Leaving Konoha was easy. I left a shadow clone behind to continue placing some tracks and trails, making it clear how I had left, before I used the Flying Thunder God Jutsu to return home.
It was, as always, an uncomfortable experience—like turning on the lights right after waking up. It was blinding, painful, and overall just not a good time.
Once back in the Daimyō's palace, I quickly replaced my own shadow clone, and with that done, none could ever prove that I wasn't always there.
Despite being known to shinobi of other villages, it was still a Konoha ninjutsu, and so it was considered unlikely—if not impossible—for someone not from Konoha to know it.
And what a glorious ninjutsu it was. It was completely unique when it came to clone techniques. Others were also difficult to identify, but only the shadow clone couldn't be seen through, even with the highest level of dōjutsu.
Not even the Rinnegan or the Rinne Sharingan itself could see through it.
I really didn't know what stroke of genius had filled Tobirama's head when he invented it, but it was without a doubt one of the best ninjutsu in the world.
Using that and the Flying Thunder God, I had been able to infiltrate Konoha and return back home, all while keeping a perfect alibi.
I was naturally aware that I was one of the biggest suspects in this murder case, but it wasn't simple to point the finger at me.
Normally, it wouldn't be a problem if there were no evidence. As long as a shinobi village wanted someone to blame, they would blame whoever suited them—guilty or not be damned.
This time, however, it wouldn't go like that. Konoha would want the blame to fall on Kiri, so they would actively point the blame that way, even if the evidence for it were few and far between.
I had no doubt they would still investigate, still suspect me. That was a given. Someone had broken into their village and killed someone; that wasn't something they could just ignore.
But beyond that was the big question—one they couldn't possibly answer—of how and why.
Because they wouldn't be able to figure out why I was there, and why I did what I did. They would never be able to work out my motive.
And motive was often a key clue in any investigation.
Beyond that, there were many other questions, all of which were impossible to guess or work out.
How did I know Hinata was going to be kidnapped?
Why did I kill the kidnapper in such an obvious manner?
Why such clear signs of Shikotsumyaku?
It was impossible to guess that I knew it was happening from watching a flashback in an anime.
They couldn't know that it was due to that anime that I knew that, if nothing changed, the Hyūga clan would be forced to accept the sacrifice of Hiashi, and that his brother, Hizashi, would take his place.
It was impossible to know this—to guess this—just as it was impossible for them to understand that I acted, that I intervened, due to my past relationship with Hiashi.
Without these key clues, they would never be able to close this case.
That was one of the reasons I dared to do it, because I knew that without proof there were limits to what Konoha could do.
Sure, they could still send ANBU after me, but Root was already looking to capture or kill me, so it wouldn't be a big deal.
ANBU, while elite, didn't have any real big hitters. At most, it had one or two elite jōnin—maybe Kakashi—but he was still not S-rank.
And only another S-rank could make me pause or give me any trouble.
In truth, the only one in all of Konoha who could threaten the current me was Might Guy. He was likely the most dangerous person in the world. Only at my prime would I be able to withstand Night Guy.
Still, there was no reason for him to go all out against me. Not to mention that if things really got that bad, I could still run before he had his chance to open the Eighth Gate.
He was pretty loud, so the chances of him sneaking up on me with the Eighth Gate open were slim to none.
With one last look up at the moon, I sighed and went to bed for the night. Just because Konoha was destined to have a sleepless night didn't mean I couldn't rest a little myself…
…
Life continued, outwardly unchanged. I still walked the palace gardens. I still spoke with servants, guards, retainers who had long since stopped fearing me. Kanna continued her duties, steady and composed, as she had been for years now. Nothing in our routines suggested flight.
That was deliberate.
Leaving immediately after the incident in Konoha would have been suspicious even to a civilian. To shinobi? It would have been a confession.
So we stayed.
Weeks passed.
Karin still ran through the palace corridors with the same energy she always had, barefoot more often than not, hair bouncing wildly as she chased laughter rather than danger. She had friends here now—real ones. Children of retainers, guards, servants. She knew their names. She knew who liked sweets, who cried easily, who cheated at games.
Despite her noble nature—well, her blood—she wasn't willing to spend too much time with noble children, often ending up in fights with them due to their rather stuck-up nature.
They were spoiled, and Karin, too, was spoiled, yes—but in a very different way.
They had their noses up their own asses: arrogant, horrible little things who couldn't go five minutes without reminding everyone of their noble nature and how important they were.
Kanna would never allow Karin to behave like that.
Neither would I, for that matter.
No, Karin was from the Uzumaki clan; the noble blood of the Ōtsutsuki clan flowed in her veins, no matter how faint.
And as such, she was far beyond that—but she was also someone who would, and should, let her strength speak for itself.
So I always allowed her to beat up anyone that annoyed her, at least among children.
And little Karin didn't disappoint. Using her mother's moral compass, she just so happened to find problems with the noble children who treated the servants and their families like trash.
Even before I helped her unlock her chakra—or rather, start the flow and production of it—she was still able to beat up anyone her age thanks to her Uzumaki physique.
She did not yet understand what it meant to leave them.
I watched her play one afternoon, sitting in the shade while she argued loudly over rules that did not matter. For a moment, I considered leaving her this life.
It was a tempting thought.
But it was a lie.
This peace existed only because of my power, making sure that none dared to touch her. Without me, even her noble status wouldn't protect her from the wrath of the many nobles whose children she had beaten up—much less against Konoha, and particularly Root's greed for her bloodline.
These carefree days were precious; they were also an important lesson.
Both for Karin, and for Kanna—a lesson on the importance of strength. A show of what power could get them.
Kanna had already seen what life was like when one was powerless. She fully experienced the life of the elite—a good contrast.
She had grown much. Yes, she still couldn't just sit back, taking on tasks and work around the place—small things, but still things that caused other nobles to gossip behind her back.
Still, I was proud of her.
Still, pride alone could not anchor us here forever.
The palace was safe—for now.
Predictable. Controlled. Comfortable.
And that was precisely why it had an expiration date.
I did not tell Karin immediately.
Not because I feared her reaction, but because timing mattered. Children understood loss better when it came in pieces rather than all at once. So I let her days continue as they were—laughter, scraped knees, small victories, small grudges.
I watched her train her chakra bit by bit, until I finally judged that she was getting good enough.
Good enough to train.
It wasn't until half a year had passed since the night in Konoha—half a year since the war between Konoha and Kumo finally came to an end—that I sought an audience with my current employer, the Daimyō of Fire.
It wasn't a dramatic meeting.
The Daimyō of Fire was a pragmatic man. He always had been. He did not ask questions he didn't want the answers to, and he never pretended not to understand the nature of the world he lived in.
When I told him that my time in his service was coming to an end, he merely nodded.
"Your stay here has left its mark on many people," he continued. "Your… family in particular has made itself known. It was indeed a shame what happened to the Land of Whirlpools."
I lightly nodded my head. "A shame indeed. But there is hope. Hopefully, little Karin will have a son one day—one who can restart the great Uzumaki clan, and one day reclaim their homeland."
This time, he let out a small sigh. "If only Tsunade-hime were willing to help save the Senju clan as well. It is always a shame to see noble clans fall like that."
That had indeed been one of the key reasons he allowed me to serve as a guard for his household over the past few years.
He was a man who at least understood the power of shinobi clans, and in particular the old ones—and knew that it was a good idea to be close to them. His closeness with the Senju was part of the reason the one-village, one-nation system came about.
After a bit more polite small talk, I was dismissed and allowed to depart whenever I desired—no longer employed, but a guest.
Given the freedom and time to prepare for our exit.
Not that I didn't have plenty of freedom before; my stay was more about noble blood, connections, and bragging rights.
After all, an S-ranked shinobi was enough to be the leader of a ninja village; they were the most exalted shinobi in the world, so having one serve as the Daimyō's guard was something worthy of bragging about.
It was indeed something money couldn't buy, more so because most rogue shinobi of that level were highly dangerous. Only I, who had a mostly clean record and noble bearing, could be allowed near someone like a Daimyō.
Despite there being no grand announcement—and the preparation being done slowly and discreetly—Karin still noticed.
"Are we going somewhere?" she asked one evening, watching as Kanna sorted through a chest that had once been overflowing.
"Yes," Kanna answered evenly.
"When?"
"Soon."
(End of chapter)
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