The Recurring Dream
Not all of Konoha's one thousand jōnin could be mobilized at once.
Many of them were elderly—still possessing the strength of a jōnin, but lacking the stamina and sharpness needed for extended missions. They generally acted only in times of dire crisis.
Others were members of clans who prioritized guarding their own families. Unless the village itself was at risk of destruction, those shinobi rarely left their clan grounds. At best, the Hokage could count on a hundred or so from the clans, with the rest staying behind as their families' last line of defense.
The ANBU and Root had their own secret missions. They were shadows—operatives who rarely joined open conflicts unless the Hokage ordered them directly into war.
Altogether, under normal circumstances, the Hokage could only call upon about three hundred jōnin. Even so, this number was formidable. Other great villages would have been fortunate to mobilize even two hundred.
This overwhelming strength was the legacy of Hashirama Senju and the founders of the village. Konoha had always enjoyed abundant resources and influence, trading even surplus supplies with other nations.
For this reason, Shirō's current strength wasn't bad at all. If one ignored battle duration, he already possessed power comparable to a jōnin.
But Shirō wasn't satisfied.
His long-term goal was to survive the Fourth Great Ninja War. His short-term goal was the Nine-Tails Incident—an inevitable disaster he knew would come. With his current abilities, he could, at best, protect himself during that night.
The battle with the Seven-Tails had made him painfully aware of the difference in scale. Kurama wasn't like the lesser beasts—half of its chakra alone was enough to rival multiple other bijū at once. Its power couldn't be underestimated.
And Shirō was certain Uchiha Madara—or at least the man who bore his name—wouldn't let such an opportunity pass. The more Shirō studied Konoha's forces, the more convinced he became that the Nine-Tails Incident was part of Madara's design.
There was no preventing it. Unless Kushina Uzumaki never gave birth, Madara would not miss that window.
The weight of that inevitability pressed heavily on Shirō.
Still, he had hope. His "Magic Workshop" project was nearing completion—only a few difficult barriers remained before he could fully activate it. Once complete, and combined with the fragment of the Seven-Tails' chakra he had obtained, Shirō would no longer need to gamble by seeking Kushina.
That breakthrough would let him soar. With it, perhaps he could even consider disrupting Madara's schemes early.
But for now, those ambitions were distant. He had to focus on study—on mastering the fundamentals of magic, on refining his circuits.
After reading through a stack of magic scrolls, Shirō lay down to rest. He knew well the danger of overexertion.
---
"Beep! Beep!"
"You bastard! Are you trying to get killed?"
"Hurry up! Move already!"
"Exactly—what's taking so long?"
The voices were muffled, echoing faintly in the darkness.
Shirō stirred. His head was heavy, the world spinning, but instinct pushed him to stumble toward the sound. It felt… important.
He staggered forward step by step—but just as he drew near, the voices vanished.
Then, from another direction—
"Ding, ding, ding… dong…"
"Bang! Clang!"
These sounds were even weaker than before, fragments slipping away before he could make sense of them. Shirō pressed forward, but once again, the noises faded into silence.
And then—nothing.
Only darkness.
His consciousness dulled, dragging him under. His body felt unbearably heavy. He fought to resist, unwilling to sink—but there was nothing he could do.
---
"Ah!"
Shirō bolted upright, gasping for air, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"Shirō? What's wrong?" Keiko's worried voice came from the other room.
"Hah… no, it's nothing, Mom. Just a bad dream," he forced out, regulating his breathing.
"Alright, then wash up and come eat. Breakfast is ready."
"…I know."
He stayed seated on the bed, frowning.
This dream—this darkness—was the same phenomenon he had experienced after returning from the Land of Demons. He had thought meditation had suppressed it. Clearly, he was wrong.
And, just like before, he couldn't recall any clear details. If it had happened only once or twice, he could dismiss it. But it has recurred too many times now.
Activating his system, Shirō sifted through the database for relevant information. Nothing. No phenomenon matched his condition. But that was expected. Every magus was unique—shaped by their Origin. Variations were inevitable.
Still, he noted a pattern: these episodes always followed moments of extreme chakra use, when his circuits were overloaded. The first incident had been when he fought the giant serpent and forced his circuits past their limit. Later, he blamed the recurrence on Mōryō's influence, suppressing it with meditation.
But now… it has resurfaced again.
Perhaps the dreams weren't caused by overload alone. Perhaps they were always there, hidden beneath consciousness, unnoticed in ordinary times.
The problem was, there wasn't enough information. He couldn't even recall the contents clearly—just fragmented noise.
For now, all he could do was recover. Once healed, he could pursue answers—whether through his Noble Phantasm research, or through new magic knowledge.
Shaking his head, Shirō finally rose. He still needed to stop by the hospital to replenish his medicines. There was no time to waste.
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