Clearly, everyone present was "one of their own."
All Zetsu—no reason for suspicion among themselves.
Across the long sweep of history, if one were to regard the White Zetsu as a species incapable of reproduction, then by this point in time that species had already lost the vast majority of its population.
And if one were to ask how those individuals died, the only honest answer would be: most of them perished to random, unidentified AOE attacks.
White Zetsu died inexplicably, while the jutsu caster never even realized they'd scored an extra kill.
So Hajime's excuse was perfectly reasonable—almost relatable.
A few Zetsu even felt a faint sympathy toward his "misfortune."
A Zetsu could always discern another's essence, and by all accounts Hajime was exactly like them.
They were all White Zetsu—why would one doubt another?
For thousands of years, it had only ever been the White Zetsu disguising themselves as others, stirring up chaos.
Never once had there been a ninja who successfully disguised himself as a White Zetsu without being noticed.
That idea simply didn't exist in their collective minds.
Their thoughts had long ossified—they could be the deceivers, never the deceived.
Thus, Hajime slipped effortlessly into the ranks of his "experience packs."
The cave was dry and spacious.
After Hajime arrived, the Zetsu quieted down again.
Roughly a day later, all nearby Zetsu had gathered.
"Twenty-two… twenty-three…"
Hajime counted silently.
Twenty-three White Zetsu in total—packed into this little cavern.
One of them stepped forward to face the others.
"Everyone's here," it said.
"Same reason for the meeting as always?" another asked.
"As usual. You report any useful intel to me, and I'll report it to the Main Body."
"There's not much to say. A few small ninja clans got wiped out—is that supposed to count as a major event?"
"I've got nothing valuable either."
"Our assigned sectors are barren of importance anyway. Just small fry fighting and dying—none of it worth reporting."
"…"
The White Zetsu continued their emotionless reporting, peppered with faint complaints.
When it came to Hajime's turn, he merely replied, "None," and stepped back.
When all were finished, the leading Zetsu spoke again:
"The shinobi world seems unusually calm lately. It appears we'll need to intensify our provocations among the great clans—stir up more conflict between them…"
So this counts as 'calm,' huh… Hajime thought silently.
Apparently, in their eyes, small-fry ninja like him didn't even qualify as people.
If they couldn't see you, you didn't exist.
If you didn't exist, you caused no ripples.
And if you caused no ripples, you had no meaning.
What effect could endless slaughter among minor clans possibly have on the grand course of history?
"Send two to Sector 037. We need tighter surveillance there. More importantly, we'll have upcoming operations where they'll be useful."
"Sector 037 is?"
"The Uchiha clan's territory."
At that, one Zetsu immediately volunteered.
"I'll go. It's boring here anyway."
Hajime's mind flickered.
"Count me in," he said.
He couldn't strike here—not among so many.
If word got out that "a ninja disguised as a White Zetsu is hunting White Zetsu," he'd be doomed.
There was no way he could kill twenty-three Zetsu—each capable of the Ephemeral Technique—in a single instant.
No, he needed one alone—separated from the others.
And what better way to make that happen than to go on a joint mission?
"Fine," the leader agreed easily.
"You two—transfer to Sector 037."
Among Zetsu, there was no distinction, no preference.
Anyone could be sent; all were the same.
After a pause, the leader added:
"Comrades, for the sake of our great mission, we must remain cautious.
Over the millennia, we've already lost too many.
We cannot afford more losses.
Our current number—1,157.
If we fall further, we won't have enough to maintain surveillance over the entire ninja world."
One thousand, one hundred fifty-seven… Hajime mused.
That was a lot of experience packs.
If his theory proved true—
just how many levels could he gain from all that?
Of course, that was wishful thinking.
He'd never be able to take them all down.
The White Zetsu collective was a golden mountain;
he could only pocket a few nuggets at the base.
After a few final exchanges, the meeting ended.
The White Zetsu scattered in all directions.
Hajime followed behind his new "partner,"
heading toward the so-called Sector 037.
He had to stay close—he didn't even know where the Uchiha village was.
A day later.
Both were traveling in Mayfly Form, moving quickly through rock and soil.
By now, they were completely isolated—no other Zetsu signatures nearby.
That was when Hajime, who had been silently tailing his companion,
finally spoke—testing the boundaries of a thousand-year-old mind.
"Tell me," he said casually, "do you really think we can complete that plan?"
"What do you mean?" the Zetsu asked, confused.
It wasn't a question they were capable of processing.
Their minds were biologically incapable of doubt—
hardwired to one thought, one instinct: Save Mother.
A Zetsu who didn't want to "save Mother" simply couldn't exist.
"We've been working on that plan for over a thousand years," Hajime continued.
"And what progress have we made? Almost none.
Isn't it a waste to spend our long lives chasing such a nebulous dream?
There are so many more meaningful things we could do with our time.
By the way—are you male or female? Ever thought about cultivating some female Zetsu?"
"What… what are you talking about?"
The Zetsu's brain was nearly short-circuiting.
"Me?" Hajime smiled faintly.
"I'm just trying to help."
Before the Zetsu could respond,
Hajime's arms shot forward.
His palms slid out from behind,
each pressing against one of the creature's temples.
Then—
a twist.
Crack.
The Zetsu's head spun one and a half times around before going limp.
"You're tired," Hajime murmured.
"You just needed some rest."
"Abandon the hive mind. Embrace individuality.
You may have lost your life,
but you've gained eternal liberation.
Tell me—doesn't the world feel broader once you let go of 'Mother'?"
What could anyone say?
Hajime had always been so considerate.
He always thought of others first,
felt their pain,
and helped them see the bright side—
so much so that anyone who met him
couldn't help but think:
"What a genuinely nice guy."