In this world—
There are tens of thousands of ninjutsu, which fall into elemental and conceptual categories: Water, Fire, Wind, Lightning, Earth, Yin, Yang, Sealing, and Space–Time techniques.
Nine types in all.
Of these, Space–Time Ninjutsu stands at the very pinnacle of difficulty—rarest to master, feared by even the strongest shinobi, and sitting at the top of the ninjutsu hierarchy.
And yet…
As far as Duan knew, every single "space–time" technique in history manipulated space only—not the flow of time itself.
Flying Thunder God.
Kamui.
Heavenly Transfer.
Even the bloodline abilities like Kaguya's Amenominaka and Yomotsu Hirasaka—all of them tore through or folded space, but not time.
They had nothing to do with the actual dimension of time.
If one insisted on linking ninjutsu to time, there were only two Mangekyō Sharingan techniques that came close: Izanagi, which rewrote reality like a "time reset," and Izanami, which locked an opponent in an endless "time loop." But both were illusions at heart—mimicking temporal control rather than truly altering it.
Which meant only one thing:
True time manipulation did not exist in the shinobi world.
That was why even Itachi, with his keen insight, had not suspected Duan's trump card. The very concept of freezing time lay outside the scope of his conscious and subconscious thinking.
A person cannot deduce something that lies entirely beyond their realm of cognition.
Still, Duan decided—firmly—that he would use time stop sparingly from now on. No ability stayed hidden forever, and exposure meant vulnerability.
Although he didn't consider himself a shinobi by the usual definition, he did agree with one core principle of the ninja world:
> The battle of shinobi is the battle of intelligence.
The Akatsuki were proof of that—each member possessed strange, overwhelming powers, but the moment those abilities were analyzed and countered, they fell like anyone else.
Even Pain, the man who called himself a god, had lost once his secrets were exposed.
In another world—JoJo's—Kujo Jotaro had been untouchable with his time stop… until the entire world learned of it. After that, he was struck down by layered conspiracies and, in the end, failed to prevent Father Pucci's victory.
Duan would not repeat that mistake.
Once others knew he could halt time, shinobi intellect and cunning would surely birth countless countermeasures.
After parting ways with Itachi, Duan returned to the gym.
"Curator, you're back," Samui greeted from the front desk. Her dedication to her post had not wavered, but her voice caught when she noticed what Duan carried—two pale, lifeless arms.
"Don't be afraid. They're fake—see? No blood," Duan said lightly, lifting one for her to inspect.
Obito's arms posed a problem.
Researching Hashirama's cells and Mokuton traps from them was likely beyond his own skill for now. Still, their condition—no bleeding, no decay—meant they could be stored indefinitely for future study.
So, without hesitation, Duan walked into the kitchen under Samui's bewildered gaze, opened the freezer, and tossed them inside—right next to beef and sausages.
"This should… not be for eating," Samui muttered, sending a silent prayer upward.
---
Outside Konoha, in the depths of a forest—space twisted, and Obito stumbled out, collapsing to the ground.
"Huff… huff…"
He knelt, the tiger-striped mask clattering away to reveal a pale, bloodless face.
Not since the Nine-Tails Night had he tasted defeat. Even then, Minato had merely driven him back.
This time was worse.
Far worse.
And the most infuriating thing—he had no idea how he'd lost.
He shook the thought away. There was no time for questions. He needed a safe place to recover.
---
North of the Land of Fire lay an unclaimed peninsula—the site of the "Mountain Graveyard," once Madara Uchiha's secret base.
The name was apt: the place was littered with the skeletons of massive beasts, an ominous warning to trespassers.
Obito knew the path well. Soon, he reached the cliff face riddled with man-sized openings—most dead ends, save for one that led into the vast underground complex.
"Hey, Obito—what happened to you?"
From the ground, Zetsu emerged—half white, half black, crowned with a flytrap-shaped hood. The dual voices of White and Black Zetsu shared the same body, their expressions united in shock.
"Why are your arms gone… again?"
The history was grim:
First, the right arm crushed at Kannabi Bridge.
Then, the left arm torn off by Minato's Rasengan.
Now, both missing at once.
"Ran into an enemy. I was careless," Obito replied coldly, striding into the base.
Inside the carved mountain walls lay armories, archives, surgical rooms, meeting halls, and living quarters—an underground palace built over decades.
When Madara abandoned Konoha, he had taken many of the clan's ancient scrolls and records with him, storing them here. That theft had severed Uchiha's connection to much of its heritage, weakening the clan over generations.
If those treasures were ever recovered, Uchiha might reclaim its former glory.
But Obito had no intention of sharing them.
---
"Was this enemy stronger than the Fourth Hokage?" Zetsu asked, following close behind.
Obito ignored the comparison. He had grown far beyond the brash youth of old—Kamui had made him untouchable. Even Nagato and the Rinnegan had not unsettled him.
Yet… someone had hurt him this badly.
"I told you—I was careless. It's not about how strong he was," Obito said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge defeat.
They reached the operating room.
"Black Zetsu—prepare for surgery. I need new cells transplanted. White Zetsu—sneak into Konoha, watch the Uchiha closely, and pay special attention to someone named Uchiha Duan."
Obito lay on the table, eyes hard.
Uchiha Duan… you will pay for this.
---
Meanwhile, in Konoha—deep beneath the village in the Root headquarters—two shinobi knelt before their leader.
The tap of a cane echoed from the shadows until Shimura Danzō emerged, face half-wrapped in fresh bandages. His arm, too, was newly dressed—evidence of recent surgery.
"How is Itachi?" Danzō asked slowly. "Has he made any noteworthy moves since entering the ANBU?"
"Reporting, sir: Itachi has acted normally. However… he's been spending a great deal of time with his uncle, Uchiha Duan—visiting his gym daily and staying until late."
"Uchiha Duan…" Danzō's frown deepened. The name stirred an old memory.