Meanwhile, the real Ryusei was still locked in that intense battle with the Edo Tensei of Sakumo, now fully under Danzo's control.
Yet as Danzo's focus wavered under Kiyomi's relentless assault, his grip over Sakumo slipped several times.
Each time that happened, Ryusei tried to capitalize on the opening, preparing to seal him, only for something strange to occur.
That same, different presence would surface within Sakumo, subtle but undeniable.
His chakra would shift, his movements growing sharper, his kenjutsu flowing with an elegance and precision that felt ancient, almost otherworldly.
It wasn't just the Hatake style anymore; something else layered within it, other essences, something deeper and even more refined, guiding his blade with new, eerie perfection.
Ryusei gritted his teeth, forced on the defensive once more.
He couldn't finish the seal, not when that unseen hand kept intervening.
At this point, only an idiot would still believe Danzo and Konoha were the only ones moving against him.
Ryusei already had his suspicions—some almost unbelievable possibilities that had crossed his mind before.
Dan Katō's sudden new ability… and now this? It all but confirmed it.
There were only a handful of beings in history capable of such manipulation, those with ties not merely to life and death, but to the boundary between them.
Ones who could touch souls in the Pure Land, transfer them out of the Purgatory, tug on the strings of Edo Tensei itself.
And among them, only one name fit perfectly.
Ryusei's eyes narrowed.
He didn't have the luxury to dwell on it yet.
For now, he needed his full attention on the fight—because whatever that presence was, it clearly wasn't done testing him.
However, soon, Danzo managed to regain his footing against Kiyomi, stabilizing his chakra and tightening his hold on the Edo Tensei once more.
Almost instantly, that strange foreign presence inside Sakumo receded, as if quietly stepping back and letting Danzo resume control.
The Hatake's movements dulled a bit again, reverting to their standard precision rather than that eerie, flawless mastery from before.
Ryusei exhaled slowly, a brief wave of relief washing over him.
It wasn't that he couldn't handle that previous version of Sakumo—he could—but barely.
For the first time in a long while, he'd genuinely felt like a single wrong step might've cost him more than he could ever regenerate from.
Those cuts would've gone beyond flesh and chakra.
Even for him, that was a risk he didn't want to test.
Especially when fighting something like that demanded tremendous chakra expenditure and cellular regeneration—each cycle quietly shortening his lifespan.
His eyes narrowed as he steadied his breathing.
'Why does he hand control back to Danzo so easily every time…?' he wondered. 'If I'm the real target, why not finish me himself when he has the better chance? Does he not want Danzo to notice him? Or is he unable to act freely when the jutsu caster's presence fully returns stronger?'
The questions dug at him, deeper than the battle itself.
Because whatever that hidden entity was, it clearly wasn't random, and the fact that it could interfere within Danzo's own Edo Tensei, then vanish like smoke, was far more disturbing than the entire Konoha assault happening around him.
Ryusei's expression darkened slightly. 'Someone like that could strike at any time, from nearly anywhere in the future...' he thought grimly. 'And when he does… You might not even realize it until it's already over.'
Ryusei pushed the earlier disturbance to the back of his mind and refocused on Sakumo's rhythm.
The man's tempo, though still dangerous, had become predictable now that Danzo's full control was restored again.
Ryusei deflected the attacks almost absently, his mind half-turned inward to something else again.
His thoughts wandered to Tsunade, and to what had just happened between her and Dan Katō.
He couldn't deny it.
He was very satisfied and even enjoyed it now—genuinely.
Watching her stand firm, unaffected by Dan's words or the manipulation behind them, had felt strangely rewarding.
It genuinely fulfilled him on a deeper level, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest—because now, he could see it clearly, completely.
She was already his in all the ways that mattered, even if neither of them had said it exactly aloud, fully yet.
In his mind, she was done—completely won over, shaped, and bound to him through trust, loyalty, and emotion.
She was entirely his now, whether she fully realized it or not.
Tested.
Because she hadn't even needed much of his prompting or his explanations, she'd made that choice on her own and had proved everything he needed directly.
He admitted now that he'd been a little worried before.
Deep down, part of him had feared how she might react when faced with the ghost of her old "almost-lover."
After all, Ryusei knew that he was not the "almost" part in that plot from his previous life.
The way that their relationship was portrayed there, the emotional weight it carried, had still made him cautious.
But this wasn't that fiction.
This was a living, breathing world, where he had already shaped her path and mindset for enough time already.
She had long imprinted him in her heart here instead.
Dan Katō had just simply crashed into a wall he could never cross.
And Ryusei's earlier suspicions about Dan hadn't been baseless slander.
They were built on reason.
How did a young, civilian-born shinobi even create the Spirit Transformation Technique?
Ryusei thought, parrying a blow.
That kind of soul-based jutsu doesn't come from talent alone.
He knew better than anyone how obscure and complex soul studies were.
He'd only reached his current understanding after spending months as a disembodied soul, wandering through another's mindscape, a situation no normal shinobi could replicate.
That kind of knowledge required decades of refinement or, at the very least, access to someone who had done so.
Dan Katō could never have made that technique by himself. Not so young. Not without help.
And whose help could it be?
Ryusei had no doubts.
It had to come from Hiruzen himself.
The Third Hokage, the most knowledgeable and resourceful person in the village, at the time, by the nature of his chair itself.
The technique, the timing, the mentorship, it all fit too neatly.
The Hokage's office always hoarded the most advanced knowledge, keeping it as both a privilege and a leash for their most loyal subordinates.
That was how power was consolidated.
It was also how new "heroes" were manufactured.
That's how Minato was fast-tracked, too—handpicked, polished, and paired with Kushina to serve the Hokage's long-term political vision.
And, just like that, Dan Katō had been groomed and paired with Tsunade.
The perfect emotional patch for Nawaki's death, carefully chosen to keep her grief and suspicion occupied.
A convenient tragedy, wrapped in a romance that never had a real chance to bloom.
And when fate, or irony, took Dan Katō's life randomly during the Second Shinobi War, that plan ended abruptly, his usefulness spent.
Ryusei's expression hardened as he sidestepped another strike.
Even if Dan had been talented, how much merit did he actually earn before gaining access to such high-level materials and teachings?
None of it added up.
That wasn't to say Dan Katō had been fully malicious.
No, he probably hadn't known about Nawaki's assassination, or the quiet purge of the Senju revivalists.
Why would Hiruzen tell a subordinate like him?
Dan Katō's crime wasn't conspiracy—it was ignorance.
He was simply a convenient tool, too ordinary to question the hand that fed him.
Perhaps he really had loved Tsunade in his own naïve, idealized, and romantic way.
And, honestly, what man in the entire village could have even resisted a woman like her, the most attractive and desired 'dream' kunoichi alive, if handed even the slightest real chance?
So, perhaps he'd even been a "good man," by village standards.
But that didn't change what he was—a pawn shaped to distract, a puppet groomed to bind Tsunade emotionally.
And that was exactly why Tsunade now despised him more than ever.
Thanks to Ryusei's explanations, she finally understood that Dan Katō's closeness had been engineered from the start and hadn't come from compatibility or fate.
It had come from Hiruzen's quiet manipulation, his whispered coaching, and likely even deliberate arrangements, feeding his subordinate every intimate detail, every weakness, every path to approach his grieving student and win her over exactly as he intended.
It had never been real affection. It had been conditioning.
An impostor playing the role of soulmate.
The realization disgusted her—and rightfully so.
Ryusei smirked faintly as he deflected another sword arc from Sakumo.
"Hiruzen got what he wanted," he murmured under his breath.
"Dan got what he wanted. And both thought they were the clever ones."
But in this timeline, it had all backfired.
Tsunade no longer lived in their lie.
She'd seen through every layer of their deception, and now she hated them both all the more for it.
And Ryusei—he'd made sure of that.