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Manji prepared to leave the village—but first, he wanted to say goodbye to the old man and leave him a parting gift as a token of their century-spanning connection.
But the moment he arrived at the old man's doorstep—he froze.
"What happened? He's… gone?"
Manji's perception never lied. The old man had died.
He walked quickly inside.
The child from earlier was clutching his ox and sobbing uncontrollably. The old man lay on his bed—peaceful, serene, clearly departed only moments ago.
"Wahhh… Sage, my grandpa is dead… sob…"
The child wept through his words.
One glance told Manji everything. This wasn't foul play—it was simply the end of a very long life. A natural passing, free of pain.
And in that instant, he understood.
The old man had been running on borrowed time for years—clinging to life with nothing but willpower, sustained by a single wish: to see Manji one more time.
Now that wish had been fulfilled. The thread holding him to this world had gently snapped.
Or perhaps the sheer excitement of the reunion had been too much for a body that old. Either way—he'd left this world with a smile.
"Sigh…"
Manji exhaled softly and placed a hand on the child's trembling back.
"Little one—where's your father?"
"I don't have a father. Grandpa said bandits killed him years ago. And my mother… she died giving birth to me."
The child choked the words out between sobs.
Manji said nothing for a moment. He glanced around the bare, crumbling walls of the house, and the situation was immediately clear. This child couldn't survive on his own.
"Your grandfather and I share a bond that spans a century. The least I can do is set you on a path forward."
He was already planning to visit Hagoromo's Ninshū. Why not bring the boy along? It was the safest, most stable environment in the world right now—food, shelter, education, and a future guaranteed.
And the career prospects aren't bad either.
(The descendants of Ninshū would eventually establish the great shinobi clans—becoming the warlords and power players of the turbulent eras to come.)
With Manji as the boy's personal sponsor, even if the child had zero talent, Hagoromo would accept him without question.
Manji buried the old man with his own hands.
Then—with the boy at his side—he set out for Ninshū.
..............
This time, Manji made no effort to conceal his presence. Hagoromo detected him immediately and came rushing out to greet him.
Seeing Hagoromo again after all this time—the man had entered his middle-to-late years. He looked strikingly similar to the elderly Hagoromo depicted in the Shippuden-era flashbacks.
Hagoromo stared at Manji—and for one visible instant, something like disbelief flickered across his features.
He had clearly aged. But Manji looked exactly the same as the day they'd met.
"Master… still as magnificent as ever."
Hagoromo bowed, the words tinged with quiet wonder.
Manji nodded, then gestured to the child beside him. "This boy is the grandson of an old acquaintance. He has no one left. I'd like him to stay with Ninshū."
Hagoromo agreed without hesitation.
"Master—you don't even need to ask. You're my teacher and the Founding Patriarch of Ninshū. Whoever you want to stay, stays."
Then Hagoromo turned to the boy with a warm, gentle expression. "What's your name?"
"My name's Monkey."
Hagoromo's brow creased slightly.
Commoners naming their children this way was standard—most had no formal education. The fact that the kid wasn't named "Dog-Egg" or "Mud-Ball" was already a minor victory.
"Hmm—'Monkey' doesn't quite suit you. How about I give you a proper name?"
"From now on… you'll be called Sarutobi."
Hagoromo personally christened the child with a warm smile.
"Sarutobi… Sarutobi… I like it! Sounds great!"
The boy repeated it several times, grinning through his tear-stained face.
Beside them, Manji heard the name—and something stirred deep behind his eyes.
Sarutobi.
…The ancestor of the Sarutobi Clan?
At this point in history, family names didn't exist. Even Hagoromo's own sons were simply "Indra" and "Asura"—not "Ōtsutsuki Indra" or "Ōtsutsuki Asura."
Right now, "Sarutobi" was just a given name. But someday, it would evolve into the surname of an entire clan.
Manji marveled quietly at the invisible hand of destiny.
Fate really is something, isn't it?
One casual gesture. One small act of kindness. And he'd just planted the seed that would grow into one of Konoha's most legendary shinobi families.
Hagoromo sent attendants to help young Sarutobi settle into Ninshū life.
Leaving just the two of them alone.
..............
"Master—you truly haven't changed at all. I have to ask… how long can you actually live?"
Hagoromo couldn't restrain the question any longer.
In earlier years, he'd always assumed Manji would die before him—a mortal native of this world, Sage Arts or not. But now—middle-aged himself, with visible signs of aging, and knowing Manji had been contemporaries with Kaguya…
The math was deeply unsettling.
"Why do you ask?"
Manji's gaze carried layers of meaning.
"Sigh—I can feel myself growing old. And Ninshū hasn't turned out the way I hoped…"
Hagoromo gave a weary, rueful smile.
In recent years, a creeping sense of futility had settled over him. He finally understood—saving the world was far more complicated than he'd imagined.
Because of what his mother had done, Hagoromo could never bring himself to turn Ninshū into a military machine that ruled through force. He wanted to change hearts through teaching—not domination.
(Note: Hagoromo's philosophy was fundamentally pacifist. He created Ninshū to connect people's hearts—not to wage war. This is precisely why he chose Asura as his successor: in the anime's test, Indra solved a village's crisis through overwhelming force, while Asura rallied everyone together to dig a well cooperatively. Indra believed in absolute power, Hagoromo believed in collective understanding. It's also why a man of his strength never attempted to conquer the world.)
"Ninshū has been around for years now, and honestly… we haven't accomplished much. We've established branches worldwide, but there's no clear successor in sight."
Hagoromo sighed with a self-deprecating chuckle.
(Note: Canon explicitly states that early Ninshū contained no martial elements. Combat techniques were only introduced later, after Indra invented the hand-sign system.)
Manji glanced through the window at the crowd gathered around a bonfire outside—singing, dancing, laughing in the firelight—and offered a mild observation.
"Looks fine to me. At least it's lively."
Hagoromo: "...…"
"Ahem, I forgot to mention, Master. I have sons now. Two of them. The elder is Indra. The younger is Asura."
Hagoromo brightened, pride warming his voice.
"Is that so? Congratulations. I'm afraid I didn't bring a gift."
Manji replied casually.
"Heh…"
Hagoromo grinned. He had absolutely no idea what "bringing a gift" meant in this context.
The two talked at length, catching up on centuries of living.
Finally, unable to hold back any longer—Hagoromo circled back to his burning question.
"Master—forgive my boldness, but… how old are you, exactly?"
Manji smiled. "Why this sudden fascination with my age?"
Hagoromo rose and bowed formally.
"Forgive me, Master—but there's so much I can't understand. You possess extraordinary power, and yet you seem to want nothing from the world."
"Do you truly have no dreams? No ambitions?"
"If you're genuinely content with nothing… then why did you fight my mother for the Chakra Fruit all those years ago?"
"And now, your lifespan remains a mystery. I can't help but wonder."
The questions tumbled out in a rush—years of accumulated bewilderment finally given voice.
He genuinely couldn't figure out what his master wanted.
He'd once hoped Manji would help him govern Ninshū. Instead, he'd discovered that Manji had absolutely zero interest in human affairs.
But if Manji truly desired nothing—why had he risked everything for the Chakra Fruit?
If he wanted the fruit, he wanted power. And if he wanted power—what for?
World domination? Or power purely for its own sake?
"Sigh…"
The quiet exhale carried the weight of centuries.
Time had changed so much.
The Manji of today was barely recognizable compared to the Manji of back then.
'Can I really tell you, Hagoromo, that I was young and reckless?'
The truth was—young Manji had been a textbook transmigrator. Fearless to the point of stupidity. Bolstered by Sage Arts and the System. Hot-blooded enough to charge at Isshiki for the sake of reaching Six Paths tier.
Looking back now? Absolutely terrifying in hindsight.
Manji probably hadn't even been at a solid Beyond-Kage level at the time. If Isshiki had ignored Kaguya and focused entirely on hunting Manji down—it would've been over in seconds.
But what could he say? He'd been barely thirty years old.
Peak "I'll fight God himself and win" energy.
At that age—for a shot at Six Paths tier—he would've charged headfirst into the gates of hell and asked for directions.
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