Fatigue.
Dizziness.
Discomfort.
If some people sensed the malice of a "Party A" boss, then others were experiencing the harshest possible reality firsthand.
Though he had already experienced it many times before.
Because of the Sharingan.
That bloodline limit.
Thud. Thud—
The echo of synchronized footsteps resounded from the far end of the dark, deep corridor, drawing closer and closer. They were nothing like the open-toed ninja sandals of memory. These were heavy, rigid, metal-studded combat boots.
"Identity verification. Convict granted the opportunity to redeem merit. XIII—Colony World No. 638059. Undying Blade Sector. Ninja System III (Shinobi World / Naruto). Descendant of a bloodline ninja clan—Uchiha Sasuke!"
The procedural voice echoed through the enclosed space of the ship's lower deck.
On a narrow bed, a pale-skinned young man with black hair and black eyes slowly opened his eyes. He wore a light gray, high-collared short-sleeved shirt with a zipper, and on his back was the red-and-white fan crest of his clan.
"That's me."
Uchiha Sasuke rose to his feet. Through the gradually turning transparent door of his compartment, he met the gaze of the Imperial naval crew in front of him without expression.
After a moment, seeing them still holding up tablets for comparison without moving, he let out a faint, irritated laugh.
"Hmph. You people are really rigid. Didn't you check us once when we boarded? And again during the voyage? Now you're checking again before disembarking?"
His eyes opened fully. The three-tomoe Sharingan rotated.
"Confirmed."
The lead naval officer stamped the verification and met Sasuke's gaze without fear.
"Don't get the wrong idea, ninja brat. We're not trying to make things difficult for you. There are regulations for everything. Without a noble title granting you special privileges, you follow procedure. This is the Empire—not your makeshift troupe."
Beep.
"Move out." The access control unlocked. The naval officer stood with hands clasped behind his back. "We've reached the Imperial Capital. Lucky you."
"Celebrate it. This is the honor of a lifetime. Your bloodline limits, the peculiar physical traits of your shinobi world's natives—those are what earned you a chance to come to the Capital. Perhaps the only chance in your short lives."
They had barely gone far when—
"Sasuke!"
A delighted cry rang out.
"Karin."
The moment he stepped out of his compartment, Sasuke saw a red-haired, red-eyed girl looking at him with undisguised joy.
"Bloodline clan—descendant of the Uzumaki clan."
"Hozuki clan."
"First-generation holder of a special physique—Jūgo."
Verification proceeded as usual. Identification. Handover.
The members of Team Taka reunited on foreign soil.
Before the four could exchange more than a few words, an Imperial guard barked, "Silence!"
Living under another's roof, the four did not cause trouble. Wearing restraining bracers, they obediently followed behind the guards.
"Sasuke, what do you think they'll do to us?"
"Don't know."
"They said they brought us to the Imperial Capital, right?" The more lively voice of Hozuki Suigetsu lowered. "So it's like the capital of the Land of Fire."
"Mm. Probably won't kill us," Jūgo's deep, steady voice replied. "If they wanted to, they'd have done it already. No need to go through all this trouble."
...
As more and more people emerged from their separated compartments—remnants of Fire Country's shinobi, then the gathering of ninja from all Five Great Nations—the growing number turned the once orderly footsteps into a chaotic shuffle.
Until—
"Yo, Sasuke. Didn't expect we'd reunite here."
No ninja forehead protector. Long silver hair. The familiar black mask. Still carrying that air of weary, middle-aged melancholy—Hatake Kakashi looked at his former student with visible fatigue.
There were no more rogue ninja. No more villages to betray.
After the war ended and the surviving members of the Allied Shinobi Forces were expelled from Kamui space, Kakashi learned that the Five Great Ninja Villages—including Konoha—had been attacked, and that Konoha had already surrendered after its fall.
Having long since lost the will to fight, he had obediently allowed the mechanical troops to throw him into a prisoner-of-war camp.
When the Imperial Science Bureau began requisitioning bloodline ninja samples, as a renowned elite jōnin of the shinobi world—the Copy Ninja, the foremost technician—he naturally caught the attention of the Imperial garrison.
And so he was packaged together with the others and sent aboard the conscription transport ship bound for the Imperial Capital.
"Kakashi... sensei."
In the end, Sasuke still called him that.
They exchanged complicated looks.
One weary. The other having learned the truth of the Uchiha massacre through the Reanimation technique, only to be nearly beaten to death later by a specialized combat unit of the Empire's auxiliary forces.
Pride?
Crushed to dust.
Another way to put it—their very martial convictions had shattered.
Resistance? Causing trouble?
That would be gambling with everyone's lives—and with their own families still in the shinobi world.
They had seen Durandal.
Then they had stood before the supreme military governor of their theater, the Empire's Grand General—and commander of the Imperial assassination corps—Esdeath.
That bone-chilling gaze, as though you were an insect to be crushed underfoot, as though the next instant you would freeze into ice crystals—no one wanted to experience it twice.
Beyond them, familiar faces appeared one after another—Might Guy, Haruno Sakura, Yamanaka Ino, Nara Shikamaru, Akimichi Chōji, Inuzuka Kiba...
The older generation of clan leaders were no fools. While accompanying the resurrected Hokage to meet death in battle, they had already arranged for their descendants to be moved to safer ground.
The atmosphere was heavy.
Everyone either remained silent or spoke in hushed tones.
No one knew how much time passed before—
Whoosh—!
The view suddenly opened.
Among the endless stars, the most resplendent jewel—the Empire's irreplaceable and singular Capital—unfolded before the eyes of these first-time beholders.
Even though shinobi could wield supernatural power capable of moving mountains and parting seas, and though daimyō had indulged in every extravagance imaginable, none could approach even a fraction of the breathtaking grandeur possessed by the Imperial Capital.
The capital of the Sacred Empire was vast beyond measure, its radiance blinding.
Not to mention the boundless surface of the Capital itself, where countless towering structures pierced the heavens—above it hung the spaceports suspended in the void. Tens of thousands of warships, weapon platforms that seemed eternal, gravity wells, rotating spindles, and densely arranged docking arrays filled the vacuum.
Even the perpetually weary Kakashi could not help but look around in stunned silence.
Then—
"Long time no see, Sasuke-kun."
That hoarse, familiar voice.
Those who knew it felt their hearts tighten as they turned toward the source.
A pale face. Golden, vertically slit pupils. Purple eyeshadow stretching down toward the bridge of his nose.
"Orochimaru!"
"Ah, Karin. And Suigetsu, Jūgo, Kakashi... old friends indeed."
Dressed impeccably in the white lab coat of the Science Bureau, identification badge hanging from his chest—clearly having passed assessment, been absorbed, and successfully gone legitimate—Orochimaru smiled hoarsely.
Seeing the red-haired girl instinctively step in front of Sasuke, he chuckled and cast his gaze toward the shinobi disembarking from the ramp one after another—especially the former Konoha ninja whose expressions varied upon seeing him.
"Orochimaru-senpai... as expected of you." Kakashi could only marvel at Orochimaru's survival instincts—and at how he had managed to embed himself within the Empire itself.
Sasuke wore much the same expression.
Others might not know, but he had surrendered alongside Orochimaru. The timing hadn't differed by much at all.
So how had Orochimaru risen so effortlessly?
Was it simply because he had capitulated faster? More decisively?
"I am not like you illiterates who lack flexible minds and return all your knowledge to your teachers the moment you graduate," Orochimaru said hoarsely, habitually extending his slender tongue to lick across his lips. "I am a scientist."
A delicate hand shoved him aside.
"That's enough reminiscing, Orochimaru. And stop making such disgusting gestures. It's revolting."
A cascade of green hair flowed down like a waterfall. Her vertically slit pupils, shifting from green to pink in a gradient, were hollow and void, sending a chill through the heart. Beneath the white lab coat she wore a black robe embroidered with silver patterns. Her features were exquisitely perfect—bewitchingly beautiful to an extreme.
"Yes, Dr. Mobius."
Orochimaru stepped aside without hesitation.
He couldn't beat her. His status was even lower. Fine. He, Orochimaru, could bend when necessary.
"Hello, my dear little lab rats..."
Just like those unfathomable serpent eyes, her very first sentence made the assembled shinobi realize that this was a dangerously alluring she-serpent.
"We're done for. Just escaped a male snake's den and now we've fallen into a female snake's nest..." Suigetsu had already shrunk behind Sasuke.
Ignoring his perpetually timid companion, Sasuke's gaze was not captured by Mobius at all.
Hmph. Just another venomous snake coveting my body.
He was used to it.
Rather than waste time on that, he looked elsewhere—
Boom—boom—boom—boom.
Ceremonial cannons thundered. Lines of honor guards bearing exquisite weapons and resplendent banners stood in formation. Golden light blazed, stars gleamed upon shoulders, and ceremonial music resounded.
At a neighboring dock, someone else had arrived at the Imperial Capital.
The reception standards were incomparable.
Before long, a towering figure over two meters tall came into view. Clad in black armor and a black cape, wearing a black skull-like helmet, the silhouette passed through Sasuke's sight in a flash and strode away with decisive momentum—yet left a deep impression nonetheless.
"Who was that?" Sasuke asked Orochimaru.
"..." Orochimaru looked toward Mobius.
"Darth Vader," Mobius answered with notable interest. "He bears the title Dark Lord. The Empire's newly appointed High Sector Governor. He has come to the Capital to receive formal investiture. A frontier lord. Not someone you little lab rats can compare yourselves to."
"What? Feeling inspired, my little lab rat?"
"My name is Uchiha Sasuke, Dr. Mobius."
Confined in a dark compartment during the journey, he had thought about many things. With no special chakra disturbances to cloud his mind, he had more or less accepted reality.
Now, his only remaining ambition was to revive the Uchiha clan.
That stubborn gaze.
A shinobi-world human possessing one hundred and twenty trillion cells. The last descendant of the Sharingan ocular clan.
As those details overlapped in Mobius's mind, the fire in her eyes burned as though it might incinerate everything.
"If you want me to remember your name, my adorable little lab rat, you'll need to pass my evaluation. Don't die on me, now~"
...
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
The faint light of deep space streamed through the viewport, reflecting dazzling brilliance off the giant's lustrous, luxurious purple-gold armor.
It illuminated both the intricate craftsmanship of the ornate engravings and sigils upon that peerless armor—and the face that, across the entire Sacred Selene Empire, ranked among the most powerful of all.
Black, yet brilliantly multicolored.
White, yet radiant and flowing with light.
What exactly was this supposed to be?
"Sigh... what a headache."
"Your Majesty, are you not making things difficult for me, Leiva?"
His well-groomed silver mustache curled slightly upward. Fingers interlaced beneath his nose, Leiva leaned back in his chair. His sharp, dignified brows were tightly knit as he stared at the vast projection of engineering schematics and the complex requirements hovering above his desk.
He could neither rely on advanced technology nor brute-force spectacle.
Everything must depend upon creativity and inspiration.
Adapt to local conditions. Achieve perfect harmony and coexistence.
Even Leiva—who privately prided himself as the most artistically inclined among the Empire's Astartes Legion commanders, the most refined among warriors—was utterly at a loss.
Like poetry, some works were born complete, masterpieces achieved by sudden inspiration.
Designing through inspiration alone was not something that could be solved merely by piling on effort.
"Compared to such a 'fine assignment,' I would rather serve as a strategic reinforcement unit and rush to support my brothers at the front lines..."
He did not even bother brewing tea.
After long contemplation, Leiva pressed the direct encrypted projection line connecting to the Imperial Capital.
Hum.
The light screen shimmered.
From the Empire's uncrowned prime minister, Sebas, came a highest-level classified transmission.
Only four words appeared:
"Her Majesty has departed the Capital."
"...Hah."
Exhaling slowly, Leiva leaned back and rubbed his forehead.
"Old Master Sebas truly has it hard."
He did not need to guess.
Her Majesty, traveling incognito, was already en route.
He simply did not know which garden world, primitive world, or other colony with novel amusements she had chosen as her destination this time.
But Leiva knew one thing with certainty.
At some point along the way, Selene would visit him.
Do not ask him how he knew.
Call it understanding. A tacit resonance of hearts.
Even among the original founding retainers, there were ranks and distinctions.
Leiva could proudly claim that he was among the few in the Empire who could banter and jest before Selene herself.
"Sigh. I'll probably be scolded."
At the thought of Selene's impending arrival, a ripple stirred within his otherwise tranquil heart. His refined, handsome features gradually shifted into solemn focus. His hands unconsciously brushed across the waxed and gilded carvings of his desk, tapping lightly and producing crisp sounds.
In his mind, he considered seeking assistance from the Imperial advisory intelligences—Mendicant Bias and Offensive Bias—regarding architectural archives.
Those two super AI sisters, forged from the pinnacle of a galactic hegemon's technology and locked in a relationship of love and rivalry, now served as Selene's inner-court hounds. Alongside old Sebas, they had accumulated boundless architectural design experience.
After all, the Empire was engaged in massive construction across countless worlds.
Yet, thinking that it had been some time since he had shared a moment with Her Majesty, Leiva felt a flicker of anticipation.
Scolded? So be it.
What had he not endured before?
Even kneeling in punishment would be acceptable.
Afterward, he could always select a few scenic locations within this beautiful dreamlike garden world and host a fine banquet or two, perhaps enjoy a ball.
Rising to his feet, Leiva gazed through the transparent viewport. His keen blue eyes shone with expectation, reflecting the distant starlight.
The vast cosmos resembled an enormous banquet table—magnificent and resplendent.
The Imperial Navy fleets scattered across the void were blades.
Though to the universe itself they were as light as feathers, they were sharp enough.
Not far away, amid mountain ranges formed of colossal steel leviathans, angelic statues of death, monumental halls, and grotesque macro-cannons, lay the emerald-hued site selected for the palace.
Like a luminous jewel set upon black velvet space.
Beautiful.
Fragile.
Pitiful.
Helpless.
"I've given you time to make your choice. If you still fail to appreciate the situation... then before Her Majesty arrives, we will have no choice but to conduct a small, surgical cleansing."
—
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