The subsequent rounds of testing passed without any real turbulence. Hyūga Tetsu, with the Byakugan, easily defeated his opponent—something that was, without a doubt, expected.
It was no surprise. The Hyūga clan had long been formidable. Years later, after the Uchiha massacre, their clan head Hyūga Hiashi would boldly declare before the entire Allied Shinobi Forces: "The Hyūga are the strongest clan."
Such confidence was not baseless.
Even if they lacked flashy high-end powerhouses, the Hyūga clan prevailed because they possessed a reliable "baseline mechanism."
Unlike the Uchiha, whose Sharingan required trauma either death of a parent, loss of a loved one—to awaken, the Hyūga had a built-in guarantee.
A Byakugan, however… as long as a Hyūga trained properly, ninety-nine percent of them could awaken their eyes. Those who failed were simply assigned to the minor branch lineage.
In Itachi Shinden, it was noted that distant relatives of the Hyūga, the "Small Hyūga" clan, had mostly lost the ability to awaken the Byakugan, save for rare throwbacks like Hyūga Mujin.
"Still… the evolutionary route of the Byakugan is a bit too vague," Kiyohara thought to himself.
The Sharingan had clear stages: one tomoe, two tomoe, three tomoe, then the Mangekyō, and finally the Rinnegan. Each step was gradual, layered.
The Byakugan, by contrast, leapt straight from its base form to the godlike Tenseigan, capable of slicing the moon in half.
And yet, to reach the final form of Sharingan, one's family registry often contained only a single page—few survived long enough to reach its pinnacle.
Soon, while Kiyohara waited, the final match concluded, and the proctor called all participants to the center of the arena.
The genin who passed stood in a line, each wearing an expression of excitement and anticipation.
Kiyohara stood among them, listening to the proctor recite the traditional "Will of Fire" speech.
Being promoted to chūnin merely meant becoming a slightly more advanced tool.
Unless one entered Konoha's core administration or obtained real authority in a department, then even a jōnin, within the massive war-machine of the village, was little more than an elite laborer who executed missions.
After the motivational speech, the proctor began calling names one by one, distributing the green vests and freshly made Konoha forehead protectors that symbolized the identity of a chūnin.
The forehead protector was identical to the one given upon graduation from the academy, except that the cloth length was longer.
When Kiyohara's name was announced, he stepped forward steadily. Under the proctor's approving gaze, he solemnly extended both hands.
A deep-green chūnin flak vest and a brand-new forehead protector—symbols of his new identity—were placed into his palms.
In addition to these, the proctor also gave Kiyohara a document: his official chūnin certification.
Kiyohara couldn't help but admire the efficiency. Most likely only his name was newly printed; everything else seemed prepared long in advance.
As he accepted the items, he could feel the fine texture beneath his fingers.
Not bad. Very well-crafted.
From this moment on, he was officially a recognized chūnin of Konoha—someone with a respectable standing.
At the same time, he suddenly felt something within him stir. His gaze shifted toward Missing-nin Kiyohara.
He saw that the phantom-like spirit of Missing-nin Kiyohara had begun emitting a gentle, pure light.
The glow wasn't harsh—if anything, it carried warmth, like sunlight filtering through the chill of winter.
The spirit's once-faint features seemed to sharpen for a moment within that radiance.
Kiyohara almost thought he saw the slightest curve at the corner of the spirit's lips, so faint it could be missed, but also so genuine it was unmistakably real. It was a smile of someone who had finally laid down all burdens… a smile of someone who had found peace.
Kiyohara immediately understood.
A last will was nothing more than the strongest obsession one held before death.
In a certain sense, Missing-nin Kiyohara was very similar to the "restless spirits" often described in stories—souls tethered by regret or unwavering fixation. Once that obsession was fulfilled, they could finally be freed.
But this spirit would not depart to the Pure Land. Instead, it would return everything to him, the anchor.
"Now that… my will… fulfilled… from here… live well…
Missing-nin Kiyohara's voice grew faint as his consciousness dissipated, transforming into points of light.
The next moment, those warm lights, like snow melting quietly in the flames drifted and merged seamlessly into Kiyohara's body.
Like rivers returning to the sea.
Like weary birds returning to the forest.
Everything was natural and fluid, with no trace of resistance, as if this outcome had always been predetermined.
Kiyohara stood silently, absorbing the strange yet profound sensation.
There were no explosive sounds, no visible shocks—only an internal metamorphosis unfolding quietly.
The first change was mental. His mind felt clearer, sharper, as though a murky pond had been refreshed with pure spring water. Thoughts flowed faster, perceptions heightened. He could hear the faintest whispers of the crowd, the rustle of air currents, every detail more vivid.
Most importantly, his spiritual energy had surged. This denser, more potent force invigorated his body's energy, and together they expanded his chakra reserves.
This kind of tangible, immediate growth would significantly improve both his endurance in prolonged battles and the number of ninjutsu he could cast.
Another improvement was in his innate affinity.
His talent for Lightning Release and Wind Release had visibly strengthened.
Points that had once been vague and difficult suddenly became clear. One inspiration after another flashed within him as if some fog within his mind had finally been blown away.
His understanding of chakra nature transformation also deepened.
If he were to relearn Lightning Release: Earth Walk right now, he was certain he could reach his previous proficiency with far less effort.
Then came fragmented snippets of memory.
In that other timeline, Missing-nin Kiyohara lived a life completely unlike his own, scenes of Orochimaru's base he spent years in, moments of being hunted, his complicated feelings toward Konoha…
These memories—pieces of Missing-nin Kiyohara's personal life—fell like scattered jigsaw fragments.
Fortunately, they were sparse and only a handful of scenes.
This allowed Kiyohara to let out a quiet sigh of relief.
It was good that little of it remained. Otherwise, too many memories would potentially entangle his own identity.
He had only lived for a little more than ten years. To suddenly merge with the experiences of someone much older—someone with decades of life, or even multiple futures' worth would inevitably lead to the erosion of his sense of self.
Such a heavy influx could easily distort his identity, perhaps even lead to the terrifying confusion of: "Who am I?"
"It seems that the Orochimaru of that world was even more obsessed with researching the human body than the one here… which explains why he developed so many forbidden drugs. Missing-nin Kiyohara must have obtained some."
Kiyohara mused.
From the fragments, he could tell that each timeline was like a parallel world—not only he would change, but the shinobi world itself would also shift.
A bit like a roguelike game, in a way.
Regardless, after a brief moment of dazed introspection, Kiyohara opened his eyes once more.
The second last wish—becoming a legitimate chūnin—had officially been fulfilled.
This made Kiyohara wonder with growing excitement:
What kind of future self would he encounter next?
(End of Chapter)