Meanwhile, Hyuga Akira returned to Konoha and quietly stepped back into the territory of the Hyuga clan. On the surface, nothing about him had changed. He still moved with the same cold discipline, still wore the same blank expression that all branch family members learned to wear. But inside, his thoughts had long since stopped belonging entirely to Konoha.
He was angry at Chiba Shun, of course. The man had pushed too hard, said too much, pried at wounds that should have remained buried. Yet anger was only part of it. Beneath that anger was something much harder to suppress: fear, temptation, and a strange thrill he could not admit even to himself.
He did not truly want other members of the branch family to start leaving bloodlines outside Konoha the way he had. First, the more people who knew, the greater the danger to him. Second, if Kumogakure only got one Hyuga child, then that child would be treasured above all others. But if the Cloud Village had choices, then his own child would no longer be irreplaceable.
And lastly—though he would never say this aloud—there was something deeply satisfying about being the only one. The only branch family member who had secretly reached beyond the cage. The only one who had found a way to leave something free behind, hidden where the main family could never touch it. Quietly making a fortune in the dark was a wonderful feeling.
So he hesitated. He told no one.
A few days later, a jounin from the Hyuga branch family who was usually close to him stopped him on the road and asked, "Akira, what's wrong with you lately? You keep getting distracted."
Akira's heart lurched.
For a moment, his first instinct was to think he had been exposed. After all, his state of mind really had changed. The bitterness he had once worked so hard to suppress no longer sat the same way in his chest. Back then, he had hated the main family and yet still forced himself to kneel before them. But now he knew he had already left something behind beyond their reach. That knowledge had loosened something inside him.
His behavior had naturally begun to differ from the other branch family members. Fortunately, he had kept to himself these past few days, and only the one person closest to him had noticed the change. More importantly, this man had not become suspicious. He was simply concerned.
Akira studied the other man's face and quietly let out a breath. After a long silence, he said, "Momoya... let's go eat at the Akimichi barbecue restaurant."
Hyuga Momoya froze.
For an ordinary Hyuga, the suggestion would have meant nothing. But for members of the branch family, the Akimichi barbecue restaurant carried another meaning. It stood far from the Hyuga compound, far from the eyes of the main family, and over time it had become an unspoken refuge—a place where branch family members occasionally went when they needed to complain in secret about the people who ruled over them.
It was a secret of the branch family. The main house did not know. In their minds, the branch family was loyal, obedient, and grateful for its place.
Momoya seemed to realize at once that Akira had something serious to say. He glanced instinctively toward the direction of the Hyuga estate, then nodded.
The owner of the barbecue restaurant did not look surprised when the two of them arrived together. He merely smiled and led them to a quiet private room, as though he had seen similar things too many times to count.
The moment the door closed, Akira activated his Byakugan.
Only after confirming that no one was observing them did he begin to speak. He told Momoya everything in a low, careful voice—the izakaya in Sunrise Town, the Land of the Moon, the women from Kumogakure, the child that might already exist, and the promise that a branch family's blood could one day breathe free air beneath another sky.
By the time he finished, Momoya was shaking so badly he could barely hold his wine cup. His hand trembled against the lacquer tray. His breathing turned ragged. It took him a very long time to calm down.
Then he opened his Byakugan too and stared straight at Akira. "Did you really leave a bloodline behind?"
Akira gave a single nod.
Momoya's expression broke. Tears spilled from his eyes—not from grief, but from emotion so violent it had nowhere else to go. A moment later, he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of Akira and bowed his head. "Thank you," he whispered.
He understood immediately what Akira telling him this meant. It meant Akira had not come to boast. He had come to open the same door for him.
Akira did not say much after that. There was no need. Some things could not be dressed up in noble language. A caged bird had found a crack in the bars. That alone was enough.
The very next day, after consulting the Hyuga main family about a mission assignment, Hyuga Momoya left Konoha with his team.
Once there was one, there was always bound to be a second. Akira was not the only member of the branch family with a close friend. And Momoya was not the only one whose resentment had fermented into something poisonous and enduring. Over the following year, branch family members of the Hyuga clan began volunteering one after another for missions that would take them out of the village.
None of them announced their intentions. None of them told the truth. They simply found excuses, took their assignments, and eventually made their way to the Land of the Moon as though pulled there by fate itself.
And they did not leave behind only children.
They also left behind their understanding of the Byakugan. Their cultivation methods. Their Gentle Fist experience. Their reflections, frustrations, and lessons written in painstaking detail—things they had once received as controlled scraps from the main family and now passed on in secret to a future that would never kneel before Konoha.
As for Chiba Shun, he only went to Sunrise Town once, back when he personally persuaded Hyuga Akira. After that, he stopped paying close attention to it. Not because he had lost interest, but because there was no need to stand over the process every step of the way. Once the first stone had been dislodged, the slope would carry the rest.
Even so, Yotsuki Ai would bring him good news from time to time.
Whenever another woman turned out to be pregnant, Ai would immediately send word to him. That was how Chiba Shun learned, piece by piece, that the quiet corrosion inside the Hyuga branch family was deepening with every passing month.
But those were stories for later.
After obtaining the Gentle Fist manual written by Hyuga Akira, Chiba Shun returned to Kumogakure and presented it to the Third Raikage. The Raikage flipped through the material, glanced over the cultivation notes and secret techniques, then shook his head almost at once.
"Useless to ordinary people," he said. "Make copies. When those children are old enough to train, give this to them then."
Chiba Shun paused. Then he carefully asked, "Raikage-sama... do you mean for me to keep watch over those children?"
The Third Raikage nodded. "Yes. Once they're old enough, they'll be sent to the Ninja Academy. They need to feel that they belong to Kumogakure. Since you know the whole story, it's best to leave this matter in your hands. From now on, you'll be responsible for copying all the Gentle Fist insights as well."
Only then did Chiba Shun understand what he really meant.
The Raikage had spoken vaguely, but the message was obvious enough. What he valued was not merely Chiba Shun's intelligence or his battlefield contributions. He valued his ability to plant ideas, shape loyalties, and turn dangerous bloodlines into children who would genuinely think of the Cloud Village as home.
In other words, even the Third Raikage had begun to see him as someone who specialized in the dirty work behind the curtain.
Chiba Shun sighed inwardly. Then he consoled himself with the only thought available: At least this means the Raikage truly values me.
He copied the material carefully, then handed the original over to the Third Raikage before leaving the Raikage Building and heading back toward the Ninja Academy.
Sakai Hajime was not there. He had gone out on another mission.
Unlike Chiba Shun, Sakai Hajime had independently completed multiple S-rank missions by now and had money in hand. Even though Chiba Shun was more than willing to support him whenever needed, Hajime had no intention of becoming a burden. Before Shun had become a chuunin, Hajime had been the one earning more, the one carrying them. That habit had not changed so easily.
So lately he had been taking missions constantly, forcing himself forward through work and danger the way some people forced themselves through loneliness.
After thinking it over, Chiba Shun changed direction and headed for Aoki Yuu's office. Some things were better said openly, no matter how awkward they were. Besides, from the way the Third Raikage had spoken, it seemed unlikely that he would be transferred away from the Ninja Academy after all.
When Aoki Yuu saw him enter, his expression turned complicated at once.
Back when Chiba Shun had just become a chuunin, things had been simple. Aoki was the superior, a young jounin with real status and connections. Chiba Shun was merely an unusually useful subordinate. But now Chiba Shun himself had become a jounin, while Aoki remained where he was. That changed the atmosphere between them in a way neither man could pretend not to notice.
If Chiba Shun had needed ten more years to become a jounin, perhaps nothing would have changed. Experience mattered. Seniority mattered. Connections mattered. Even then, Shun would not have truly threatened Aoki's position. The problem was that Chiba Shun had become a jounin at fourteen.
When Aoki Yuu had been fourteen, he had only just reached chuunin. He had not even been a special jounin yet. The gap between them was no longer a matter of timing. It was a matter of talent, of promise, of how the higher-ups were likely to see them from now on.
And Aoki knew more than most. He had seen Chiba Shun's daily training. He knew Shun's chakra level had only recently crossed the threshold of a jounin. He knew that while Shun could now use A-rank ninjutsu, he was still not fully stable at that level and had not yet polished all the techniques expected of a true veteran jounin. In Aoki's eyes, the promotion had come a little too quickly.
As for the Eight-Tails incident, Aoki did not know the details. He only guessed that the village had suffered losses, needed to replenish its jounin ranks, and pushed several promising ninjas upward ahead of time.
That guess made him uneasy.
He was afraid the higher-ups might decide to replace him with Chiba Shun, sending him elsewhere while Shun took over the Ninja Academy in his place.
And the worst part was that Aoki could not even claim innocence in his own heart. He knew perfectly well that the Ninja Academy had reached its current scale largely because of Chiba Shun's ideas. Some things Aoki could do, Shun could also do. But there were many things only Shun could do—especially when it came to turning every crisis, rumor, or victory into fuel for the Will of Lightning.
The truth was that Chiba Shun had been worried about exactly the same thing.
He did not want to be transferred away from the Ninja Academy either. For all its chaos, it was safe, relatively free, and full of future talent that he could influence before the rest of the village even understood what it was looking at. It was the best position a common-born ninja like him could hope to hold.
That was why, after his promotion, neither of them had been eager to see the other.
If the Third Raikage had not entrusted him with the future children of the Hyuga clan, Chiba Shun would not have had the confidence to walk into this office and speak directly.
Even so, he remained respectful. "Aoki-senpai," he said, "you don't need to be wary of me."
Aoki's face remained unreadable. "Is that so?"
Chiba Shun met his gaze. "Your original intention in taking charge of the Ninja Academy was to cultivate your own trusted people. In that sense, I count as exactly the kind of subordinate the academy produced for you."
Aoki said nothing.
Inside, he was unconvinced. He had treated Chiba Shun well, yes—but well for a newly promoted chuunin. The support he had given Shun was nowhere near enough to carry someone all the way to jounin. Chiba Shun's current strength had been built on his own S-rank missions, on the resources he personally earned, on decisions Aoki had not guided and in some cases not even known about.
For example, the S-rank mission involving Konoha and White Fang had been arranged personally by the Third Raikage. At the time, Chiba Shun had only been a chuunin, so Aoki had not realized how important that trip truly was.
Seeing the doubt in his eyes, Chiba Shun continued, "Even if you don't regard me as someone trained under your banner, that's fine. But I have no intention of competing with you for the Ninja Academy. Your goal is to sift geniuses out of the students. Mine is different. What I care about are children with special talents."
He paused, then added, "Take Ayana, for example. She might not have the raw brilliance to catch your eye. But she's interested in sealing scrolls, and she learns quickly. That's the kind of child I want to cultivate."
At the mention of Ayana, something flickered in Aoki Yuu's expression.
He remembered her. He also remembered that when Chiba Shun returned from Konoha, he had personally given Ayana fifty thousand ryo. To a jounin, perhaps that was not a life-changing sum. But to an orphan girl who could not yet even perform missions, it was enormous. And for Chiba Shun himself—whose official monthly salary had once only been fifty thousand ryo—it had not been a small act either.
If not for the several S-rank missions he had completed independently, Chiba Shun would never have been able to sustain the kind of training he was doing now, let alone spend freely on promising children.
For the first time since Shun entered the room, Aoki Yuu fell truly silent.
Because whether he liked it or not, Chiba Shun's words had made one thing clear: the two of them were no longer walking the exact same road.