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At a hidden spring, the two brothers and one toad slipped beneath the surface.
The deeper they went, the more the atmosphere shifted. The air hummed with an energy utterly unlike anything they'd encountered—pure, vast, and overwhelmingly potent.
Nothing like conventional chakra. It was warm yet powerful, carrying the unmistakable essence of nature itself.
"This energy… it's unlike anything I've ever felt."
Hamura couldn't help but speak. His Byakugan activated instinctively—but the energy saturating this place was so dense and primal that conventional chakra sensing couldn't begin to measure it.
"Mm…"
Hagoromo nodded in agreement. His Sharingan turned slowly, and through those crimson eyes he could see countless tiny motes of light drifting through the air, the physical manifestation of this extraordinary energy.
"This is the Senjutsu chakra unique to Mount Myōboku—the oldest and purest form of energy in existence."
Gamamaru smiled, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride.
They passed through layers of mist and cloud—and a magnificent hall emerged before them.
Constructed from enormous slabs of ancient stone, every surface was carved with old toad script that glowed faintly gold. The ceiling was a living canopy of intertwined vines, merging seamlessly with the surrounding mountainside—as if the structure had grown naturally from the earth itself.
This was the Grand Toad Hall of Mount Myōboku—the seat of its sages.
Though officially, White-Brow had stepped into an advisory role.
The true master of Mount Myōboku—was Manji.
Gamamaru entered first.
"Master—I've brought them."
He called out into the hall with deep respect.
Hagoromo and Hamura followed close behind—and the moment they crossed the threshold, the sight before them stopped them cold.
The hall was vast and solemn. At its center, upon an elevated stone platform, sat a solitary figure.
Black-and-red robes. Dark hair falling casually past his shoulders. Strikingly handsome features—unmistakable, unforgettable.
The mysterious fisherman from that snowy day.
Manji raised his gaze slowly, his eyes settling on the brothers—warm, yet carrying a depth that suggested he could see straight through them.
His voice, identical to the one from that winter afternoon—filled the hall.
"You made it."
That familiar voice. That familiar face. The last of their psychological defenses crumbled on the spot.
Hagoromo's pupils dilated violently. He stumbled half a step backward, his chest flooded with an almost unbearable wave of shock.
The hero from his childhood stories. The idol enshrined in the temple they visited every year. Standing before him—flesh and blood—real as the stone beneath his feet.
"It's… YOU?"
Hagoromo's voice came out tight, nearly trembling. He bowed instinctively, every word heavy with reverence.
Hamura stood frozen beside him—speechless, staring at Manji on the platform.
Neither of them had ever imagined that the legends woven through their entire childhood—their mother's beautiful bedtime tales—were based on a real person. And that person was sitting right in front of them.
The collision between myth and reality was almost too much to process. An overwhelming sense of unreality hung over both brothers.
"I told you—we'd meet again."
Manji watched their shell-shocked faces and allowed a small, quiet smile.
The words struck like a thunderclap—jolting both brothers from their daze.
They drew deep breaths, fighting to steady themselves. Hagoromo bowed again, his voice measured despite the tremor underneath. "Sage—how should we address you?"
"'Sage' is fine."
Manji's reply was simple and unadorned.
"SAGE!"
Hagoromo lifted his head, eyes burning with urgency and desperate appeal.
"If you knew we'd come—then you must also know why we're here. You're the one who knows the whole truth. Please—tell us. What has our mother been hiding? What is the real purpose of the Divine Tree?"
The questions poured out in a torrent—carrying the weight of every doubt, every sleepless night, every grief that had been building inside him.
Hamura's eyes were fixed on Manji as well, silently pleading. He needed the truth just as desperately.
"Easy now..."
Manji raised one hand—and a crystal ball materialized in his palm, glowing with soft, ethereal light.
As his chakra flowed into the sphere, vivid images began to take shape within.
"See for yourselves."
His voice carried the quiet weight of someone who had lived far too long.
Inside the crystal ball, scenes unfolded like a living scroll.
First—two figures in alien garments descended upon the shinobi world. Kaguya and Isshiki.
The image shifted.
Kaguya, her face clouded with despair, confiding in Manji—telling him she was about to be sacrificed to the Divine Tree. Defiance and desperation burning in her eyes. She made him a promise: help her escape Isshiki's control and claim the Divine Tree's fruit.
The young Manji—warm smile, open heart—agreed.
Another shift.
Before the Ten-Tails—Manji and Isshiki locked in ferocious combat. Manji fighting alongside Kaguya. Together, they succeeded in offering Isshiki as the sacrifice.
And then, in the very moment of triumph...
As Manji turned around, Kaguya's eyes flashed with cold resolve. An All-Killing Ash Bone shot from her hand—and pierced straight through Manji's chest.
Hagoromo and Hamura watched this scene unfold—and their faces went white.
They had never imagined their mother capable of such treachery.
The images continued. Kaguya devouring the Divine Tree's fruit. Gaining her godlike power.
Then—the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
"Long ago, your mother was an outsider—an alien who came to this planet with her partner, Isshiki."
"According to their clan's tradition, she was the one designated for sacrifice."
"She refused to accept that fate—so she found me. She promised me the Divine Tree's fruit in exchange for my help. I believed she was a woman who yearned for freedom—someone with a good heart. So I agreed."
"I never expected her to betray me for power."
Manji's voice flowed evenly as he narrated the truth behind each image.
He paused, his gaze settling on the brothers. "I should have died that day. It was only through Mount Myōboku's Sage Arts that I managed to survive."
"As for your mother's endless cycle of human sacrifices—it was never about nourishing the land. She's been creating White Zetsu—mindless, obedient soldiers. Because she's afraid. Afraid that her clansmen will eventually find this world and punish her for her betrayal and her seizure of the fruit."
"Every person sacrificed to the Divine Tree is converted into a White Zetsu—a puppet without consciousness, existing only to serve as cannon fodder in the war she believes is coming."
Manji deliberately concealed the truth about his System-granted immortality. He attributed his survival entirely to Sage Arts—fitting for a "Sage," and avoiding unnecessary complications.
The crystal ball's glow faded. The Grand Hall plunged into a suffocating silence.
Hagoromo and Hamura stood motionless, faces drained of blood, bodies rigid with cold.
Their mother's betrayal. The truth behind the sacrifices. The secret of the White Zetsu.
Everything.
"So that's what it was—all those beautiful stories Mother told us were nothing more than a cover for stabbing you in the back!"
"The truth was this dark all along!"
Hagoromo's fists clenched so hard they shook. The magatama necklace against his chest turned ice-cold once more.
He thought of Haori's gentle smile. The frozen corpses beneath the Divine Tree. His mother's years of lies. The three-tomoe Sharingan in his eyes blazed with intensified crimson—grief and fury crashing over him in a second devastating wave.
"Mother…"
Hamura's Byakugan locked onto the spot where the crystal ball had been, his face etched with devastation and pain.
The mother he had always revered—was someone willing to sacrifice countless innocent lives for her own survival.
And yet, even through the heartbreak—Hamura felt a thread of sympathy. Because his mother, too, had been betrayed.
........
Atop the platform, Manji watched the brothers in silence.
He was reading their reactions. Studying them.
Just as he'd expected—Hagoromo, the future Sage of Six Paths, carried the harder edge. His resolve ran colder.
While Hamura, ancestor of the Ōtsutsuki branch on the moon, was more nuanced—more empathetic. He could understand that his mother had once believed in love.
In terms of filial devotion, Hamura had the edge.
In terms of selfless conviction for the greater good—Hagoromo won by a mile.
And for Manji's purposes… Hagoromo was the more useful piece on the board.
"My own grievance with your mother is a small matter. What truly matters right now is saving this world—and putting a stop to everything she's doing."
Manji spoke with quiet gravity, positioning himself firmly atop the moral high ground.
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