"The memory I do recall," Shigure said with a small, knowing smile, "is that, for the sake of the mission, we erased each other's memories. That's why we lost them. As to why we erased them… well, Minato, I think you already understand."
Minato Namikaze's eyes widened faintly, then softened with understanding. "I do," he said simply.
"We've accomplished what we set out to do," Shigure continued, more brightly now. "The important details are still locked in my head where they need to be. That's enough. We can head back."
"Teacher Shigure…" Minato hesitated a moment, his sharp gaze flicking to the older shinobi's forehead. "Why do I feel like you're… different somehow? The seal on your brow—it doesn't look the same. Is that the Yin Seal…?"
Shigure brushed at the dark diamond mark with mock curiosity. "Ah… yes, but not quite. It's not just Yin anymore. Now there's Yang as well—together, they form the Yin–Yang Seal." His words were casual, but his expression betrayed nothing.
For Shigure himself, the memory was clear. Back in the depths of the Ruins, when the dragon vein's power had surged so violently he nearly exploded, desperation had driven him to attempt something reckless. He had cast the Yang Release Seal—on himself. He had only meant to test it, to buy a heartbeat of survival. Instead, the impossible had happened. The raging torrent of dragon vein energy had been sucked straight into the fledgling Yang Seal. The seal's reaction to his long-held Yin Seal created a strange, perfect balance, one that allowed him to absorb and contain force that should have obliterated him outright.
In that instant, Shigure had become something not unlike a jinchūriki, his body a living vessel for an entire realm's lifeblood. The dragon vein did not merely weaken. Under the draw of his combined seal, it was drained nearly dry.
Minato's sealing work and Queen Sara's intervention had masked the reality from everyone else. What little trace of the dragon vein remained was a husk. The truth—its full power rested within Shigure alone, divided between his body and the blazing black-and-white mark carved into his skin.
Even Shigure himself was still coming to terms with it.
The three-man cell—Shigure, Minato, and a young Kakashi—moved swiftly, leaving behind the sand-swept borders of Wind Country, passing across the heartlands, until at last the familiar forests of Fire Country stretched around them. When the looming gates of Konohagakure came into view, a flood of relief and nostalgia washed over them. They had only been gone a month, perhaps a little more, but the sight of home made every step lighter.
"Finally back," Minato murmured.
"Then let's not waste time." Shigure smiled faintly. "We'll hand in the report, and the rest can come later."
Together, they went straight to the Hokage's office.
Inside, Sarutobi Hiruzen listened quietly as they recounted what they could, filling in the mission report with practiced clarity.
"I see…" The Third Hokage's expression softened at last, satisfaction dawning in the lines of his face. "You've risked much. An S-rank mission completed in full. That is enough."
The words felt like a weight lifted.
Back in the quiet of his home, Shigure wasted no time. He threw himself headlong into studying the Yang Release sealing arts. The seal he'd used within the ruins had been improvised under duress—an instinctive reaction, raw and unrefined. To wield it properly, to control it in battle or apply it to others, he needed true mastery.
No matter how gifted, even a prodigy like Shigure hit walls. The Yang seals proved more complex and unyielding than anything he anticipated. After days of scribbling notes and weary nights of failure, he was forced to seek counsel.
He turned to Uzumaki Mito, ancient and ever-wise, and to Kushina, still fiery and brimming with chakra. Between the three of them, knowledge passed back and forth, trials were made, and slowly, painfully, Shigure bent the sealing art to his will.
Weeks later, the moment finally arrived.
In his chamber, a laugh burst from him, rich and triumphant. "It's done! The Hao Blood Technique—absolute liberation from the Yin–Yang Seal! Stronger even than the famed Hundred Healings! If I were to exhaust every drop of chakra, I could summon strength beyond imagination!"
From then on, the Yang Release techniques bent to his command—sealings, unsealings, hand signs light and fluid as breath.
His thoughts turned, inevitably, to Hoshiko—the young girl sealed long ago to shield her latent potential. He was ready now. He could release her.
But before he laid hands upon the seal, Mito's frail voice halted him.
"Shigure… the Yin–Yang Seal exists for a reason. If someone imposed such a burden upon Hoshiko, it was not done idly. She has already learned more ninjutsu than most her age. But if her chakra explodes free now, uncontrolled… can you be sure it will end well?"
Her tone was not fearful, but earnest, almost pleading.
Kushina added softly, "She's still just a child. You, too. There's no need to rush. Time is with you all. Don't invite tragedy by being impatient."
Shigure's smile faltered. The truth of their words stung him. He clenched his hands, then released a breath.
"You're right… if anything were to happen to her through my arrogance, I could never… no. Better to wait."
The seal remained intact.
That night, his eyes fell upon the twin blades resting beside his futon—the Meteor Blade and the Dragon Fang Blade. Memories stirred: the deadly clash with Shisui, the flashes of kenjutsu copied through his Sharingan but never fully realized. Shigure stood, gripping the swords.
"It's time," he murmured. "These deserve real mastery. For that, there's no better teacher than the Hatake."
At the Hatake estate, fortune favored him. Kusuo Hatake, his unruly teammate, was home. His recovery since the Chūnin Exams had left him restless, eager for action. The moment he spotted Shigure, his face lit up.
"You're here!" Kusuo practically bounded forward. "At last! You vanished on some mission while I was stuck healing. You'd better be ready—we've got catching up to do!"
Shigure grinned. "You look well. I'm glad. And yes—I just returned. Let's duel."
Before Kusuo could respond, another voice interjected—a deeper, amused rumble.
"Kusuo? Who is this guest you haven't introduced?"
Kusuo started. "Father! This is Shigure—my teammate!"
From the dojo doorway stepped the tall, austere figure of Hatake Sakumo, the White Fang of Konoha. His eyes, sharp as drawn steel, flicked over Shigure with quiet curiosity.
"Then why stand out here? Invite him in."
Before Shigure could bow, Sakumo raised a wooden practice blade and, with startling swiftness, struck. Shigure reacted on instinct, his Dragon Fang flashing from its sheathe. Wood met forged steel—the training sword shattered against the legendary blade.
Sakumo regarded the gleaming edge without surprise, holding only the broken hilt.
"So… this is the short sword you brought, seeking to learn Hatake kenjutsu?"
Shigure straightened, meeting his gaze. "It's no ordinary sword. A relic I came by through fortune. But tools mean nothing without skill."
At that, a faint smile tugged the White Fang's lips. "Well said. This blade is rare indeed, perhaps not of our world at all. But a weapon is only as sharp as its wielder. Remember that, boy."
His sternness softened, just slightly. "You agreed to train under me, yet you kept me waiting. That alone deserves punishment."
Kusuo exhaled in relief, stepping back as his father's mood shifted.
Sakumo thrust a wooden katana into Shigure's hands. "Set aside your divine weapons. For now, you will use this. Swordsmanship begins with the body, not the blade. Kusuo, you as well."
"Yes, Father," Kusuo said firmly.
And so the lesson began.
"This is the horizontal cut. This, the vertical. Again, and again." With unfaltering patience, the White Fang demonstrated each motion. "These cannot be stolen by a Sharingan. They live in the muscle, in repeated strike after strike."
The training stretched into the night. Sweat plastered Shigure's hair to his head, dripped from his jaw. His arms burned, his shoulders screamed—and still, he slashed, again, again.
When Sakumo finally halted, his eyes carried a rare light of approval.
"Good character," he declared quietly. "To cast aside pride, to lose yourself in the fundamentals. This one may indeed be a genius. No wonder even the Hokage values him so."
Shigure bowed, exhausted but elated.
Sakumo's tone hardened once more. "We've touched the basics. Next comes true techniques. First, the death-strokes. Master these, and only then can you claim the path of kenjutsu."
He raised his blade, stance shifting. And then, from father to students, the White Fang began to demonstrate.
Kusuo's eyes gleamed, Shigure's heart raced—and the true lessons were just beginning.
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