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Mount Myōboku now operated on a dual-track system—martial and scholarly.
The martial toads were the combat specialists, similar to future generations like Gamabunta, Gamahiro, and Gamaken—fighting with brute strength, blades, and physical prowess.
There were technique-users too, but they relied on Toad Chanting, toad oil, and fire-based attacks.
"If I create hand signs, it could elevate Mount Myōboku's capabilities to an entirely new level."
Manji's mind was made up. He reached back into his memories of his previous life and began reconstructing the system.
He was familiar enough with it—Rat, Ox, Tiger, Hare, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Ram, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, Boar.
........
Another century passed.
Manji created the hand-sign system and implemented it across Mount Myōboku—though he kept it strictly internal. No dissemination to the human world. Small-scale deployment only.
"Grand Sage—the past century's records have been completed. Your commitment to documenting the world's history is truly a monumental contribution."
The toad assigned to the historical chronicle bowed with genuine admiration, then respectfully presented a scroll.
Manji accepted it, reviewed the contents carefully, and nodded. "Well done. You're new?"
"Yes, Grand Sage—I inherited this responsibility from my grandfather. He was the first toad to record history at your side."
The young toad nodded eagerly.
A flicker of surprise passed through Manji. He remembered that toad clearly—the meticulous little scribe who'd sat before him so reverently all those years ago.
"Already? And your grandfather—is he…?"
"He passed away some time ago, Grand Sage."
The toad's expression dimmed with quiet grief.
"I see…"
Something shifted behind Manji's eyes. He held the scroll a moment longer, a sigh forming deep in his chest.
"Thank you. You may go."
He waved the toad away gently.
Time really is a blade.
He looked down at the scroll in his hands—a mere hundred years of shinobi history.
To him, it genuinely was just a hundred years.
To most mortals, it was an entire lifetime. Countless lifetimes.
Manji sat alone in the Grand Sage Hall for a long while.
Then, in a flash—he vanished.
"Time to check on Hagoromo…"
........
A hundred years later—and he stood on familiar ground once more.
The exact spot where he'd asked a muddy-faced child for directions all those years ago.
Nothing had changed about the place itself. Only the people were different—generation after generation, cycling through like leaves in autumn.
Manji paused, about to activate his Mist Body Flicker and depart—when a trembling, aged voice called out from behind him.
"Sage… is it truly you?"
Manji turned slowly.
An ancient man—hair and beard snow-white, spine curved under the weight of years—shuffled toward him on a cane worn smooth by decades of use. Each step was precarious, uncertain. But those rheumy old eyes, fixed on Manji's face, burned with a joy so fierce it bordered on disbelief.
Manji suppressed a quiet, internal sigh.
His face—unchanged across centuries—had become the most recognizable image in the world. There was nowhere he could go without being identified.
'The entire planet knows what I look like...'
He blamed Hagoromo's artistic talent. If the man had painted him in the style of an abstract ink-wash deity instead of a photorealistic portrait, this wouldn't be a problem.
"Sage! It really IS you!"
The old man finally reached him, cane striking the ground hard enough to keep his wobbling frame upright. His voice shook with overwhelming emotion.
"Do you remember me? I'm the child from back then! The little boy playing in the mud at the village entrance—the one you asked for directions!"
Manji's pupils contracted.
He'd met this person before?
The memory surfaced instantly—a hundred years ago, his first visit to this village. A mud-speckled child, barely seven years old, squatting on a dirt mound.
Manji: "Hey, kid—where's the nearest Temple of Manji?"
Child: "WHOA! You look exactly like the Sage of Six Paths!"
And now that bright-eyed child had become a stooped, withered old man standing at death's door.
A smile—warm but tinged with something deeper—touched Manji's lips. "That little boy covered in mud at the village entrance… look at you now."
The old man bowed immediately, his body trembling with the effort.
"Ever since my grandfather brought me to see you that day, I've dreamed of meeting you again."
"For the past hundred years—every single morning before dawn—I've come to this village entrance and waited. Rain or shine. Never missed a day. All in the hope that you'd pass through again."
"I never imagined… never dared believe… that at a hundred and eight years old, my wish would finally come true."
His voice cracked. Cloudy tears carved wet trails down his deeply lined face.
Manji's heart clenched.
A hundred years—for him, barely a pause between breaths on his path of training. For this man, it was everything... From a gap-toothed toddler to a centenarian at the edge of the grave.
"A hundred and eight years old. That's a remarkable life by any measure."
Manji smiled gently.
"All thanks to the Sage's blessing!"
The old man bowed again, voice thick with devotion. "Seeing your divine countenance as a child—absorbing even a trace of your sacred grace—is the only reason this old fool survived this long."
"A century gone, and the Sage hasn't aged a single day."
"Exactly as I remember you—while I've become nothing but old bones waiting for the grave."
Manji nodded, studying this man who had faithfully waited for him across an entire century. Something stirred—and he spoke.
"For us to meet again after a hundred years… that's a rare kind of fate. Tell me—is there anything your heart desires?"
With Manji's abilities, casually altering one person's destiny in the Naruto world was child's play.
Before the words had fully settled—
The old man dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
His weathered forehead pressed firmly against the cold earth, his voice steady and unwavering.
"The Sage already granted me a century of life—that alone is a gift beyond measure. This old fool has nothing left to wish for. To see the Sage one more time before I die… that is the greatest fortune of my entire existence. It is enough. More than enough."
Manji let out a quiet, admiring laugh. A hundred and eight years of living had stripped this man of every trace of greed and delusion. He'd genuinely arrived at peace.
"GRANDPA! GRANDPA! Something terrible happened! The big yellow cow—the monster on the mountain ATE it!"
A child came sprinting down the village road—pigtails flying, face streaked with tears, voice raw with panic.
The old man pulled himself up immediately. Forgetting the cow entirely, he seized the child by the arm.
"Never mind the cow, come here! Quick—pay your respects to the Sage!"
The child was dragged before Manji, blinking owlishly up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. After a moment of staring—
The child tilted his head. "Huh? Aren't you the Six Paths big brother from the painting in our shrine? How'd you get out of the picture?"
"WATCH YOUR MOUTH!" The old man nearly had a heart attack. He swatted the boy's backside. "Show respect to the Sage of Six Paths! Apologize this instant!"
"It's fine, children speak their minds. No harm done."
Manji waved it away with a gentle smile.
"Your grandson? He's the spitting image of you at that age—same blunt honesty. Reminds me of when your grandfather came stomping in from the fields with his hoe to scold you."
The old man's eyes misted over with a hundred years' worth of memories. That had been him once—tactless and fearless, getting an earful from his grandfather. It felt like another life. Because it was.
"Now then—tell me what happened."
"How did a cow end up eaten by a monster? What kind of monster are we talking about?"
Manji turned his attention to the sniffling child, his voice measured and patient.
The old man wanted nothing for himself—so Manji would repay this century-spanning bond by eliminating whatever threat had taken root near the village.
The child rubbed his nose, wiped his eyes, and spoke in a quavering voice. "It was a big fox monster! Really big! With a whole bunch of tails! It grabbed the cow in one bite and ran off!"
"Children get confused easily—allow me to explain properly, Sage."
The old man stepped forward, bowed deeply, and began his account.
"This trouble started about seven years ago. A great beast appeared on the mountain behind our village—a fox-like creature with nine enormous, bushy tails. Terrifying to behold. It doesn't eat people, thankfully—but it regularly comes down and takes our cattle and sheep. The villagers are too frightened to graze their herds or even gather firewood on the mountain anymore. Life has gotten harder every year."
When the old man finished—
Manji's brow furrowed. Nine tails?
The instant he heard "fox with nine tails," the obvious candidate came to mind—the Nine-Tails he'd personally released into the wild years ago.
But this village was thousands of miles from where he'd set Kurama free. Completely different territory. Why would the fox be here?
Closing his eyes, Manji extended his Sage perception in a massive wave—washing over the entire mountain range and blanketing hundreds of miles of surrounding terrain.
In the next instant—a familiar chakra signature pulsed from deep within the mountain's interior.
Manji opened his eyes. A knowing look settled across his features.
"So it is you, you little rascal. Nine-Tails."
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