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Hagoromo studied his younger son's fidgeting, the nervous hands, the downcast eyes—then shifted his gaze to Indra, who stood like a blade waiting to be drawn. A quiet sigh formed deep in his chest.
"The legacy of Ninshū demands more than strength and intellect. It requires an understanding of the human heart."
"You both carry strengths, and flaws. This trial tests not only your abilities, but your character. Go. Do your best. That is all I ask."
Hagoromo's voice was steady, deliberate—each word placed like a stone in a carefully constructed path.
Asura's lips moved soundlessly for a moment before he managed a reluctant nod, fingers tightening around his scroll.
Father had spoken. There was no appeal. He'd simply have to face whatever waited for him—ready or not.
Indra observed all of this from the corner of his vision and suppressed the urge to shake his head.
That timid, uncertain look—how could someone like that possibly shoulder Ninshū's future?
Father was probably just giving Asura a graceful exit—a ceremonial inclusion to soften the inevitable.
Indra unrolled his scroll, scanned its contents with practiced efficiency, and felt his confidence solidify into something close to certainty.
This trial was already won.
The two brothers departed in opposite directions—two diverging roads stretching toward the same destination.
........
"The Indra-and-Asura arc is finally beginning. What a long road it's been… all these centuries, and I've only just reached this point in the story."
Manji stood alone atop a windswept ridge, watching the brothers' distant figures shrink against the horizon.
"According to canon, Hashirama and Madara won't be born for another thousand years. And Naruto? Even longer than that."
He shook his head with a rueful smile.
If he'd transmigrated into the era when Konoha was being founded, the opportunities would've been far more immediate. But the ancient era had its own advantages—chief among them, the fact that Manji had single-handedly hijacked the Naruto world's entire religious framework and replaced its central deity with himself.
Not a bad consolation prize.
........
Back on Mount Myōboku.
Manji convened a meeting—Black Zetsu, Fukasaku, and the full contingent of historian toads assembled before the Grand Sage's throne.
"Grand Sage!"
Black Zetsu and the toads bowed in unison.
Manji settled into his seat, voice carrying the measured cadence of someone accustomed to shaping the world's narrative.
"I've gathered you today to establish the framework for the next phase of historical documentation."
"I want to formalize the periodization of our chronicles."
"Black Zetsu, take this down."
"Yes, sir."
Black Zetsu's brush was already moving before the words finished.
"From Kaguya's arrival to Hagoromo's founding of Ninshū—this period shall be designated the Ancient Era."
"From the founding of Ninshū to the present—this shall be known as the Ninshū Era."
Clean, definitive divisions. Ancient Era. Ninshū Era.
"Grand Sage, does the Ninshū Era end at the present day? But Ninshū is still…"
Black Zetsu trailed off, his observation hanging delicately in the air.
He'd noticed the pattern, the Ancient Era was essentially bookended by Kaguya's arrival and her sealing. But the Ninshū Era's endpoint was conspicuously open.
As if Manji already knew how it would end.
Manji shook his head with a faint, enigmatic smile. "Just record it as I've stated."
Black Zetsu nodded and wrote without further question.
Once the periodization was complete, Manji turned to Fukasaku and the historian toads.
"Fukasaku, how is the civilian history documentation progressing?"
The world's history wasn't written solely by the powerful. Countless ordinary humans—nameless, overlooked—formed the irreplaceable foundation of every era's narrative.
"Grand Sage, the civilian sector has proven… complex. Nations are proliferating rapidly. Their relationships are tangled beyond measure, and regimes keep changing. We need the intelligence division's latest reports before we can verify anything."
Fukasaku reported with careful precision.
"Assign additional intelligence toads to infiltrate the major civilian nations. I want real-time monitoring of every significant political development in the human world."
Manji issued the directive without hesitation.
Beside him, Black Zetsu was quietly drenched in cold sweat.
He'd spent centuries as Kaguya's agent, operating in the shadows of the shinobi world, and he'd never suspected that anything like Mount Myōboku existed at this scale.
The mountain didn't just train combat toads. It ran a sophisticated intelligence network. It maintained the most comprehensive historical archive on the planet. It monitored geopolitical shifts across every nation with methodical, dispassionate precision...
And it did all of this while remaining completely invisible to the outside world.
Not a conquering force.
Not a political player.
Just… an observer. Silent, omniscient, and profoundly patient.
The realization sent a chill down Black Zetsu's spine that had nothing to do with temperature.
An organization this powerful, and it chooses to watch rather than rule?
Manji closed his eyes, settling into meditation.
........
Several days later—outside the gates of Ninshū headquarters.
A commanding figure descended into the main courtyard with the precision of a thrown blade.
Indra.
Dark hair lifting in the wind, every line of his body radiating the easy confidence of someone who had never once questioned his own supremacy. He strode toward the inner hall without breaking pace.
"Father, I've returned."
Indra bowed before Hagoromo with crisp formality, voice ringing with self-assured clarity. "The assignment you gave me is complete. Executed flawlessly, not a single complication."
His eyes lifted.
In his mind, the conclusion was already written. Speed, power, efficiency—no one in Ninshū could match him. The succession was a foregone conclusion.
"Noted."
But Hagoromo merely ran his fingertips along the fabric of his robe, expression placid as a still pond. His voice was unhurried, almost gentle.
"This trial was never about speed or individual capability. Be patient. We'll make the final determination once Asura returns."
"Oh?"
A hairline fracture of surprise crossed Indra's composure. He'd assumed completion was the verdict. That his father had additional considerations hadn't entered his calculations.
But respect for Hagoromo ran deep—deeper than pride, if only barely. After a moment's reflection, Indra inclined his head.
"Understood, Father."
Yet beneath the acquiescence, his conviction hadn't wavered by a single degree. If anything, the delay only intensified his certainty, and his imagination had already begun designing the policies and systems he'd implement as Ninshū's new leader.
........
Over a week slipped past.
From the mountain path leading to Ninshū's gates—noise. Not the solitary, cutting presence of Indra's return, but something warmer, messier, alive, a jumble of footsteps and laughter that grew louder with each passing moment.
"I'm back!"
Asura appeared at the gates—dust-streaked, slightly disheveled, grinning from ear to ear with that same irrepressible warmth that seemed hardwired into his DNA.
And behind him, dozens of ordinary villagers. Elderly men leaning on walking sticks. Children clutching their parents' hands. Farmers and laborers, all of them beaming with the easy trust of people who'd been genuinely, deeply helped.
They moved together like a single body, supporting each other, laughing, radiating the unmistakable energy of a community that had found its center.
"What in the…"
Sarutobi, stationed at the gate for precisely this moment, blinked hard, his composure cracking for the first time in recent memory. He'd expected Asura to return alone, perhaps carrying a modest report.
Not… this.
"Asura, welcome back. Lord Hagoromo has been waiting in the main hall." Sarutobi recovered quickly, stepping forward with a welcoming smile.
Asura stopped mid-stride, his grin faltering slightly. "Father… hasn't named Brother as successor yet?"
He'd been delayed significantly. He'd assumed Indra would've been confirmed in his absence—that the ceremony was already over.
Sarutobi shook his head with a quiet sigh. "No decision has been made. Lord Hagoromo insisted on waiting for your return."
Asura's brow furrowed deeply, unease rippling across his honest face. An instinct he couldn't name told him something unexpected was coming.
He tightened his grip on his pack.
At that moment, a familiar presence materialized at the edge of the courtyard.
Indra walked forward with measured steps, stopping before his younger brother. His features arranged themselves into a smile that was—on the surface—perfectly warm.
"Asura. Welcome home."
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