As Natsuhiko observed the two figures before him, a flicker of genuine interest stirred within his otherwise calm gaze.
He was, admittedly, a little disappointed—this Hidan looked even younger than he himself was. Still, the boy was not alone. The presence of that middle-aged man beside him offered a different kind of opportunity, one that aligned rather well with Natsuhiko's intentions.
The only question now was how useful this man could truly be.
The reason Natsuhiko had come here personally was simple: he wanted to capture Hidan. Even if that goal was not immediately achievable, there were always alternatives—substitutes that could serve the same purpose.
If he could harness Hidan's peculiar ability, then have him wear the Shinigami mask, he might be able to reverse the effects of the Reaper Death Seal and free Minato Namikaze's soul from its eternal binding.
Even if Minato's soul could not fully return to his original body, that did not mean hope was lost. After all, Natsuhiko still possessed the foundation of the One's Own Life Reincarnation—the blueprint once given to him by Chiyo.
He had neither tested nor attempted to use it, but that did not matter. So long as it remained in his possession, there would come a day when it could be fully developed. And if necessary… he could always pay another visit to Sunagakure.
After all, once you have successfully threatened someone once, it becomes far easier to do so again—and Natsuhiko held in his grasp a scandal that could shake Sunagakure to its core.
With that leverage, even if he acted openly and without deception, Chiyo would have little choice but to comply.
Unless, of course… she believed she could kill him.
His gaze lingered on the two before him as he slowly rolled his neck, loosening the tension in his shoulders. Before anything else, he needed to test them—especially the older man. He needed to know exactly what they were capable of.
"I've heard," Natsuhiko said at last, his voice calm and even, "that your cult grants its followers immortality. Is that true?"
A faint pause.
"Then allow me to see for myself… whether you truly possess such power."
"Hmph. Ridiculous!"
The middle-aged man sneered, his expression darkening as he glared at Natsuhiko, clearly still angered by the earlier provocation. "You have no idea—"
"No idea about what?"
In an instant, Natsuhiko's voice came from behind him.
A cold shiver ran down the man's spine, beads of sweat forming on his forehead before he could even react.
How—?
When did he—?
What just happened?
He couldn't comprehend it. There had been no warning, no movement he could perceive—only the sudden realization that Natsuhiko was no longer in front of him.
And then—pain.
Blinding, searing pain tore through his left arm.
A kunai, glowing with a cold blue light, had already sliced cleanly through it. The energy that radiated from the weapon spread rapidly, amplifying the agony until it became unbearable.
A scream tore from his throat before he could stop it.
"Is that all?"
Natsuhiko's voice drifted once more into his ears, calm and almost disappointed.
Before the man could even gather his thoughts, another crushing pain struck his abdomen. The impact came with such force that his vision blurred and twisted; in the next moment, his body was sent hurtling backward, crashing violently into a tree before finally coming to a halt.
Blood spilled across the ground, painting a gruesome scene that would chill any onlooker to the bone.
Beside him, Hidan stood frozen.
After all, he was still just a child—no older than Shisui had once been. He had never witnessed anything so brutal, so overwhelming.
His body trembled uncontrollably, his mind blank, utterly incapable of responding as a shinobi should.
And seeing that… Natsuhiko felt a faint trace of disappointment. Still, he kept his sensory focus locked on the middle-age man.
He's bleeding profusely, but his vital functions haven't dipped. And...
Natsuhiko eyes shifted slightly.
There, on the ground, the severed arm lay where it had fallen. But even as he watched, it began to move—slowly, almost grotesquely, dragging itself inch by inch back toward its owner.
That alone spoke volumes.
This man had indeed undergone some form of modification. Not complete, not perfect—but enough to defy what should have been fatal.
"His vitality is still diminishing," Natsuhiko continued to observe, his thoughts precise and measured. "The loss is minimal, but it's there. Still… this should suffice."
With that conclusion, he felt there was little left to test. Truth be told, the man's combat ability was underwhelming.
Then again, Natsuhiko understood better than anyone that his own fighting style bordered on the unfair. Against such speed—against space itself—most opponents stood no chance.
Even if a peak Hidan stood before him, without prior knowledge of his abilities, he would likely have lost his head in an instant, left to rage helplessly in defeat.
Such was the despair wrought by space-time techniques.
Obito had been a prime example—his fundamental abilities were mediocre at best, and his combat skills hardly exceptional. Yet, through a combination of an unknown ability and that almost "bug-like" manipulation of space, he had become one of the most difficult figures in the shinobi world to confront. Cloaked in the name of Madara Uchiha, he had deceived the world itself, rising as a shadowy mastermind behind countless events.
Natsuhiko did not possess the same intangibility—but in true, dynamic combat, he held an advantage all his own.
And now, with his Wood Release beginning to take shape, the extent of his future strength was something even he could not yet fully measure.
Suddenly, Natsuhiko flickered. At the very spot he had occupied, Hidan lunged forward, a kunai thrusting violently into empty air.
"So you do have some nerve," Natsuhiko's voice came softly from behind him.
The tone was gentle—almost kind—and yet it struck far deeper than any shout could have. Fear surged through Hidan, threatening to break him, but the boy clenched his teeth, madness flickering in his eyes as he spun around and stabbed wildly.
His wrist was caught mid-strike.
"Commendable courage," Natsuhiko said lightly, his grip firm, unyielding. "But foolish execution. Still… for you, it may be enough."
Before the boy could react, Natsuhiko's free hand struck sharply at his neck. The blow was precise and merciless; Hidan's eyes rolled back at once as consciousness fled him, his small body going limp.
Without ceremony, Natsuhiko released him, letting him collapse to the ground like a discarded puppet.
Then, stepping forward, he approached the middle-aged man once more. As he passed, he casually kicked the crawling severed arm aside, sending it skidding across the dirt.
"A remarkable ability," Natsuhiko remarked softly, stopping before the man who now leaned against the tree, gasping for breath. "It seems some legends are indeed true."
"Y-you…" The man's voice trembled, whether from pain or fear it was hard to tell. "That speed… are you the Fourth Hokage?"
"No," Natsuhiko replied with a faint shake of his head. "I am not the Hokage."
His gaze settled on the man, calm and unhurried.
"Your name," he said quietly. "Tell me."
"Cough... cough..." The man coughed violently, blood flecking his lips before he finally forced the words out.
"…Tsutani Hiro."
"Mr. Tsutani," Natsuhiko said, lowering himself into a crouch, his voice as gentle as ever, "it seems you'll have to come with us. You—and your disciple."
"Don't… waste your effort…" Tsutani raised his head with visible strain, his eyes burning with defiance as he glared at Natsuhiko. "I know what you're planning… but you'll never succeed!"
"You misunderstand," Natsuhiko replied, rising slowly to his feet. He looked down at the man, a faint, almost dismissive smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"You neither know what I'm thinking… nor what I intend to do."
"Let me give you a piece of advice," Natsuhiko said lightly, his gaze calm yet faintly mocking as it rested on the man below him. "Don't try to measure my intentions by your own limited understanding. Do you understand?"
"You—"
...
Within Kirigakure, Pakura felt the kunai lodged deep into her back, and for a fleeting moment, her expression turned strangely complex.
She had known this would happen. She had been prepared for it—at least in theory. And yet, when the moment truly came, the sharp, piercing pain still struck deeper than she had expected. It was as though the blade had not pierced the specially prepared uniform, but her heart itself.
"Why…?" she murmured, slowly turning her head. Her eyes carried a quiet sorrow, laced with a fragile thread of doubt.
The mist ninja did not question her reaction. Instead, he shoved her forward with brutal force before springing backward, widening the distance between them.
"Why?" he sneered. "To make you suffer as we have!"
As his voice rang out, mechanisms hidden in the surroundings activated at once. Countless kunai shot into the air before raining down in a deadly storm, descending toward Pakura from all directions. Under such overwhelming coverage, there was no room to evade—no path to survival.
"You've slaughtered so many of our people—did you really think you came here to negotiate?" His voice rose with unrestrained malice. "No. You're nothing but a pitiful sacrifice. Your fate was decided long ago!"
Listening to his manic words, feeling the deadly wind of incoming blades slicing through the air behind her, Pakura slowly closed her eyes.
And then—
Just as the kunai were about to strike, a surge of chakra erupted from within her.
Four irregular orbs of orange flame materialized behind her, flickering with intense heat. In an instant, they expanded, forming a blazing barrier in midair. The incoming kunai, upon contact, were instantly engulfed—white steam hissing violently as metal met searing heat.
Without even lifting her head, Pakura vanished.
In the next heartbeat, she reappeared beside the Mist shinobi.
Without hesitation, her hand shot out, seizing his throat in an iron grip. Her eyes, now devoid of warmth, burned with a terrifying intensity—like those of a vengeful spirit.
"You—" The Mist shinobi seemed momentarily startled by her sudden retaliation, yet there was no fear in his expression. "As expected of Pakura of the Scorch Release… your instincts are sharp."
"Why?" Pakura asked coldly, her voice like frozen steel. "What did you mean by what you said just now?"
"It's simple," he replied, attempting to pry her hand away before abandoning the effort altogether, as if accepting the inevitability of his position. "You're already as good as dead. Do you really think this mission was ever about negotiation?"
A cruel smile tugged at his lips.
"You were sent here to die."
He spoke with deliberate clarity, each word cutting deeper than the last.
"Your Kazekage struck a deal with us long ago—your life, and your corpse for our research, offered as proof of sincerity. In exchange, we halt our retaliation against Sunagakure… allowing your leader to focus entirely on dealing with Iwagakure."
His voice grew colder.
"You had no choice. If you resisted, we would refuse cooperation. And then? Have you considered what kind of losses your village would suffer?"
A faint pause.
"And do you really think I came alone?"
Pakura listened in silence.
There was no interruption, no denial—because none was needed. The truth had already settled within her, heavy and undeniable. This confirmation was merely the final piece falling into place.
After a long moment, she exhaled softly.
Her gaze remained fixed on him, but something within it had changed—whatever hesitation lingered before was gone.
Her grip tightened.
The man's breathing grew ragged, strained under the crushing pressure around his throat.
"I know," she said quietly. "I know exactly what my defiance would cost Sunagakure… and I know you're not alone."
Her chakra surged again, denser now, more violent, wrapping around her like a rising tide of heat. The killing intent in her eyes sharpened, deepening into something terrifyingly resolute.
And in that moment, whatever remained of her former allegiance seemed to burn away, leaving behind only a cold, unyielding clarity.
"But tell me this," Pakura said, her voice low and steady, though the fury beneath it burned unmistakably clear, "what makes you so certain that a Kazekage who betrayed me—who never trusted me, who sent me to my death without a single word—still deserves my loyalty?"
Her words struck like a sudden thunderclap.
The mist ninja's pupils shrank at once, shock flashing across his face. He understood perfectly what she meant. She was not merely rejecting the Kazekage—she was severing something far deeper. And yet, in the shinobi world, the Kage and the village were inseparable; to turn against one was, in many ways, to turn against the other.
Was she truly abandoning her village? Had she already found somewhere else to belong?
The questions surged through his mind in a chaotic storm, but before he could grasp any answer, something else caught his attention.
Figures began to emerge from the mist.
They wore the uniforms of Sunagakure's ANBU, yet there was something subtly off about them—their movements, their presence. They advanced slowly, almost casually, but what truly froze the mist ninja's blood was what they carried.
Bodies.
One after another, they dragged the corpses of Mist ANBU operatives behind them, lifeless and discarded like broken tools.
Despair crept into his chest like ice.
Who are these people? They're not Sunagakure ANBU… they can't be…
Then what are they? And how did they eliminate so many of ours without a sound?
No answers came.
Pakura had no intention of giving him any.
Her chakra gathered silently in her palm, condensing into something fierce and lethal. In the next instant, the power of her Scorch Release surged violently into his body.
"ARGH!"
The scream tore itself from his throat, raw and unbearable.
Within moments, the moisture in his body evaporated completely. Flesh shriveled, skin tightened, and in the span of a few breaths, he became nothing more than a withered husk—like a corpse left to dry for years under a merciless sun.
Even Kakashi, watching from the side, felt a chill run through him.
This woman… is far too dangerous.
And yet, he said nothing.
She needed this. If this was her way of releasing everything that had been forced upon her, then so be it.
A full minute passed before Kakashi finally spoke.
"Did you get the confirmation you needed?"
"Yes," Pakura replied, her tone returning to calm as she released the corpse, letting it fall to the ground. "I did."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the others. "You handled things cleanly. I expected more… noise."
"We had sensory support. They let their guard down," Kakashi replied, glancing briefly at his team before turning back to her, his tone firm. "Then let's proceed."
"…Right." She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before adding, "And… thank you."
"There's no need to thank us," Kakashi said evenly. "If you must thank someone, thank the captain. Without him, no one would have known how dark your mission truly was."
...
Back in Konoha, within the Third Division headquarters of the ANBU, Natsuhiko gave a faint nod as he looked at Kakashi and Pakura.
Even he had not expected Kakashi to return so quickly.
It had been less than two days since Natsuhiko himself had brought Tsutani Hiro and the boy, Hidan, back to the village, yet Kakashi had already completed his task and returned. The efficiency of both operations spoke for itself.
Natsuhiko's own mission had been resolved almost the same day it began—swift, precise, leaving no room for resistance. Tsutani Hiro and Hidan had been utterly powerless before him, just as the four Kumogakure ANBU had been.
None of them had stood a chance.
And so, the two were brought back to Konoha without incident, their fates sealed not by mercy, but by usefulness. They still had value—roles yet to play in plans that extended far beyond their understanding.
The Kumogakure operatives, however, had not been so fortunate.
For those without value, there was no such consideration.
For people like them, Natsuhiko had never intended to show mercy.
He had, after all, promised to let them go—but he had never once promised that they would live.
Even so, he maintained a certain line he would not cross. The task of killing those four Kumogakure ANBU had not been carried out by his own hand; instead, he had left it to the four from the Senju squad.
Afterward, he had their heads brought back as well. They were ANBU, after all—there was always the possibility that something of value could still be extracted from them.
"Go on," Natsuhiko said, stretching lazily before turning his attention back to Kakashi and the others, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Tell me how things went on your end. You returned quite quickly—I assume there were no complications?"
"Yes, Captain," Kakashi replied with a nod, a slight smile of his own appearing. "We were fortunate. The enemy grew careless. Although they sent ANBU to intercept us, there were no sensory-type shinobi among them.
"And as you instructed before we departed, I brought along members from the Aburame and Inuzuka clans. With their help, we were able to locate the enemy quickly—and eliminate the ambush entirely."
Natsuhiko couldn't help but smile faintly at that.
In truth, he hadn't given it that much thought at the time. He had simply considered that Kakashi and his team would be operating within Kirigakure's territory, and that some degree of preparation was necessary.
In the original timeline, there had only been a single Mist shinobi, supported by hidden mechanisms—or perhaps concealed accomplices—who had used a barrage of kunai to kill Pakura without giving her any chance to react.
To guard against the possibility of additional enemies, perhaps even ANBU, Natsuhiko had casually mentioned it to Kakashi before the mission.
He hadn't expected that such an offhand suggestion would prove so effective—so much so that it resulted in the elimination of multiple ANBU operatives.
But then, a thought crossed his mind, and his expression shifted slightly.
If Kakashi's team had encountered ANBU… how had they handled the aftermath?
"How did you deal with the bodies?" Natsuhiko asked, his tone turning more deliberate. "The ANBU—and the corpse I prepared for you."
Kakashi seemed to immediately grasp the concern behind the question.
"Were you worried I'd take their heads too, Captain?"he said, letting out a quiet sigh before continuing. "I did consider it. But I also understood the trouble it would bring, so I refrained. Instead, we staged the scene."
"How?" Natsuhiko prompted.
"At first, we intended to follow the original plan—make it look like an attack by Sunagakure's ANBU. But given how things unfolded, we decided on something more fitting."
Kakashi paused briefly before continuing.
"We made it appear as though Pakura, driven to fury, killed everyone—including the ANBU—and then took her own life using her Scorch Release."
For a moment, Natsuhiko said nothing.
Then, unbidden, a single word surfaced in his mind.
Cliché.
It was undeniably cliché—the old tale of slaughter followed by suicide. The kind of narrative that would normally earn little more than a weary sigh.
And yet…
It worked.
In fact, it worked remarkably well.
Pakura, after all, had every reason to feel betrayed by Sunagakure. Faced with her enemies, she would neither surrender nor allow her village's interests to be harmed. In the end, she killed her foes—and chose to die there herself.
Her death fulfilled the mission assigned to her, while her self-inflicted end ensured that her bloodline would not fall into enemy hands.
Melodramatic, perhaps—but also tragically fitting.
As for how Kirigakure would interpret the events, or how Sunagakure would explain them, that was no longer Natsuhiko's concern.
"Well," he said at last, rubbing his temple lightly, "it's not a bad improvisation. Adapting to the situation was the right call. Honestly, it's better than the terrible story I came up with."
A faint smile returned to his face.
"Well done, Kakashi."
"Thank you, Captain." Kakashi inclined his head slightly, then produced a scroll and handed it over. "On the way back, I already prepared the mission report at sea."
"You really are…" Natsuhiko murmured, taking the scroll Kakashi handed him, a faint trace of amusement in his voice.
He had to admit—Kakashi understood him far too well.
Still, it wasn't a bad thing. If anything, it spared him a great deal of trouble. Natsuhiko had never been fond of writing reports. In his previous life, he had already written more than enough of them, and after arriving in this world, he had spent years doing the same. The experience had never improved with repetition.
Now that he held the position of division commander, he had even less desire to involve himself in such tasks. In truth, captains were rarely responsible for writing reports anymore; that duty typically fell to squad leaders. Kakashi clearly understood this without needing to be told, completing the task on his own initiative.
"In that case, I'll take my leave."
Kakashi gave a slight smile and a nod before turning and departing the office, leaving only Natsuhiko and Pakura behind.
Silence settled over the room.
Natsuhiko studied her quietly, while Pakura met his gaze without flinching. Neither spoke, and for a time, the stillness between them felt almost tangible.
For Natsuhiko, the moment carried a certain weight.
He could not help but reflect on what had changed. This was not some subtle shift, not one of those unseen ripples he had already set into motion without ever witnessing their full consequences. No—this was different. A person who had once been destined to die now stood alive before him.
It was… a peculiar feeling.
As though something predetermined had been forcibly rewritten.
Perhaps this was what it meant to defy fate.
Pakura, for her part, was equally absorbed in her thoughts as she looked at him.
She already knew him, in a sense. After all, this man—this infuriating man—had been the one to capture her. And yet, back then, she had known almost nothing about him. Only that he moved with terrifying speed, and that he had gone to Sunagakure and done something deeply troubling.
It was that very act that had exposed her mission… that had forced her to confront the truth of what had been done to her.
And now, after her journey through Kirigakure, she had witnessed it all—her "death," her betrayal, and truths she could never have imagined.
Along the way, she had seen something else as well.
The way Hatake Kakashi—Konoha's famed "Hero of the Sharingan"—spoke of Natsuhiko with a level of respect that bordered on reverence.
That kind of admiration could not be faked.
And now, standing face to face with the man who had both saved her and forced her to abandon everything she once belonged to, Pakura found herself caught between curiosity and resignation.
She was curious—about his true strength, about the kind of presence he carried that inspired such loyalty.
And yet, she could not ignore the circumstances that had brought them here, nor the choices that had stripped her of her past.
"You know," Natsuhiko said at last, breaking the silence with a faint smile, "staring at me like that isn't exactly polite."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone light, almost conversational.
"Still… life has a way of surprising us. I never imagined things would turn out like this."
"Neither did I," Pakura replied with a quiet sigh. "To give everything for one's village… only to receive this in return. And then to be granted just enough 'truth' to understand how I was meant to die…" She shook her head faintly. "It's almost laughable."
"There are plenty of things in this world worth laughing at," Natsuhiko said as he rose to his feet.
A gentle smile rested on his face, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to soften the coldness in Pakura's expression, if only slightly.
"In truth, every village is the same. They all do these things. At the end of the day…" he paused briefly, his gaze steady, "it's nothing more than a contest to see who can be less rotten than the rest."
"Konoha isn't any different," Natsuhiko said with a faint shrug, his gaze steady as he spoke. "Even in Konoha, problems like this have happened before."
"Oh?" Pakura raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "So Konoha is just as rotten as the rest, huh? Aren't you afraid I'd tell someone about this?"
Natsuhiko's smile only widened, calm and easy, yet carrying a chill that seemed to pierce straight through her. "And what if you did? You'd be the one dead. Besides, it might even benefit the Fourth Hokage."
Pakura blinked, suddenly realizing that Konoha's situation wasn't quite as stable as she had imagined. Especially that last line—deliberate or not—it hinted at secrets far larger than she could guess.
Yet when she looked at Natsuhiko's smiling face, for some reason, she felt both warmth and a coldness that ran straight to her bones. She shook her head and let out a quiet sigh. "I see… you've got me figured out."
"Exactly," Natsuhiko said, stepping closer. He reached out and lightly patted her shoulder. "You've already witnessed your own destruction, seen your betrayal. How would you like to witness something… more interesting, under a different identity?"
"Like what?" Pakura asked, tilting her head slightly, sensing the pressure radiating from him, yet curiosity tugging her forward.
"Like this," Natsuhiko said, his smile widening. "Watching me, step by step, become Hokage."
He walked slowly to the window, his gaze drifting toward the towering Hokage Rock in the distance, his voice calm and resonant. "The reason I wanted to help you wasn't because of the bloodline you carry—those studying bloodlines in Konoha are not on my side. When I first captured you, my intention was merely to extract information. But after receiving the decrypted scroll from Chiyo, I realized… you reminded me of someone."
"Someone?" Pakura asked, curiosity flickering across her features.
"You've probably heard of him. The one that elder Chiyo of your village despised all his life—Kakashi's father, White Fang, Sakumo Hatake of Konoha. His death was a tragedy, and it taught me a lesson: in this village, sometimes you are nothing more than a pawn. You act according to others' plans, even if your heart is just, even if your intentions are honorable. If you fail your 'mission,' you are no longer useful, and then… you die."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before turning to see the shock written plainly across Pakura's face.
"So when I realized this, I thought… even though I never met White Fang and could not save him, here was someone so similar in front of me. I saved her, and now… I can let her witness history with me. To overturn the old era, rewrite the past. Imagine how fascinating that would be, don't you think?"
Overturn the old era?
The thought echoed in Pakura's mind. This man's ambition was staggering—his goal, it seemed, was nothing less than the Hokage itself. Yet strangely, a spark of resolve kindled within her.
The old era he spoke of—was it those in her village? The likes of Rasa in Sunagakure?
If that was the case…
She inhaled deeply, then closed her eyes and nodded slightly. "I understand, Captain Nightingale."
...
"Is it confirmed?"
In a hidden chamber of Konoha's Root, Danzo's cold voice cut through the still air.
"Yes, my lord," a Root shinobi replied quickly, bowing low. "Kakashi has returned with his team, accompanied by Pakura."
Since losing certain vital information, Root had been quietly investigating, monitoring all entry and exit points of Konoha without the knowledge of Minato Namikaze or even Hiruzen Sarutobi. This secrecy had advantages—they could track the movements of the village's ANBU in detail.
"Excellent," Danzo's eyes gleamed as he considered the intelligence. "Hiruzen, that brat Minato, and Murashima Takumi are in a meeting; the ANBU are otherwise unoccupied. Take action."
He turned to the two shinobi behind him. "Tatsuma, Orochimaru, you're to bring the woman Pakura here. If they refuse—"
"Apologies, Lord Danzo," Orochimaru said, his golden snake eyes glinting eerily. "I have other matters to attend to. This task is a waste of my time."
"Is that so?" Danzo's brow furrowed, but he nodded in concession. "Then, Tatsuma, you go alone. You know what to do, correct?"
"Yes, my lord," Yura Ryoma said, kneeling. "I will bring the woman back."
...
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