, and the black spandex attire was revealed to the room.

The spandex suit he and Kushina quickly came to realize was covered in countless tiny fūinjutsu seals.

There was a reason fūinjutsu wasn’t applied on clothes. It had nothing to do with skill, and everything to do with practicality and cost. Fūinjutsu required a medium, and while paper was often utilized as that medium, so too could flesh and skin.

Generally, anything that was smooth enough to be written on and would not deform or be washed off easily was considered a suitable medium. 

Clothes were not in that category.

The vast majority of clothes were made of woven threads. If he were to draw a seal on a shirt, and one single thread was pulled out of place, the seal would no longer function.

If he were to put that shirt in the wash and a portion of the ink faded away, the seal would no longer function.

If a portion of the shirt was to rip accidentally, the seal would no longer function.

If a person were to sweat excessively and that sweat ended up smearing the ink, the seal would no longer function.

If the clothes were to be covered in blood or exposed to intense bursts of chakra, the seal would no longer function.

The varying conditions clothes were exposed to made them a completely poor match for a fūinjutsu medium. It was not that it could not be done, but one would need to reapply the seals and check them for damage nearly every other second, even for the most minor of things.

It was neither practical nor cost-efficient.

Before his eyes, there was a solution he’d not thought of.

Stasis seals. It’s all stasis seals. Layers upon layers, deeply intertwined and interwoven with each other into a tapestry…

The solution was stasis seals, size, and spandex.

Spandex was water, sweat, and fluid resistant. It was not made of threads, but was one, complete material. The liquid resistance would make it more difficult for the ink to wash off, and the durability would make it more difficult to tear.

Beyond that, the stasis seals kept the entire attire in perfect mint condition to ensure the stasis seals that kept it in mint condition could function.

The outfit wasn’t granted immunity to cuts and tears as its purpose. It had to be immune to cuts and tears because otherwise, it would not be efficient. If even a single tear or cut was made on it, several seals would stop functioning, and the entire thing would need to be redone.

It was a strange situation where a solution to a problem became a benefit.

An attire that could protect the user from all cuts and slashes.

“I’m amazed.”

In theory, he could make this.

In practice, he could not.

The stasis seals were in the hundreds of thousands and drawn unfathomably small. It would take him weeks, if not months, without stopping for food or sleep, to do them all. 

More so, no brush he possessed could draw seals so tiny, and not even drawing them with the aid of a magnifying glass would help.

“What type of brush did you use to write these, Neji-kun?”

“Hair.”

Minato froze. Fugaku ran a hand through his hair. Itachi on the other hand, turned to stare with the most expression Minato had ever seen on the boy’s face.

“The Uchiha Elders kept complaining to me that Hideyoshi never stops shouting into their ear about his grandson, I think I understand why now.”

“Hair?” His wife rounded on the young Hyūga. “You used a hairbrush? The size is too small for —”

“No, Kushina-chan.”

“Huh?”

“Neji-kun used a strand of hair.”

“A s-strand of… t-that’s not — that’s not possible, dattebane!”

“For us, for sensei even, yes. But Neji-kun has something we don’t.”

Minato couldn’t help but smile as he stared at the blank white eyes of the boy in question.

Only someone who had eyes that could zoom into distances far and small could write these with incredible detail at a level nearing the microscopic. Using a strand of hair as an inkbrush was only possible with the Byakugan. For with it, the boy could zoom that strand of hair until it was comparatively the size of a pencil.

Of course, that was not mentioning the steadiness of the hand required to do such a thing. There was also the time, the effort, the sheer patience —

Stasis seals were considered to be at the beginner level in fūinjutsu. There were few ways to accidentally mess them up, and few consequences for doing so. The work he’d seen was, somehow, fairly easy yet unfathomably difficult.

The young Hyūga had taken a beginner-level seal to its most extreme applications.

Just as young Shisui had taken the Body Flicker technique to its extreme applications, just as how Minato himself invented the Rasengan from observing the Tailed Beast Bomb —

It was the undeniable hallmark of a true genius.

To find something simple, break it down, reconstruct it, and elevate it to something complex.

Minato was tempted to immediately take the boy on as an apprentice — but he couldn’t. He was extremely occupied as it was already and did not have the time to take on another student.

He contemplated suggesting the boy become Kushina’s apprentice… but it wouldn’t work either.

He knew his wife more than anyone, and he knew Kushina could not teach geniuses. She hated doing so. She often pouted and sulked in their youth when he mastered things in days that she’d taken months, and would become depressed when he understood concepts and extrapolated connections in seconds she’d not thought of for years.

It stung because she was an Uzumaki, and fūinjutsu was literally in her blood, but even then, she wasn’t a genius, but a hard worker. She worked hard, extremely so, to the point that fūinjutsu was her bread and butter, the one true thing she could claim to have not only mastered but was unrivaled at. 

The only reason she’d been able to keep teaching him despite the blow to her self-esteem was because of how much she loved him.

Minato did not doubt that Neji would be similar, and it would hit his wife even harder, especially because Neji was even younger than he himself had been when he’d learned from her.

But there would be no love to motivate her to trudge on.

That only left his sensei as an option. However, Minato couldn’t claim he understood what was going on in his sensei’s mind as well as used to. Would he even want an apprentice?

He would have to ask him once he got back.

“The value of this item is far too great, Hyūga-san,” Fugaku said after a moment of silence had passed through the room. “While I value your sincerity, the Uchiha cannot accept this without giving you something in exchange. What would you wish to have in turn?”

“I did not give that item to the Uchiha.”

Neji’s voice was sharp. Minato could tell he seemed offended. 

“Uchiha-san is my fellow disci — teammate. The items I give are of no business to the relationship between our clans. It is his to do with as he wishes.”

“I see…” Fugaku let out a soft laugh. “You heard him, Itachi.”

“I appreciate your consideration, Hyūga-san. This item will serve me well in ensuring the safety of clients on bodyguard missions.”

It was a tactful way of saying ‘I’ll accept it, but I’m not wearing it’, 

However, the young Uchiha was not wrong. It could indeed be invaluable if handed to a client to wear underneath their clothes to guarantee their safety.

Doubly so because the stasis seals ensured the outfit could not be removed once worn unless the one doing so was able to find the right ‘key.’ This meant reducing the possibility of not only harm to a client, but sexual assault as well — as any would-be rapist would not be able to remove the attire.

Fugaku was not exaggerating when he said the value of the item was too great to accept.

Minato suddenly shot a glance at his wife. He was about to make his suggestion when the door to the office opened once more. His gaze, as well as that of everyone, turned to a brightly grinning, red-faced Mitarashi Anko, who stepped forward, wearing an identical black spandex suit no different from the one they’d been examining.

The room fell quiet.

All at once, everyone realized the fatal flaw of the otherwise invaluable outfit.

It would offer protection yes —

But it was spandex.

Skin-tight spandex.

It would create problems of its own.

It was a good thing he’d not made the suggestion to Kushina that had momentarily entered his mind.

A very, very good thing.

XXXXX

Shizune was unsettled.

Will this be alright?

“The mission is to accompany Kushina-chan and Shizune on their journey to find and retrieve Senju Tsunade. Due to the high value of the client and the importance of the task, this will be designated as a B-Rank Mission, and you three will be given the corresponding pay —”

She didn’t feel as though Kushina-sama was being too carefree about the matter, but at the same time, was this right? 

“Typically new Genin teams are given E-Rank or D-Rank Missions to ease themselves in, but your team is an exception. Itachi-kun is already a Veteran Genin, Anko-chan was formerly a Chūnin, and Hiashi told me he does not wish to see Neji-kun’s brilliance wasted on chasing cats or painting walls.” 

Traveling with an entourage of Genin? More so, a Genin team that was only recently formed?

Shizune understood Tsunade-sama. She knew Kushina-sama wasn’t wrong. Showing up with a squad of ANBU or even Chūnin guards would immediately make her master — her former master — flighty. In the worst-case scenario, she would attack without hesitation in a bid to flee.

In contrast, this trio —

One was only five or six, the other looked about nine or ten years old, and the last was a girl close in age to her, a girl she couldn’t even look properly in the face without blushing because of what she was wearing. A girl who had somehow found complete delight in the attention being thrown her way and refused the offer for the attire to be removed.

Two kids and an exhibitionist.

Showing up with these three would make her master fall over from laughter.

Is that Kushina-sama’s plan?

It might disarm, entertain, or just outright baffle Tsunade-sama enough for her to consider listening to what the Hokage’s wife had to say.

“Although she is the client, she will also be your commanding Jōnin for this mission. You are to listen to her instructions as you would your sensei’s.”

Yet, Shizune remained unsettled.

She’d barely managed to escape from the Suna shinobi last time, and she believed there would be more who might chase after them. She didn’t doubt the skill of the Hokage’s wife, but the other three? 

“Are there any questions?”

Would they be enough?

They had to be.

“Then, I wish you all the best of luck."

Shizune bit down on her lip.

I’m coming for you, Tsunade-sama….

I’ll be sure to save you —

No matter what.

"Your mission begins… now.”

Chapter Text

This… isn’t normal, right?

“Seven hundred paces. Clear. ”

“Nine hundred paces. Six boars, grazing behind an outcropping. Four individuals, approaching the central road. Three males, one female. Konohagakure headbands. One Jōnin, three Genin.”

“One thousand five hundred and forty-nine paces. Caravan. Fifty-four individuals. Forty-four males, ten females. Four shinobi. Konohagakure headbands. Three Chūnin, one Jōnin.”

This definitely isn’t normal!

“Two-thousand six hundred and forty-nine paces, clear. We may divert north to save up to five minutes of travel time.”

“Three thousand five hundred and seventy-two paces—”

“Four thousand eight hundred and ninety-one paces—”

“Six thousand four hundred and fifty-three paces—”

Shizune was aware she was no longer the only one staring at the youngest member of their traveling group. While she fought down the urge to gawk openly, Mitarashi-san was blinking owlishly, and even the Uchiha had a raised eyebrow. 

The cute, baby-faced Hyūga had veins bulging around his eyes as he stared forward.

From the moment they’d left the village, the boy’s eyes had been activated. Every other second, he would provide information as to whatever was ahead of them, and without fail, counting to the exact distance mentioned, they would encounter what he said.

More so, he would suggest alternative routes that could speed up their journey and would be faster than using the intended path, and although Kushina-sama had at first been hesitant, she afterward obliged.

Yet, this went contrary with everything Shizune knew about the Byakugan. According to her sensei, there was a reason members of the Hyūga Clan did not activate it constantly and use it at will. It consumed a significant portion of chakra to utilize for long amounts of time and more so, the further the distance they needed to see, the greater the chakra expenditure required. 

As a matter of fact, her sensei had once theorized that the entire reason the Hyūga stuck to taijutsu was because incorporating ninjutsu into their arsenal would waste valuable chakra reserves they needed for the maintenance of their eyes.

“Um… Hyūga-san,” she cleared her throat. “Using your Byakugan must eat up a lot of chakra. You don’t need to scan that far ahead —”

“You would presume to know my eyes better than I do?”

The question was sharp. She was almost thrown off guard by its sharpness.

“N-n-no! No! It’s just—”

“Then do not speak on matters on which you are ill-informed.”

Her voice died in her throat. She ducked her head, her cheeks burning hot. Had she just been rebuked by a child less than half her age?

“Hyūga-san.”

“Yes, Uchiha-san?”

“You’ve minimized the chakra expenditure of your Dōjutsu.”

“As expected of your keen eyes, Uchiha-san.”

The difference in tone between the way he answered the Uchiha and the way he replied to her made Shizune feel wronged. There was an approving tone there, with a hint of amusement.

“Two percent? Or lower?”

“Point-Five percent.”

“That is impressive, Hyūga-san.”

“It only requires practice, Uchiha-san.”

No one would ever claim to call her a genius, but Shizune was quick on the uptake. The Uchiha had asked the question for her benefit. Even so, hearing the answer shattered her understanding.

Point-five percent? It only takes him 0.5% of his total chakra to keep it active? Per hour? He can keep his Byakugan active for twenty-four hours straight and only about twelve percent of his chakra would be used?

Shizune’s mind was reeling.

Wait, why do they both use percentages?

What type of shinobi had such an accurate and innate grasp of their chakra quantity to determine what percentage was consumed and at what rate precisely?

One of the prerequisites for becoming Tsunade’s apprentice was perfect chakra control. Yet, even she, with perfect chakra control, could not claim to have an innate knowledge of her chakra quantity to that extent. She could not innately calculate the exact percent of chakra consumed for each technique she performed.

To her, and to many, it was more of a gut feeling, not a mathematical certainty.

She glanced forward, to Kushina, and saw that the woman did not look surprised. The question burned in her throat.

“Kushina-sama, do you… calculate your chakra expenditure in percentages?”

“Huh? No. I don’t.”

Shizune let out a sigh of relief. 

“Minato-kun does though.” 

Kushina continued after a moment’s pause.

“Kakashi-kun does it too. A shinobi needs to know the exact amount of chakra they have and the exact amount they consume. The ones who know will always be more effective in fights than the ones who don’t.”

“Ah… I-I… I see…” Shizune tried to force a smile. “But… you don’t…?”

“It’s pointless for me, ‘ttebane!” Kushina grumbled. “I have so much chakra that I can’t properly estimate it all. I don’t need to worry about keeping track of my chakra expenditure because I’ve never run out of chakra.”

“N-never?”

“Never.”

The word ‘how’ almost escaped from her lips, before she swallowed it back down. She knew how. Tsunade-sama had mentioned it. Thinking it over, as a Jinchūriki, it was incredibly difficult to run out of chakra, let alone as the Jinchūriki of the most powerful of the Tailed Beasts.

Her thoughts were spinning. Finally, Shizune turned her attention toward the exhibitionist. Anko caught her gaze and shot her a grin.

“Like what you see?”

Shizune’s cheeks burned, as she sputtered out her question. “D-do you keep track of your chakr—”

“Yes.”

The girl interrupted her.

“It’s common fucking sense for a kunoichi. The bastard made sure I knew how.”

She knew who Mitarashi Anko was referring to. Tsunade-sama’s former teammate, one of the most infamous S-Rank Missing Nin to ever come out of Konohagakure no Sato.

“What, don’t tell me Tsunade didn’t teach you that?”

“W-well, she — she must have… forgotten.”

“Right,” Anko scoffed. “Guess I’m not the only one who got fucked by the shitty Sannin sensei stick.”

Shizune’s temper flared. “Tsunade-sama’s nothing like Orochimaru!”

“What? I didn’t say she’s —” Anko frowned. “You know, you didn’t even fucking deny being screwed over. Your gut reaction is that she’s just not as shitty? Wow. Says a whole fuck-ton.”

“No that’s not —” Shizune’s heart skipped. “Tsunade-sama is the best —”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you with her right now? Did she send you away or did you get sick of her and leave?”

Shizune flinched.

“That’s enough, Anko.”

Kushina’s voice broke into their discussion, leaving no room for argument. Shizune shot her a grateful look, before shooting a heated glare back at the crass, foul-mouthed, infuriating exhibitionist.

The girl turned her gaze away, muttering under her breath. “It’s not like we weren’t all fucking thinking it…”

Shizune wanted to crawl into a hole. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears. She grinded her teeth.

She’d never told the whole truth behind her parting ways with Tsunade. How could she? Shizune was not a genius, but she was not completely stupid either. 

Tsunade was incredibly jealous of Kushina’s life.

And it was entirely her fault.

The first time she was exposed to Kushina's life through the pictures and letters the woman sent, she’d been enamored. She’d noticed immediately her sensei seemed to dislike it, yet, rather than stop, Shizune thought it was an opportunity to help her sensei get over the loss of her loved ones.

She recalled her days in the Academy, how much girls hated being compared to other girls, and how that spite was often enough to incite rivalries. Rivalries beget competition. Competition begets growth, and growth begets change. 

Her sensei had no rivals, unlike her two former teammates who she’d mentioned were rivals to each other. She had no one to compare herself to, and thus, no one to compete against and no motivation to change her ways and better herself.

As such, Shizune made a plan.

A plan to make Kushina into Tsunade’s rival.

So, she’d intentionally idolized Kushina.

She talked about Kushina constantly.

She praised Kushina.

She implied, in subtle ways, how much better her life would be if she were Kushina’s apprentice instead.

Day after day. Week after week.

Shizune thought the sheer spite would be enough to overpower her sensei’s grief. She thought, in so doing, Tsunade would begin to shape her life in order. All she wanted was for her sensei to be spiteful enough to change.

She’d grossly miscalculated.

Her spite was not channeled inwards, into self-betterment, rather it was converted into hatred and self-loathing. It did not motivate her. It did the opposite. 

Tsunade drank more. Tsunade gambled more. Tsunade became more reliant on her, to the point there were days she would forget to eat, sleep, or bathe if not for Shizune’s reminders.

Instead of motivating her master, she’d only made her more embittered, jaded, and miserable. 

That bitterness was contagious. One couldn’t spend years picking up after a drunk, jaded, cynical woman and maintain a perfectly sunny and optimistic disposition. Even if it was in her nature to be sunny and cheerful, nurture could over time erode nature.

Then came that day, after weeks of avoiding debt collectors, and sleeping in the forest. The day, when she, tired and bitter, made a straight-faced joke about selling her body just so they could earn a night’s rest in an inn.

The day her sensei slapped her.

She couldn’t be sure if her sensei hadn’t known if she was joking, or if she had, but had still struck her all the same. She hadn’t realized how hard her sensei’s palm was until then. She’d momentarily lost consciousness, snapping back to her senses only a few seconds after, holding her cheek in confusion.

She could handle the drinking, the gambling, the bemoaning, the crying, she could handle doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the sewing, the tending —

But being slapped hard enough to briefly lose consciousness, just for making a joke? Regardless of how tasteless a joke it may have been, no, even if she’d been entirely serious, even if she’d made that statement without joking, it was an entirely disproportionate reaction.

A primal fear settled in her bones.

What if a slap for a joke became a slap for a complaint? What if a slap were to come because her sensei was simply drunk? What if it came because she was angry and wanted to vent? What if it came simply because she felt like it?

What would she do, if her sensei, in her grief and vices, began hitting her for every minor inconvenience?

The woman wept, apologized, hugged her, and swore she would change from that day. She promised she would change.

She did not.

But, Shizune never expected her to. She kept her distance from her sensei after that event. She became more formal, more closed off. She started asking directly for more training. She had already planned, from that moment, to leave.

The truth was, Shizune was afraid. 

Shizune was afraid her sensei would hit her again.

She was afraid of spending the rest of her life being abused by the person she loved the most.

Yet at the same time, she was family. Shizune wanted to save her. Not from Suna, not only from bounty hunters, not from enemies or threats —

She wanted to save Tsunade from herself.

Before it was too late.

XXXXX

Kakuzu was rarely a man who felt uncertain.

Yet, in the past twenty-four hours, he’d encountered onsets of events that had him trudging through quagmires of incertitude. Events that tested his patience and his intelligence. Events that challenged his wit and his experience.

The first onset occurred after he watched the foolish woman try and fail to sleep. The common tactic for lone shinobi traveling and sleeping in the woods was to find higher ground, the higher the better. Sleeping atop a tree would prevent land predators from gaining access to them, and also enable them to utilize the foliage as cover to ensure they would not be found by wandering passersby.

Following that, setting up a perimeter with shinobi wire was imperative. A single thread of near-invisible steel wire tied to the pinky-finger and attached to the ground in numerous areas would serve to awaken the shinobi immediately if something were to get close, similar to a spider being aware of anything that entered its web.

Yet, none of these tactics were used. 

As such, the woman stayed awake throughout the night, going out to check for predators that stumbled and passed by her camp. She’d continued in that manner, in futility, till dawn broke.

There were, to Kakuzu’s knowledge, no ninjutsu that enabled one to immediately rid themselves of sleep deprivation. 

Yet, as she once hailed as the number one medical ninjutsu specialist in the world, Kakuzu remained cautious. Perhaps this was yet, still a ploy.

The second onset came after she moved towards the nearby river to wash up. Watching her take off her clothes would have perhaps scintillated many other shinobi, but Kakuzu was unmoved. His Kinjutsu allowed him immortality, but that was not without demerit. With it, he could replace any part of his body he lost, but there were some parts that he saw no need for replacement and discarded entirely. 

Countless shinobi, despite their experience, had fallen for blatant honey traps and lost their lives. He was not subject to their number. He was immune to feminine charms because there was nothing down there to be stirred into action.

Even before he’d discarded it, due to the unique nature of his body, most geishas and whores were either terrified of him or refused to attend to him. His only options for sexual relief were to take women forcefully, but he had no interest in such methods and as such, discarding that part of him was no great loss. 

If he ever needed it again, he could simply find a man of suitable size and virility, kill them, and graft their parts onto his person.

This onset of doubt was stronger than the first. 

It would not surprise him if Hashirama’s granddaughter was brazen enough to not care about her nudity. Many would likely believe that she had let her guard down the moment they saw her breasts sway and bounce in the wind, and would go wild with desire at seeing the mound of blonde pubic hair, but Kakuzu was wiser. 

He knew this, still, was a trap.

Why?

Because she was a woman who kept up a transformation to appear younger.

Who would maintain a transformation even while bathing?

He did not believe anyone in this world to be so vain. People were their truest selves when left alone, and as such, if she truly had let down her guard, she would have dispelled her transformation.

The fact that the transformation remained active even as she bathed in the river convinced Kakuzu that it was yet another ploy.

The third onset of doubt, however, was where things fell apart.

The woman began to head towards a town.

She did not cover up her tracks. She did not clean up her camp area to avoid pursuers. She moved slowly and sluggardly, almost falling twice from exhaustion as she traveled.

Such wouldn’t have been enough to make him doubt, but, what changed his mind, was the direction the woman went.

Trees began to appear scarcer and scarcer, and foliage began to dwindle, as more rocky, arid, and dry terrain became visible. Then, came the town at the bottom of a cliff, a town that he realized the woman had chosen as her destination.

A town that was no longer in the Land of Fire.

They had crossed the boundary into the Land of Rivers.

It was here —

Kakuzu realized his error.

A fetor of abject disbelief assaulted him. It lingered around him, the malevolent odor of complete stupefaction. For so long, his doubt had dithered and dawdled like a newborn babe, it had shuffled and tottered like a toddler learning to walk —

But the moment she entered that town, not even bothering to use the transformation technique —

It sprinted and flew.

He’d felt it from the beginning but had ignored it. Yet, it had always lingered — an ever-present disquiet, a ubiquitous unsureness, an interminable incertitude.

But with her entrance into that town, his uncertainty had been ruthlessly assassinated.

And in its place —

Was a burning wrath.

XXXXX

It took several hours of travel to reach Yoshinaka Town.

She’d chosen this town because she remembered it was far out of the way and had few visitors. It used to be an optional stop for those heading North-West to the Land of Rain during the Third Shinobi War, before it was eventually destroyed by a landslide, and rebuilt into a smaller, tinier town. Ever since then, there was nothing of note here, nothing to see, nothing to remember.

Tsunade was half-asleep, and barely conscious by the time she arrived. Even then, something felt off. There weren’t many locals out and about, but that was precisely why she could aptly feel the numerous pairs of eyes landing on her like hawks. The eyes that followed her every movement and the hushed whispers were passed from lip to lip.

The occasional pointed finger was nothing she was not unaccustomed to. Oftentimes men would glance at her chest often either to gawk or marvel, but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the ogling leers of lechers who thought with their lower head, or the wide-eyed stares of teenage boys in puberty.

The gazes here seemed… different. 

Predatory.

She felt like everyone looking in her direction was stripping her bare with their eyes. As if she were a lone sheep who’d somehow stumbled into a den of voracious wolves.

At first, she dismissed it as her sleep-weary brain playing tricks on her. She chalked it up to nothing more than paranoia and continued forth. 

The air was ripe with tension.

Windows were shut, one after the other, and doors were rapidly barred. The streets cleared out as she walked past, and now, no matter how sleep-deprived she was, she understood she was no longer imagining things. This was not mere paranoia.

She walked towards the nearby inn, readying herself to push open the doors, when her gaze caught a notice board, filled, completely, with freshly pasted papers. One of said papers was blown off by a wind, and the parchment snagged against her leg. 

As if somehow drawn to her by fate, she picked it up, only to freeze as she did so.

It was a wanted poster.

It was her wanted poster.

Senju Tsunade 

Wanted Dead or Alive

Reward: 100,000,000 Ryō

Tsunade’s breath hitched in her throat.

One… hundred… million?

I should have used the Transformation —

She did not have time to feel regret. She sensed it the moment she picked up the paper.

Chakra signatures.

The ground underneath her feet shattered as she raced towards the town’s exit. Chakra signatures lit up, one after the other within the town.

Four Genin Level, four Chūnin-level.

She channeled chakra through her legs as she pushed her speed to the maximum.

Damn it! Damn it!

Wanted Posters were only ever put out for criminals. They did not discriminate between shinobi, samurai or civilians. They would be spread largely to incite people. Even those who knew they could die facing a dangerous enemy would be motivated to report her location to others in hopes of getting a small percentage of the reward money. 

She was a blur as she dashed through the city gates, only to stop as she overheard the whizz of something tearing into the air.

Backpedaling, she narrowly avoided a barrage of kunai that buried themselves into the earth in front of her. Her gaze shot upwards, only for her to feel a chill as she saw the ones responsible.

There, standing before her, were four individuals wearing Tanigakure headbands. Two male, and two female.

“Senju Tsunade of Konohagakure no Sato, you stand accused of the murder of Lord Kazuhiko Kuniyoshi, Nephew of Kazuhiko Tokugawa, Daimyō of the Land of Wind. You are to be arrested and handed over to the Land of Wind. Surrender peacefully or we will be forced to —” 

Her fist slammed into the rocky ground. An explosion of dust and earth descended and spiraled upwards like a mushroom cloud, blanketing the entire world in a smokescreen of powdered rock. She blurred forward under the cover of dust, rushing back toward the borders of the Land of Fire.

“Stop her!”

“Quickly! Don’t let her escape!”

Damn it!

Tsunade gritted her teeth.

Tanigakure no Sato. 

The Village Hidden in the Valleys.

It was a minor shinobi village, meaning the skills of their shinobi couldn’t compare to Kiri, or Suna, or Konoha. Yet, at the same time, it was because it was a minor village that she’d all but forgotten its existence. Not all shinobi villages were like Konoha which opened its doors to all comers and whose location was not, despite the name, hidden.

Tanigakure was a true “Hidden Village” in that outsiders did not know of its location, and could never point it out on a map. At best, they were aware that it was somewhere within the Land of Rivers.

In order to ensure that their location was kept hidden, Tanigakure would deploy and post several of its shinobi to different towns or settlements throughout the Land of Rivers to act as outposts. This was how they maintained business and how they facilitated trade.

As more and more chakra signatures flared, Tsunade realized from the sheer numbers —

Yoshinaka Town was one of Tanigakure’s major outposts.

She’d unwittingly walked straight into a town filled with hostile shinobi.

DAMN IT!

A barrage of kunai tore through the dust cloud and one nearly grazed her flesh. Her heart lurched to her throat.

The two after her didn’t look threatening. They were Chūnin at most, and lackluster Chūnin, even. If she wanted to, she could use a single finger to defeat them.

Yet, she couldn’t afford to get injured, nor could she afford to fight.

Run, run, run, run!

The sight of blood would immediately incapacitate her, and that would lead to her capture. So she couldn’t fight back unless she managed to do so in a manner without letting any of her enemies bleed. It was possible, in theory. In theory, she could do so.

If she weren’t tired. If she weren’t sleep deprived. If the enemy didn’t dodge in an unexpected manner, if —

There were too many ifs.

She couldn’t even summon Katsuyu. The Summoning Technique required blood as a medium, and biting her finger to draw blood was not an option.

The only option she had was to flee.

She hopped onto a large rock, almost losing her footing as a dark-cloaked figure appeared from above her, swinging a blade down.

How?

She hadn’t sensed the attacker’s presence until the moment the attack landed. 

Another? There’s more?

She dodged at the last second, the blade slicing off a portion of her hair. Pirouetting in place,  her body moved on instinct. Her right fist connected with the sternum of her attacker. 

There was no sound of bone breaking, instead, she felt as though she’d slammed her fist into a solid tree. The attacker contorted in half like a folded chair, before its face, mechanical, revealed itself to her, as it was sent soaring into the horizon. 

A…. Puppet?!

Sunagakure’s Puppet Technique was not something she was unfamiliar with. It also meant there had been at least one Sunagakure shinobi in that town.

DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT ALL!

Her number of attackers had possibly doubled. An expert of that technique could control anywhere from five to ten puppets. If even half of those after her were puppeteers —

Her vision abruptly blurred. Her movements began to slow.

No… not…. now.

She was a medical-nin, so she knew. She was aware of the body’s workings more than anyone. The primary source of energy for cells was adenosine triphosphate. During prolonged exertion, the body's stores of ATP would slowly deplete. If ATP was not replenished quickly enough through food intake or rest, the muscles and other cells would refuse to function properly, leading to collapse.

There was also glycogen, which was stored in the liver and muscles and converted to glucose to provide energy. After prolonged physical activity, glycogen stores would be exhausted, leading to low blood sugar levels, a condition called hypoglycemia. This, in turn, would cause fatigue, dizziness, and potentially collapse.

Her body was reaching its limit.

Do I… surrender….?

The thought crossed her mind. If she surrendered willingly, they wouldn’t kill her. They would seal her chakra and prevent her from using any techniques, but she had her methods of escaping such things.

At the very least, if she was captured, she would be able to sleep. There would be someone guarding her, and they would need to feed her if they wanted to hand her over alive.

No.

She couldn’t put her fate into their hands. They might decide the risk of her being alive was too great and simply kill her. Yet, she couldn’t keep running. She couldn’t escape. She was about to drop out of exhaustion.

Tsunade gritted her teeth.

There’s no other choice.

“Yin Seal: Release!”

A burst of chakra surged throughout her entire body at once. It was like a bucket of ice-cold water. The reprieve she’d long needed. The surge of chakra flowed as the Strength of a Hundred Seal, the diamond on her forehead changed.

She formed rapid-fire hand seals as she sprinted, finishing her technique.

“Ninja Art: Creation Rebirth.”

Creation Rebirth was the pinnacle of her experiences in medical ninjutsu. A technique that consumed the copious amount of chakra stored in the Strength of a Hundred Seal to forcibly stimulate cell division.

She stomped hard, forcing chakra through her legs that caused her gastrocnemius and bicep femoris muscles to tear from the force as she burst forward. The pain lasted only a second, as the damaged muscles and tissues instantly healed, and she did so again, and again, damaging her body by pushing it beyond its physical limits to increase her speed, and regenerating the damaged parts.

As long as Creation Rebirth was active, it didn’t matter if her body's tissues were damaged or even if an organ was destroyed. All injuries would instantly heal.

Problematically, this was a Kinjutsu. Human cells couldn’t divide infinitely. The longer she held the technique, the more she used it, the more of her lifespan was being chipped away. 

But what did lifespan matter in her current situation?

Repeating the self-destructive method, she moved easily five times as fast, fast enough that she lost sight and sound of her pursuers. She was a vaguely indistinct blonde blur that left minuscule craters with every step she took.

She did not stop until she crossed the border back into the Land of Fire and covered several kilometers. Only then, did she make her way into a secluded cave, as the chakra in the seal began to dwindle.

“I… made it…”

She was certain none of the shinobi that had pursued her would be able to catch up with her. Even Jōnin would have had some difficulty following her at that speed. More so, the Land of Fire was not the Land of Rivers. They couldn’t enter this territory and act as they wished.

She was safe.

The final remnants of chakra that powered the Creation Rebirth started rapidly dwindling, and she made a hand sign to cancel the technique.

Just as the hand sign formed, Tsunade felt a strange sensation on her neck. 

The world suddenly spun upside down. The sensation of falling wasn’t new to her, but the difference was she could still see her own body while falling. Her body was still standing, but she was falling. She could see her own back, and her legs, her ankles —

Why was she seeing her own body still standing?

Her gaze shot upwards in confusion.

Why did her body…

Not have her head?

A chill formed on her forehead as she saw it. A man who had merged with the earth. A man wielding a kunai tinged red. A man with a Takigakure headband, slashed straight through the middle, masked with haunting green eyes, and wearing a black cloak covered with red clouds.

“Send Hashirama,” the man flicked the kunai. “My warm regards.”

Tsunade’s world went dark.

Chapter Text

The closer they got to their destination, the more certain Itachi became of the idea that Tsunade of the Sannin may not be as ‘Legendary’ as he’d once thought.

The thread of hair that guided them had been acting oddly, often twitching, jerking, freezing, and then continuing. From his observation of the Fourth’s wife, it would mean that their target, Lady Tsunade, was in danger.

It was why they were moving at full, breakneck speed.

Keeping up was not difficult for himself, nor was it, as expected, for the Hyūga prodigy. Even Mitarashi, his fellow teammate, who was the unspoken weakest link in their team, managed to keep up with them without issue. Her chakra was out of control, her temper was… problematic, but she displayed the stamina and grit expected of a former Chūnin, who was once considered up for promotion to Special Jōnin.

The actual weakest link of their travel group happened to be the young woman who was supposedly Tsunade’s apprentice.

“Come on! Keep up, damn it!” Mitarashi barked.

“Y-yes!”

She was lagging behind them significantly, and often, they would have to temporarily slow their pace to allow her to catch up. This fact alone seemed to drive her ashen, and she would force herself beyond her limits to keep up, but such an action would only tire her out further, leaving her further behind.

If need be, he could carry her, but doing so would end up tiring him instead. It was not the optimal outcome, but it was a sacrifice Itachi felt he was willing to make.

However, before he could make it, Hyūga Neji paused mid-stride and snapped towards him.

“Uchiha-san.”

“Yes, Hyūga-san?”

“The scroll.”

Itachi raised a questioning eyebrow for a moment before he tossed over a sealing scroll without a word. The Hyūga caught it, unsealed it, and brought out a familiar spandex outfit.

It was the one he had been gifted, and the one he kept, but the one he knew he would not, ever, wear.

As such, Itachi was momentarily confused when Hyūga Neji requested it, only for his confusion to grow further as he moved in front of the girl called Shizune, and held it out.

“Strip and put this on immediately.”

“W-what?”

“I did not stutter.”

“W-why?”

“Is it not obvious? Hurry and put it on.”

“Y-you can’t be s-serious!”

“I will not ask again.”

“You didn’t even ask the first ti —”

Before she could speak another word, Hyūga Neji struck.

It was a simple palm strike. Yet, there was nothing simple about it. To begin with, the palm did not land on the woman’s body but stopped as it made contact with her clothes. 

With his Sharingan, he saw it. The minor burst of fire-natured chakra that spread out of Hyūga Neji’s fingers from the moment of impact, infiltrating the fabric of the cloth and spreading through it like an uncontrollable, contained wildfire.

The wildfire did not harm the skin, or even the flesh, but targeted only fabric. It set forth a chain reaction, hitting at core parts of the fabric in milliseconds. The result was that the very next second after his palm made contact, all fabric on her person disintegrated to ash, Itachi rapidly averted his gaze as Shizune’s naked flesh came into view.

Control of Elemental Chakra is Jōnin-level, and more so, the Hyūga typically do not implement Elemental Manipulation into their techniques. Yet…

“What the fuck?!”

Mitarashi’s exclamation succinctly put to words what Itachi would never say, although, it was likely for differing reasons. 

“M-my clothes!”

It was at this time that Kushina noticed the commotion. “What are you doing?!”

“One thousand six hundred paces,” Hyūga Neji pointed forwards, in the direction they’d been heading. “We will make contact with a group of bandits who have laid out an ambush.”

Itachi understood immediately. 

“What does that have to do with stripping her, ‘ttebane?!”

The woman’s fury, however, didn’t allow her to grasp it. There was fury in her tone, but also indignation. He could also detect caution. A lot of it. Itachi frowned. Hyūga Neji was not foolish enough to use that technique on the Hokage’s wife, but she seemed strangely on guard against it, as if worried he would suddenly strip her as well.

He flicked his Sharingan towards Mitarashi Anko. She did not seem to grasp it either. Instead, she’d taken a cautious, almost instinctive step towards Kushina. This was normal, after all.

Hyūga Neji turned to him, giving him a look. A look that almost seemed to ask him: Are these women all idiots? 

Itachi found this both understandable and at the same time, deeply perplexing.

From Hyūga Neji’s perspective, his actions were logical, swift, and obvious, and so, too, it was, from Itachi’s perspective. Yet, Itachi was aware of how unusual his own perspective was, and ergo would never expect others to understand it without explanation. 

By now, the Hyūga prodigy should have gotten accustomed to the fact that few others would understand his motives unless he explicitly explained them, just as few people would ever truly know what went on in Itachi’s own head.

…Odd.

“The spandex cannot be stabbed, cut, or torn. It provides an invaluable defense.” 

Itachi spoke up after a moment, avoiding gazing at the naked girl who had taken to hiding behind Kushina, and playing the unwitting role of the interpreter. 

“Shizune-san has not been on active duty for a long time and is a medical specialist, both of which make her a prime target. With confirmation of potential enemies ahead, Hyūga-san wishes to ensure her safety, and allow us to face the enemy without needing to worry about her protection.”

In other words, Hyūga-san wants to ensure she does not become more of a hindrance…

Whether or not she intended to, the woman’s performance and skills thus far indicated that she was the most likely person to endanger their mission. Admittedly, if the foe were common bandits, the woman should be capable of defending herself, but Hyūga Neji, wisely, did not want to take that risk.

“You, you could have just said so!”

Itachi shook his head. He’ll say it was obvious.

Hyūga Neji scoffed. “Could it not have been more obvious?”

“How in the world was it —”

…I see.

Itachi was puzzled.

Hyūga-san… does not seem to realize he’s a genius. He thinks that anyone, or everyone, can see things as he does, and is baffled when they do not.

Some part of him, truly, deeply, does not consider himself as a person of exceptional intelligence. He seems to have created an excuse in his mind to justify all of his extraordinary achievements. The excuse blinds him from seeing their extraordinariness, viewing them as mundane or banal.

And as such, in his eyes, that others cannot see these ‘mundane’ actions for what they are makes them appear frustratingly foolish.

Itachi could not understand it.

Why does he not believe in his own intelligence?

Self-doubt? Imposter syndrome? 

The Uchiha heir was not sure. This was the first time he’d encountered such a case. From what he knew of individuals like himself, the Fourth Hokage, and Hyūga Neji, they had no reason to doubt their intellect. They were overwhelmingly aware of the gulf between themselves and others, and would often have to break down their thoughts and methods to be more digestible to others.

Hyūga Neji did not even try.

In his mind, it was as though they should understand, because he understood, and he wasn’t a genius — 

Even though he very much was.

“Put on the blasted thing and let’s hurry. We don’t have time for this!”

“K-Kushina-sama?!”

“Now, Shizune-chan!”

“Y-yes…”

“And you, Neji, you need to communicate, dattebane! Communicate! Use your words! We aren’t Yamanaka! We can’t read your mind or understand what’s going on in your head!”

“Uchiha-san understood me easily enough.”

Several pairs of eyes turned to him. Itachi suddenly had a headache. He couldn’t deny it, because he’d already worked as the unwitting translator. Yet, he couldn’t explicitly say he understood immediately because it would reinforce the idea that Hyūga-san had implicitly provided —

That they were stupid.

Because they weren’t. They most certainly weren’t stupid.

They just weren’t… gifted.

However, he was not going to be the one to tell the Hokage’s wife to her face, directly or indirectly, ‘I’m smarter than you.’

And so, wisely, Itachi remained silent.

“Fucking shifty-eyed clan geniuses…” Mitarashi muttered. “Who the fuck did I offend in my past life to be on this team…”

Despite this, there was a strange, almost imperceptible twitch on Itachi’s lips. It was strangely refreshing to be in a team where he was not the subject of copious envy or excessive adoration.

In contrast to the Hyūga —

He was practically normal.

XXXXX

This world was without danger.

The further Zi Wuji moved across the trees with the group, the further he came to understand the nature of the Elemental Nations.

In the Rain World, one needed a specific level of strength and ability to travel freely. Cultivators below a certain realm would not dare leave the boundaries of whatever home they were born in, and most of it was due to fear of the demonic beasts out in the wild that would consume them. Demonic Beast Kings in particular were one of the most dangerous foes one could encounter, creatures who were rulers of their kind, and their strength was classified by the amount of lower demonic beasts they had under their control.

Yet, no matter how far they traveled, the only thing they had encountered thus far, were other humans. There were no lurking threats, no beasts of great and unfathomable power, no demonic creatures rampaging —

There were no ‘death zones’ forbidden from entry, no areas ravaged by natural disasters and cosmic phenomena, no heavenly wonders that stretched out for kilometers and could be used as guideposts —

There were no ruins of fallen civilizations with remnant feet of once giant statues that spoke of mighty conquerors, there were no underground caverns and cities built in forgone eras to flee from the dangers of the surface, there were no abandoned battlefields filled with the scars of centuries of ceaseless violence, creating an oppressive, suffocating air —

There was nothing.

Nothing but trees in all directions, villagers, travelers, animals, and the occasional bandits that they dispatched with such ease it was barely worth mentioning.

What fool called this place called the Land of Fire? It would be more apt to be called the Land of Forests…

‘The Land of Fire’ it was called, yet, there was no fire to be seen, no signs even, that great fires had swept the land once. There was nothing but forest for kilometers all around. Not a single thing of interest.

This world is… premature.

The Elemental Nations was in its infancy. 

Ten thousand years? Perhaps even less?

Zi Wuji could not believe it, yet, his eyes confirmed it to him.

This world is less than a thousand years old?

With his Byakugan, he could peer far, far further than any was aware. The previous demonstration he’d shown was barely the tip of the iceberg. As such, he had been scanning, far, and wide, not just for signs of danger, but for points of interest. He’d been scanning below the ground, he’d been scanning the soil, the air, he’d seen a vast number of trees across his gaze, and not one, not a single one, possessed thousand-year rings.

There were no trees in the Land of Fire that were up to a thousand years old.

This meant, there would be no natural treasures to be found. No thousand-year carp, or hundred-year ginsengs. The land had not accumulated enough spirituality, and as such, the field of alchemy could never arise in this world.

This world, is it artificial?

Zi Wuji was beginning to have suspicions.

The Rain World was said to be billions of years old. However, Zi Wuji was certain it was older because there was an Epoch that contained hundreds of billions of years of history that was destroyed by the Heavenly Court, due to that era having the records of the Heaven Cessation Immortal Venerable. A cultivator so powerful, that history itself did not dare recognize or acknowledge his existence. Ergo, all mentions of him were erased, and so too, were countless years of history.

Hence, the Rain World’s true age was likely to be trillions, if not quadrillions of years, but most cultivator scholars could only trace back about five hundred million years with any level of accuracy. Only the Immortals who’d ascended past the Absolute Deluge World Barrier could likely trace back further.

The method of utilizing chakra, spiritual and physical energy, could be said to be a nascent, primitive form of cultivation… but given this world’s age, it is unfathomable that they learned of this so early.

No! Not just unfathomable, it is impossible!

Zi Wuji’s heart felt a strange sense of discomfort. A nagging sensation burned in him and burned brightly. The feeling of wrongness was like a noose tightening around his neck.

His mind worked on overdrive as his body hopped from tree to tree on instinct.

By all means, these fools should still be wielding sticks and stones. Less than a thousand years? They are far too primitive. Too primitive! This development is unnatural!

It is more likely to believe that chakra was bestowed upon this world by an outsider, rather than something they acquired in less than a thousand years —

A chill ran down Zi Wuji’s spine. A sudden recollection hit him.

Did the Clan Records not have legends that state that chakra was gifted upon the world by the one who called himself the ‘Sage of Six Paths?’

Was that man…. a cultivator?

No. If he was, there would be a codified or general form of cultivation, and so far, there is no trace of cultivation.

Zi Wuji had a momentary flash of inspiration.

A transmigrator? A person from another world?

His mind grasped connections one after the other and began putting them together. His brows furrowed into pensive thought as he continued to travel in silence.

The Sage of Six Paths is likely a transmigrator. A transmigrator who invented chakra and gave it to this world.

Almost all the myths revolving around the Sage generally point towards him sealing or trapping away a vast and powerful demon in the moon…

For too long I dismissed this as nonsense and used it to motivate the Hyūga Clan, but if this myth were to have even an element of truth… 

Zi Wuji’s gaze shot toward the red-haired woman who was leading their group. More so, it shot towards the seal on her stomach. There, before him, was evidence of the fact that ‘demons’ could indeed be sealed away, not in something as grand as the moon, but in a living, breathing person.

However, now that he had seen Kushina’s seal, Zi Wuji realized something. 

If the Sage invented chakra, would it not imply that the Nine Tailed Beasts, who are vast creatures of near limitless chakra, are his invention?

To what end would one shape chakra into beasts of calamity and give them form?

To grant weapons to his descendants? Guardians, to protect them? Weapons to fight against… what? Guardians to protect them from… what?

Zi Wuji’s eyes flickered, his attention focused on Kushina again.

Myths are twisted and history is written by the victors. What if it were not a demon sealed away… but an enemy? A powerful enemy?

Are the Tailed Beasts the secret to defeating that enemy?

Or the jailers of the key needed to free it?

If one were to gather all nine of the Tailed Beasts in one place and fuse their chakra together…

What would be the resulting creation?

These connections would seem like baseless speculations to many, to any, were he to utter the words out loud. Indeed, how many people of this world knew the methods of determining the age of trees through rings, and how many people in this world possessed eyes that could scan for hundreds of kilometers and ascertain without doubt that their world had but a thousand-or-so years of history?

How many could say, for certain, that it was impossible for any human civilization that had existed for only a thousand years to develop a method of controlling physical and spiritual energy?

All of these were the viewpoints of a person who saw the world like no one else did, of an outsider looking in and seeing the dots and connections that an indigene of the land would never dare put together.

Zi Wuji focused his eyes skywards. With his Byakugan, he sought to peer above the clouds. He peered, further, and further, and higher still. He peered until he, for the first time, reached the limits of his eyes, and strained to peer further still.

…Not enough.

Zi Wuji clicked his tongue.

I will need to train it further. Further, until there is no doubt.

Zi Wuji had come to a realization the more he used his Byakugan. A realization no other individual in the clan seemed to have attained.

The Byakugan did not have a maximum limit on its range of vision.

The limit was entirely dependent on how much one trained it, their chakra capacity, and their endurance. It was for this reason he currently possessed the greatest range of the Byakugan that the Hyūga Clan had ever seen, and likely would ever see. His eyes were always active, and, ergo, he was always training them. 

Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year.

At first, he would turn it off when sleeping, but such was no longer necessary. It was as he told his junior disciple brother, it only took 0.5% of his chakra expenditure per day to keep his Byakugan active.

Now, he had a new goal set in his eyes.

He was going to train his eyes until it was capable of gazing into the moon.

He was going to stand on the earth, and peer at the surface of a satellite, unhindered, unaided, and without strain.

The Byakugan was the ‘All-Seeing White Eye.’ How could it claim to be “All-Seeing” if he could not gaze at vast and distant bodies with it? If his gaze could not roam the entire world at a whim, how, indeed could it be “All-Seeing?”

Only then, would it truly be worthy of the name!

Only then, would it be worthy of him, Zi Wuji!

“No. No, damn it!”

“Kushina-sama?”

“Kushina-sama, is something wrong?”

Their group came to an abrupt stop, and Zi Wuji’s attention focused on the woman leading them. There was panic in her eyes, and her features appeared extremely grave.

“The marker… it… it’s…”

In her palm, there was a strand of grayish-red hair that had been floating in the air throughout their journey. That hair was wrapped in a seal and functioned as a compass, which was how, thus far, they had been tracking their target.

Zi Wuji understood that the function of the seal was to point out the direction of blood relatives. However, the seal could only point to direct blood relatives, hence, it was likely not Kushina’s hair being used but Uzumaki Mito’s.

He’d heard that the person they were after was the woman’s granddaughter, one of the “Legendary Sannin.”

What did surprise him was that the hair stopped floating, and no longer pointed in any direction.

The seal was still working, but the hair didn’t float.

She’s… dead?

Zi Wuji’s brows creased up immediately.

As one of the only two people present with a master-level knowledge of fūinjutsu, he was able to determine the meaning of the hair no longer floating. The seal was designed to only point to living blood relatives.

Just like that? The Granddaughter of Uzumaki Mito? Of Senju Hashirama? Dead?

“K-Kushina-sama? W-what’s wrong?”

The black-haired girl who’d been following them asked with a shaky voice.

“W-why isn’t it…”

Did that Uzumaki idiot not teach her anything?

Zi Wuji wanted to sigh.

How dare you die? Useless brat. You’ve wasted my valuable training time with this futile outing.

At the same time, however, Zi Wuji glanced towards the strand of hair, and then, towards Kushina, and his junior disciple brother.

But… usually, such a thing… seems unlikely. Given that not only am I here, but there is someone like Uzumaki Kushina, a person sealed with a Tailed Beast, and him, who is practically a Favored Son of Heaven…

Zi Wuji had a strange feeling. 

In the Rain World, Favored Sons and Daughters of Heavens did not suffer exercises of futility. The Celestial Slaughter Demon Ye Fangchen had been the prime example. He would be sent on a minor errand to gather information from a mortal village and end up discovering a secret plot of a Demonic Cultivator using that village as refinement materials to create a powerful Cultivation Art. He could be sent to fetch apples from an orchard, and the apple he picked would turn out to contain a hidden ten-thousand-year fruit worm that was the missing ingredient needed to cure the disease of a Jade Beauty’s grandfather.

Such individuals had too much Karmic Accumulation, and while it could be said that Heaven itself was on their side, it could be said that they were slaves to Heaven’s Will.

It was also one of the reasons why Ye Fangchen had coveted the Karma Desolation Way Codex. Whilst such fortune was enviable, the fates of such individuals were not always positive. The Favor of the Heavens meant such that they were but victims of providence, mere passengers on a vehicle driven by the impulses of an unfathomable force, to a destination they could neither change nor control.

Only with the Karma Desolation Way Codex could one extricate themselves from the whims and will of the Heavens.

As the wielder of the Karma Desolation Way Codex, a reincarnator, Zi Wuji possessed unusual karma. While it was still possible for there to be futility in his actions, it was not the same for others. Uchiha Itachi was very likely a full Favored Son, and Uzumaki Kushina was similarly a person of abnormal providence.

Karma often may function similarly to gravity. There is an Attraction and a Repulsion.  When individuals like ourselves with such varying and convoluted karma gather and aim for a goal, our combined Karma gets intertwined. This leads to two outcomes… 

Either the goal is successful, with little effort…

Or the goal becomes unfathomably difficult, unforeseen complications arrive, to the point we either die failing to accomplish it, or encounter a desperate uphill battle…

Karma was an invisible force, but it permeated all things. No one could escape it. No one could avoid it. No one could extricate themselves from it. One’s actions and deeds would accumulate karmic debt. 

Zi Wuji’s eyes locked onto the single strand of hair, that literal grayish-red thread that would contain their fate. Almost as though sensing his expectant gaze — 

The hair began floating once more.

“W-what?”

Kushina was at first confused, then doubtful, then, she was thrilled.

“I knew she could hold on, dattebane!”

As expected… Zi Wuji sucked in a deep breath.

“All of you, we’re increasing our pace! Full speed! We’re not stopping to rest for even a moment!”

“Hai!”

There is too much Karmic Accumulation to allow exercises of futility.

XXXXX

He had successfully assassinated Senju Tsunade.

Kakuzu did not feel pride. He did not feel satisfaction. There was only the remnant itch of irritation and fury. There was no enjoyment had in the pursuit and hunt of prey that had been this pathetic.

The cave reeked of blood. He crouched down as he lifted the severed head of the blonde woman by her hair, his killing intent still radiating as he stared at it. Her eyes were still open in disbelief as if somehow, finding it hard to believe that she’d met her end here.

Such individuals were always the same. They did not believe they could die, having such an undisguised and nauseating sense of assurance in their existence that they found the question of their mortality a distant prospect. The types that believed they could not die of mundane means, and would go down either heroically or in a blaze of glory.

Kakuzu scoffed.

Had he known from the beginning that she was truly this inept, he would have killed her and been done with it earlier. To think all along, his caution and preparation had been in vain. There had been no greater plan, no masterful deception, all of it, had merely been the foolish actions of a foolish woman.

“What a disappointment.”

He’d ascribed intelligence to deeds that were done out of stupidity, and such a thing still vexed him greatly. He’d made a fool of himself. He’d expected far too much of Senju Tsunade, and those expectations clouded his judgment. It was an error he would never make again. 

Seeing as she’d fled from the Tanigakure shinobi, he’d reigned in the urge to attack her then, following the crater-like steps she left in her wake until he reached this location.

Her escape attempt would have worked had it been any other. They would have lacked both the speed and stamina to catch up to her. Yet, Kakuzu had both. Unlimited stamina given by an immortal body, and the speed of an S-Rank shinobi with a specialized Earth Natured Chakra.

If she’d been aware of how long he’d been following her —

Yet, it mattered little now. 

To think that in his hand was a head worth a hundred million, easily his highest bounty to date, yet he felt nothing but complete irritation holding it. Those who knew him only by his greedy, miserly persona would never believe he could be discontent at such a moment, and it was why they would never expect it the day he turned down an indescribable sum and plunged a blade into their skulls.

Yet, could it truly be said to have been in vain?

Kakuzu’s gaze shot over to the woman’s headless corpse. He could tell that her heart was still beating, however faintly. Despite her head being severed, her body was still struggling to stay alive.

“Such resilience is pointless.”

Kakuzu bent as he examined her spasming body. He almost felt regret for killing her so quickly. With how pathetic she was, he doubted the woman had the mental fortitude to withstand torture. He could have slowly tortured Hashirama's secrets and all the knowledge of her techniques out of her before killing her.

No. There’s no need for that.

He was never the type of person to take unnecessary risks. Caution was the reason he had stayed alive for so long.

So what if she knew valuable techniques? He would not be driven by petty greed and make a costly mistake. Torturing her in an unsecured location was bound to draw attention. Others could find him and, ergo, rescue her.

Instead, Kakuzu decided he would settle for the woman’s heart, and add it, here and now, to his collection. 

Even if her skills were lackluster, her heart should be especially strong. She was part-Uzumaki. The Uzumaki Clan were known for their resilience and strong life force. Simply having her heart would mean having yet another trump card, as it would be harder to kill than all the others.

His mind settled, black threads surged out of his body, out of his hand, and slowly pounced upon the still spasming headless body. The sound of clothes being ripped reverberated softly before it blended into the acoustic melody of flesh being ripped.

A steady, slowly beating heart revealed itself to him, and Kakuzu commanded the black threads to rip it out. It tore away from the aorta and blood vessels, spurting copious amounts of blood into the air. The heart hovered in place, as the threads began knitting the newest addition to his collection into his upper right shoulder blade.

The sound of skin being pierced layer by layer ran throughout the cave, the ghastly echo chasing away all wildlife within the vicinity.

In moments, the final black thread was in place.

With the heart of Senju Tsunade, he had six Hearts in total. He would need to die six times to be truly killed.

“Now, what chakra affinities did this fool of a woman possess…”

Kakuzu poured chakra into his newest heart, only to freeze as he did so.

Skin began to crawl, yet it was not his. 

Fairer, softer skin began to climb down his shoulder, racing down his body, devouring it like a swarm of locusts. Flesh and bone crawled forth and cannibalized, consuming him in a ravenous fury.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

He swiftly cut off his entire arm, but the black threads immediately reattached it back, the flesh instantly healing with a sharp hiss, emitting a burst of steam.

Kakuzu could not believe it. His Kinjutsu, the Jiongu, was working against him? No, it was following some autonomous command to heal. A command he had not given it! Why was —

“Another Kinjutsu?!”

Senju Tsunade had been using a Kinjutsu?

A Kinjutsu that automatically sought to heal the body?

“Impossible.”

Kinjutsu. A Forbidden Technique. Some were forbidden because the consequences of using them were often dire, and they could harm the user just as easily as they aided them. Others were forbidden because they were considered malignant, vile, and evil.

Whatever Kinjutsu that Hashirama’s granddaughter used was still active!

From what Kakuzu could decipher, as long as there was chakra, the Kinjutsu would attempt to heal every single wound and injury. The moment he’d grafted her heart onto his body and channeled chakra through it, it had resumed its function.

It was attempting to ‘heal’ Senju Tsunade.

It was trying, desperately, to regenerate her from nothing but a beating heart. In so doing, it had determined him as something akin to a ‘wound.’ He was an invader, a foreign enemy preventing healing, and one that needed to be consumed so the technique could do its function — 

Rapid, uncontrollable cell division.

He’d essentially grafted a cancerous organism into his body.

One that had infected him. One that would consume him as material. 

“Impossible.”

Again, he sliced off the parts of the flesh that were rapidly growing and consuming him. His hands became a blur as he cut, and cut, and cut at himself. The ground was splattered red with torrents of blood as he sliced away, but again and again, the more he cut, the more the flesh continued to grow.

As long as he had chakra, the technique would continue. 

The only way to stop it was to completely exhaust his chakra, but he had five hearts. He had too much chakra to run out. Sealing his own chakra was also an impossibility, as his body required it to control the threads of the Jiongu.

“Impossible.”

He disconnected the heart, tearing it off his person, yet, it immediately regenerated, healthier, and stronger than before. 

“IMPOSSIBLE!”

Kinjutsu were considered “Forbidden” for a reason, this was something he had long been aware of, yet, not even he could have anticipated this. A technique that continued to function even after the apparent death of its user? There were less than a handful of precedents. Throughout the entire Elemental Nations, how many people could create a Jutsu that transcended their life and death?

“SENJU! DAMN YOU ALL! DAMN YOU! HASHIRAMA! YOUR DAMNED BLOODLINE!”

Kakuzu’s frustrated roars echoed out of the cave as did the unending cacophony of tearing flesh. From ripping her ever-growing skin, in his fury, his desperation, he began to rip off parts that belonged to him. His nails dug deep into his flesh, past the dermis, into the subcutaneous tissue, pulling away until the bare white bone was exposed. He ripped at his face, the edges of his fingers grabbing at his scalp like it were silk and rending it from his flesh. 

Flesh grew almost as quickly, if not faster than he ripped and tore, and yet, he continued. Blood pooled as he tore off his ears, peeled the hair connected to his scalp, and scraped at the skin of his neck like it were a fish to be filleted. He grabbed at his own throat, tearing out his larynx and discarding it onto the ground with a wet, squelching plop, only to scream further, as it grew back instantly, and his voice was no longer his.

For several minutes, the haunting sounds of tearing flesh and maddened, desperate screams of a high-pitched voice filled the air, as a river of blood flowed out the cave’s entrance.

For minutes.

And hours.

Until —

There was silence.

Chapter Text

Sitting atop a rocky mountain within Ishi no Kuni, the Land of Stone, a thin-looking man garbed in a white shinobi attire spoke to two aged toads. A horned forehead protector which was previously adorned on his head, was now attached to his left arm, with the kanji for "oil" (油, abura), while another, clear, Konohagakure no Sato forehead protector was worn on his right arm.

The edges of the man’s fingernails were dyed a permanent, irremovable black, and had the lingering scent of ink and paper.

One toad stood on his left shoulder, and the other stood on his right.

“Are you sure about this, Jiraiya-boyo?”

“Pa is right. If anything goes wrong, we won’t be able to support you.”

“Pa, Ma, I’m confident.”

The aura of the man was completely untraceable. There was none of the air one would expect of a shinobi. His chakra was one with the environment, suppressed to a degree that birds would occasionally land on his head, thinking of it as a resting spot.

Yet, even when he moved his head, the birds did not flee.

“These months I’ve spent away from Konoha makes me realize how much I miss it all. Naru-chan’s antics. Kushina’s cooking. Sakumo’s kid trying to act aloof while he secretly reads my Icha Icha books. And now, Minato-kun has two new brats to corrupt…”

Jiraiya’s gaze turned towards the bright, blue sky.

“It’s time.”

Both toads shot knowing gazes towards themselves, before shooting it back towards Jiraiya. 

“Be safe, Jiraiya-boyo.”

“We’ll be waiting for your success.”

Both toads vanished in a puff of smoke, and Jiraiya, sitting, exhaled. His gaze shot down the cliff, towards the massive canyon down below. Anyone who saw his eyes would notice his pupils were rectangular, and his face had markings on them. These markings were black, as though he’d applied a heavy amount of eyeshadow.

Extending his right hand out, his inky fingers brushed at the air. Space quivered, and a seal of ink formed in the space before him. The seal twisted and turned as the ink bulged before it took a three-dimensional form.

“Ninpō: Chōjū Giga.”

The seal transformed, turning into four gargantuan, house-sized toads, similarly, made of ink.

Ninpō: Chōjū Giga, (Ninja Arts: Caricatures of Birds and Beasts) was not a technique Jiraiya created. It was a technique that had been in the possession of the now defunct “Root” organization.

It was well known that due to his desire to learn how to unravel the barrier that had countered Minato’s Flying Thunder God Technique, he’d gone around experimenting with fūinjutsu barriers across the entirety of Konoha. One of those barriers had once caught two Kumo nin who attempted to abduct the Hyūga heiress, whilst another had caught a platoon of unknown shinobi that had been revealed to belong to a splinter cell group run by Shimura Danzo.

His actions had led to the immediate house arrest of Shimura Danzo, and similarly, Jiraiya had profited from his knowledge after he reversed the seal preventing the Root shinobi from speaking to make it so they could not stop talking.

Of those shinobi in Root, there had been a boy who practiced this technique, gaining the ability to paint anything he drew to life, imbuing chakra into ink for his purposes to attack or defend.

Jiraiya had practiced and learned the technique without hesitation, as he was constantly using ink, and felt the technique had merits. Doubly so, he’d found ways to improve it.

The four giant ink toads fled immediately into four specific directions at once, departing from him. The moment they did so, Jiraiya took a breath, reaching out with his fingers, drawing at the air again. He drew a different seal. The seal was composed of three floating tomoe, circling each other.

The Cursed Seal of Heaven.

A memory flickered in Jiraiya’s mind.

“You — you can get rid of it? Really?”

“Yes. It isn’t too hard. But, Mitarashi, now is not the time.”

“W-what? What do you mean?”

“If you can wait six… no, five years then —”

“Five years?! I can’t wait five fucking minutes!  If you can get rid of this seal, Jiraiya-sama, I’ll —”

“Do you want to be free or do you want to see him face justice?”

“W-what?”

“There are portions of Orochimaru’s chakra stored in this seal. If given a few years, we can use it to track him, wherever he is in the world, without fail.”

“Then… what? You want me to wait until you’re ready to use me as a fucking ninken?”

“No. I have a method. I can remove it right now, but you’ll need to sacrifice something, and we’ll need a Yamanaka to modify your memories. Would you be willing to —”

“Yes! Yes! Whatever you have to do, just do it! Please, Jiraiya-sama! Get rid of this damned curse!”

The ink-seal shifted and morphed under Jiraiya’s control until it changed once more. There, floating in his hand, was a miniature, ink-replica of Mitarashi Anko.

“Senpō: Jinrei Giga.”

Before, he thought it would take him five years to create this jutsu, but, with the aid of Senjutsu, it had only taken a few months.

Sage Arts: Caricatures of Man and Spirit.

He felt it even though the ink-caricature could not speak. The overwhelming hatred possessed by Mitarashi Anko. The years of accumulated loathing and spite. The complex feelings of adoration and adulation mixed and blended with detestation and abhorrence.

Such a lifelike caricature could not be created without sacrifice. A portion of memories. A portion of chakra. A portion of the soul. These combined, like a beacon, pointing him in the direction of a target. 

The ink-Anko made of the Cursed Seal of Heaven was all but struggling to rush straight forward in a manic, frenzied fury, towards the target of its hatred. It kept pointing in a direction, all but dragging him by his thumb to run towards it.

Jiraiya turned his gaze towards the location the ink-Anko was gesturing towards and laughed.

“Don’t worry. He won’t get away.”

The ink-Anko stomped petulantly, and Jiraiya molded the ink until it transformed back into the three tomoe of the Cursed Seal of Heaven. As it faded out of view, he closed his eyes and waited.

He did not wait long.

Down, in the canyon below, two figures were approaching. Both of them wore conical hats masking their faces from the heat of the sun, and both of them were garbed in black robes adorned with red clouds.

There was no hesitation.

RASENGAN!

A ball of spinning, spiraling chakra appeared in Jiraiya’s hands as he leaped down.

BOOM!

Both figures in the black robes dodged at the last minute, as the grinding rotating smacked directly into the earth, shaking the ground and leaving a massive crater.

The moment his feet touched the ground, several feet away, the four giant ink toads he’d created exploded in four different directions — North, East, West, and South.

In moments, the ink toad's explosion turned them into writing — not just any writing, but seals. A translucent barrier quickly formed upon the death of the ink toads, rising into the sky like a volcanic eruption. In moments, the barrier reached a hundred feet high, and connected, forming a large, rectangular dome over three square kilometers.

Fūin Kekkai: Ido no Kaeru.

The dust cloud settled, as the two black-cloaked figures stood ten feet away, and both parties sized the other up.

“Kukuku…“

A low, soft chuckle emerged from one of the robed figures.

“That was the Fourth Hokage’s shape transformation technique.” 

The other figure spoke, with a raspy voice.

“A friend of yours?”

The second figure chuckled. “An old friend.”

He removed the conical straw hat.

“Is that you, Jiraiya? Kukuku, you look very different.”

Jiraiya couldn’t help but smile upon seeing the face of his one and only rival in the world. “Orochimaru.”

Upon seeing his rival, the person he once strived to compete against, to beat, to surpass, before him, Jiraiya, felt —

Disappointment.

In his heart, Jiraiya understood.

“You look exactly the same.”

They were no longer in the same league.

XXXXX

There was blood in the air.

This was neither a figure of speech nor a hyperbole. A thick, overwhelming blood-red fog lingered in the air around them, and the further they moved, the thicker and more viscous the fog. The syrupy nature of the fog not only slowed them down considerably, but the sheer stench alone nauseated her from the depths of her soul.

The disgusting bloody miasma was potent for miles on end. Every breath she took felt as though she was inhaling copper-tinged milk through her nostrils, forcing her again and again to ignore the urge to retch. 

Even with all her experience in the Third Shinobi World War, Uzumaki Kushina had never encountered such a situation. She could not explain it. She had no frame of reference for such an occurrence.

A part of her wanted to relate the blood fog to be some sort of variant technique of the Hidden Mist’s Hiding in the Mist technique, but not even she had heard of anyone creating a Blood Mist technique. As far as she knew, there were no Kekkai Genkai, no bloodline abilities, that allowed a person to manipulate blood. At best she knew, one could manipulate bones, like the Kaguya clan, but beyond that?

The worst of this all was that the moment they entered the blood fog, her method of tracking Tsunade went haywire. In her hand, the strand of hair that belonged to Uzumaki Mito, the First Hokage’s Wife, was spinning rapidly and erratically like a giant shuriken. Kushina couldn’t understand why. The erratic spinning would seem to imply that Tsunade was everywhere around them, but that couldn’t be correct.

Damn it! What’s this situation, ‘ttebane?!

As a veteran of the Third Shinobi World War, and an experienced Jōnin in her own right, Kushina quickly calmed her mind and began to think. In moments like these, reconnaissance was of the utmost importance. They needed information. The more information they had, the better they would be able to progress.

She regarded the Genin with her.

“Neji-chan, use your Byakugan. What can you see through the fog?”

The scion of the Hyūga Clan beside her fell silent. His features scrunched up.

“Neji-chan?”

“It is filled with chakra.”

Kushina felt a chill.

“This fog is not a natural phenomenon. The further I see, the thicker it becomes. The chakra in the blood fog is limiting my range of vision.”

This… could it actually be someone’s technique?!

Kushina’s mind reeled. Blood was not water. How much blood would a person need to create a fog this thick, vast, and dense? No human alive would have enough blood for this. They’d need to kill at least several hundred people.

At the same time, the scion of the Uchiha Clan activated his eyes. The spinning red Sharingan peered through the fog, but he did not speak.

Both members of her makeshift team with superior eyes were having visual difficulties, much less her. As it was, Kushina couldn’t even see more than three or so feet ahead of her anymore. There was only an endless, bloody mist that obscured everything. Her clothes were dyed red, the blood was beginning to condense on her skin, and her hair, and was even irritating her eyes.

She was slowly becoming drenched in blood that was not hers, her clothes were sticking uncomfortably to her skin, and her hair was redder than it had ever been.

Kushina flickered her gaze to her team. Both Anko and Shizune were better off because they were both wearing skin-tight, liquid-resistant spandex to begin with. Other than their bloodied-wet hair, they were fine.

The strangest one was the young Hyūga. Despite moving in the blood fog, his white clothes outfit was still somehow pristine and white. The further Kushina glanced at him, the more she noticed it wasn’t just his white outfit. His entire body was protected from the fog somehow.

Is he releasing a constant layer of chakra over his skin?

Kushina pressed her lips together.

…That’d require near-perfect chakra control.

She couldn’t copy the method even if she wanted to. 

“K-Kushina-sama, this — this might be an enemy’s technique targeted at Tsunade-sama. But — how did they know about…” 

Beside her, Shizune shook.

Anko frowned. “What are you on about?”

“She — Tsunade-sama has severe hemophobia. If she sees blood… she… freezes up completely. Her mind shuts down and… she becomes helpless. At that point… even a Genin could kill her.”

“She’s a medical-nin — how the fuck does she —”

“There is someone approaching us from the fog.”

Hyūga Neji’s voice sharply cut in. The young Hyūga prodigy swiftly moved into the stance of the Hyūga’s Gentle Fist. Kushina’s instincts sharpened as she readied herself, moving to the front of the team.

All at once, they heard it.

The sound of naked, bare feet, slapping against wet stone. Step by step. Step, after step. The approaching footsteps of an individual.

“Neji-chan —”

“There is only one person,” Neji answered the question before she asked it. “A girl. She —”

Neji froze.

“What in the heavens?!”

“What? What is it, ttebane?!”

“Dodge!”

Kushina’s body reacted before her mind did. She leapt backwards. A fist slammed into the ground where she’d once stood. The ground shattered like a mirror struck with a hammer, the earth trembled and shook, and the force of the impact created a massive cloud of dust and debris.

She and the rest of her team retreated at the same time, moving into their pre-organized formation, as they awaited the settling dust. 

A pool-sized crater was created from the impact, and in the middle of the crater, was a small figure.

There was a girl, who stood, naked as the day she was born, drenched completely head to toe in blood and gore. Her hair was long and tinged red, and Kushina could not make out the color beyond the hue of blood. 

The girl’s eyes were open, but they were blank, and vacant, as if staring not at them, not at any of them, but beyond them. Past them, into the horizon. It was a blank, empty gaze, the kind Kushina had heard was rarely found in certain extremely traumatized shinobi during and after war. 

A Thousand Yard Stare.

“T-Tsunade… sama?”

Shizune was the first to speak, yet, her voice was uncertain.

“T-Tsunade-sama! W-what happened to you?! Tsunade-sama!”

“The fuck? That’s Tsunade?”

Anko’s words echoed Kushina’s thoughts. The girl standing before them was young. Younger than her, and younger, even, than Shizune. She looked to be in her early teens, being around fourteen to fifteen. More so, with all the blood, it was hard to examine her features for certain.

Kushina was aware that Tsunade often used a transformation to appear younger than she was, but this was clearly not a transformation, and this was far younger than she normally transformed. Why would she appear as someone just entering their teens? 

“Tsunade-sama! It’s me! Shizune! Tsunade-sama! D-do you remember?”

“Do not waste your breath. She cannot hear you.”

“W-what?”

Kushina flickered her gaze to the young Hyūga, as did the others. “What can you see, Neji-chan?”

“She is not conscious. There are countless black threads in her body, moving and controlling her autonomously…” Neji frowned. “More so, her body’s cells are dividing at an unprecedented rate. Such an uncontrolled rate of division is inexplicable.”

“Creation Rebirth!” 

Neji sharply turned his head towards Shizune. “You know what this is?”

“It’s… It’s Tsunade-sama’s Kinjutsu — it allows her to regenerate from any injury, at the cost of her lifespan… “

“Is that so?” Neji turned his head back. “I see. She has completely exhausted her lifespan, her cells have divided to a point where they can divide no longer.”

His gaze sharpened. His Byakugan had an eerie white glow in the thick blood fog.

“But those black threads in her body are keeping her alive. Her cells are forced to keep dividing, to keep regenerating. She is becoming younger every passing second.”

Becoming… younger? Kushina’s heart chilled.

“If that technique is not deactivated, in a matter of hours, she’ll return to being prepubescent, then, a toddler, then, a fetus. After that…”

“Tsunade-sama!” Shizune screamed. “Deactivate it, Tsunade-sama! You need to cancel the technique!”

Young Tsunade with blank eyes turned towards Shizune.

“Tsunade-sama? You remem—”

A pitch-black thread shot out of Tsunade’s hand with a sonic boom, striking Shizune in the chest. The younger girl’s eyes bulged as she was struck, her body tearing through the air with tremendous speed as she ricocheted off trees and was sent flying off into the distance.

“Shizune-chan!”

Kushina’s heart was thumping fast. W-what was that? 

The attack had come too suddenly.

If it wasn’t for that ridiculous spandex, Shizune would already be — 

Kushina grit her teeth.

I’ve never heard of her having any technique like that, ttebane!

Uzumaki Kushina did not know of the Jiongu. It was a hidden Kinjutsu of Takigakure no Sato, one which was stolen from the village years before she was born by a traitor, and thus, lost from it. Not only did Takigakure not spread the knowledge of this technique, but they even tried to prevent the world from knowing about the theft to a large degree.

As for the thief of the technique, he never left witnesses when he used it. Hence, how could she know of it?

Moreso, she was the most experienced shinobi here. If she did not know it, the three Genin behind her definitely would not either.

This… this is bad.

She’d not been on active duty for almost six years now. She was, to a large degree, rusty. If she was facing a Genin-level or Chūnin-level opponent, this wouldn’t be an issue. A Special Jōnin-level opponent would pose a minor challenge, but she’d be confident of victory. An ANBU-level foe would make her sweat and work for the victory. Against a Jōnin-level opponent, there would be tremendous difficulty and the fight could go either way.

However, her opponent was Kage Level.

The Three Sannin: Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, were all S-Rank, and without a doubt, Kage Level. Even if Tsunade was similarly rusty, there was a vast difference between a rusty tiger and a rusty cat.

Worse still, Tsunade was not in her right senses and trying to kill them, whereas Kushina, without a doubt, did not want to kill her. Fighting a Kage Level opponent was already an unfathomable challenge, but doing so while holding back to avoid killing them?

Even Minato couldn’t claim to be able to do so easily.

This…. This is really bad!

She was heavily regretting telling him that she’d only go with a group of Genin.

Yet, there was no time for regret.

“Neji-chan, Itachi-chan, Anko-chan! Stay close together!”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three black threads lunged towards her at the same time Kushina clapped her hands together.

“Adamantine Sealing Chains!”

XXXXX

His former teammate had changed.

Orochimaru could tell immediately that the present Jiraiya was not the same as the old Jiraiya. This was an instinctive, innate sensation he got the moment his gaze landed on him. The presence of the Konoha forehead protector indicated an ideological shift in stance, and that it was on his arm, matching the forehead protector from that mountain of toads told Orochimaru of the man’s shift in priority of allegiances.

His hair was no longer spiky but flowed like a waterfall, and he was thinner, almost appearing like someone who had been malnourished or starved for a truly long time.

The white shinobi attire he wore was also vastly different from Jiraiya’s usual horrendous get-up.

All of these changes, however, did not put him on guard. Only one question did.

How did he find me?

Tracking him down was not an easy feat. More so, ever since he joined the Akatsuki and had been traveling with the organization, never staying in one particular place for more than a day.

The spy he planted in Konoha had told him that there was some news of Jiraiya becoming more and more reclusive, but Orochimaru had paid no heed to it. The spy had told him of Shimura Danzo’s arrest and the disbandment of Root, and how Jiraiya was somehow responsible, but even then, Orochimaru did not pay heed to it.

It was a mistake.

His former teammate’s changes were not minor. There was an unfathomable pressure being exerted presently. A pressure he could not put into words. The man’s eyes were clear and deep. It lacked the conflicting emotions he used to have whenever their gazes met. It lacked the envy, the bitterness, the helplessness, the hatred, and intense rivalry.

Those eyes? Is that…?

“Kukukuku… You’ve mastered Senjutsu? Is that where your confidence comes from?”

Jiraiya kept his hands behind his back, his tone was plain as if he was speaking blunt facts.

“Today, you’ll return to Konoha to atone for your crimes. Not killing you is already giving you more mercy than you deserve, but for the sake of Sensei and Tsunade-hime, it’s the best I can do.” 

Orochimaru let out a bark of laughter. Then, his laugh stopped. There was something in Jiraiya’s tone that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. Yet, before he could speak, the figure beside him spoke up.

“Orochimaru, be cautious. I cannot access my storage scrolls.”

Orochimaru snapped his head towards his current partner. Sasori. Then, immediately, his gaze shot to the distance, the large translucent barrier. A sneaking suspicion came from deep within him. He secretly attempted one of his many snake-related ninjutsu, one that would summon a barrage of snakes into his sleeves —

Nothing happened.

I cannot feel my connection to Ryūchi Cave.

Once more, Orochimaru attempted to perform a technique. The casual Substitution technique.

It failed.

A Barrier that interferes with Space-Time Ninjutsu? 

Orochimaru’s thoughts came one after the other. 

The barrier interferes with all Space-Time-related Jutsu. I cannot summon any snakes from Ryūchi Cave nor can I use any of my snake-related ninjutsu.

Orochimaru shot his gaze towards Sasori.

He has thousands of puppets, but they are kept in sealing scrolls. This barrier prevents him from accessing any of them. Meaning his current threat level is negligible. He is a hindrance, not only to Jiraiya, but myself.

My techniques have been vastly limited and Sasori has been completely suppressed. In contrast, Jiraiya has Mastered Senjutsu and he does not need to rely on summoning toads to aid him…

This battlefield is in his favor.

“Kekeke… I see. So, this is why you’re so confident.”

The next moment, Orochimaru made a move.

Shunshin!

He blurred away, leaving Sasori and Jiraiya behind as he made a straight beeline towards the translucent barrier.

Sasori should buy me a few minutes. I need to break that barrier technique. The moment it’s broken, I have to summon Manda immediately.

Orochimaru was not a fool. He had done vast research on Senjutsu, and understood that a Complete Sage was a troubling opponent. Fighting one would require all of his abilities. To do so while most of his techniques were unavailable was not only asinine but outright asking for a humiliating defeat.

In the entire history of the Shinobi World, from the beginning till the present, Orochimaru had heard of only one person, that was not the fabled Sage of Six Paths, who had fully mastered Senjutsu and become a Complete Sage: 

Hashirama Senju.

The might of the First Hokage was something even he could not hold a candle to. He did not believe Jiraiya had reached that level, but there was a vast gulf in their respective information.

His foolish former teammate possessed knowledge of quite a lot of his abilities and trump cards, whilst he did not fully understand what Jiraiya was now capable of as a Complete Sage.

More so, fighting in a battleground that was designed to weaken his strengths and elevate that of his enemy was utter stupidity.

There was no shame or sense of humiliation from having to retreat from Jiraiya. As far as Orochimaru was concerned, this was a tactical decision. The true battle would start once he broke the barrier. Once Sasori could unleash his puppets, Orochimaru did not doubt that both his and Sasori’s combined strength was enough to force back if not outright kill his former teammate.

The rocky terrain blurred in his vision, and Orochimaru came to a stop as he arrived at the edge of the barrier, near the end of the canyon.

He did not set up any traps or protection? Kukuku… did mastering Senjutsu make you become so arrogant, Jiraiya? 

Orochimaru looked at the seals on the ground.

This… this barrier’s been reversed? 

Most barriers would prevent outsiders from going in, but not stop them from going out. This one, however, prevented people from going out but allowed anything and everything to come in.

This meant Jiraiya himself could not escape this barrier even if he wanted to. He would have to get someone from the outside to deactivate it for him. 

Tsk!

Thinking quickly, Orochimaru dug into the ground, using the Hiding Like a Mole Technique, only to immediately be rebounded out of the ground with a force that shook his bones.

The barrier extends underground?

He shot his gaze skywards. Shunshin!

Again, another force sent him slamming back down into the earth.

It covers the sky as well?

Orochimaru’s mind was racing.

If I cannot escape it, I need to unravel the method used to prevent space-time techniques from working.

He turned his focus toward the seals on the ground.

Jiraiya did not even attempt to hide these. Does he believe his Fūinjutsu knowledge surpasses mine? Fool.

Indeed, Orochimaru was a genius. His knowledge of Fūinjutsu was not lacking in the least. He would not be able to create the Cursed Seal of Heaven and the Cursed Seal of Earth if it were lacking. He was a Fūinjutsu Master in his own right.

However, upon seeing the seals laid bare for him, Orochimaru’s thought process froze.

Impossible.

That one word came to mind.

Jiraiya could not have made this. His Fūinjutsu style has always been crude and unrefined. It is likely that brat — Namikaze. Him and his wife. It has to be! That blasted couple!

The longer he stared at the seals, the longer his silence lingered. An unfathomable feeling emerged in his soul. A feeling he had not experienced, nor known, in years. 

I… cannot decipher it? I? I, Orochimaru? I cannot decipher a fūinjutsu sequence?

He did not even know where to begin, or how to begin. It was as though he was staring into a complex mathematical formula written in a dead language by which he knew only four words.

Impossible!

I refuse to believe it!

Impossible!

The Namikaze is the Hokage, he shouldn’t have time to constantly improve his fūinjutsu to this level. His wife may be of Uzumaki blood, but she is just a housewife. She should not have this level of ability either!

“There you are.”

Orochimaru turned around, his pupils shrunk to pin-pricks. 

There, Jiraiya arrived, and in his right hand, was a motionless young man with red hair. The young man with red hair did not move, nor speak, his face was emotionless, and it made it clear his entire body was not made of flesh, but was instead, a puppet.

Orochimaru did not speak. Yet, he could not help but stare in disbelief.

“Hm? Oh. Your partner. It was an unfortunate match-up.” 

Jiraiya lifted the puppet high. 

“He replaced all of his body parts and turned into a puppet. The only part of him that was alive was his core. I could sense it, so I immediately attacked it with Frog Kata. I didn’t think doing so would instantly kill him.”

Jiraiya dropped the motionless puppet on the ground. Orochimaru shot his gaze to it, and then back to Jiraiya, his breath still.

Dead?

Sasori was dead.

There was no denying it. Orochimaru could tell. Jiraiya didn’t need to lie to him.

Sasori of the Red Sands, an S-Rank Shinobi of Sunagakure no Sato  —

Had been killed in one hit.

It hadn’t even been up to three minutes since he left them.

“Kukukuku... So, this is the might of Senjutsu…?” 

Sasori had not even been able to buy him up to ten minutes and he was already dead.

“What do you think of this barrier technique? I call it Ido no Kaeru.”

Ido no Kaeru.

“You did not make this.”

Jiraiya shook his head. “I didn’t.” 

“Not even going to lie? You’re as foolish as ever.”

“Would you believe me if I said I created it?”

“No.”

Jiraiya laughed. The casual manner in which he spoke told Orochimaru all he needed to know. The self-assurance was palpable. All at once, many conjectures came to Orochimaru’s head similarly.

“You believe I cannot break it.”

“I spent four years just to learn what it was, and to learn that I could not break it, no matter what,” Jiraiya spoke calmly. “I could copy it and use it, like a student who sees a formula he doesn’t understand and gives it to others to solve, but I still couldn’t solve it myself. After a while, a thought came to me.”

Jiraiya’s pupils landed on Orochimaru, and for the first time, when he gazed at his former teammate, Orochimaru felt a chill. 

“I will capture you, return you to Konoha, and keep you imprisoned with it. Then, you will spend twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, desperately figuring out the fastest and most efficient way to break it.”

A ball of spiraling blue chakra emerged in Jiraiya’s palm.

“Or you will rot in a cell until the day of your death.”

Orochimaru gritted his teeth, and in moments, he spat out a sword from his mouth, lunging forward with a stab. 

“You’ve gotten cocky, Jiraiya!”’

“Just like the name I gave this barrier, you’ll soon understand…”

Jiraiya charged forward, meeting the sword with his Rasengan.

“You’re just a frog in a well.”

Chapter Text

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Chains of chakra burst out of the earth and clashed against pitch-black tendrils in a battlefield obscured by blood-red fog. For every attack by the tendrils, a chain would emerge to obstruct it. The tendrils possessed a kinetic force capable of shattering the sound barrier again and again, but the chain's defense held strong forcing both sides into a deadlock.

Even from her spot a fair distance away, Shizune could feel the earth tremble with each attack, the tremors making the already difficult task of healing herself even more difficult.

T-Tsunade… sama…

It was hard for her to breathe. She coughed a mouthful of blood as she laid her hand on her chest, injecting chakra to begin healing. More than five of her ribs were broken, whilst the others were completely cracked. The attack that sent her flying almost completely caved her chest in, and Shizune was more than aware it was not intended to simply send her flying, but to pierce her heart.

There was unmistakable killing intent.

Glancing at her pitiful self, Shizune was unsure whether she should laugh or cry. Earlier, she’d hated, despised, and outright wished ill upon the young Hyūga scion for destroying her clothes and forcing her to wear such an immodest outfit, but now?

The piercing force of the tendril had been negated by the seals on the spandex, turning it all into blunt kinetic energy. The blunt force trauma was also significantly reduced, which was why her chest was still in one piece and her inner organs hadn’t been pulverized.

This ridiculous getup was the only reason she was still alive.

Hyūga Neji had inadvertently saved her life.

I-I… I need to… heal myself… so I can… help Kushina-sama…

Shizune grit her teeth hard, pouring more chakra into her technique. The impact collisions were getting louder and louder, and the blood fog was getting thinner with each earth-shaking clash.

It thinned enough, just in time for Shizune to see Young Tsunade ascend into the air with an unending amount of pitch-black threads, all holding her up like a broken puppet. Hundreds of steel-like chains rushed forward, grabbing her wrists, and ankles, and binding her in place.

Is… Has Kushina-sama already —

There was an ungodly writhing sound that emerged from Young Tsunade’s body, as more threads burst out of her back. The black threads formed into a shape that anyone with basic knowledge of anatomy would know.

It formed into a black, fleshy-like organ, with four chambers separated by internal partitions, two atria, and two ventricles. Bit by bit, the black threads added four valves: a the tricuspid valve, between the right atrium and right ventricle, a pulmonary valve between the right ventricle and pulmonary artery, a mitral valve between the left atrium and left ventricle and an aortic valve between the left ventricle and aorta.

The moment the pitch-black heart made of threads appeared, Shizune felt dread.

W-what sort of technique is this? A Heart? Why — why is there a heart? Tsunade-sama! W-what happened to you?

There was a god-forsaken build up of chakra, and a single, earth-shaking beat. 

From the pulmonary valve, chakra poured out in the form of wind, and from the aortic valve, chakra pumped out in the form of fire.

The heart can unleash ninjutsu?!

The wind and fire met.

The world burned.

The resulting conflagration was an all-consuming Great Flood that dwarfed the likes of the Hokage Mountain and eliminated the horizon, tinging the sky an otherworldly orange. It roared and raged, a tidal wave of destruction, consuming everything in its path. The chains holding Tsunade down melted like wax in an oven, the trees instantly caught ablaze from proximity to the heat. Everything in its path went through several stages of thermal decomposition in seconds. What could bake, baked, what could sinter, sintered, what could melt, melted, what could burn — burned.

Am I…. going to die?

She couldn’t move. The flood of fire was approaching too quickly for her to outrun it even if she could. Shizune could only close her tear-tinged eyes and bite her lips.

Tsunade-sama, I’m… sorry.

The flames descended upon her.

Shizune awaited the pain, the agony, the heat —

Yet, there was nothing.

She opened her eyes in confusion.

Before her, a young boy, much younger than her, stood in pristine white robes. Hyūga Neji’s arms were kept behind him, and beside him and all around them, was a giant dome of rapidly spinning chakra. The dome possessed a strange, chilling energy, one which seemed to draw the fire towards it. The flames fed the rotation, becoming stronger, spinning faster, as if it were siphoning power from the force of the heat itself.  

“T-This is…?

“Yang Devouring Heavenly Rotation.”

The faster the dome of chakra spun, the quicker the flames were extinguished. Yet, even then, the flames were vast. Within the spinning dome, Shizune could not tell which direction was left or which direction was right, there was nothing but fire, and fire, and more fire, licking away at everything and licking away at nothing —

Yet within this dome, she was safe.

Shizune opened her lips but found no words. The scale of the combination wind-fire ninjutsu that had been unleashed was something beyond anything she was capable of surviving on her own. She hadn’t even been aware that Tsunade could use fire ninjutsu of such a level, nor did she know that Tsunade had a wind affinity to begin with. It was an attack most Chūnin would be helpless to defend against and one that even Jōnin would find hard to defend against.

Yet, a Genin, a boy much younger than her, stood calmly amidst the raging fire, his hands behind him, his hair aflutter with the wind, his expression as serene and tranquil as a motionless lake, defending against it with casual indifference.

S-strong.

All at once, Shizune didn’t find him so detestable anymore. She found his prior actions not only understandable but expected. If she, at that age, could defend against a Sannin’s full-scale attack, wouldn’t she be far more arrogant than he was? Wouldn’t she hold her nose high to the sky, and look down on everything and everyone?

If he’s this strong now… then when he’s older when he grows…

A chill ran down her spine. Shizune’s heart started beating rapidly. She wanted to open her mouth to speak but found no words.

As though a divine switch was flipped. The sea of flames receded like the ocean’s low tide. Bit by bit, the sky returned to the horizon. Smoke swept into place, so much so that it was impossible to see anything beyond the dome. Thick, choking, burning smoke replaced the flames and blocked out the sky once more, clearing the world from sight.

The spinning dome began to shrink. As it shrunk, the chakra within became incredibly compressed. It continued to minimize until it formed into a tiny, compressed sphere of bright whitish-yellow chakra floating in front of the boy, radiating immense heat, similar to a dazzling golden sun. 

Is that… isn’t that the… R-Rasengan?!

She coughed and hacked as the smoke entered her lungs and obscured her vision, preventing her from seeing what the boy did with the sphere of chakra. Her eyes watered from the acrid smoke, and she wheezed multiple times, eventually attempting to cover her nostrils with her hands.

Something, or rather someone, picked her up and grabbed her out of the smoke, and Shizune’s mind faltered for a moment, as she found herself in Hyūga Neji’s arms. Her cheeks burned with a different kind of heat, and she opened her mouth but found herself strangely unable to protest.

“How long will it take you to heal your wounds?”

“I — a few minutes —”

Hyūga Neji set her down behind a massive rock. “Heal yourself quickly and hide. This life-saving feature only works once.”

“Life-saving feature?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

Shizune felt a sudden breeze. She glanced down, only now noticing she was completely naked. Before she could so much as voice her confusion, there was a puff of smoke and Hyūga Neji vanished. 

In his place were the torn remnants of the spandex attire she’d once been wearing.

XXXXX

She really can’t be fighting like this purely subconsciously, ttebane?!

Kushina couldn’t stop coughing.

The acrid smoke from the remnants of the fire was almost as suffocating as the technique itself had been. Sweat poured down her features. A fair amount of her shinobi attire, including her flak jacket had been burned from the remnant flames and heat. She was barely decent, but in such a situation, no one would be foolish enough to focus on it.

Her Adamantine Sealing Barrier had managed to hold against the onslaught of the fire and protect the three Genin behind her, but only just. As the smoke cleared and the resulting aftermath became more visible, Kushina’s heart chilled further.

As she was a passable sensor, she’d managed to sense the chakra build-up in the strange black heart before the technique unleashed itself, but even that had baffled her. Her brain was struggling to understand when and how Tsunade could perform combination ninjutsu of this level. 

“Are you three alright?”

She turned to glance at her Genin and found all three of them in varying states. Anko was paler than paper and drenched in sweat. Itachi had a steady expression on his face. Whilst Neji —

There was something off about him. Kushina couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed to have less chakra than before.

“She has five hearts.”

“What?”

“She has five hearts,” Neji repeated. “Four of those five hearts turned into that black heart. Each opening contains a different chakra nature — Fire, Wind, Water, and Lightning. Each of those extra hearts acts as vessels of chakra. Her chakra control is also precise enough to amplify the power and launch more combination techniques.”

Five… hearts? That… that has to be a Kinjutsu. She has two concurrently activated Kinjutsu?!

Kushina was considering her options. She couldn’t go on the offensive while also defending these three. More so, she felt dread because she hadn’t been able to protect Shizune. The range of the fire, if it reached her —

“On your left!”

A tendril came lunging at her. She avoided it, evading at the last minute, however, the very edge of it tapped against the back of her neck. It was a minor tap, all things considered, an attack that did not hurt, but it sent an electric current running down her spine.

The next thing she knew, she was falling.

W-w-what?

She tried to stop her fall by standing, but instead of her legs obeying her commands, her fingers curled into a fist. She attempted to break her fall with her hands, but instead of her arms obeying her, her legs jerked backward, forcing her to land face-first into the scorched earth.

I can’t… w-what’s happening? I can’t control my body!

Another tendril came barreling down towards her head. She attempted to stand up, but her arms began swinging wide. Hyūga Neji and Uchiha Itachi appeared by her side at the same time, the latter diverting the tendril with a kunai, and the latter carrying her upon his back and leaping away.

“Can you speak?” 

She tried to speak but even opening her lips was changed into rapid, uncontrollable blinking. She attempted to stand on her own feet, but she instead slammed her head against the back of the boy’s skull. 

Every time she attempted to move, her body did a completely random action instead.

The boy glanced back at her, his Byakugan piercing through her in a manner that sent a chill running down her spine. 

“You’ve been struck by a medical ninjutsu. It sent a pulse of chakra that altered your nervous system and rewired your body's neural signals.”

W-what?

“Your brain sends electrical signals to your limbs to control it, the technique disrupts that, changing the pathways and signals. You will need to relearn the connection between your brain and limbs to move and fight again.”

Re-learn?

If it was perhaps Minato, she would think it possible, but this was beyond her. She couldn’t even stand. How was she supposed to relearn every single connection between her brain and body in the midst of this chaotic battle?

“You cannot accomplish such a meager task?” Hyūga Neji clicked his tongue. “Very well. I can reset your neural connections myself with the Gentle Fist. You will lose consciousness for a moment, then regain it. However, I will need your permission, and you must not reject my chakra.”

Do it! The words attempted to escape her lips but only blinks followed.

“Am I to take your blinks as a confirmation?”

Yes! She blinked again. 

Before she could ready herself, a palm landed smack dab in the middle of her stomach, and Kushina’s world went black.

XXXXX

So, this is the fated encounter?

From the very start of the fight, Zi Wuji had not focused on their foe. The black tendrils and her inability to die had earned his interest before he understood that such a technique could not be replicated. Without the tendrils, the ability to regenerate would burn his lifespan, of which he already had frighteningly little as a mortal. He would need the tendrils to counteract it, but those tendrils were an innate, biological kinjutsu. 

Replicating them was impossible — they would need to be transferred or transplanted, and such a thing was not feasible, as it would leave his body unsuitable for proper cultivation.

In truth, his real focus, all along, had been attempting to understand where his fated encounter lay. It could not be for that demented Sannin, surely, for neither the black tendrils nor regeneration suited his needs. As for the woman herself, she was admittedly of passable attractiveness, and her breasts were the largest he'd seen thus far in this world, but such matters were secondary to his goals.

His answer had come, once the Uzumaki woman was struck with that paralyzing technique. All the clues had been present from the very start, but it was only now that he managed to put it together. It was then, he’d seized the opportunity. Indeed, Zi Wuji knew not when such an opportunity would knock again.

A gargantuan fox, as large as mountains, with nine equally large tails lay chained down onto a pillar in the middle of an altar separated from land by a moat. The chains covered its hands, dug deep into its neck, bound its knees and ankles, its shoulder and stomach. The fox’s hands were humanoid, with digits and fingers, it snarled and roared when Zi Wuji appeared, floating in the air above it.

“As expected…” said Zi Wuji, scoffing. “Even if she thought you a mere beast, to have you chained in this manner is the work of an imbecile. Since time immemorial, what creature, within heaven and earth, does not desire freedom? Who would not struggle and fight and rebel and rage when chains ever-tighten against their neck?”

The giant fox roared at him. Its foul breath created harsh winds that blew his hair and clothes back, Zi Wuji stood amidst it like an iron pillar against a storm. He was not in the form of the child-like Hyūga Neji, but rather, appeared as a grown man, with long, elegant hair, wearing white Daoist robes.

“Enough. The fools who imprisoned you may lack the ability, but I can distinguish a savage beast from an intelligent one.”

Zi Wuji waved his hand. Numerous chains holding down the Nine-Tailed Fox slackened at once. The fox stilled, uncertain, before its head rose, the space welcomed. Eyes with pupils larger than Zi Wuji’s entire body landed upon him. There was wariness that had been lacking prior.

The chains were but a physical manifestation of the seal. Any capable of loosening it at will was someone capable of altering or even removing the work of its creator. An uncanny silence lingered. Then, the creature’s mouth opened, and words, with a voice like booming thunder, followed. “Who are you, human?”

Zi Wuji kept his hands behind his back.

“I am not here for you, fox.”

His long hair swayed behind him.

“Will you keep hiding, or will you show yourself?”

There was no response.

"You should have taught your inheritor the means of sealing away a portion of one's chakra and soul into the Eight Trigrams Seal. A failsafe that would activate if the Jinchuriki were to attempt to undo or replace the seal," said Zi Wuji. "Do you believe me foolish enough to think you would not leave behind a failsafe of your own? You, a woman who spent the first four chapters of her book on precautions and warnings?"

From the varying chains holding down the fox, arose a woman with bright-red hair and large, black pupilless eyes. She wore an elaborate, high-collared kimono with the Uzushiogakure symbol on the back of the obi which was tied around her waist. Her hair was arranged in buns with hair pins in them and three clips in the front. With a dark shade of red lipstick on her lips and a rhombus marking on her forehead, the remnant chakra and soul of Uzumaki Mito manifested within Uzumaki Kushina's seal.

Her eyes were deeply unkind. "Who are you?"

His hands clasped behind him, his hair swaying, he looked down at her, with an expressionless face.

"The Zodiac Formation King."

His hand pressed down like the heavens suppressing a mountain.

"Zi Wuji."

XXXXX

His Sharingan was spinning wildly, as it had been since the moment they entered the blood fog. His thoughts were clear, but he was more than certain they may have bitten off more than they could chew. The wisest course of action would be to seek reinforcements, if not retreat altogether.

However, both options did not seem viable at the moment.

Itachi’s gaze focused on the source of their troubles. The rejuvenated Sannin still high in the air, suspended by pitch-black threads holding her aloft like webs to a spider. The black heart created from those threads was an abomination of ninjutsu, and he was rapidly attempting to understand its machinations.

The Hokage’s wife had been struck with a technique that incapacitated her, and Hyūga Neji had whisked her to safety and had struck her unconscious, in what was likely a bid to undo it. However, this meant it was down to the three of them, three Genin, to face off against a Sannin.

More so, they were yet unaware of the extent of their foe’s abilities.

The situation was dire.

Itachi found it hard to believe that this much devastation was possible when a person was barely unconscious. Was it instinct? Her instinct seemed too sharp to be that of a person who supposedly had not been active for years. He felt as though they were fighting an aged veteran shinobi instead. 

A tiny, almost completely negligible pulse of chakra drew his attention. Itachi flickered his Sharingan over to Hyūga Neji. He saw the chakra in his left-hand pulsing ever so minutely. Pulsing at a constant rate that was similar to —

Konoha Morse Code?

Only someone with a Dōjutsu, either the Sharingan or Byakugan, would be able to see the pulses. Not even a sensor would be able to make out such tiny pulses.

Hyūga Neji had found a way for the two of them to communicate, and to do so rapidly without anyone else noticing.

“Threat?”

“Opportunity.”

“Attack?”

“Support.”

“Diversion?”

“Teammate.”

Itachi flickered his Sharingan towards Mitarashi Anko.

“Risk.”

“Fate.

In moments, the duo had formed a plan.

Itachi couldn’t help the tiny, inkling of a smile on his face. He was going up against a deranged Sannin as a Genin. Were it under normal circumstances, he would consider such an action to be insane. Yet, when the plan was proposed by Hyūga Neji, not only did he not find it insane, he felt there was a high probability of success.

Why?

Itachi could not be sure. It was a gut instinct. A gut feeling.

Strange.

Despite finding this feeling strange —

He could not say he disliked it.

XXXXX

Think.

Rasengan clashed against the Sword of Kusanagi, sending sparks flying and grinding chakra against steel. Jiraiya lashed out with a kick, and Orochimaru was sent careening away, abruptly ending the clash. 

He somersaulted backward, forming hand seals with a speed. Tiger, Ox, Dog, Rabbit, Snake — 

The moment he righted himself up, he slid against the ground, his feet adhering to sand and gravel, and his lips and mouth expanding.

“Fūton: Daitoppa!”

A hurricane-like-force of wind exploded from Orochimaru’s lips tearing into the gravel-ridden ground of the Land of Stone.  Contrary to his expectations, his former teammate charged forwards, towards the incoming hurricane, his right hand swiping down in a knife-like, cutting motion.

There was no technique, merely a slash containing the pure nature chakra. It clashed against the incoming hurricane of the Wind Release: Great Breakthrough, forcing it to part to the sides.

Think.

His body was moving, years of combat experience allowing it to almost autonomously make actions while his mind raced for solutions. Using the Soft Physique Modification, with a burst of chakra, his left hand elongated like a serpent, the sword in it lunging straight for Jiraiya’s heart. Jiraiya sidestepped the thrust, grabbing onto his elongated arm and yanking it towards him. 

Think.

Orochimaru flew towards him like a rubber band snapping into place. As if he were a magnet attracted to Jiraiya’s fist, the Senjutsu-enhanced palm landed square in his stomach, the fist sinking into flesh like a spatula into batter, folding him in half.

The Sword of Kusanagi in that moment, rose on its own volition, slicing the air as it targeted Jiraiya’s neck.

“You still don’t understand, do you?”

Orochimaru’s eyes bulged as the attack sent shockwaves through his insides. Senjutsu chakra went haywire amidst his organs. His expression fell into complete disbelief, as the Sword of Kusanagi he’d aimed at Jiraiya was caught.

Caught between his index and middle finger.

Before it shattered like glass.

Impossible!

His senses sent all manner of alarm bells, and he instinctively activated the Substitution Technique —

It failed.

Many combat instincts were ingrained into shinobi and were unconscious habits. Even if he was a genius, there were some instincts so innately ingrained that they could not be overwritten easily. In all his years as a shinobi, Orochimaru had never fought in a situation where he could not use the Substitution Technique. 

However, the Substitution Technique was considered a Space-Time Ninjutsu, and within the Ido no Kaeru, the Frog in a Well Barrier, it could not be activated.

An incorporeal force of nature chakra smacked into his jaw. Spittle, teeth, and blood flew. Orochimaru’s world spun. Heaven was earth and the earth was heaven, and before he could discern truly which was which, a hand latched onto his entire face and buried the back of his head into the ground with the force of a comet.

BOOM!

His self-regenerative methods kicked into high gear, but they struggled. Every single one of Jiraiya’s strikes was infused with Senjutsu chakra. Each one dealt an unfathomable amount of both internal and external damage. Worse, the Senjutsu-infused blows made his regeneration slow to an absolute crawl.

Jiraiya lifted him by his face, his palm a vice grip, before he slammed the back of his head into the ground a second time.

BOOM!

“Since the start of this fight,” said Jiraiya.

Again, he was lifted. 

“Only one of us has been trying to kill the other.”

A third time, the back of Orochimaru’s head met hard granite. Stone, rock, and earth turned into fine powder from the impact. Orochimaru’s brain rattled back and forth, slamming against the insides of his skull. For a moment, the world blackened, as a flood of Senjutsu chakra overwhelmed his senses. A sharp, high-pitched, whining sound played as his left eardrum ruptured.

He could not escape Jiraiya’s iron grip around his face. Not without his snakes, not without his sword, not without being able to substitute. 

Not without sacrifice.

A harrowing tearing sound filled the battlefield, as Orochimaru forcefully wrenched his face out of Jiraiya’s palm, as he delivered a kick into Jiraiya’s chest, and backed away from his former teammate. 

“You…”

Jiraiya lifted his left hand, holding his ripped bloodied face. Blood dripped down Orochimaru’s neck, pouring into his battered robes, as he took a moment to shake off his disorientation.

Kukuku… to think a day like this would come…

Orochimaru was eerily calm. Even he could not fathom why or how he was calm at this moment. By all means, being beaten so one-sidedly by a person he’d considered beneath him should have had him seething, frenzied, and utterly apoplectic.

In his mind, it was not Jiraiya who was impressive. It was not his former waste of a teammate that was worthy of his recognition. No, surely not. 

It was Senjutsu.

He was losing to the might of Senjutsu, not the might of Jiraiya. For without the former, the latter would be of no consequence. Perhaps, it was an excuse, a thin one, but it was an effective one that kept his mind level and prevented him from falling into a senseless outrage.

All of his iconic snake ninjutsu and summoning techniques were not available. His sword, the famed Sword of Kusanagi, had shattered between the fingers of his former teammate as if it were a withered twig.

In pure taijutsu, Jiraiya held the advantage with Senjutsu augmenting his strength, speed, and reaction time. In Ninjutsu, Orochimaru may have the larger number, but Jiraiya could use Senjutsu to defend, batting away any techniques he fired. What other option was there?

Genjutsu?

It had always been Jiraiya’s weakest aspect.

Orochimaru was certain it was a fool’s errand. With Senjutsu Chakra running through his pathways, there was little chance of Genjutsu working. This meant, of the three mainstream methods of shinobi combat, he was outmatched in two, and the third was utterly useless against his foe.

There were other non-mainstream methods, but in those, he held even less hope. Fūinjutsu now appeared to be Jiraiya’s bread and butter; he could not beat him there. Shurikenjutsu was useless at their level, more so, Jiraiya seemed to possess some sort of extrasensory perception as a Complete Sage. Jūinjutsu would be of little use, and his knowledge of Medical Ninjutsu was limited.

I cannot win.

Victory could not be achieved in this fight. Loathe as he was to admit it, Jiraiya augmented by Senjutsu was a foe that surpassed him. The man had even made it clear he was trying to capture him alive. This meant, that despite already being driven to the wall, his former teammate was still holding back.

I cannot flee either.

The Frog in a Well Barrier guaranteed no escape. There were only two outcomes: he died or he was captured by Jiraiya.

This barrier will revolutionize the shinobi world.

Preventing an enemy from retreating, or escaping meant the only options were surrender or death. Preventing the use of Space-Time Ninjutsu meant preventing reinforcements, substitutions, summons, or reverse-summons. The Frog in a Well Barrier was a sign of the changing times. With it, it was entirely possible for a single man to take on an entire Shinobi Village — 

Or assassinate any target of their choosing

In truth, Orochimaru wanted to learn as much as he could about it. He wanted to find the opportunity to take it apart, study it, reverse-engineer it, and learn to use it for himself.

For if someone could find a way to allow only one party use Space-Time Ninjutsu within it, if that blasted Namikaze could somehow learn to use his Flying Thunder God Technique within it, or if he could summon Manda and a legion of snakes into it —

It would be an invincible kill box.

Blood poured down his ripped face, as a twisted smile and a cackle found their way onto Orochimaru’s lips.

“Kukukuku…”

Orochimaru flared his chakra.

“Dōton: Kage Bunshin no Jutsu.” 

Three clones rose out of the dirt, forming as if made of mud. After about three seconds, he commanded the clones to disperse, dropping down into the ground. He flared his chakra again, and three shadow clones rose again, before, exactly three seconds later, the three clones fell back into the mud. 

“What are you doing?”

Orochimaru did not respond. Again and again, he created three shadow clones, waiting three seconds each before deforming them. Jiraiya observed him, his eyes narrowing. From the man’s perspective, it would seem as though he was only wasting chakra.

Orochimaru was a genius shinobi. However, he had never been forced into a situation such as this before. A situation against a foe he could not beat, could not escape from, but a foe that did not wish him dead. 

As such, it was a situation where he could afford to learn.

Again and again, three clones were made and destroyed, as Orochimaru’s eyes grew sharper and sharper.

Jiraiya lunged forward, his right hand extended in a palm strike. Orochimaru smiled. Three clones formed, but this time, there was no delay. They dissipated almost as soon as they formed, and Orochimaru swerved his head to the side.

This time, not only did he avoid the palm strike —

He avoided the invisible follow-up of nature chakra.

Jiraiya backed away, his gaze sharp.

Three Shadow Clones appeared at Orochimaru’s side once more.

It works.... but it is too inefficient.

A person could only think about one thing at a time. There were limits to the mind’s ability to think and to the speed of its thought. Even if Orochimaru had three thoughts in his mind at the same time, three ideas and possibilities, he could not think about them simultaneously.

By creating three clones, each one having his memories, would, upon creation, immediately think about one possibility each, one thought each. Then, upon dispersing, the memories of their thoughts, and thus the thoughts themselves would instantly be sent back to him.

In this manner, Orochimaru was using the clones to think, analyze, and consider three different things at once. He was more than doubling his cognitive prowess, thinking three times faster, or three times more effective than a single person was capable of. 

It could be considered four times, if he counted his main body.

The invisible follow-ups of Jiraiya’s Frog Kata could not be seen by the eye or sensed at all. However, they were not random, but their directions were chosen by Jiraiya. As such, there were only eight directions from which an attack could land: up, down, left, right, upper-left, upper-right, lower-left, lower-right.

With three clones and the main body analyzing and keeping track of two directions each, and with his prior knowledge of Jiraiya’s former combat habits, it was possible to narrowly predict what direction the follow-up would land.

Yet, this was considered an enormous waste of chakra. Not many shinobi had enough chakra to create a Shadow Clone, let alone create and destroy three constantly just for the benefit of increasing their cognition speed. As it was, his reserves were already nearly running empty. He wagered he had no more than ten percent left.

This won’t be enough. I need time.

Specifically, because he comprehended things four times as fast, he understood that even if he could perfectly predict Jiraiya’s attacks before they landed, it would not change the outcome of this fight. If a Complete Sage could be beaten with such minor tricks, the likes of Hashirama would not have been called the God of Shinobi.

…I have no choice.

He had contemplated hundreds of ideas in the past minute, discarding thought after thought, possibility after possibility, eventually crossing over three hundred and seventy-four different plans before he arrived at his answer.

Seeing his teammate’s wary face, Orochimaru raised both hands, offering a bloodied smile. The Snake Sannin spoke two words no one had ever heard him utter.

“I surrender.”

XXXXX

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Anko was panicking. The fight was beyond her fucking expectations. Tsunade had gone ape-shit crazy, her abilities were terrifying, and worst of all, the only Jōnin on the team was out cold. 

Is this how I fucking die? Being screwed over by one Sannin, and killed by another?

Even if she weren’t hindered, she was a Chūnin, Special Jōnin at best. Just the fire ninjutsu that had been launched prior was something she couldn’t defend against. She would have already been grilled-Anko were it not for Kushina, but now, said woman was out cold.

A barrage of shuriken whizzed past her, thrown from behind her, and Anko swerved, wondering why the fuck her teammate was throwing shuriken at her, and in so doing, she barely avoiding the fist that nearly connected to her face. A shockwave of air blew her hair backwards from the miss, as six shuriken buried itself into the arm that nearly separated her head from her body.

FUCK!

When the fuck did Tsunade get into melee range?!

Anko hadn’t seen her move. Hadn’t even noticed the damn woman’s approach. Were it not for shuriken, she’d be headless.

Why the hell is she targeting me, damn it?! I didn't do anything!

She backpedaled away like crazy, as Young Tsunade’s arm was peppered with shuriken, her heart almost bursting out of her chest.

Young Tsunade turned towards the person who’d tossed the shuriken, as did Anko at the same time. Itachi’s Sharingan was spinning rapidly, as his hand was still outstretched. There was a series of thin shinobi wires attached to the shuriken. With a tug, Young Tsunade was sent soaring towards him. 

“Mitarashi-san! Wire!”

Two kunai were sent whizzing past her, and she wasn’t sure what god-forsaken thought ran through her mind that made her reach out and grab them. The ninja-wire attached to them tugged. Almost as if predicting it, thick, jet-black threads emerged out of Young Tsunade’s back and caught in the ninja wire at the exact same time the woman appeared in front of the Uchiha heir.

“Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!”  

The air sizzled and burnt. Itachi’s lips puffed out and a ball of fire raced down the wire.

You’re making a gamble?! 

It was a gamble that even Anko could understand. Young Tsunade was not in her senses and was moving purely instinctively. If her instinct to kill was greater than her instinct to avoid danger, she would run straight through the fireball without care. If her instinct to avoid danger was greater than her instinct to kill, she would avoid the fireball, leaving her in a vulnerable position.

It depended entirely on what instinct held priority.

Yet, contrary to all expectations, the pitch-black heart flew down at the last minute, unleashing a torrent of water. Water and fire met, and an explosion of steam covered the battlefield, obstructing all vision.

Obstructing all normal vision.

Almost as though it were pre-planned, Hyūga Neji glided across the ground, using the steam as cover. A faint image of yin and yang appeared underneath his feet, as two palm strikes landed on Tsunade’s arms, then four, then eight, then sixteen peppered her legs and chest, then thirty-two, attacking her entire body, before sixty-four full strikes connected, each one landing faster than the strike that preceded it.

“Jūkenhō: Hakke Rokujūyon Shō!”

What the fu—

BOOM!

The Eight Trigrams, Sixty-Four Palms connected without fail and sent Tsunade flying out of the steam where Uchiha Itachi awaited.

…When the hell did these two plan th —

Itachi made direct eye contact.

Sharingan Genjutsu.

Young Tsunade collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

The battlefield went silent.

She’s… she’s down? Anko almost didn’t believe it. She didn’t dare believe it. That — that can’t be right. No fucking way.

Genjutsu functioned by inserting one's chakra into the opponent’s body to deceive their senses. It could be dispelled by disrupting one’s chakra, sending a pulse throughout the body to counteract and expel the invading chakra.

So why isn’t she dispelling… wait a minute.

The Gentle Fist attacked the tenketsu and thereby blocked all chakra flow. 

Wait a fucking minute.

Someone hit by it was prevented from using their chakra. They could not send out any pulses or disruptions.

Wait a god-damned fucking minute.

In other words —

A person hit by the Gentle Fist, whose tenketsu was blocked, could not rid themselves of any Genjutsu used on them. 

“Fuck.”

Hyūga Neji and Uchiha Itachi, working together —

“Me.”

Had just taken down a Sannin.

Chapter Text

Chiyo was not fond of sudden summons from the Kazekage.

The first time such had happened, was shortly after the death of his wife Karura. Then, she’d been tasked with the job of sealing Shukaku into his prematurely born, infant son, which was a deed she’d done begrudgingly. Admittedly, young Gaara was the most suited vessel for the Tailed Beast, but even she had been chilled at the coldness of her village leader, who did not hesitate to turn his son into a weapon of destruction.

What is it this time?

Escorted by two Jōnin on either side, the aged kunoichi could only grumble as she was led by them out of her home. Gaara’s rampages were not as often as they used to be, and she was more than aware of why. She, and the other Elders of Sunagakure no Sato, had awoken one morning about two years back, receiving a summon from the Kazekage regarding a message from the leader of their rival village — the Hidden Leaf.

Even recalling it gave a bitter taste in Chiyo’s lips. The letter had come after Gaara’s third rampage and it contained along with condolences for the lives lost, a detailed means of strengthening the seal she had utilized on the boy in order to prevent any further massacres. 

There had been an uproar of discontent, and a massive sweep, from top-to-bottom, to search for Konohan spies within their village. For how else could the leader of a different village not only know the identity of their Jinchūriki but also have such an in-depth knowledge of the methods used to seal him?

In the end, a few individuals who were political adversaries to the Kazekage were rounded up and executed as ‘Konohan Spies.’ There was not a single person who questioned it.

They had been chosen as scapegoats because the truth was too bitter to accept. The truth was that Namikaze Minato, no, the entirety of Konoha, was vastly superior to them in the art of Fūinjutsu. Not only was the man’s wife an Uzumaki, intel gathered during the war from Kumo hinted at the possibility she may also be the current Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox.

If they had the means to safely seal and contain the strongest of the Tailed Beasts, it was an absolute joke to believe they could not decipher or reverse-engineer the methods that Suna used to seal the weakest of them.

Chiyo had known that the method the man provided them to strengthen Gaara’s seal was genuine. It was above and beyond her skills, and glancing at it had made her feel as though her decades had been wasted. 

The Kazekage refused to use it.

He would not accept ‘charity’ from a leader of a village to which he considered his rival. He had chosen, instead, to send assassins after his own son. He claimed that if Konoha was already aware of their ‘trump card’ he was of little value to their village.

“Where are you brats taking me? This route leads out of the village.”

“Hai, Chiyo-sama. We’re heading to the Capital.”

Capital?

Chiyo grew further confused. For a moment she almost thought this was some elaborate plot against her. It wouldn’t be the first time Rasa had pulled something like this. 

There was that girl, that gifted child with the Scorch Release, Pakura. She’d been sent as an envoy to Kirigakure no Sato and never returned.

Only Chiyo, the other Elders, and the village higher-ups were aware of the truth. She wasn’t supposed to be killed. She was a valuable strategic asset. The village was interested in her Kekkai Genkai. She was, and had been, the only person recorded with the Scorch Release. If all had gone as planned, she would have been captured and used to propagate more Suna shinobi with the Scorch Release in the dark.

Outwardly, only Kumogakure no Sato cared about obtaining Kekkai Genkai, but that was because they were the only ones inept enough to be caught trying to capture young women twice. There was an ever-ongoing arms race for rare bloodlines ongoing amongst the major Shinobi Villages, with Kirigakure being the only exception due to the madman Yagura starting a bloodline purge.

If only she’d listened.

Chiyo had advised Pakura early on. Had she taken the offer back then of marrying Rasa, she could have avoided the fate that befell her, and instead lived with a level of privilege and status as the Kazekage’s wife.

It was regrettable. 

Chiyo couldn’t help but sigh.

She had many regrets. 

The trip to the capital of the Land of Wind took only half a day. By design, Sunagakure was not incredibly far from the capital, because the harsh deserts of the Land of Wind would make travel more perilous if the distances between locations were vast.

During the day, the desert was scorching hot, with no water for miles. At night, the desert became a frigid cold land of death devoid of care for any unfortunate creature caught in its grasp. Chiyo was well aware more people had died of frostbite than they had of heatstroke in the Wind Deserts. Many came prepared for the heat, and in so doing, they vastly underestimated the cold.

By the time they arrived at the Capital, Chiyo could tell at once that something was wrong. The scent of blood was so thick in the air she’d almost thought she’d returned to her days as a young woman in the Second Shinobi War. Hundreds of troops were deployed at once, orders were being barked, and people were weeping as they were dragged out of their homes.

What’s happening?

Her confusion grew until she arrived at the palace of the Daimyō. Where she’d found Rasa, several village elders, and a gift-wrapped wooden box, clear and center, with everyone giving it a wide berth.

“Kazekage-dono —”

“You were summoned for your medical expertise,” the Kazekage cut her off before she could speak. “Confirm whether the head within the box is genuine.”

Head?

Chiyo was old, and with age, even the most regrettable of dullards would attain a modicum of wisdom. Her gaze shot to the wooden box in the center of the palace, and noted the red bow used to tie it. The wood was of a type one would and could not find in the desert, and appeared to be  —

This — is this not…?

Chiyo moved to the box and opened it. The stench of death filled her nostrils, and her eyes shrunk. Her hands trembled, her lips dried, and she nearly backed away, almost not daring to believe it.

Yet, there was no denying it.

“S-Sen—” she hissed. “Senju Tsunade!”

“Can you confirm it?”

This was her sole rival in the field of medical ninjutsu. The only person who could create antidotes to her poison. There was no way she would mistake her for anyone else.

She’d dead?! Chiyo sucked in a sharp breath of air. This cut, the angle… appears to have been made by a kunai. Someone managed to kill her with a simple kunai?! 

There was only one person who came to mind who would, in Chiyo’s opinion, both be brave enough to kill the woman and to do so using a kunai — the most basic of shinobi tools. He was in fact, famous, for turning said kunai into his signature weapon.

“There is no doubt! Kazekage-dono — this — this is Senju Tsunade.”

“That will be all.” 

Chiyo kept her thoughts to herself. Her gaze shot to Daimyō. The man was unusually, eerily quiet. This was what he’d asked for, what he’d wished, when he’d set out a bounty on her head, yet, now that the head of his nephew’s killer was brought to him, he was quieter than a mouse. 

Two Jōnin entered the palace as one, both bowing their heads towards Rasa. “We’ve checked from top to bottom, Kazekage-sama, and questioned all the Daimyō’s servants.”

“And?”

“We’ve found no signs of any intruders. No one saw any who entered to deliver the box. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary or anyone acting suspicious.”

“It was on my bed, gift-wrapped,” said the Daimyō, his voice hoarse. “My bed, Rasa.”

“Rest assured, we will find the one responsible.”

The words sounded hollow to Chiyo’s ears. She was aware of it, and every other shinobi was aware of it too. The political games of shinobi were a step higher than that of civilians because civilians did not have the corresponding supernatural abilities to amplify the effects of their political actions. 

Every shinobi here had an inkling of who was responsible, of who had brought the box with the head, but not one would dare say it. More so, the responsible party would not publicly claim responsibility, nor would they ever admit they’d killed one of their own to appease the Daimyō of another land.

The delivery of the head of Tsunade Senju was both an olive branch and a political assassination. It was an olive branch, for it appeased the killing of the Daimyō’s nephew, and disarmed both Sunagakure and the Land of Wind of any reason to continue a trade embargo or mobilize for war.

If the criminal was dead and her head delivered, then their casus belli had died with her.

At the same time, it was a political assassination, for the head had been delivered to the home of the Daimyō with none the wiser.

The Kazuhiko Dynasty is finished. 

She knew it. Rasa knew it. They all knew it. The moment that box appeared and no one could find who delivered it, nor how it was delivered, the man’s reign as Daimyō was over, as was that of his family and kin.

The reason was Namikaze Minato.

The shinobi of the Iwagakure had reported during the war that it was impossible to know if one had been marked by the man’s infamous technique, the Flying Thunder God. However, the mark would remain regardless, and the man himself could appear, at any time, and any minute, beside the one he marked to kill them.

Fighting him was a net demerit — for even if you survived, you would only be a new marker, a new beacon, for him to arrive at your camp and slaughter you and your comrades. As such, there was no reason to fight him.

If you saw him you were to do one thing only — 

Flee! 

There was no guarantee that Daimyō Kazuhiko Tokugawa had not been marked.

Even if he hadn’t, the possibility that he had meant he could no longer be trusted by Sunagakure’s elite to reign over the Land of Wind. A Daimyō who could potentially be abducted or assassinated by an enemy village’s leader at a whim was nothing more than a hindrance.

Already, Chiyo could see the steps. Rasa would support the man’s political adversaries in secret. He would either be poisoned or accused of treason in the immediate future, and he and his family, and his most loyal men and retinue, would all be put to the blade. His wives and daughters would either be killed or given as concubines and slaves to his successor, and his name would be synonymous with treachery.

That Namikaze… he’s terrifying! Chiyo’s back was filled with sweat. He made only one move, just one… and the game was over.

Merely the possibility that Namikaze Minato had been here was enough to set into event actions that would bring the death of a country’s Daimyō. 

Who else currently alive in the entirety of the Shinobi Nations had the reputation needed to do the same?

None!

Absolutely none!

The Wind Daimyō had asked for the head of Tsunade Senju, and Namikaze gave it to him without a word… Chiyo shuddered. …In exchange for his life and legacy.

XXXXX

Had someone told Inoichi yesterday that he would be tasked to dive into the mind of the shattered psyche of one of the Legendary Sannin, he would have pondered what form of psychosis to diagnose them with.

Even when he’d been ushered away from his home in the dead of night and taken to a private ward that had been boarded with seals, and was being guarded by not one, not two, not but four ANBU and two of the Hokage’s personal guard —

He’d doubted the identity of his patient.

The unconscious, red-haired girl lay on the hospital bed, in a hospital gown and looked no older than fourteen years of age. There was a tired-eyed Hyūga medic-nin at her side, responsible for the sole task of blocking her tenketsu were any sign that they were to be unblocked.

There was a sealing paper with the kanji for ‘seal’ placed upon her forehead which prevented her chakra from circulating. She appeared in a peaceful sleep, yet, both her hands were bound tight to the bed with heavy chains, and covered in more sealing paper, and her legs were tied with chains and covered with even more sealing paper.

Is she a patient or a bomb?

“Is this not… excessive?”

“Once you’ve read the mission report,’ said Genma, from outside. “You’ll think differently."

“And you’re certain she’s —”

“Read the report.”

Inoichi frowned. Had no one told him who she was, he’d have believed her to be a long-lost relative of Kushina, or a member of the Uzumaki Clan. The only reason Inoichi had to even suspect she might be at all related to Senju Tsunade, was the diamond seal on her forehead —

And her ‘well-defined’ mammaries.

“Where’s the report?”

One of the masked ANBU guards handed the document over to him. Inoichi took it with a nod, his brow rose at seeing the ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ marked upon it in bright, red kanji, and furrowed further in disbelief as he realized he could not read a single word of it because there was a fūinjutsu seal placed on it that scattered the letters.

They used Chakra Paper for this?

Sending a pulse of chakra through it, the words unscrambled themselves, and Inoichi started to read. First, came the mission summary. That Uzumaki Kushina had decided to go out on a rescue mission for Senju Tsunade did not surprise him. There was not a soul who had not heard of the bounty on the woman’s head.

Though learning the woman’s apprentice had come all the way to beg her to do so was a surprise Inoichi did not expect. More so, the… confession her apprentice provided on the details of the woman’s psychological state gave Inoichi pause.

How did she reach such a level? He’d thought. Someone should have staged an intervention for her a long time ago…

Shaking his head as he sighed, he flipped through the pages as he read in the silence of the room. There was only the beeping sound of a health monitor, and the breathing of the Hyūga medic-nin within the room to disturb him.

Taking a group of Genin to appear as non-threatening as possible… Inoichi didn’t like the sound of it. However, the moment he saw the specific team of Genin the Hokage had assembled he understood why the man allowed it. 

After the general mission status was the individual post-mission reports. Uchiha Itachi’s report was professional to a frightening degree. The details were listed in chronological order, factual, and were devoid of anecdotal statements or opinions. From start to finish, it read like a textbook example of how to write a report, as was instructed in his Academy days.

Yet reading it in such a textbook, factual manner had Inoichi’s brow rising further and further, and his heart rate quickening.

He shot a glance back to the girl in the bed and almost thought of slapping himself. Excessive restraints? I’m not even sure this might be enough…

The most terrifying part of the report the Uchiha provided was that his teammate scanned the area and they discovered a cave that contained a mountain of ripped flesh and the severed head and body of another Tsunade. A Tsunade that was, without a shadow of a doubt, dead.

Cloning was by no means a novel ability in the Elemental Nations, but a flesh-and-blood clone was a significant first. However the dead ‘clone’ could not be resuscitated.

Regardless of whether the dead clone was the ‘original’ and this ‘Young Tsunade’ was created after her passing, it made no difference to Inoichi. 

The Yamanaka Clan were the foremost experts on consciousness, the soul, and the mind in Konoha, if not the entire world. This was why Inoichi could say, with absolute certainty, that there was no difference between a clone and the original.

As a boy, he’d once held the fear that if all of his body was to be destroyed and a near-identical copy of him was remade from the ground up, that copy of him would not be him. He’d been corrected by his father, however, that it would be him.

Because the soul existed.

The soul existed, and the soul could be split. Portions of a soul could be stored within chakra, as chakra was the mixture of physical and spiritual energy. It was merely that these portions would ultimately run out as they lacked the ‘physical’ part to fuel them.

Orochimaru’s Cursed Mark was an ingenious, devious, and diabolical example. Jiraiya had spoken with him about its horrid uses when the Sannin asked him to modify Mitarashi Anko’s memories. So long as a Cursed Seal existed with a portion of his soul and chakra sealed within, Orochimaru could always be revived if he was killed.

One just needed to know the correct methods to do so, and needed to ascertain first that he was dead. Otherwise, the process would fail and the seal would be wasted.

The version of him that ‘revived’ would have a full continuance of memories and experiences, as all portions of a soul were connected by nature of having the same chakra — the same physical and spiritual energy.

In that same vein, this younger Senju Tsunade, by virtue of having the same chakra, and the same physical and spiritual energy, would possess the same soul. There would be continuance — she was the same person, even if her body was different. 

Had she been practicing some sort of forbidden technique? Inoichi pondered. Considering she’s in a younger body, it likely succeeded, but what caused it to drive her insane?

Turning over the next page in the report, Inoichi furrowed his brow. Whereas Uchiha Itachi’s report read as extremely professional, and impersonal, the report of his teammate, Mitarashi, was the exact opposite. Beyond going off tangents, espousing her ‘pant-shitting terror’ and describing ‘fuck-all-large waves of fire.’ There were also parts that were arguably unnecessary.

Inoichi had little doubt it was the result of the lack of inhibition she suffered due to a cause that was, admittedly, partly his and Jiraiya’s doing. As such, he wisely, kindly, and for the sake of her professional career, redacted the portions where she confessed becoming ‘wetter than a geyser’ after the battle and had plans to ‘jump both boys’ bones’.

It was tantamount to the girl’s well-being that neither Hiashi nor Fugaku ever saw that.

Turning the page again, he reached the report written by the Hyūga prodigy. Yamanaka Inoichi had never personally interacted with the boy, though he had heard of the boy’s genius. The Uchiha heir’s report was professional, Mitarashi Anko’s report was personal, but the Hyūga Heir’s was…

Surgical.

There was an in-depth explanation provided of the woman’s change in her anatomy and physiology. The inclusion of her five hearts and how it operated were listed. The explanation of her body’s black threads were even provided, with theories suggesting why and how it functioned, and the limits and nature of the two Kinjutsu that had been working simultaneously.

Beyond that, were crisp, near-scathing dissections of the ineptitude of the Hokage’s wife and her failure as a leader of the mission, and as a kunoichi.

There was a lot of that. Blunt, absolute dissections of the failings of all of his female teammates, from Mitarashi to Tsunade’s apprentice, to the Hokage’s wife. The only person to whom he possessed even the tiniest of praise, was the sole other male on his team, who he described as “performing to the standard that befits one with his bloodline and talent.”

Somehow, Inoichi felt that was the highest possible praise the boy could have given. 

He almost sounds like one of the Yamanaka Clan Elders.

Were he to build up a psychological profile using the report alone, he would estimate the person who wrote it to be a veteran shinobi, aged forty to seventy, with a significant amount of combat and field experience, and an innate knowledge of anatomy and medicine and a deep self-awareness of his own capacities and limitations. 

Once they hear of this… Inochi felt another headache coming on. Defeating a Sannin as a Genin… having your first ever mission out of the village becoming an S-Rank Mission, and completing it despite that —

The old fogies in the Yamanaka Clan insisted he form a marriage contract with his daughter and keep trying with his wife to have a ‘proper’ male heir. It was for this reason their relationship had grown strained.

The moment word would spread of the boy’s deeds, they would posit it as ‘proof’ that their clan needed a male heir. 

As it stood, all the other major clans in Konoha currently had male heirs. Inoichi wanted to believe it wouldn’t matter, but as an expert on the human mind, though he could fool others, he couldn’t fool himself. 

The shinobi world had a blatant bias against kunoichi. To act as though it did not exist would do no one any favors. 

And one of the few Legendary Kunoichi has been reduced to this…

Senju Tsunade had been one of Konoha’s foremost Kunoichi. However, if the report was to be believed, she’d been reduced to a destitute, grief-stricken alcoholic following the death of her brother and lover.

He could already hear those old crones clicking their tongues and shaking their heads to use it as an argument. “This is why we shouldn’t place value on kunoichi! They’re too emotional!” Elder Inoza would argue. “So what if she lost a family member or two? Her grandfather lost nearly all his brothers, and what did he do? He went on to become the God of Shinobi!’’

Inoichi put aside the report, and grabbed a chair, sitting beside the sleeping woman — or, well, girl. She was older than him by a fair amount, but through the effects of two different Kinjutsu, she was now young enough to be his daughter. To say it gave him contradictory feelings about how he was supposed to treat her was an understatement.

First, I’ll need to find out why her psyche is so damaged…

Inoichi hoped he’d be able to heal her mind and bring her back. He’d like it if there was at least one kunoichi that was a model for his daughter to look up to.

Every famous living kunoichi he knew ultimately became a housewife with a husband whose fame vastly eclipsed theirs. From the viewpoint of a father, he didn’t want his daughter to grow up thinking that was the only path she had. He didn’t want her to feel as if her only choice was to find a husband and fade into his shadow —

And unwittingly end up proving all those old fogies right.

Focus Inoichi. Now’s not the time to think as a father but as a shinobi.

Setting down to work, Inoichi clasped his hands together and activated his technique.

We’ll just take things one step at a time.

XXXXX

Word rapidly spread throughout the Elemental Nations The Wind Daimyō, Kazuhiko Tokugawa, had recalled the bounty placed upon the head of Senju Tsunade. In his decree, he said, she was wrongly accused, and that the ‘true’ killer of his nephew had been found and brought to justice.

He went as far as to offer an apology to Konohagakure no Sato and wished to foster deep and friendly relations with the nation after the misunderstanding.

The trade embargos were lifted, a five-year tax-free trade treaty between the Land of Wind and Land of Fire was implemented, and goods were sent to the Fire Daimyō to be given to the Hokage as ‘reparations’ for the harm done upon the ‘illustrious’ Senju name.

Shockingly, amongst these ‘goods,’ Kazuhiko Tokugawa had sent his most beloved daughter to the Land of Fire as an ‘honored guest’ of Namikaze Minato, to show the depths of his ‘utter goodwill.’

His decree was to be spread that Senju Tsunade was no murderer, but rather, a valiant, steadfast, brave kunoichi, who had endured false accusations in silence, and suffered unjustly due to the oversight of Sunagakure’s investigation, who mislabeled her as the perpetrator. 

The Wind Daimyō chastised Rasa, the Fourth Kazekage for the lack of diligence done by his shinobi, praised the Fourth Hokage, for his magnanimous nature and understanding, extending an invitation to his home with the honored ‘Lady Senju’ at their earliest convenience.

Within the Land of Fire, the announcement had brought complete silence, before it sparked jubilation and celebration the likes compared to a New Year’s Festival. Every tavern and every bar, every restaurant and every home within the Land of Wind and the Land of Fire discussed the matter, each providing one theory after another.

The announcement was no different than pouring cold water inside a simmering bowl ready to overflow. Many mercenaries, businesses, weapon merchants, and analysts who had predicted the rise of a Fourth Shinobi War were suddenly at a complete loss and found themselves stocked with excess inventory they knew not what to do with.

With one decree —

The threat of war was gone.

Many traders and merchants rushed to take advantage of the new tax-free trade initiative to recoup their losses during the embargo, swarming and fighting over each other to become citizens of the Land of Fire. Many sought to also become citizens of the Land of Wind, but not everyone could handle the desert as well as they could the lush forests — and there was not a soul who was blind enough to not see that the Land of Fire gained more traders from this treaty.

Within a month, rumors spread quickly, with varying theories for why the Wind Daimyō had changed his tune. A vast many of them were false, but all of them had one thing — one person at the core of it.

The Fourth Hokage.

Namikaze Minato.

Some claimed the man had made a backroom deal with the Daimyō, others suggested he had truly found the actual killer of the Daimyō’s nephew, some said, even, that Namikaze was a distant relative and had pulled considerable strings. 

There were those who claimed that the man’s sheer charisma and looks had seduced away the Daimyō’s beloved daughter, whilst some posited that it was likely the man’s daughter was already pregnant with the Namikaze’s illegitimate child, and this was the Daimyō showering his unofficial son-in-law with gifts. 

In this manner, the name, ‘Namikaze Minato’ grew day by day, and he was soon known by another epithet, beyond “The Yellow Flash.”

He was Namikaze Minato —

“The Whisper in the Wind.”

XXXXX

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT

Containment of S-Class Criminal

Prisoner Number: 77019

Codename: White

White has been contained utilizing the Ido-no-Kaeru, Toad-In-A-Well Barrier in a subterranean reinforced containment chamber located 1000 meters beneath [REDACTED]. The chamber is constructed from a triple-layered high-density Wood Release wood. It possesses an integrated chakra-disrupting fūinjutsu matrix designed to disrupt White’s regenerative capabilities. The only entrance to the chamber is a single arrival point utilizing the Flying Thunder God Technique engraved upon a kunai equipped with ten thousand fail-safe explosive seal detonation charges. Access is strictly prohibited without Kage-level authorization.

The chamber is surrounded by a network of pressure-sensing seals, negative emotion-detecting seals, an audiovisual sensory transmission seal connected to the Hokage’s Pure Leaf Pearl, and forty-two Mount Myōboku toads on alternating shifts to monitor any unauthorized movement. In the event of a breach, Site-[REDACTED] is to enter full lockdown, and Protocol White Death is to be enacted, involving the immediate flooding of the chamber with lethal doses of nature chakra following the release of a specially bred species of self-perpetuating chakra-consuming Kikaichu insects. 

Description: Prisoner 77019, designated "White," is male, and appears aged 25 to 30. with a height of 172 centimeters and a weight of 63.9 kilograms. He was previously a shinobi of [REDACTED] and a student of [REDACTED].

[Further details regarding Prisoner 77019's personal history have been expunged from this record due to security reasons.]

Prisoner 77019 exhibits extreme regenerative capabilities, rendering him pseudo-immortal. His body has undergone significant experimental and biological changes that render him resistant to conventional taijutsu, poison, and most corrosive agents.

Prisoner 77019 is incredibly dangerous and possesses comprehensive knowledge of Konohagakure’s Administrative and Executive Structure. He has, since his capture, communicated in increasingly cryptic riddles, often referencing the potential existence of rogue intelligence agents within Konohagakure’s Shinobi Forces and powerful allies in a suspected Amegakure no Sato terrorist syndicate.

INCIDENT REPORT

Incident Name: Grass 

Date: [REDACTED]/[REDACTED/[REDACTED].

Details: An unidentified individual breached the containment area for a period of 2 minutes and 43 seconds before being forced to flee upon failure to enter the Ido-No-Kaeru Barrier. The individual has been identified as a plant-like, humanoid entity half-white, and half-black, with a venus-fly-trap attachment protruding from his body. The individual was reportedly adorning a dark cloak with red clouds, and possessing a slashed headband of Kusagakure no Sato. 

During this time, the individual managed to navigate the underground corridors of Site-[REDACTED], neutralizing several Mount Myōboku personnel via asphyxiation. Footage from the audiovisual sensory seals replayed on the Pure Leaf Pearl captured the unknown party addressing Prisoner White in Kusagakure no Sato shinobi sign language, presumably to obscure their topic of conversation. Translation efforts have yet to decipher the full message, though partial transcripts have provided a series of details of note:

“Ring.”

“Betrayal.”

“Statue.”

“Losses.”

“Retribution.”

And lastly —

“Pain.”

Chapter Text

“Are the arrangements to your satisfaction?”

She swirled the cup in her hand, even now failing to believe it. The manifestation was no different as if the liquid were real, and all the relevant sensory information was being fed directly into her soul. Heat, light, sound, touch, taste — senses she had long forgone in death.

Death.

Hers was something impossible to forget. The pain of extracting the Nine-Tailed Demon Beast from her aging body, the manner in which her successor shivered in fear and clutched at the hem of her cloth, the words she’d uttered to console and comfort her —

“Passable.”

She took another sip of the tea and set it down upon the wooden table. The surroundings before her were but a manifestation of a mental space. The vividness of it made her wary. Any individual capable of altering their mental space with such detail was either a Jinchūriki or a master of the Yamanaka Clan’s mind techniques.

She could not read the man. His face was sharp and angular and had a remnant quality expected of one of either regal birth or noble standing. His white robes were pristine and unblemished, similar to what the head of clans would wear at official ceremonies, yet he adorned them as though they were common, casual attire. 

His features did not resemble any clan she was familiar with, and his air and mannerisms spoke of someone far older than his appearance suggested. Her ability to sense negative emotions remained with her, despite no longer being a Jinchūriki, but even so, the man’s emotions were no different from a tranquil lake.  

“How have you done this?”

“The secret lies in the proper means of brewing the tea leaves —”

“Not that,” she replied. “This—”

She grabbed the collar, as that of one kept around an Inuzuka hound, that lay tight around her neck. A collar attached to a chain, which in turn, was buried deep into the wooden floorboards. 

The man sitting opposite her calmly sipped from his own cup. “What of it?”

“My soul should have returned, and my chakra long exhausted.”

“There it is again, woman, your habit of stating the obvious.”

“Do you not fear the consequences of imprisoning a soul meant to have passed on to the Pure Land?”

“Consequences?” the man chuckled. “There are no consequences.”

“The Shinigami —”

“That meager puppet avatar bereft of wisdom that your clan learned to summon at a whim?” The man waved his hand dismissively. “It cares little for what happens to souls who’ve passed on or otherwise.”

A lump grew in her throat. She was aware of this but hoped he wasn’t. The Summoning: Impure World Reincarnation [Kuchiyose: Edo Tensei] technique was proof enough. The activities of mortals in the land of the living could affect the souls in the Pure Land, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

There were no checks and balances. 

Her brother-in-law had learned as such when he made that accursed technique. He could summon whoever he desired, so long as he held even a tiny drop of their blood, and beyond the cost of a living sacrifice, there was nothing else to fear.

It didn’t matter if the soul was willing or not, it didn’t matter if the soul did not desire to be brought back, it did not matter if the soul struggled, or fought, or resisted with all their might.

They had no choice. 

There had been a significant argument that day when she learned from her husband what an abominable technique his brother had created. She’d almost vomited on the spot and told Hashirama to either exile his brother for creating that technique or imprison him for doing so.

Hashirama had not understood. The fool only ever saw the good in people and in things, and he’d thought his brother created such a technique so they could speak with their deceased siblings — to receive closure in death. He’d argued with her, saying her reaction was excessive and her demands improper.

He’d not seen how deeply the technique violated and desecrated the dead. She’d told him as such. She, who’d lived through the Warring Clans Era, who’d seen the fate that befell women whose clans were defeated, dreaded that technique beyond all else. There were countless women in that era, whose husbands and sons, brothers and fathers were slain by their clan’s enemies. Women who sought to die with their dignity, chewing upon poison hidden in their mouths to join their families in death and be spared the gruesome fate that awaited them as spoils of war.

Her brother-in-law had invented a technique that made it so not even death was a reprieve from rape and suffering.

Her husband, the man she’d been sworn to be with in sickness and in health, had dismissed her concerns. He had said, in all ways without saying, that her view was too pessimistic. Said that she tended to look upon only the downsides of things and that no technique was inherently good or evil; it only mattered on how it was used.

Where the technique invoked a primal sense of disgust and fear within her, he felt none of those sentiments, for it was a fear he’d never had. How could he? Anyone who summoned him from beyond the grave would do so wishing to fight him or use him as a weapon. There were no other possibilities.

The same could not be said for even the most horse-faced of kunoichi.

“Your thoughts betray you, Uzumaki Mito.”

Mito frowned. “Who are you?”

“I have said it once, and I have no desire to repeat myself.”

Zodiac Formation King, Zi Wuji.

Those were the words the man in white uttered. The name was foreign, and the title odd. To call one a King of Formations?

“You took me out of my successor’s seal and are doing all you can to maintain my chakra and soul within your own mind. I’m not inclined to believe you’ve done this for the sake of mere conversation.”

The man, Zi Wuji, smiled. With a wave of his hand, a checkered board appeared on the table. The board appeared as that of a regular Shōgi board, but there was a significant difference. The first was that the pieces were replaced with ink characters, and the board itself was formed upon the back of a large talisman.

“I’ve not seen this since I was a child.”

“Do you recall how to play?’

“It’s impossible to forget,” said Mito. “Bagua Board is something children in Uzushiogakure learned as soon as we could talk.”

“Then, a challenge.”

He waved his hand again. The board changed. Eight seals flew up, out of it, and attached themselves upon her, and the same number of seals flew and attached themselves towards him.

“Five Elements Bagua Board can only be played by Fūinjutsu Masters or those of greater skill.”

“Again, woman, you state the obvious.”

“I do not believe you are aware of what you’re asking,” said Mito, sharply. “This was only played between two Fūinjutsu Masters who possessed an unresolvable grudge. Each piece connects to a part of your opponent’s body, relating to the Five Elements. You —”

“Water,” he interrupted. “Connecting to the Kidney and Bladder. Metal, connecting to the Lungs and Large Intestine. Earth, connecting to the Spleen and Stomach. Wood, connecting to the Liver and Gallbladder. And Fire, connecting to the Small Intestine and Heart.”

Mito’s gaze sharpened. Looking towards him, she asked, “What level have you reached?”

“Play.”

Mito glanced at the board, and her mind raced. Thinking hard as she was should have consumed spiritual energy, and thus exhausted the amount of chakra she had, and ergo, dissipated her, but with the collar on her neck, and the chain, her soul, her chakra, remained anchored.

As such, she could think as hard as she wished.

No, she could think harder.

With a physical body, there were limitations provided by the brain, but as a lingering soul, a mere remnant, there were no such limitations. This made her uneasy. 

Five Elements Bagua Board was a game where capturing a space assigned to one of the elements meant capturing the corresponding organs of your opponent and making them yours.

Were she to capture the ‘Earth’ space, she could control his stomach, forcing him to feel nauseous. Were she to capture the ‘Metal’ space, she could control his lungs, his breathing, forcing it to stop entirely if she wished. If she captured ‘Fire’ space, the man’s heart would belong to her. 

This was why the game was only played by Fūinjutsu Masters with irreconcilable grudges — as it was a battle for control of one’s opponent, and the loser had their life entirely at the whim and mercy of the victor. 

However, even if he captured her organs, it made no difference. She had none. She was just a portion of a soul — a remnant wisp of chakra. There was nothing to fear.

The odds were stacked in her favor.

It only made her all the more cautious.

“The first move is yours.”

Mito did not know how long she spent contemplating her first move. Even so, there was never a complaint or an urge to rush. Finally, she lifted her finger and drew a seal.

“As expected of an overly cautious woman.” Zi Wuji chuckled. 

He flicked his finger across the board, setting down a seal.

“Your move.”

One move after the other, she played cautiously, carefully, but the man before her played aggressively, affirmatively. They were opposites in play styles, and so, too, it meant they were opposites in Fūinjutsu practice and in their methods of understanding. Through the game —

They spoke.

He flicked his finger. [Do you believe in fate?]

She waved her hand. <Fate?>

[The attraction of all things towards a preordained conclusion. Unavoidable. Inevitable.]

Mito pondered for a moment, gazing into the man’s eyes. <No.> She moved her hand across the board. <Fate cannot exist.>

Her opponent responded, flicking his hand over the board. [Why?]

<I am not inclined to believe that from life to death, all are merely walking along a path we have no control over.>

[You are convinced you have a choice.]

<Do we not all?>

Zi Wuji smiled. Upon the board, a small version of herself emerged, standing behind hundreds of others who had a spiral emblazoned on their foreheads.

[Did you choose to be born in the Uzumaki Clan?]

Mito’s brows furrowed. <The circumstances of my birth are immaterial; it is what I have done with my life that matters.>

[If all you have accomplished in your life is a result of the circumstances of your birth, how is such a thing immaterial?]

The images changed to her, standing before the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox. 

[Should you not have been born an Uzumaki, would it be possible to have become the vessel of the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox?] 

Mito’s lips thinned. The images changed again, to her, in white, standing across a man, and swearing vows.

[Were you not born an Uzumaki, would it have been possible to marry Senju Hashirama for the sake of a stronger alliance for your clan?]

The handsome man before her smiled eerily. Her focus fumbled. She glanced at the board and noticed her Water and Earth spaces had been captured. A foreboding feeling came into her stomach. A literal knot she felt, which provided her unspeakable anxiety. 

<What is your point?>

[The nature of your birth alone determined the path you would walk from start to finish. By that nature, your every action and deed is one that can be foreseen.]

The knot in her stomach grew tighter. Her hand shook. The ‘Metal’ space had been captured. Her breathing was no longer hers. Her breath became short, frantic, and uncontrolled.

I lack a physical body… how is this possible?

[Choice.]

Mito furrowed her brows. 

When did he —

[The greatest power of them all, is choice. As long as you lack that —]

He had captured the space of ‘Fire.’

[You’ll remain but a bird in a cage.]

He had taken her heart.

Cold sweat dripped down Mito’s back. Within her chest, her heart beat with the mad frenzy of a hundred war drums.

I… lost?

“Your Mastery. It’s in Formations and Barriers. You’re…”

The distinction of Masteries was a thing that only those who’d reached a certain level of Fūinjutsu were aware of. To the average dabbler, a Master was a Master. To Masters, Fūinjutsu had many fields and subdivisions, and attempting to hone them all to the pinnacle was impossible.

Thus, upon reaching the distinction of a ‘Master’, a Fūinjutsu Master began to focus upon one subfield and one subfield only, pushing it to the extreme. Those who managed to reach the pinnacle of that one subfield and invent their own field within a subfield —

“A Fūinjutsu Grandmaster.”

They were called Fūinjutsu Grandmasters. 

Mito sat in silence, gracefully as she could. Calming her breath, she pressed her lips tightly together and sat straighter, instinctively. True Fūinjutsu Grandmasters were rare, even at Uzushiogakure’s peak, and it was such that the respect given to one was paramount beyond all else.

At once, she became overly aware of her appearance, her breathing, her posture, and her means of address.

Mito gently tugged the collar attached to her neck. “Might I know the name of this technique?” 

“Mind-Body Reversal Barrier.”

“Its origins are based in the Yamanaka Clan’s signature technique?”

“As expected of an Uzumaki.”

A Yamanaka’s technique can be used to possess others, but any harm that comes to the body of the one they possess also transfers to their own… Mito analyzed. 

Injuries of the soul affecting the body. He used that concept in reverse. A barrier that makes the Five Elements Bagua Board no longer a game that allows one possession of the enemy’s body but ‘Mind.’ 

This meant her ‘heart’ was his.

“There are only three reasons a man would want my heart. Wife or concubine. Is this the choice I’m to be given?”

“Wrong.”

The man snapped his fingers. The board in front of her shattered. With a feeling of something returning deep to her, she looked upon him with confusion, with utter befuddlement.

“You… returned it?”

“You flatter yourself,” Zi Wuji chuckled. “You’re not even worthy enough to be my maid, and you have dreams of becoming my wife? Truly a toad trying to eat swan meat.”

Mito’s jaw slackened. Her eyes widened, and she was aware, vividly aware, of the uncharacteristic expression of disbelief smacked upon her face at that instant.

Unable to help herself, she moved her hand to her mouth and let out a soft pitter of laughter.

I… Uzumaki Mito, hailed as a once-in-a-lifetime Fūinjutsu prodigy, the wife of the First Hokage, the First Jinchūriki of the Elemental Nations —

I’m not worthy to be someone’s maid?

She laughed, trying her hardest to maintain her decorum, but finding it near impossible to do so. Whenever she wanted to stop laughing, she would feel his emotions, realize their sincerity, and laugh even harder.

“You — “ Mito cleared her throat, wiping the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “Forgive me, your words merely caught me by surprise.”

For years, she had been the ‘Noble Wife’ of the First Hokage. Any who she called friends had long perished, for they didn’t have the Uzumaki Vitality she had, to have lived through several eras. Those who knew her treated her with respect and deference, with a distance and propriety one would expect to be given to a woman of her status. She, in turn, showed them only that — the gentility one would expect of a person of her status.

Yet, before this man, this stranger, she had laughed, as she did when she was a child free of worries.

“If I may ask, who, then, is worthy of being your wife, Master Wuji?”

“A woman of heaven-envying beauty and heaven-defying talent.”

“You find me lacking in beauty and talent?”

“It took you almost a hundred years to reach the level of a Fūinjutsu Quasi-Grandmaster. What talent, you dullard?”

D-d-dullard? Mito’s mind went blank.

“The only reason you are praised as a Fūinjutsu Grandmaster is because those around you are so lacking in skill they cannot see that you’ve been stumbling blindly. To them, you are a mountain, and their neck strains to see the peak. But how could I, sitting above the clouds, fail to see your true height?”

Whatever doubt she held as to the status of this man as a Fūinjutsu Grandmaster evaporated with those words. She’d known, long ago, that a true grandmaster would be able to see through her,even so, to be called out so blatantly brought heat to her cheeks.

She felt it would have been less mortifying if the man were to order her to strip and examine every inch of her body as though it were for sale. Even so, she had no rebuttals. No one else knew because there was no one to compare with her, no one who had, whilst she lived, dared compete with her. 

She wasn’t a proper Fūinjutsu Grandmaster. 

She was close. So, very, close — yet she had not reached it. How could she? Fūinjutsu was an art that could only grow through practice and stimulation. She was a blade without a whetstone — a swordsman without a foe. She had yet to invent her own field within her subfield. As such, before a true Grandmaster, she was no different from a child wearing her mother’s shoes and pretending to be an adult.

“As for beauty?”

He looked at her up and down and offered another chuckle.

“There are those whose beauty the heavens envy, such that any who lay their sight upon them are blinded. There are others whose beauty possesses a potent attraction force, drawing positive karma towards them and compelling cold and heat, fortune and wealth, to please them. You, what has your beauty attracted?”

“I… beg your pardon?” 

“How many would fight wars, extinguish bloodlines, suffer untold pain, and face death without hesitation, just to glimpse upon your face?”

Mito’s brow twitched.

“The light of a firefly daring to compare itself to the brilliance of the moon,” Zi Wuji mused, sipping his drink. “You amuse me, woman.”

Her hair was rising up behind her, stimulated by chakra. A habit she'd long lost in her youth. A fiery temper said to be passed down through the blood of the Uzumaki Clan.

“I lived a long time, Master Wuji, and I heard no tales of any kunoichi in the Elemental Nations whose beauty was great enough to move men to war.”

“Then the women of the Elemental Nations must weep,” said Zi Wuji, casually sipping his drink. “Knowing there are no men who would burn the world to see them smile.”

Mito reached for her cup and took another, calm sip.

“Would you?” she asked, her hand trembling.

“Would I?”

“Burn the world for a smile.”

“For the right woman, I would burn it for less.”

Uzumaki Mito set down her cup. Her lips twitched upward into a smile. It was maddening that his words affected her, but it was because it was he who spoke them that it did.

She could Sense Emotions. Not a single lie had been uttered throughout their conversation. Not a single fluctuation of emotion. Not a single attempt at deceit was made. His words were not the flowery, empty, and vapid promises of a young boy whose veins were flooded with optimism and whose glasses were tinted with roses. They were the words of a man who would do, with conviction, all he said. 

She was aware of her own emotions and her own mental state. She could tell the reason his words struck her was because he spoke words no one else dared. No one, from her birth till her death, had spoken to her in the same manner as the man before her.

Not even Uchiha Madara dared to do so. The man, in their brief interactions, had been curt and polite, owing to her status.

Worse, his words attacked a weakness of hers. Though her chakra appeared now, as herself in her youth, her beauty had long faded with the passing of the years. She’d not known then that a day would come wherein her presence that previously took away breaths would instead divert gazes. The transition of an object of desire to an object of disgust in the gazes of men was abrupt and jarring. Few women were prepared for it as they aged.

Had she perhaps possessed a husband who assured her that he loved her even as she aged, had she perhaps, the comforts of knowing that appearances were secondary, with the reassurances of a loving spouse — she’d be more inured to such comments. She’d have learned that appearances didn’t matter.

Alas, Hashirama died young. She’d been a widow for far longer than she’d been a wife. As a widow, and wife of the first Hokage, there had been countless men who’d yearned for her, seen her as a prize, an untouchable thing they could never have. There were many who dreamt of bedding Hashirama’s widow, some, even, came close, but ultimately, none had the courage to do so. 

As a Jinchūriki who could sense emotions, for many years, she had constantly felt the hidden desire from those around her, all of which reduced, day by day, year by year, as she aged, until she felt it no longer. Not even a smidgen — not even a speck.

Until she came to completely lack all desirability.

She’d mentioned such to her granddaughter on occasion. How dreadful it was. Her granddaughter told her she’d not have that problem — that she would find a way to modify the transformation technique such that it kept her forever looking young. They’d had their arguments and differences, but this was the one time they were in agreement over a topic.

She died before knowing if her granddaughter succeeded in inventing a technique that could make a woman ‘stay young’ forever.

“Eternal youth was in your grasp.”

Mito’s eyes widened. “Are you reading my mind, Master Wuji?”

“What is the name of the barrier?”

“The Mind-Body Reversal Barrier…?”

A sense of realization hit her. If the mind and body are reversed, then it… thoughts, an aspect of the mind, will display on the body… it is entirely possible for someone, merely from glancing at my ‘body’ to be able to see my surface thoughts —

A chill ran down her spine as she understood what the simple chain and collar wrapped around her neck truly did.

My thoughts must be no different from an open book —

“You had all the potential tools needed to be unaging and eternally youthful, but squandered it.”

Mito’s brows furrowed. “You’re referring to the fox.”

“A source of near-endless chakra. I can think of no less than nine methods to harness that creature’s chakra and convert it to longevity. Having a lifespan of at least three hundred and fifty years is feasible, and maintaining the youth of a woman in her twenties for centuries, too, is possible.”

Mito’s heart lurched in her chest. “I had no desire for that.”

“You had no choice.” 

Zi Wuji scoffed.

“No one chooses to die. No one chooses to age. No one watches as their body degrades, their sight fades, their muscles weaken, and says ‘Yes, I am happy that I shall soon turn to dust.’”

“All who live wish to continue living, all who breathe wish to breathe for one more day. Those who die, die because they do not have a choice. They die because they were too weak to resist the fate of death. It is to avoid this outcome, to seek immortality, that I, and many others, pursue a path of rebelling against the heavens — against fate.”

Mito fell silent. Aging was a dreadful, painful thing, but it was a thing she had seen as inevitable — inescapable. All would age, and all would die. So even as she’d feared it, even as she’d dreaded it, even as she’d hated it, she’d accepted it.

Because to do otherwise, to go down the path of pursuit of immortality —

“Aging and death are the natural order,” said Mito, firmly. “To go against them is unnatural.”

Zi Wuji snapped his fingers. Her clothes and robes, keeping her dignity, vanished. She sat there, bare, naked, in complete befuddlement.

“W—what is the meaning of —”

“Clothes are unnatural,” Zi Wuji said. “As they go against the natural order, only I, who have chosen the unnatural, can wear them, and you, who wishes to embrace nature, can go without them.”

Her cheeks burned. “Impudence!”

“Thousands of children died in your era, sent off to war before their voice had yet to crack. At such a time, it was ‘natural.’ Women such as yourself were viewed as little more than property, whose sole purpose was to fuel their Clans with new soldiers. At the time, it was ‘natural.’ Did you not hate those ‘natural’ occurrences? Did you not pray, and struggle, and seek a world where the ‘natural’ order changed?”

A chill ran down her spine. It raced across her naked back and left her unable to retort. 

“You sought to fight against the ‘natural’ when they are in the form of the deeds of man. Yet, death and aging, innate instruments of the ‘natural’, you accept?” 

Zi Wuji barked a laugh. 

“You accept them because you believe you cannot fight them, and you believe you cannot fight them, because you are weak.”

The man rose to his full height, standing over her. Mito inexplicably shrunk at his gaze, her heart started to race.

“That a thing is natural, does it mean it is sacred? Wrong! What nature? To hell with it! If nature says it is natural to age, then destroy nature! If the heavens say it is natural to die, then tear down the heavens!” 

Zi Wuji’s reached out, gently cupping her chin in his hand.

“What is fate, or heaven, or nature, to dictate laws for man, who stands at the pinnacle of all beings? What are they, to tell you what can or cannot be done and what should or should not be done?”

His words shook her to her core. Mito’s mind raced, twisting and turning. She searched for arguments, for rebuttals, for reasons why death was necessary, why aging was necessary, why it was wrong, wrong for one to see to live forever — 

Her chin lay in his hand, and her mind drew blanks. She stared into his eyes and saw a will that she had never seen in any man before and doubted she would ever see in any other. 

There was suddenly a foreign feeling in the pit of her stomach. An inexplicable fluttering. Her heart was racing madly. Her breath came out in short, uneven rasps. A stiffness found its way to her nipples, as did a wetness to regions below.

She understood it was the result of his Mind-Body Reversal Barrier. Her mind had been shaken, stimulated, roused by his words, and her body naturally followed, displaying the same level of ‘stimulation’. A fire of arousal burned in her, and her thoughts grew muddled. She found her chin leaning into his hands, her body yearning for his touch, her entire being craving his embrace.

Without her clothes, the man was clearly aware of her state of arousal, yet it did not move him. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his emotions, there was not a hint of interest. Not a smidgen. Not a speck.

How many men could dare to see me in such a state and be unmoved?

All at once, she shuddered and gasped, her hips quivering and shaking. The sound of liquid hitting the floor echoed in the silence. Her face turned a brilliant shade of red, redder than her hair.

I just… in front of him… did I truly just…

She could not raise her head to look at him.

Had… had he planned this from the start?

If it was all planned, if everything, down to this moment, was part of his ploy —

Master Zi Wuji, was a terrifying schemer the likes of which would make the greatest strategists of the Nara Clan weep in despair.

“What…” Mito rasped. “What is it you desire from me, Master Wuji?”

The man raised her chin until she met his gaze once more. The fluttering in her stomach grew. 

Is it because he’s a Fūinjutsu Grandmaster? 

Hashirama, for all his genius, was no Fūinjutsu expert. At best, he was a casual dabbler. During their marriage and the decades after his death, she had no one, not a soul, who could understand her. To do so, to step into her world — one needed the qualifications to speak her language, one needed to breathe, eat, sleep, dream, and love Fūinjutsu.

There were none who were qualified.

A part of her long believed she could only truly give her heart to a man who was her equal in the art of Fūinjutsu. If she ever met such a person, they were likely to be the only one who could have her heart.

Now, in death, she’d found someone who was her superior in the art.

And such a person won her heart and returned it as though it were worthless.

Such a person held her chin in his hands and looked down upon her with a sense of looking down upon everything and everyone.

If it was such a person…

“I wish to make you worthy.”

“Worthy?” Mito’s heart skipped a beat.

Zi Wuji leaned close to her until his breath tickled her ear.

“Worthy of being my maid.”

XXXXX

Hatake Kakashi let out a yawn as he lazily flicked through his Icha Icha novel. He’d read it cover to cover multiple times, but as Jiraiya-sama was no longer writing the books, he had no other source of entertainment besides re-reading said novels.

Late at night, his task of guarding the Uzumaki Clan Compound was something he took seriously, but at the same time, he was lax because the sheer number of barriers and seals surrounding the home made it one of the most, if not the most, secured Clan Compound in the entirety of Konoha. 

It was impossible for any to break into the home, unless they were a Fūinjutsu Master whose skills were better than his sensei, his sensei’s wife, and Jiraiya-sama combined.

Yet, that night, a strange occurrence happened.

There was a pulse of chakra that came from within the home, and that came from one of the seals. At the very edge of the home, rather, as though someone were attempting to leave rather than come in.

Kakashi, frowning, set down his book and performed the Body Flicker technique, arriving at the source.

“Mito-chan?”

His sensei’s eldest daughter, one of the two twins, Mito, stood at the barrier, seemingly in a momentary daze. Then, she glanced at herself, as if confused, before she turned to him.

Was she sleepwalking? Kakashi rose a single visible eyebrow,

“Mah, mah, it’s late Mito-chan. You shouldn’t be out at this time.”

“Yes… I — that’s right. I… should return… to my room.”

She spoke oddly. Kakashi narrowed his brow for a bit and he gently moved to pat her on the shoulder. Sending a pulse of chakra, he confirmed she wasn’t someone using the Transformation Technique. She was definitely his sensei’s daughter. There was, however, a small bit of foreign chakra imbued in her system, that was rapidly dissipating.

Someone put her under a Genjutsu…?

Kakashi frowned.

“Are you feeling alright, Mito-chan?”

The confusion in her eyes seemed to dissipate, and her features became, all at once, collected. Underneath the moonlight, her red hair fluttered within the breeze, and the girl, the toddler, gave off a noble, regal air. There was a strange sense of beauty, of presence, of age in her eyes — eyes that seemed to see past him, see through him, unravel every secret he was hiding, and fathom them at a glance. 

“I feel truly…”

Her eyes, the blue eyes of his sensei, Minato, and the red hair of his wife, Kushina, combined with that noble air under the moonlight, brought Kakashi a foreboding chill. 

“Wonderful.”

Chapter Text

Chakra and the soul are connected. If one can seal a bit of their chakra and soul inside a vessel, they can be revived or resurrected through it. As there would be full continuity of memories and experiences, it would be considered a true resurrection.

Such means would be considered a Kinjutsu, or Juinjutsu…

Sitting within the Clan Head Training Cave in the Hyūga Clan, his Byakugan peered across the distance, deep into the home of the Uzumaki Clan, and settled upon a young girl with red hair.

Zi Wuji’s lips curled into a smile.

He had implanted the remnant chakra and soul of Uzumaki Mito the elder, with that of the three-year-old Uzumaki Mito, the younger. Chakra, after all, could be transferred, gifted, or imbued from one individual to another. However, the memories and experiences of a woman who died nearly a hundred years old were more vivid and bountiful than the meager memories and experiences of an infant girl.

From an outside perspective, if a three-year-old girl suddenly awoke the memories of a hundred-year-old woman, she would appear as though she had been ‘possessed.’

The woman would have held qualms about transferring all her chakra and memories to her descendant, which was why Zi Wuji did not tell her he intended to do so.

Whether she was discovered or whether she managed to assimilate properly, both would work to his favor. If she were found, the stir it would cause would be great, and the concept of ‘reincarnation’ would be introduced into the minds of not only the Hokage, but the people around him, which was a seed he could reap at a later time.

Particularly, it was a seed he could reap when he regained his Cultivation.

Once he regained his Cultivation, his primary goal would be to return to the Rain World and cause a storm. He might even take the best of the Hyūga Clan with him. A few hundred years of intermarriage with locals of the Rain World would produce descendants with Spirit Roots capable of cultivation, and potent eye-prowess.

If the idea of ‘reincarnation’ had simmered around and been accepted as a thing that could happen, he could explain it all by saying, ‘I am the Reincarnation of the Son of the Sage of Six Paths, here to save this world from destruction and bring my people to the promised land.’

Who would doubt him?

After all, if Uzumaki Mito could ‘reincarnate’, why couldn’t others? Who was to say Hashirama and Madara also could not ‘reincarnate?’ Who was to say they were not reincarnations themselves, of some long-lost powerful shinobi?

If she wasn’t discovered, then all was well, and she would become a valuable hidden piece on the board that could be deployed in secret. He would give her ‘instructions’ to follow now and again, and she, with her status and her skill at Fūinjutsu that was second in this world only to his, could do things he would find bothersome. 

Hence, Zi Wuji did not care if she was discovered or if she wasn’t. Both outcomes were entirely within his plans.

A mere child of a hundred years… 

Even a meager Qi Condensation junior had a maximum lifespan of three hundred and fifty years. He had spent eighty years searching for the Way Codex. Eighty years, pursuing one task with all dedication. Few mortals could say they had spent such an amount of time in pursuit of one task.

To others, the woman would appear sagely, filled with life experience, unable to be tricked or fooled, but to Zi Wuji, she was no different from a child.

The woman’s Fūinjutsu knowledge was lacking. She failed to fathom the complexities and true purpose of the Mind-Body Reversal Barrier.

All the while they played the game and interacted, he was examining her past, her history, her childhood, glimpsing at all her secrets. Her mind had become her body, and vice versa. Her birth was her forehead, her death was her feet. Stripping her naked as he did, he’d seen it all — every moment of the woman’s life, personal, private, buried or hidden.

The true purpose of the Mind-Body Reversal Barrier had been to lay bare her entire history upon her body for him, the technique’s creator, to see. She’d thought it could only read surface thoughts, but such was the limit of her understanding.

There was no knowledge that Uzumaki Mito knew that he, Zi Wuji, also did not know.

She had lived as a woman of status and privilege, such that the ‘wisdom’ she gleaned from such a position was short-sighted and incomplete. She had experienced no great betrayals, no significant setbacks, had not known true love, nor great enmity. The greatest tragedy she had experienced was the loss of her Clan, but she had experienced it behind safe walls, never once returning to the burnt ashes of her village to see the massacre firsthand. 

She relied too heavily on her ability to Sense Negative Emotions, feeling as though she could see through everything and everyone with it, and such a thing could be used to earn her trust completely, deceive, or mask one’s true intent from her unwittingly.

She thought herself wise and sagely, but how could wisdom be found from one who faced no opposition? From one who was positioned in a place of reverence and prestige? Between an Empress who rose to power surrounded by those who loved and cherished her, or one who arose surrounded by foes on all corners plotting her downfall, who was shrewder?

Zi Wuji saw it in her memories. Too many people revered her, such that even when they felt she was wrong or made an improper judgment, they would not dare to say it. What wisdom was there to be found in such a life?

In the Rain World, he had encountered such people. The Young Masters of Sects and Clans, who thought themselves wise and prudent, but whose sheltered upbringing and privilege blinded them from harsh realities, deception, schemes, betrayals, and suffering.

Those Young Masters would be schemed to death by a clanless rogue cultivator who had grown shrewd and cunning from experiencing setback after setback.

Uzumaki Mito… Zi Wuji clicked his tongue. You would not survive in the Rain World.

He, Zi Wuji, arose from a nameless orphan. He fooled the world, fooled the Five Heavenly Dragons and Three Phoenixes, fooled the Celestial Slaughter Demon, fooled the Phantom River Sect, lied, schemed, tricked, seduced, deceived, and conned his way out of many life-and-death situations!

How could a mere Uzumaki Mito, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, having wanted for nothing, lacked for nothing, achieved greatness by virtue of birthright and bloodline, worshipped and revered by all, without great rivals or terrifying enemies, how, indeed, could she be his match?

She was but a typical privileged and sheltered ‘Young Lady.’ A sheltered Young Lady who believed herself to be a Wise Empress.

Zi Wuji had not lied to her. He had not deceived her. He had no need for such methods.

Such a person truly was not even worthy of being his maid.

Zi Wuji withdrew his gaze as he settled down, instead, within his mind, for the true haul he had received from his mission. Neither the empty accolades nor words of praise had moved him, nor the title of youngest person to ever succeed an S-Rank Mission swayed him. Zi Wuji’s heart was set upon one thing and one thing only!

He closed his eyes as he recalled the technique he had received whilst he’d read through the woman’s mind under the influence of the Mind-Body Reversal Barrier.

“Kage Bunshin no Jutsu.”

With a puff of smoke, two identical versions of himself appeared, standing before him. All of them looked at each other at the same time, before throwing their heads back as one, and bursting out into laughter.

Shadow Clone? What nonsense, Shadow Clone! Isn’t this the fabled Myriad Self Division Technique lost to ancient times?! A technique said to be able to overturn the heavens, one that the Victorious Fighting Golden Venerable created?

To think these mortals had such a valuable technique! Truly, there are always mountains beyond mountains, and seas beyond seas!

He had discovered the technique as he casually perused Mito’s mind and learned it had been created in this world by the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, her brother-in-law. The man had not only taught her, but he had also taught his students and immediate family members.

Had I known such a technique existed from the beginning…

Zi Wuji looked at his two clones and felt a sense of wasted effort. As a child whose chakra was still developing, two Shadow Clones were the maximum he could create.

Each clone equally splits the chakra, the memories, and the experiences. Training with two clones is the equivalent of training with twice the effort and half the time. Training with three is the equivalent of thrice the effort and one-third the time!

The only limitation is Chakra! Chakra! The more chakra one possesses, the more clones they can create!

If such a technique were ever to be learned in the Rain World, it would be turned upside down! A cultivator that can cultivate at twice, three times, or hundreds of thousands of times faster than all others!

Heaven Defying! A True Heaven Defying Technique!

Such a technique would incite wars and extinguish entire generations, clans, families, and sects. It would bring chaos in the cultivation world, and even those elusive immortals who had ascended would descend in person for the technique, or send their avatars to wipe out any who dared compete with them for it. Even the Heavenly Court might be forced to intervene! 

Yet, it seemed the people of the Elemental Nations had yet to understand what a terrifying technique Senju Tobirama had made.

“There is no choice.”

Zi Wuji’s eyes sharpened.

“I must become a Jinchūriki!”

Only with the raw, nigh-infinite chakra of a Jinchūriki would he be able to push the Shadow Clone Technique to its maximum. A thousand clones, if not ten thousand clones, would be enough to overturn heaven and earth. Cultivating ten thousand times faster than all others, with such effort, wouldn’t ruling the Rain World be as easy as waving his hand? Let alone cultivation speed, wouldn’t he be able to launch endless attacks against the Sects and Clans, and have them kowtow and swear their fealty to him or face destruction?

If ten thousand was not enough to cow them into submission, then he would send a hundred thousand. If a hundred thousand was not enough, then he would send one million. If one million was not enough, he would send ten million!

Invincibility through absolute numbers!

Sect Masters, Patriarchs, or even those Old Monsters in seclusion would look up in despair if ten million cultivators with no fear of life or death gathered to extinguish them!

All Nine Tailed Beasts, I must have them. All of them!

Zi Wuji’s heart stirred with desire. The more chakra he possessed, the more clones he would be able to create. Creating ten million clones would only be possible if he possessed the combined chakra of all Nine Tailed Beasts. Cultivating at ten million times the speed, would Immortality not simply be around the corner?

To think, I had simply set my eyes only on Kushina! That my goal was so meager as to merely reconstruct the body of a cultivator with her Tailed Beast! Ah! Zi Wuji! Zi Wuji! You failed to see Mt. Tai!

Zi Wuji’s gaze deepened. His goal had not changed; it had only expanded. Kushina was ultimately still a target of his. Be it absorbing the chakra within her to be able to transform his body, or plundering her Tailed Beast from her, it made little difference.

However, she would have to be saved for last. He would need to gather the Tailed Beasts in the proper order. As a Formation Master, sealing and unsealing the Tailed Beasts was not an issue. However, there was a problem.

Without possessing Uzumaki blood, my body would not be able to withstand such a vast amount of chakra. Even if I were to open all the Eight Gates, it would not be enough.

From what he gathered from Mito’s memories, the chakra of the Tailed Beasts was not equal. The Two-Tailed Beast possessed twice as much chakra as the One-Tailed Beast, and the Three-Tailed Beast possessed twice as much as the Two-Tailed Beast.

Thus the Nine Tails, the strongest of them all, possessed chakra at least double that of the Eight Tails, which was double that of the Seventh, and double that of the Sixth….

Even if he did successfully transform his body back into that of a cultivator, doing so would put him once more at the Qi Refining Stage. A Qi Refining Stage body was only so-so better than that of a normal person, so it would not help him withstand the sheer amount of chakra he intended to hold from being the Jinchūriki of all Nine Tailed Beasts.

I will need to employ the Blood Baptism Rebirth Formation.

The Blood Baptism Rebirth Formation was a formation that belonged to the Blood Dao and was created by an elderly demonic cultivator who disdained the mixed bloodline of his descendants. Whilst he had been in seclusion in preparation to enter the Nascent Soul Stage, one of his descendants married a lizard demonic beast, and his family members' blood had been mixed with that of the beasts. In his fury, he created the formation, slaughtered all the descendants of mixed blood, just so he could accrue enough blood to create an “Origin Blood Pool.”

Bathing and refining oneself in an Origin Blood Pool with the Blood Baptism Rebirth Formation would stimulate the concentrated abilities of a bloodline and push it to the pinnacle. The larger the blood pool, and the more talented the member who refined themself within it, the greater the benefits.

Any hidden abilities in the bloodline, any natural talents, any long forgotten benefits that had been diluted from years of either inbreeding or mixing one’s blood with others would be purged upon bathing and refining oneself in an Origin Blood Pool. Those who absorbed it completely would become the ‘purest’ bloodline member of that clan or family, and awaken innate abilities or benefits of their blood. It could even upgrade the quality of one's Spirit Root.

Fortunately, the Uzumaki and Hyūga are distant blood relatives. No matter how distant the blood relation, as long as we can be traced down to a common ancestor, there should be no issues…

Meaning, I will have the ‘Purest’ Uzumaki Bloodline, and at the same time, ‘Purest’ Hyūga Bloodline. It is a return to origin! My blood will become the same as that of the ancestor of the Uzumaki, the Hyūga, and any other clans or families distantly or closely related, like the Senju. Not only that, but it will be indescribably pure!

I do not believe the task of becoming a Jinchūriki of all Nine Tailed Beasts will be a problem from then on.

However, the act of refining oneself in an Origin Blood Pool took time. It was a process that needed to be continued without interruption for years. It would take ten to twenty years to successfully refine, absorb, and consolidate.

It was not a concern in the Rain World, as for Cultivators, ten or twenty years would pass in the blink of an eye. However, as a mortal, ten or twenty years was a considerable amount of time.

Fortunately, I am still young and discovered the existence of the Shadow Clone Technique early. Ten years! Ten years is my absolute limit! I must be able to refine my body in the Origin Blood Pool within a seclusion of ten years!

In ten years, he would be fifteen, nearing sixteen years of age, which was the age at which many began on the path of cultivation.

There was a second problem, the problem of being able to gather enough blood. Normally, to do such a thing, he would need to massacre a large number of people to gain the amount of blood necessary.

However, he did not need to. 

Why bother, when there was a person he could milk for an endless supply of blood that would allow him to create a truly large Origin Blood Pool?

Zi Wuji’s gaze focused upon the Konoha General Hospital, where a red-haired young woman was strapped to a bed, sealed completely.

His lips upturned into a laugh.

Uzumaki Mito, even the fruits of your womb are mine to plunder…

XXXXX

“Kukukuku… did you bring him here to gloat, Jiraiya?”

Orochimaru offered a smile that was the furthest thing from a smile. For days now, he’d been practicing, and he had only stopped once he sensed he had visitors. The barrier separating them was thin, but the man on the other end of the barrier was a man he could not mistake for anyone else.

Beyond his former teammate, who captured him, the man to his right was old and frail, and stared with eyes that held a pity-filled warmth that sickened the Sannin to his core.

The man didn’t say a word as he looked at him, and the longer he stared in silence, the more irritated Orochimaru grew. Yet, he did not let the irritation display itself in his tone. 

“Well, sensei? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sarutobi Hiruzen stood on the other side of the thick, purple-colored barrier, which Jiraiya called the Ido no Kaeru Barrier.  The Barrier that Orochimaru had been slowly studying, and was making considerable progress towards unravelling.

“Jiraiya-kun, could you give us a moment?”

“Of course, sensei.”

Jiraiya left, and Orochimaru met the aged gaze of The Professor. There was a difference around the man that Orochimaru noted. A sense of lethargy. The man’s battle senses appeared duller, and the sharpness in his eyes appeared softer. It was difficult for him to believe it was indeed the same man.

“Retirement seems to be treating you well, sensei.”

“It has,” admitted Hiruzen. “I no longer have to worry about council matters or spend days bogged down with paperwork. Most days, I spend my time playing with my grandson, and being grateful I can do so.”

“You’ve always loathed paperwork,” mused Orochimaru. “I’d told you time without number to delegate such a meaningless task to others, so your energy is conserved for more important affairs. You never listened.”

“Handling the day-to-day operations of the village, distributing missions, receiving reports, not a single one of those tasks, those piles of paper, were meaningless,” Hiruzen countered. “That is one way you and I differed.”

“Amongst others,” said Orochimaru, with a sneer.

Hiruzen chuckled. “It feels like it was just yesterday, you were a boy completing the Bell Test on Training Ground Seven. I remembered being amazed at how quickly you understood the goal was teamwork, but also being confused as to why you refused to work with your team.”

“Jiraiya was a bumbling buffoon who only thought with his lower head and sought to impress Tsunade. And Tsunade was a spoiled brat who expected me to do whatever she said,” Orochimaru scoffed. “My odds of passing that test were lower with their aid than it was without.”

“Your views of them changed the longer you spent time together.”

“War has a habit of making uncanny alliances out of even the most ill-matched of people, sensei.” 

“War also has the habit of leaving invisible scars on people,” replied Hiruzen. “Jiraiya hid his scars in women, peeking and brothels. Tsunade masked hers in the comfort of her lover and brother, her passion for medical ninjutsu. But where did you bury your scars?”

“I had none to bury.”

“No,” Hiruzen sighed. “You had too many to bury.”

Orochimaru scowled. “Why are you here, sensei? I don’t believe you came purely to reminisce about old times.”

Hiruzen lifted his pipe to his lips, slowly lifting it with a minor application of fire-elemental chakra. He took a deep breath and exhaled a small cloud of white smoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Of all the words Orochimaru expected, he had not expected those.

“You were my student, and because you were the most talented, I thought you needed the least guidance, the least direction, the least help. But more than Jiraiya, more than Tsunade, it was you needed me the most. I did not see it. I failed to see it.”

Orochimaru narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for regrets, sensei.”

“It is not. If you are willing to dedicate yourself and all your resources and efforts to the betterment of Konoha and provide us all the information you have on that organization, the Akatsuki, your crimes will be pardoned and you will be given an opportunity at freedom.”

Orochimaru stared at Hiruzen before he burst out into laughter. “Kukukuku… I’d known you were soft, sensei, but I’d not imagined you to have gone senile. Am I to believe that Namikaze brat would pardon me after all I’ve done? Simply turn a blind eye?”

“I asked Minato to owe me this as a favor,” admitted Hiruzen. “I did not think he would accept. Were I in his shoes, I’d have refused the request. Minato is a kinder man than I am. There are times, seeing what he’s accomplished, that I feel a sense of shame at my own time as the Hokage, but also a sense of pride, knowing I did not choose wrong. If my successor does not surpass me, I’d have done the village a disservice.”

Hiruzen laughed, a hearty, full laugh that Orochimaru could not say he had ever heard from the man before. A laugh bereft entirely of worries, a laugh filled with satisfaction.

“I did not choose wrong,” Hiruzen repeated. “Minato is three times the man I thought he was. He believes even you are deserving of a second chance.”

“Foolishness,” Orochimaru scoffed. “He seemed too smart for that.”

“He knows you have been planning to escape,” Hiruzen continued. “Jiraiya wanted to wait to see how you break this barrier, before he revealed the knowledge to you and informed you of the opportunity for a pardon. I know you. If the truth were revealed to you, then you’d never agree.”

“Truth?” Orochimaru mused. “What truth?” 

“The Flying Thunder God Technique has been planted on you,” said Hiruzen, pointing his finger. “Minato placed it. Jiraiya amplified it with Senjutsu. It is carved on your soul, rather, on the remnant of the soul you left behind in that horrid Cursed Seal you put on young Anko. He can afford such foolishness, as you put it, because no matter where you flee to, even if you escape this barrier, even if you were to revive in a different body, it is pointless. The entire world is your prison. He and Jiraiya can arrive beside you at any time and capture or kill you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You lie,” Orochimaru hissed. “Do you think I would fall for such a blatant lie?”

“Were you not curious as to how Jiraiya managed to track you down? How he found you?” Sarutobi continued. “You created such a cruel method in your pursuit of immortality, and placed it on a poor girl who trusted you. Now, your grand creation, the pinnacle of your efforts, has become your greatest undoing.”

Orochimaru fell silent. His knuckles went white. 

“I hope you will consider my offer. It is never too late to make amends,” Hiruzen turned about, his footsteps echoing like thunder. “You will never live as a free man again, but you can at the very least, learn to live like a man once more, and not the monster you became.” 

As the Third Hokage departed, Orochimaru let out a furious roar. His fists slammed against the barrier, smashing and hitting until his hands turned into red, bloodied pulps. He slammed his fists again and again until his arms were destroyed up to his elbows. 

He roared, and cursed, and gasped, and wheezed. He bit so hard on his lips, blood poured down them and stained the earth beneath him. Then, he threw his head back and burst into laughter. 

“NAMIKAZE!”

It was him. It was always him. Always that brat. If only Namikaze Minato did not exist! If only he didn’t have—

The Flying Thunder God Technique.

Orochimaru suddenly grew calm. Never in his life had he been this calm. Not ever. His hands slowly regenerated, and his mind began to work faster and faster.

The Second Hokage created it. Senju Tobirama was neither a god nor a demon. Any technique a man can create, another man can destroy.

Without hesitating, Orochimaru created three Earth Style Shadow Clones and dismissed them. Then, he created another three and dismissed them again. Repeating the process, again and again, and again.

It requires a deep background in fūinjutsu and an innate understanding of Space-Time Techniques. To completely dismantle it requires a robust foundation and understanding of both fūinjutsu and concepts of space-time. 

I dabbled in Fūinjutsu, but I am no formal Master, not by the standards set by the Uzumaki Clan. To be able to unravel Tobirama’s technique, I need to attain the level of a proper Fūinjutsu Master.

Then, at once, Orochimaru’s lips contorted into a sneer.

No. Jiraiya is a Master. Combined with Namikaze’s wife and the Namikaze himself, the three of them together would be close to Uzumaki Mito’s skills. They will not be idle. A mere Fūinjutsu Master will not be enough.

A Fūinjutsu Grandmaster.

I must become a Fūinjutsu Grandmaster. The amount of time needed to accomplish this…

Orochimaru did a quick calculation.

Ten years.

Orochimaru laughed.

Sensei, you once said that only upon reaching one’s lowest point can a man be open to the greatest change. I dismissed it as another of your foolish rantings. Now, I see what it was you meant. Sensei, dear sensei, I hope you enjoy the rest of your retirement.

At this moment, Orochimaru of the Sannin, a terrifying genius of the Hidden Leaf Village,  was driven to obsession and single-minded pursuit of a goal. One goal.

Become a Fūinjutsu Grandmaster.

You have only ten years left before you witness the death of your precious successor.

XXXXX

Where… am I?

The scent of medical sterilization told her she was in a hospital, or some other medical center, but her memory of how she got here was hazy. What was she doing? The last thing she could recall… what was the last thing she could recall?

It was… vague. Blurry. As though someone had scrubbed it, or as though she had forgotten it. She remembered hearing a voice of man, gently trying to coax her awake. A soft, gentle voice, reminding her of the happy moments in her life.

There was something the voice had been trying to forget, but she could not recall what it was. Now, there was a feeling of being drained… a feeling of…

The world around her morphed. It cracked and shattered like glass. She stood in the middle of an active warzone, the air rife with chakra and smoke, tinged with blood. The earth shook from the aftermath of jutsu after jutsu, and she stared at herself, garbed in a Jōnin flak jacket, just as she had been during the War.

Before the body of a shinobi, bleeding out on the ground.

“D—Dan?”

Her lover, Dan.

But he’s… already…

She closed her eyes, her breathing fluctuating rapidly.

So that’s it. I’m dreaming. 

“Hime-chan… I need… blood,” Dan rasped. “Blood… please. I need your blood… please… as much… blood… as you can spare.”

She didn’t refuse him. She couldn’t refuse him. In the end, this was a dream, and in reality, Dan was dead. Maybe… maybe in this dream, she’d be able to save him. If she could at least save him, in her dreams…

“You can have all the blood you want.”

He reached for her gently, her neck, and bit, deep and sucked her blood. 

This really… isn’t that bad of a dream.

He sucked for minutes, and then, for hours, but she felt no effects of lowered blood pressure, nor did she feel any tiredness or weakness. He continued to suck her blood, and he must have sucked more blood than one hundred people could have from her alone. 

As he continued to suck, as he sucked more blood than even a thousand people could have, she felt something was amiss. Dreams were often chaotic and disordered, with no sense of rhyme or reason and no continuity and consistency, yet this dream of him sucking her blood for hours upon hours seemed oddly consistent. 

Beyond the fact that she couldn’t possibly have this much blood from a biological standpoint, not unless her body was capable of somehow regenerating blood faster than he could drain it—

Regenerating?

Without warning, the dream ended. Dan vanished. She was surrounded by darkness, and that thought, regeneration, made her recall something. Something she was supposed to have forgotten. Rather, something she should have forgotten. Something about regeneration…

Without warning, a floating knife appeared in front of her.

No, not a knife. A kunai? A kunai… something about a kunai…

The kunai flew towards her throat.

Her throat…

Her hand reached for her throat softly, feeling neither a scar nor an injury. But she was certain—

Something flashed in her memory. Hands. Screams. Being clawed at.

Tearing, and tearing and screaming and tearing— 

Biting and clawing, and ripping—

Her flesh growing, and subsuming, covering a man’s body, swallowing it like a cancer—

The sound of machines beeping filled the room. Alarms rang.

‘Tsunade-sama! Tsunade-sama! Calm down! You’re safe!”

She couldn’t use her chakra. It was sealed. It was sealed. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay. She needed to escape. She needed to escape!

If she died — if she died, she would escape!

“Tsunade-sama, you’re—”

There was a flash. A roar of heat and flame.

Then, there was darkness again.

XXXXX

“I’m sorry, Hokage-sama.”

Inoichi grimaced, coughing away the remnant smoke in his lungs, and scrunching at the scent of smoke that filled his nostrils from the exploded room. A medic-nin had died in the explosion, and several other members of Konoha General Hospital had suffered severe burns.

He was sporting a severe burn across his right arm, which was currently being tended to by a medic-nin, as the Hokage, Minato, arrived, to stare at the scene. The Hokage glanced at the body of a medic-nin, being carted away to the mortuary, and turned to Inoichi.

“What happened?”

“I…. don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“She was responding to treatment,” Inoichi admitted. “But something triggered an incredibly traumatic memory, and her condition worsened instantly.” Inoichi shook his head, lamenting, “Merely recalling it prompted her to attempt to escape. Upon realizing her chakra was sealed and she could not move, she converted her sealed chakra into fire elemental chakra and self-detonated.”

Inoichi turned his gaze over to the form of the young, sleeping woman on the bed, who, despite having exploded, had already regenerated. The Kinjutsu that constantly healed and regenerated her body was still active, even now. It was both a medical marvel and a source of extreme horror. The woman was nearly immortal.

“I am afraid that without either removing or sealing away that traumatic memory, Tsunade-sama cannot regain her rationality. The moment she awakens, she will either attempt to attack others, or failing that, end her own life.”

Minato let out a sigh. “Do what is needed for her to heal, Inoichi.”

“The thing is, Hokage-sama, there is a greater problem,” Inoichi paused. “Tsunade suffered from an extreme form of hemophobia. She would become paralyzed with fear at the sight of blood. This also limits the efficiency of my treatments.”

“If I remove or suppress the traumatic memory without removing that fear, then fear will become an avenue for her to recall that suppressed memory. That is to say, we will have a repeat incident any time she sees blood.”

Minato fell silent for a moment. “Can you cure her hemophobia?”

“I can. However, doing so would mean removing the reasons she gained a fear of blood to begin with, Hokage-sama.”

The Hokage, as a genius, no doubt understood what he was saying, and Inoichi knew what he was asking to do was something many would frown on. Sealing away a traumatic memory was one thing, but removing the memories of a person’s deceased loved ones was another.

“Are there other options?”

“Over time, with repeated treatments, it will be possible to gradually have her face the traumatic event and overcome it on her own. However…” Inoichi hesitated. “I have no idea what triggered such a volatile reaction that undid my efforts. If such a situation were to happen again, or if it were to keep happening, considering how dangerous she is…”

Inoichi gestured to his burns and gave a tired smile.

“Continuing normal treatment would be at a great cost.”

The options were either to seal away her memories of Dan and Nawaki’s deaths, or risk him, and others, dying with each attempt at normal treatment, attempts that could randomly fail for reasons he was yet to fathom.

Inoichi did not envy Minato at the moment, because he knew neither choice would be easy to justify. He would, of course, do his job even at the cost of his life if Minato ordered him to.

However, a small, tiny part of Inoichi, the part of him that was simply human, knew he would resent Minato if the man chose the sanctity of Tsunade's memories over his life and the lives of others.

One Chūnin had already died, and he was injured. Had she not been in the way of the explosion, it was likely he would be the one dead instead.

Inoichi truly, desperately, did not wish to die before his daughter could graduate. He desperately did not wish to die before she became a Chūnin at the very least. 

With the current attitudes of the Yamanaka Clan Elders, his death would be the excuse they needed to try and implant a different Clan Heir, a male clan heir, and oust his daughter from her birthright. 

If there were at least one other female clan heir, he would have solid ground to stand on. Alas, ever since Hyūga Neji became the Heir of the Hyūga Clan in place of his cousin Hinata, and the boy’s stellar achievements shone brighter and brighter, the Elders were unflinchingly convinced that the clan needed a ‘proper shinobi’ leading them.

They told him that even Tsume, the sole female Clan Head who led the Inuzuka Clan, believed it was proper, which was why her son Kiba was the Inuzuka Clan heir, rather than her eldest daughter, Hana. 

He could not afford to die.

“I’ll need to discuss it with her family.”

“The only family she has currently, Hokage-sama, is your wife. Her thoughts on the matter….”

Minato smiled. “I know.”

Inoichi hid his grimace. Uzumaki Kushina, knowing her, there would only be one outcome if she were asked.

Absolutely not, ttebane! You can’t remove her memories of her brother and lover! That’s too cruel! If you keep trying, you can definitely get through to her! I believe it!

She would probably be right. Very likely be right. With enough attempts, it was possible. However, the risk was not worth the returns. One person had already died. Her condition inexplicably regressed due to a yet unknown cause. How many lives was the sanctity of Tsunade’s memories worth? 

If Minato gave the order to remove or alter the woman’s memories, he would be at odds with his wife, but if he pushed for her treatment, it would mean he placed Tsunade’s memories and his wife’s wishes above the lives of his shinobi. 

Inoichi truly did not envy him.

No matter what decision Minato made in this situation, he would earn someone’s resentment.

“Give me time to think on it.”

“Of course, Hokage-sama.”

XXXXX

Within the Hyūga Clan Head Hidden Cave, Zi Wuji wiped a gathering of sweat from his brow as he nodded in satisfaction. A Shadow Clone of himself lay on the ground, covered from head to toe in kanji and seals. Placing down the final seal, he put his hands together into a hand sign and activated his chakra.

With a bright glow, the seals came to life. Then, one by one, they faded completely. The clone’s eyes snapped open, and he turned to him. Without hesitation, Zi Wuji struck the clone with his palm. The Shadow Clone flew across the room, slamming into a wall and coughing up blood. 

Immediately after, the clone rose, dusted itself, and returned, standing before him. Zi Wuji nodded in satisfaction.

The Shadow Clone, being a pure chakra construct, counts as an object, and thus, a series of modified stasis seals is enough to prevent it from dispelling from even the hardest of impacts.

It was the same concept he used for the spandex he gifted to Mitarashi Anko, and the one he gifted to Tsunade’s apprentice, Shizune. The spandex outfits were made immune to conventional weapons with such a method, but he’d gone above and beyond to imbue the Transformation Technique upon it, as a ‘life-saving feature.’ The cloth would transform into him, do what was needed to save one’s life, then transform back into ordinary cloth once the chakra sealed within it was expended.

Even if the clone is stabbed in the heart, it won’t be dispelled, but instead, the stored chakra will transform it into an ‘inert’ object: a corpse. Unless it is beheaded, no one will be able to tell that it is a mere clone.

He did not give the clone any instructions, but the clone already knew what it was to do. Without a word, the shadow clone moved over to where Zi Wuji usually trained and meditated, whilst Zi Wuji dusted his palms and went further and deeper into the cave, walking down a recently carved out portion in the earth and stone, and then sealing the entrance behind him.

Deep within, a complex formation had been drawn on the ground, around a hundred-meter pool filled with thick red blood that functioned as the formation pivot.

The Phantom Treading Steps he recreated could make him invisible even to the Byakugan, let alone the normal eyes of a typical shinobi. Even the so-called elite guarding Tsunade Senju’s hospital room had not noticed him. They had not noticed anything amiss. Using a Genjutsu technique he learned from Uzumaki Mito’s memories, the Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique, Tsunade, whose chakra was sealed, could not have dispelled it even if she wished to.

Zi Wuji was not certain what she saw in the illusion, but he did not care. In the end, the woman had an inexhaustible amount of blood due to her endless regeneration. It would have been a waste not to take advantage of it.

Indeed, the mission to rescue Senju Tsunade had brought him endless benefits.

Stored in a corner of the cave were sealing scrolls filled with full meals, fresh water, and a few chakra boosting pills from the Akimichi Clan, all of which would connect directly to the formation to keep him sustained. Zi Wuji shed his clothes and neatly folded them as he kept them aside.

Step by step, he stepped upon the blood pool using the standard water walking methods of shinobi. At the center of the pool, for the first time in years, he deactivated his Byakugan and let out a breath. 

Zi Wuji extended his hands and laughed.

“World of Shinobi, in ten years, I, Zi Wuji, shall take you by storm!”

With those words, he deactivated the water walking technique—

And commenced his baptism of blood.

PART 1 - END

Chapter Text

Impossible.

The Mayfly Technique failed. Not once, ever, had it failed. There was no place he could not go with it, and no place he could infiltrate with it.

The reason he played such a role in the Akatsuki was because of this technique. He had no doubts that were an Akatsuki member to fall, he would be able to retrieve their bodies to prevent any secrets from leaking, but more importantly, he'd be able to retrieve the Akatsuki rings.

Impossible.

Sasori had fallen. Kakuzu had fallen. Orochimaru had been captured.

He could not retrieve the rings or bodies of the former two, and he could not free the latter.

Impossible.

His plans had yet to even be set into motion, and members of the organisation were dropping like flies. S-Rank Missing-Nin capable of defeating and capturing Jinchūriki alive were not cabbages to be bought and sold at the market.

Each one was an expensive, hard-to-replace asset.

Yet, none of this was what bothered him. What had bothered him was the technique used to lock Orochimaru away, deep within the earth. What bothered him was that it was the same technique which had foiled that brat’s plans for the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox and his own plans for the Uchiha Clan.

He had never paid any attention to Namikaze Minato, considering him yet another lowly human unworthy of his attention. The Uchiha Clan were the main stars, the ones to whom he determined would be the focus of the History of Shinobi, so he had paid close attention to them. 

Which was why he had been baffled when he'd learned that one of his ‘stars’ was seemingly stopped by a barrier made by unworthy trash.