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"Regarding your transfer request…"
"Write me a ten-thousand-word self-reflection essay."
"If it's good enough, I'll move you to the Historical Records Division. Plenty of books there. Studying history isn't a bad way to pass the time."
Manji stood and prepared to leave.
"Thank you, Sage! All praise to you!"
Black Zetsu's face lit up with genuine joy as he dropped to his knees in gratitude.
The Historical Records Division might be dry—but at least he'd have books to read, history to study, and the occasional opportunity to slack off with the working toads.
A proper office job.
Anything beat being a cemetery security guard.
'This life… I'll take it.'
Manji nodded. Black Zetsu seemed to be adapting well to his reformation.
Of course, there was always the chance that Black Zetsu was simply imitating Manji—mimicking his philosophy of patience and acceptance.
But that was fine too. Once Black Zetsu truly accepted that reviving his mother was impossible, he'd naturally begin integrating into Mount Myōboku life for real.
.....
Several years passed.
Morning mist still hung low.
Sunlight slanted through the latticed windows, falling across the bamboo scrolls laid before Hagoromo.
He sat upright, teaching two small children beside him—each no older than four or five.
To his left—Indra. Sharp, refined features that seemed impossibly composed for a child his age. His slender fingers traced the characters on the bamboo scroll with quiet focus.
To his right—Asura. Rounder-faced, more animated, radiating childlike energy. His eyes kept sneaking toward the birds darting past the window. Clearly not cut out for sitting still.
"Father."
"Why don't we have power like you?"
Indra looked up suddenly, gaze clear and direct.
Hagoromo's hand paused on the scroll. He met his eldest son's eyes, his voice measured and warm. "I believe all you need is a sound mind and a healthy body. Power is unnecessary."
"I see…"
Indra's brow furrowed—a flash of confusion—but he didn't press further.
His gaze drifted slowly to the wall behind the lectern, where a painted portrait hung. A young man in black-and-red robes, eyes calm and distant—the Founding Patriarch of Ninshū, the Sage of Six Paths.
"Father, is that our Founding Patriarch? The Sage of Six Paths?"
Indra asked softly.
Asura looked too.
Hagoromo followed their gaze and nodded slowly. "That's right. He's my master—and the very root of our Ninshū."
"And your power, you learned it from the Sage of Six Paths?"
Indra's voice sharpened with barely contained urgency.
"I did."
"Then... could I go find him and learn from him?"
Indra straightened bolt-upright, eyes blazing with longing.
Hagoromo's eyebrow rose, his tone gaining an edge of sternness. "Indra, why are you so fixated on power today?"
Indra lowered his lashes, frustration coloring his voice. "Yesterday, Asura and I went to gather herbs. We ran into a wild wolf. If one of the senior students hadn't arrived in time… we would've been hurt. I thought—if I had power, I could protect myself. And protect Asura."
"Yeah! Yeah!"
Asura nodded furiously, hands over his chest. "That wolf's eyes were so scary—my legs totally gave out!"
Hagoromo fell silent for a long moment. Then he stood, his gaze resting on both children with the weight of deep conviction.
"You don't need power. True strength is the resilience and kindness within your hearts—knowing how to connect with others, to rely on each other."
He had never considered passing on chakra techniques to his sons. Even though they carried his bloodline, they hadn't yet grasped what power truly meant.
Hagoromo turned and walked out of the lecture hall with steady steps, leaving two bewildered boys staring at each other.
Indra watched his father's retreating back. He pressed his lips together but didn't push further.
He was perceptive for his age—old enough to read the room. If his father wouldn't teach him, he wouldn't beg.
But the desire inside him didn't disappear. It merely sank deeper, a seed that had quietly sprouted roots.
.....
"Yaaaaawn~"
Asura stretched with an enormous yawn, rubbing his eyes. "Brother, it's getting late. Let's go to sleep."
He flopped onto the tatami, pulled a blanket over himself, and within moments was breathing softly and evenly.
Indra wasn't tired.
His gaze remained fixed on Manji's portrait, fingers slowly curling into fists.
If his father wouldn't teach him—then he'd find his father's master. The Sage of Six Paths himself.
The texts said the Sage was closely connected to the talking toads of Mount Myōboku. If he could find one of those toads, perhaps it could lead him to the Sage.
Once the idea took hold, it was impossible to uproot. Indra closed his eyes—his plan already forming.
Over the following days, Indra's small figure could be spotted darting through the forests surrounding the Ninshū compound.
He avoided everyone, searching every corner meticulously—streams, tree hollows, rock piles—from dawn to dusk, hunting for a talking toad.
He found nothing.
As the sun set, painting the bamboo grove in gold, Indra collapsed onto a boulder—exhausted—and stared at the dying light, letting out a long sigh.
"Days of searching… is this really something you can only stumble upon by fate?"
His voice carried a thread of disappointment—but not a trace of surrender. Behind those young eyes, the flame of longing still burned.
.....
Mount Myōboku—Grand Sage Hall.
Manji sat on his stone throne, examining a scroll spread open before him—densely packed with handwritten characters.
It was Black Zetsu's ten-thousand-word self-reflection, produced after several sleepless nights of frantic writing.
Black Zetsu lurked in the corner of the hall, stealing nervous glances at Manji's expression, terrified the Sage would find fault and pile on more assignments.
"Excellent—truly excellent, Black Zetsu. This self-reflection is wonderfully done. The commitment to kindness! The genuine insight into Kaguya's mistakes!"
Manji nodded approvingly.
Black Zetsu broke into a beaming smile. "You're too kind, Sage!"
At that moment—Fukasaku Toad came hurrying in on short, rapid legs.
"Grand Sage—word from the Ninshū branch. Lord Hagoromo's eldest son, Indra, has been searching the forests near the compound for several days. He appears to be looking for talking toads—most likely trying to find you."
Fukasaku bowed respectfully.
"Oh?"
Manji's fingers paused on the scroll. He looked up at Fukasaku, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. "Indra is looking for me?"
He hadn't expected Hagoromo's firstborn to come seeking him out.
"Well, well—Black Zetsu, the very power source you'd need to revive Kaguya just came knocking on my door."
Manji glanced at Black Zetsu with an amused grin.
"Ah—Sage, you jest! I'm completely loyal to you now. Black Zetsu has been a Mount Myōboku man for ages!"
Black Zetsu laughed nervously.
Manji chuckled. "Haha…"
"Grand Sage, shall I dispatch toads to divert the boy with genjutsu? Or simply turn him away?"
Fukasaku asked for instructions. Mount Myōboku traditionally avoided interfering in Ninshū affairs—especially concerning Hagoromo's own children.
Manji waved the suggestion away, setting the scroll aside.
"No need."
"Fukasaku—take Black Zetsu to the Historical Records Division and get him settled."
He gestured toward Black Zetsu.
Before anyone could respond—Manji's figure dissolved from the hall, leaving behind nothing but a fading trace of Sage chakra.
Black Zetsu's face brightened with unbridled delight. He hurried over to Fukasaku with exaggerated courtesy. "Sage Fukasaku—I'm in your care!!"
Fukasaku gave a measured nod.
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