The Birth of the White Zetsu
Deep within the heart of the Ninja World, in a forest so dense that sunlight barely touched the ground, a young shinobi staggered forward. Fourteen or fifteen at most, his clothes were torn and soaked in bright red blood. Every step he took was slow, shaky—he looked like he could collapse at any moment.
But for now, he had escaped.
His name was Yugong Genma, heir to a small and obscure ninja clan known as the Yugong Gen Clan. A month earlier, the former clan head—his uncle—perished in battle. A week ago, the new clan head, his older cousin, was killed as well. That made Genma the current clan leader.
Three days earlier, during a chaotic skirmish, Genma had volunteered to act as bait so that the younger clan members could escape. He had succeeded—barely—and was now dragging himself toward their agreed rendezvous point.
That was the official version of his life.
There was one more important detail:
Genma was a transmigrator.
A year ago, without warning, he had awoken in this body. At first, he had hoped for a "system," but no cheat ever appeared. Next, he tried relying on his meta-knowledge of Naruto's history, hoping to become a prodigy. But even after a year of training, he was stuck at mid-Chunin level—nothing special.
Genius path? Failed.
System path? Never existed.
Underdog path? Also a lie.
In truth, he was beginning to suspect he had taken the "cannon fodder route."
Based on the information he had gathered, Genma was certain he had arrived during the Warring States period, long before Hashirama founded the Hidden Villages. It was a brutal era when small, unallied clans were crushed by the major ones. His clan, like dozens of others, was simply prey.
As he walked, his vision blurred. Before he understood what had happened, his knees buckled and he hit the ground.
He hadn't slept in three days. Hunger gnawed at him, and his chakra was nearly empty.
He needed food—anything.
Then, by some miracle, he saw something growing from the ground ahead.
"…A mushroom?"
At this point, even eating tree bark would've been better than starving. He crawled forward, grabbed the mushroom, and swallowed it without hesitation.
Only after eating it did he realize something was wrong.
The "mushrooms" were growing from a half-buried tree-like stump, surrounded by pale pitcher-plant shapes and oddly vibrant plant matter—structures far too unnatural to be ordinary flora.
Slowly, dread crept over him.
He forced himself closer and saw the twisted remains of a human face embedded in the stump.
A face he recognized.
"…A White Zetsu."
Not just any corpse—a White Zetsu clone, the plant-like soldiers created from Hashirama Senju's cells. They were parasitic, toxic, and absolutely not edible.
And the "mushroom" he had eaten had grown straight from its eye socket.
Genma froze. Anyone familiar with Zetsu biology knew their bodies were infused with unstable Hashirama cell mutations—touching them was dangerous; ingesting them was madness.
A moment later, agony tore through his entire body.
His limbs convulsed, and he felt as though someone was wringing out his bones like wet cloth. A strangled groan escaped him despite how hard he clenched his teeth.
So this is how it ends…
I should've at least boiled it first…
That was his last coherent thought before his consciousness completely faded.
The forest returned to silence.
Genma lay curled on the ground, and at some unknown point, his skin had turned a deathly pale color.
He was changing.
Three hours later, the whiteness faded, revealing his original complexion below it—though his body felt nothing like before.
A suffocating pressure jolted him awake. He sat up violently and dropped to his knees, coughing hard.
Thick, milky-white fluid—Zetsu sap—poured from his mouth.
When he finally stopped coughing, the sticky substance covered the ground before him.
But his body…
His body felt incredible.
His wounds had healed. His stamina felt restored. His chakra reserves had grown—not dramatically, but enough that he could feel the difference.
It was the sensation of his stats increasing—
like "Constitution +10" and "Chakra +10."
He lifted his left arm, and with a mere thought, his skin turned paper-white—smooth, bark-like, and unnaturally flexible. The discoloration spread across his entire body.
He had partially assimilated with White Zetsu biology.
"…White Zetsu form?"
The idea felt absurd, yet true.
People got bitten by radioactive spiders and turned into heroes in other universes. He ate a mutated Hashirama-cell mushroom and gained White Zetsu traits.
It was ridiculous.
And it was real.
His new instincts told him he could:
• Alter his body's texture
• Mask his chakra signature
• Move silently through terrain
• Harden his limbs like plant fibers
Abilities very similar to the real White Zetsu clones.
But this was not the time to experiment.
He heard movement—several people approaching. At least a dozen, judging by the rustling.
He hid immediately.
Fifteen minutes later, a group of sixteen ninjas arrived at the clearing.
Not enemies.
His clan.
Genma stepped out of hiding.
"Clan leader!"
Their expressions shifted from alertness to relief.
"Are you the only ones left?" he asked quietly.
Sixteen young shinobi stood before him—the only survivors who made it to the rendezvous point.
One of them opened his mouth, guilt covering his face. "Clan leader, we—"
Genma raised a hand, calm and steady.
"It's not your fault. I failed to draw all the enemy units away."
"Clan leader…their forces are too many. We were outmatched from the start," another said, unable to lift his gaze.
"What about our pursuers?" Genma asked.
"They'll reach us in four or five hours at most. They have skilled trackers…there's nowhere to run."
Silence fell.
A clan on the brink of extinction.
A leader who had just inherited strange, dangerous power.
And enemies who would not stop until the Yugong Clan was erased.
After everything he had experienced…
he had somehow returned to the beginning.
But for the first time, he had gained strength that might allow him to change fate.
They had gathered again.
Now they had to decide whether to flee, fight—or evolve.
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