[Konoha Year 41 – The Hidden Temple of the Sand]
Since that first chance encounter, Sayo had found himself frequently drawn back to the secluded temple. Grandpa Bunpuku's presence was a rare sanctuary—a pocket of profound peace that contrasted sharply with the grease-stained, industrial grind of the Maintenance Squad. Sharyu, perhaps sensing the boy's need for a quiet refuge or simply too buried in wartime logistics to intervene, allowed the visits, even quietly budgeting for the extra water and rations Sayo brought to the monk.
On this day, however, the "sanctuary" felt fractured.
Sayo pulled back the tattered curtain and found Bunpuku in a state he had never seen before. The old monk was hunched, his hands pressed together so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Beads of sweat rolled down his furrowed brow. The air in the room was no longer still; it vibrated with a primal, suffocating restlessness that felt like grit beneath the skin.
It was as if a storm was being held captive inside a ceramic jar.
"Grandpa Bunpuku?" Sayo asked, his voice steady despite the atmospheric pressure. "Are you unwell?"
Bunpuku opened his eyes, forcing a strained version of his gentle smile. "Little Sayo... this old monk is fine. It is merely... my old friend. He has quite the temper today."
Suddenly, Bunpuku's frame buckled. A wisp of dark yellow Chakra, dense as lead and jagged as broken glass, erupted from his chest. Though it was only a fragment, the malice it radiated was absolute—a concentrated dose of pure, unadulterated hatred.
The Chakra twisted in the air, manifesting into a translucent, snarling visage. A voice, hoarse and savage, tore through the silence: "Stinking monk! You've caged me for decades! I'm suffocating! Let me out or I'll grind your soul into dust!!"
Sayo's small hands clenched instinctively. But where a normal four-year-old would have been paralyzed by terror, the thirty-year-old engineer within him was already running a diagnostic. He didn't see a demon; he saw an Energy Life Form of staggering density. This wasn't just power; it was a pressurized consciousness.
The wisp of yellow Chakra noticed him. It swirled, projecting a brutal, crushing intent. "Hmm? A brat? What are you staring at! One more look and I'll pulp you into a red smear! Hehehe..."
Sayo frowned. To him, this wasn't a death threat; it was a "false alarm" from a malfunctioning piece of equipment. It was loud, chaotic, and desperately in need of calibration.
Instead of retreating, Sayo took a step forward. "What are you?" he asked, his voice remarkably calm. "And why are you locked inside Grandpa Bunpuku? You seem... very unhappy."
The wisp of Chakra froze mid-coil. The silence that followed was deafening.
For a thousand years, humans had reacted to this entity with terror, greed, or religious fervor. No one had ever addressed it as an "unhappy" being, nor had they spoken to it with the casual seriousness of someone asking about a technical error.
"Un... UNHAPPY?!" the entity roared, its form vibrating with indignant rage. "I am the One-Tails Shukaku! The Great Tailed Beast! I am not something to be 'unhappy'! I am a force of nature! It's you damned humans! You and this stinking monk!"
Shukaku. Tailed Beast. The terms triggered long-dormant memories from Sayo's past life. This was a Jinchūriki—a human sacrifice acting as a containment vessel for a disaster-level energy source.
Sayo's engineer's soul caught fire. A high-density Chakra aggregate with independent consciousness, sealed via complex energy circuits... the sheer sophistication of the sealing technique required to keep such a monster contained within a fragile human biological system was breathtaking.
"Shukaku," Sayo murmured, his tone as professional as a lead developer at a board meeting. "It must be incredibly tedious to be confined to such a small volume. However, your outbursts are clearly taxing Grandpa Bunpuku's physical systems. Also... your volume is a bit excessive."
"Loud?! You call me LOUD?!" Shukaku's Chakra almost dissipated in sheer disbelief.
"Shukaku," Bunpuku's voice rang out. It was weak, but it carried the weight of an iron shackle. The yellow Chakra hissed, struggling against an invisible bridle before being forced back into the monk's body.
Bunpuku exhaled, his face pale. He looked at Sayo with a gaze of profound, unnerving scrutiny. "Little Sayo... are you truly not afraid?"
Sayo shook his head. "I was surprised. But it feels like he's just... very angry and very lonely. Like a machine running at redline with nowhere for the energy to go."
Bunpuku fell silent. He looked at the child as if seeing a ghost. "Child... you possess a pair of very special eyes. You see the heart of the storm rather than the lightning."
Sayo didn't quite grasp the spiritual gravity of the monk's words. He only knew that the "big guy" inside Bunpuku followed a logic, however violent.
"Grandpa Bunpuku, if he acts up again, can I talk to him?" Sayo asked earnestly. "I think dialogue might be more efficient than tantrums."
Bunpuku looked at Sayo's pure, focused face. After a long moment, a weary but genuine smile blossomed. "Amitābha... perhaps you really can, Sayo. Perhaps you are exactly what my old friend needs."
Deep within the temple, a faint, muffled snort echoed—not one of hatred, but of a confused, grumbling curiosity.