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"Founding Patriarch!"
"Father!"
Asura and Indra burst into the clearing from opposite directions, both breathing hard. Indra still had that feral edge in his eyes, glaring at Hagoromo like he was seriously considering one last shot while the old man was down.
Manji raised a hand. A wave of silent pressure rolled outward and Indra went still.
"Indra. The fighting is over."
He had no interest in watching Hagoromo kill Indra. He had equally no interest in watching Indra kill Hagoromo.
Both of them were his students.
Hagoromo turned to Asura with a tired, genuine smile. "Asura. It's alright. Everyone here is family. The Founding Patriarch is family. Indra is family."
The tension in the clearing dropped a few degrees. Not gone. But manageable.
"Hmph. Keep your precious Ninshū. I don't want it."
Indra turned his face away with a sharp exhale. One battle had been enough to burn that particular delusion out of him. Ninshū's people would never follow him. Forcing the issue would only breed more chaos.
"I'm going with the Founding Patriarch. To Mount Myōboku."
Hagoromo let out a breath he'd probably been holding since the fight started. Then he looked at Asura, and the warmth in his eyes took on the weight of a last will and testament.
"Asura. I'm dying. The Rinnegan goes to the Founding Patriarch. My body... I'll leave the cremation to you."
Both brothers flinched. The words were quiet, but they landed like hammers.
The next moment, Hagoromo's Rinnegan detached from his eye sockets on their own. Two orbs of pale violet light, pulsing with ancient, unfathomable power, drifted upward and settled gently into Manji's waiting palm.
Manji kept his expression perfectly neutral.
Internally, he was doing cartwheels.
"A precious artifact. It has a natural affinity with Mount Myōboku."
"To prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, I'll safeguard it personally."
He slipped the Rinnegan into his sleeve with the casual precision of a man pocketing loose change.
Nobody objected. In their minds, Manji was the most selfless being alive. A man who treated worldly possessions like passing clouds. Of course the Rinnegan was safe with him.
Moments later, Hagoromo's breathing stopped.
He passed quietly. Peacefully. Lying in the bamboo grove where everything had started, centuries ago.
"FATHER!!!"
Asura collapsed to his knees, tears pouring freely.
Indra stood apart, expression unreadable. His father had tried to kill him tonight. And yet, watching the old man's chest go still, something twisted in his gut that he couldn't quite name and didn't particularly want to examine.
Manji drew a long, slow breath.
Another one gone. Another friend from that era, crossed off the list. The world kept getting emptier at the top.
........
The next morning. Ninshū's central grounds. A funeral platform, solemn and immaculate.
Manji stood at the center of the elevated stage, tall and still as the pines lining the courtyard. Indra and Asura flanked him on either side, faces drawn tight with grief.
Below, every Ninshū disciple knelt in perfect rows. Their eyes held reverence, curiosity, and something close to awe.
Hagoromo, they'd seen plenty of times. But the Founding Patriarch? The figure who'd appeared exactly once in all of Ninshū's history? The man who existed in paintings and prayers and whispered legends?
He was standing twenty feet away from them. Breathing the same air.
"ALL HAIL THE FOUNDING PATRIARCH!"
"ALL HAIL THE FOUNDING PATRIARCH!"
The shout rippled across the compound like a shockwave.
Sarutobi broke from the front rank and approached the stage, bowing deeply. "Founding Patriarch. It's your disciple, Sarutobi."
"The child from back then. Look at you now..."
"Everything I have, I owe to the Founding Patriarch's guidance."
Sarutobi's head dipped lower.
Indra and Asura watched the exchange with visible surprise. They'd had no idea this common-born senior disciple carried a personal connection to the Founding Patriarch.
Indra's eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. 'So that's why Sarutobi never sucked up to either of us. That's why Hagoromo favored him. That's why he was never intimidated by my Sharingan.'
His backer was the Founding Patriarch all along.
"Alright. Begin the cremation."
Manji's voice settled over the crowd, and the murmuring died.
He looked out at the sea of kneeling disciples. Young faces. Confused faces. Hopeful faces. Frightened faces.
He knew Ninshū was doomed. The cracks were already forming. Within a few generations, it would splinter and scatter, its fragments becoming the shinobi clans that would define the next thousand years of warfare.
But people needed something to hold onto. You didn't tell a dying man that the sun wouldn't rise tomorrow, even if you knew it was true.
And besides, this was an internal power struggle that had been dragged into the open. The top brass of Ninshū had just tried to murder each other in front of the entire membership. Someone had to smooth that over.
Manji spoke.
"All of you are disciples of Ninshū. Remember why this order was built."
"Hagoromo created Ninshū to share chakra, to teach compassion, to connect people. Not for conquest. Not for dominance. But to bridge the gaps between human hearts, to use strength as a shield for the innocent, and to bring an end to the cycle of hatred."
"Hagoromo is gone. What's done is done. Grieve, but don't drown in it."
"Remember this. Chakra has no morality. It's the hand that wields it, and the heart that guides it, that determines whether it becomes a blessing or a curse."
"Indra chose his own path and departed. Asura inherits the mantle. Both are acts of fate."
He'd softened Indra's rebellion into "choosing his own path." Made it sound philosophical instead of treasonous. A diplomatic rebranding.
If Manji had been standing on Asura's side of the fence, the honest version would've been: Indra lost his mind, betrayed everything we built, and tried to burn the house down.
But that wouldn't help anyone right now.
"The road ahead will be bright. But the path will be winding."
"Ninshū's legacy was never one person's responsibility. It belongs to all of you."
"Whatever changes the future brings, whatever shifts in power or allegiance, hold your convictions. Stay true. Protect what matters."
"Do that, and you'll have honored Hagoromo's life. Honored Ninshū's founding. And honored your own journey."
The words faded into stillness. Every head remained bowed. Every heart absorbed the message.
Manji raised his hand, and under the gaze of thousands, Hagoromo's body was committed to flame.
........
"On this day, Hagoromo passed from the world. An era ended. Ninshū welcomed its second sun: Asura."
"The road ahead may be bright, but it will surely be winding. What becomes of Ninshū? Perhaps only time will tell. This chapter recorded by: Black Zetsu, Official Historian."
"Sage, does this draft meet your approval?"
Black Zetsu presented the scroll with both hands, head bowed.
Manji skimmed it, nodded. "Good. You're covering this section. As for the earlier part, the bit about my fight with Hagoromo, cut it. Just summarize it as the succession dispute between Indra and Asura. Keep it clean."
Black Zetsu nodded. No objections.
"You know..." Black Zetsu looked down at the stacks of historical scrolls surrounding him, voice carrying an uncharacteristic weight. "All of history is really just the stories of the powerful. Kings, warlords, gods, their loves and grudges. Normal people are footnotes at best. Dust."
"Oh? Black Zetsu. Didn't expect you to be a man-of-the-people type."
Manji glanced at him with an amused smile.
Black Zetsu gave an awkward laugh. "When you spend your days recording history, you start to notice patterns. That's all."
Manji leaned back in his chair. "Having feelings about it is a good sign. Means you've still got some humanity in there."
A pause.
"Black Zetsu. How's life on Mount Myōboku treating you?"
"Peaceful."
And he meant it. Years of living here had genuinely changed him. The initial phase of covert resentment and secret plotting had long since given way to something quieter. Acceptance. Maybe even contentment.
He'd spent years assuming Manji was watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up. The reality was more humbling. Manji barely paid attention to him at all.
Black Zetsu had made peace with it. Life on Mount Myōboku was good. Honest work. Good colleagues. Maybe, somewhere down the line, something even better.
"Keep it up. You're practically core staff at this point. Play your cards right and you might land a management position someday. Free access to come and go as you please. Not a bad deal."
Manji stood and walked out, leaving those words hanging in the air behind him.
Black Zetsu sat alone in the records hall, surrounded by scrolls and candlelight. His eyes were shining.
"He's right. I've been here as long as Fukasaku. If I keep my head down and put in the work, there's no reason I can't make 'Black Zetsu Sage' happen. Work my way up to senior staff. Become a real Mount Myōboku veteran."
A grin split his face.
For the first time in a very long while, the future looked genuinely appealing.
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