Chapter 138: The Art of the Other God
"Hyuga Neji is the future of the Hyuga clan."
"That kid might be the greatest genius we've had in a century. I heard he even figured out advanced clan techniques all on his own."
"Seriously? How old is he? With the Uchiha gone, maybe the Hyuga's rise starts with this Neji."
---
Ryosuke strolled through Konoha Village, a fat cat lazily cradled in his arms, its tail swaying with each step. The streets buzzed around him—idle chatter, laughter, and the murmur of half-truths and hot gossip.
He wasn't particularly interested in any of it… but his sharp hearing picked it all up anyway.
Training had grown dull. Monotonous. It scratched an itch, sure—but it didn't satisfy him. Not anymore. Not without a worthy opponent. Restless and irritable, he wandered the village to clear his head... and maybe track how far his "fishes" had swum since being released into open waters.
The whispers about Hyuga Neji were growing louder by the day. What had once been a rumor in the Hyuga compound had now spilled into the streets of Konoha.
And it wasn't just because he graduated early. Naruto and Sasuke had already set that precedent.
No—what made Neji's graduation newsworthy was how he did it.
During his assessment, he'd performed Kaiten—the Hyuga clan's secret technique. And not only that, but he had improved upon it.
The clan elders confirmed it. No trickery. No theft. No stolen scrolls in the dead of night.
Just pure talent.
Comprehended and reinvented by Hyuga Neji himself.
A feat unheard of for a branch family member... perhaps even in the last thousand years.
---
"Wasn't there a new rule? Something about promoting the capable regardless of lineage?"
The village compared Neji's rise to the Uchiha's fall. But inside the Hyuga clan, the discussions were more nuanced—and far more dangerous.
"The most capable should rise to the top? You mean… the next clan leader?"
---
Ryosuke closed his eyes for a moment and expanded his perception.
The buzz of the village dimmed, replaced by the hushed voices of the Hyuga compound. He could hear them. All of them. The loud, the quiet... and the ones that hid in shadows.
In a dark corner behind a training hall, a few cloaked figures huddled against the wall.
"Keep your voice down! Are you insane? You can't just say things like that."
"I'm not wrong," one of them muttered defiantly. "With Neji's ability, shouldn't he be considered for the position of clan leader? That's what the main family said, isn't it? Strength above all."
"Hmph. And what's Hinata got, huh? Word is she can't even pull off the basics of Gentle Fist."
"Neji mastered Kaiten. He cracked a main family technique—improved it! Can anyone from the main family say the same?"
Their voices grew bolder with each sentence, echoing years of resentment buried deep beneath tradition.
"They said Byakugan purity equaled strength. Guess they were wrong."
"The head family knew this was coming. That's why they started talking about unity and reconciliation. They just want to keep their power while pretending to play fair."
"Exactly. It's all politics. Just a game to them."
One person spoke. Then another. And another. Years of frustration, humiliation, and powerlessness now flowed freely in a dark corner of their world.
Ryosuke sat quietly on a bench not far from them, gently stroking the soft fur of the sleeping cat in his arms.
None of them noticed his presence. None of them could sense him.
With Ryosuke's current level of perception, unless they were elite sensor-types, they wouldn't even know they were being listened to.
He wasn't surprised by what he heard.
There was nothing particularly new in their arguments—just age-old bitterness dressed in modern language. A different tune to the same old song.
Were Hinata and Hiashi maneuvering politically? Of course.
But not for the reasons these dissenters thought.
Hiashi's push for reform wasn't about winning hearts. It was about unification—giving the Hyuga clan the strength to walk beside Ryosuke into a new era.
They wanted to stand together.
Unfortunately, not everything could be made public. Not yet. Ryosuke's presence was still… sensitive. And many details remained hidden, even within the clan.
So misunderstandings brewed in the silence.
And in that silence, Ryosuke simply watched.
The sun dipped low in the sky, bathing the village in soft crimson. As dusk melted into night, the whispering voices finally drifted away from their corner and returned to the light, unaware that someone had been listening the entire time.
Ryosuke didn't follow. He didn't lecture them, or report them, or even reveal his presence.
He just… sat.
The fat cat stirred in his lap, its little snores turning into gentle meows as it shifted against his chest. Ryosuke idly scratched behind its ears.
Something had changed in the creature lately.
Maybe it was the chakra exposure. Maybe it had absorbed a sliver of Ryosuke's consciousness during those strange healing sessions. Or maybe… it was just companionship.
It no longer fought with the street cats. No longer wandered far. It had built a nest for itself in his courtyard and followed him everywhere.
During training, it would perch nearby and watch.
And when he rested… it would curl up in his arms without a care in the world.
It had become more than a stray.
Less wild. More human.
After a while, Ryosuke stirred from his thoughts and shifted to stand.
"Meow."
The fat cat blinked open its round eyes, gave a small cry, and gracefully leapt off his lap.
Ryosuke chuckled.
"So," he said, stretching, "if you keep evolving like this… maybe you'll become human one day. I've read stories about things like that."
He began walking toward home.
The fat cat trailed behind him, meowing incomprehensibly, as if trying to reply.
Their shadows—man and cat—stretched long across the cobblestone path, cast by the last glow of the setting sun.
"Ryosuke…"
"Ryosuke!"
His name echoed in the void—distorted and distant, like a ripple through still water.
Ryosuke stirred in his sleep.
Once again, he'd slipped into that strange realm—a space between dream and awareness. A prophetic dream.
It wasn't new to him. He recognized the sensation now: the unnatural stillness, the air of unreality. There was no cause, no effect, no way to control it.
Even after completing his third transformation, Ryosuke had never mastered the ability to invoke these dreams. He could only receive them—passively, helplessly. A seer without a steering wheel.
"…Naruto's voice."
He recognized it instantly.
Naruto had recently been discharged from the hospital and was recovering at home. Though still emotionally unstable and unable to return to missions due to his teammates' injuries, he remained in the village, often secluded.
Ryosuke had maintained a distant watch—checking in through long-range sensory communication to ensure his safety.
He could tell Naruto had taken his words to heart. His emotions had begun to stabilize, and he no longer clung so desperately to Orochimaru's poisonous rhetoric. He was thinking more clearly, starting to question more, to reflect.
As for the village elders…
As Ryosuke predicted, they'd held several secret meetings regarding Naruto's outburst. The Hyuga intelligence network couldn't uncover the full contents—unsurprising, given the presence of top-tier shinobi like Hiruzen—but one thing was clear:
Naruto hadn't been shackled.
Someone had suppressed the more extreme proposals.
Most likely… Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Maybe—just maybe—Ryosuke had been right. The Third Hokage wasn't trying to mold Naruto into a weapon. He treated him as a grandson, a junior to be protected, not exploited.
Still, what caught Ryosuke off-guard wasn't the politics.
It was the fact that this predictive dream was about Naruto.
He just didn't know what the time span was. Would it be something years ahead, like Sasuke's? Or mere minutes?
Let's find out.
He focused his attention on the scene unraveling before him.
---
And his eyes sharpened instantly.
The dream's surroundings felt hazy, but the location was unmistakable.
A messy, cramped room—walls stained and clothes strewn across the floor. Empty ramen cups and milk cartons littered the trash bin. On the old desk sat a half-deflated green toad wallet.
Naruto's room.
But that wasn't what alarmed Ryosuke.
His gaze zeroed in on the man standing inside.
A man who should not be there.
Dressed in a black-and-white kimono, skin wrapped in thick white bandages, face shadowed and severe.
Shimura Danzo.
Ryosuke's expression darkened.
This man—this relic of cruelty—had no business being near Naruto. Especially not in his home. Hiruzen would never approve such a thing. Danzo was the village's dark hand, and Naruto's apartment was a place that hand was forbidden to touch.
"Who are you?" Naruto asked, perched on his bed, tense and alert.
He hadn't been asleep. Or if he had, it hadn't lasted long. His instincts were razor-sharp, already registering danger.
Danzo didn't turn. His gravelly voice drifted into the room, eerily similar in tone to Sarutobi Hiruzen's, but lacking the warmth.
"I'm impressed. Even in your own home, you sleep lightly."
There was a pause. Then: "Or perhaps… you've never trusted the village at all. A dangerous trait."
Naruto narrowed his eyes. "Tch. I don't care for your flattery. You being here means you've got some standing. Were you sent by the Third Hokage?"
"I am merely an old man," Danzo replied, "one who silently serves the will of Konoha."
The sound began to fade—words like echoes bouncing further and further away.
The images blurred. Shapes warped. Clarity crumbled.
Ryosuke gritted his teeth and focused hard. He needed to remember. Even as the dream dissolved, he pushed his senses to memorize every detail.
The hairline crack in the wall near the window. The half-torn calendar on the desk. The exact angle of the light filtering through the blinds.
Even if the dream slipped away, he would not forget.
"As a shinobi of Konoha, your life belongs to this village. To this great tree, you must offer everything."
Danzo's voice rang once more, hoarse and firm.
"Uzumaki Naruto… let go of your past. Forget your hatred. Forget your pain. From now on, your only loyalty is to Konoha."
"You will inherit my will and walk in my shadow. You will be the knife in my hand. I will be your master—and you will obey."
Click.
The ticking of a clock echoed faintly in a dark room.
The minute hand clicked forward.
The hour hand stopped precisely at 3:00 a.m.
---
"Hah—!"
Ryosuke bolted upright in bed, breath short, heart pounding.
Without pause, he vanished from his room.
His form blurred in the moonlight, slipping through alleyways and rooftops, silent and swift.
He headed straight for Naruto's apartment.
The time span this time… was short.
Very short.
The predictive dream pointed to a window of just ten minutes.
It was the closest prophetic event Ryosuke had ever seen.
He confirmed it through minor details—fresh items in Naruto's room, the clock's position, the faint breeze coming through the slightly cracked window. All of it aligned with reality.
If nothing changed, in ten minutes, Danzo Shimura would appear in Naruto's apartment.
And he would attempt to use Kotoamatsukami on him.
---
Kotoamatsukami.
The Mangekyō ability of Uchiha Shisui.
An illusion so powerful it could alter a person's beliefs—reprogramming their will without them ever realizing it. A forbidden technique capable of turning friends into fanatics, rebels into puppets.
By all accounts, it was the strongest genjutsu in the ninja world.
But Ryosuke knew better.
No technique was perfect.
Kotoamatsukami had limits—limits Ryosuke had studied in detail during his research into Yin Release arts.
It wasn't the jutsu itself that was supreme—it was the user that determined its strength.
And Ryosuke wasn't convinced Danzo could pull it off.
Naruto was no ordinary shinobi. The Nine-Tails sealed within him acted as a secondary consciousness—an emotional and spiritual guardian. It would resist, violently, any attempt to manipulate his mind.
Danzo might try.
But Ryosuke doubted he'd succeed.
Still… that was just theory.
And Ryosuke never left things to chance.
He needed to be close—close enough to intervene if Danzo managed to breach Naruto's defenses.
This wasn't a night for peace.
Not tonight.
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