A Fortuitous Accident
Before Tōma could even react, the small black creature suddenly reappeared—now perched on his shoulder.
A soft, pink tongue brushed across his cheek.
Tōma froze.
The faint wetness on his face made his pupils contract slightly. He hadn't seen it move at all. One moment it was gone, the next it was there, as if it had skipped space itself.
Spatial movement?
He blinked slowly.
Even he didn't quite understand it yet, but… had he actually succeeded?
Had he really created a living being from nothing?
Tōma raised a hand and gently touched the creature. It was warm. Solid. Real.
And surprisingly pleasant to the touch.
As for the sudden teleportation, the more he thought about it, the less strange it seemed. When he'd used Yin Release to form its body, the black symbols he created had actually been Flying Thunder God markers from different periods of his life.
And now that he focused, he could sense them clearly—embedded within the creature itself.
No matter where it went, Tōma could lock onto its position instantly.
In theory, he could use Flying Thunder God to appear right beside it at any time.
…Though honestly, now that he had fixed-point teleportation arrays, that ability wasn't particularly useful.
Still.
As the little creature rubbed its head against his palm, Tōma felt his resolve soften.
Alright. Even if it's not practical, it's adorable.
He played with it for a while, only to realize something else.
Its intelligence was… low.
Very low.
It clearly didn't possess anything close to the awareness or wisdom of a tailed beast.
Which made sense. Tōma's mastery of Yin–Yang Release was still shallow. If not for his unusually powerful mental energy and Ryūchi Cave Sage Mode enhancing his control over life force, he likely wouldn't have managed this at all.
And even then, recreating this result deliberately would probably be impossible.
That earlier state…
Tōma thought for a moment.
If this were some fantasy world, that would've been called an "epiphany."
Except instead of gaining overwhelming power or a legendary technique, he'd ended up with…
He glanced down at the small black creature again.
…a pet.
Well. A very cute one.
"Tōma," the Slug Sage finally spoke, its usually calm voice tinged with disbelief. "That just now… was it life?"
"Yes," Tōma replied honestly. "A life created through Yin–Yang Release."
"So it really was," the Slug Sage murmured.
It still didn't understand how Tōma had managed it. By all logic, his control shouldn't have been sufficient yet. It had expected him to hit a wall and fail.
Instead, he'd succeeded.
When the Slug Sage asked how he'd done it, Tōma could only give a helpless answer.
"I don't really know."
"…A coincidence, then?" the Slug Sage said after a pause.
Tōma nodded.
That explanation, at least, was easier to accept than the idea that he had already mastered the power of creation.
After a moment, the Slug Sage asked another question.
"Are you going to continue experimenting with those explosive Truth-Seeking Orbs?"
"No," Tōma replied. "I've gotten what I needed."
After days of testing, he had already learned how to control the detonation timing. With some power restraint, it was manageable—and even restrained, it had become his most destructive technique so far.
Even Sage Art: Kirin didn't come close.
Tōma glanced apologetically at the Slug Sage. It hadn't slept properly in days.
But there really hadn't been any other place suitable for that kind of testing. Anywhere else would've drawn attention—or worse.
If he'd tried it near Konoha, even detonating high above the village, the shockwaves alone would've turned every building into a structural hazard.
Shikkotsu Forest had been the only option.
The Slug Sage finally relaxed.
"Good," it said. "Then I can sleep."
With that, it promptly fell silent, returning to its long-awaited rest.
Tōma stretched, feeling the fatigue settle in now that the tension was gone. His mind was tired, but satisfied.
The experiments were done. Refining Sage Mode could wait.
He couldn't help but feel a little envious of those reincarnators with "systems" he'd read about—complete tasks, gain power, no side effects, no conflicts.
Meanwhile, he had to test everything himself. Carefully. Repeatedly. Sometimes dangerously.
But as he felt the strength he'd gained, Tōma decided it was worth it.
Without summoning a spiritual clone this time, he used Flying Thunder God directly and returned to the Hokage's office.
Inside the office, Nara Shikaku looked up calmly.
"You're back, Hokage-sama."
"Yeah. Had to handle something real quick," Tōma said casually.
"If you're tired, you can rest," Shikaku offered. "There's no backlog right now. Even the advisors won't find anything to complain about."
"No need," Tōma replied, rubbing his forehead. Administrative work was actually relaxing for him. His earlier exhaustion came from experimentation, not paperwork.
"I see," Shikaku said, not pressing further.
His gaze drifted to the small black creature on Tōma's shoulder.
"Hokage-sama… that is?"
"A pet," Tōma said lightly, stroking its fur. The act alone made him feel better. "Got it by accident."
He thought for a moment, then said, "I'll call you Tsukiel."
The creature stared up at him with its large crimson eyes. It didn't make a sound, but its expression made its acceptance clear.
Tōma nodded, satisfied. There was no need for a complicated name. There was only one of its kind in this world.
Shikaku took note silently, already planning to add a new entry to the Nara clan's records later.
With that, Tōma returned to work.
As expected, with Shikaku's preparations, everything was neatly organized and easy to handle.
Before long, the day's tasks were finished.
Tōma leaned back, a rare smile forming.
Work done.
Time to clock out.