The Dragon Vein was said to possess limitless energy.
Tōma quickly discovered that this was, at best, poetic exaggeration.
Energy, no matter how vast, could still be exhausted. The Dragon Vein regenerated on its own, yes—but once the rate of absorption exceeded its recovery, "infinite" became a very finite concept.
More importantly, this Dragon Vein had already been heavily drained.
The culprit was obvious. Reversing time and space carried a terrifying cost.
Even so, what remained was still enormous. After the depletion of the Gelel vein long ago, Tōma finally had access to a new, stable energy source.
He carefully drew the Dragon Vein's power into himself, converting it into natural energy. It flowed through his body, washing over every cell the same way it had during his earlier physical reconstruction.
Slow. Methodical. Controlled.
There was no rush.
His spiritual clone was holding the fort back home, and even by itself, that clone ranked among the strongest shinobi alive. With Naruto and Sasuke active as well, Konoha was absurdly stable.
Back when he absorbed the Gelel vein, his body had been weak. Efficiency had been poor, and the reconstruction painfully slow.
Now, the intake was violent—like a whale swallowing the sea—yet the refinement was glacial.
His body had already reached an extreme level. Pushing beyond it was never going to be easy.
Several days passed.
Tōma opened his eyes, exhaling softly.
He could feel it. Saturation.
Not a breakthrough—but perfection. Every part of his body aligned, refined to its current ceiling. His next step would no longer be incremental.
It would be transformative.
"…Six Paths level," Tōma murmured.
Not yet. But after fully integrating the Three Sage Modes, he was confident he could reach it.
He glanced at the Dragon Vein. Plenty of energy remained—but continuing would damage its ability to recover.
Draining it dry wasn't an option.
Even if this wasn't his world, he had no intention of leaving behind a catastrophe. Besides, he didn't want to saddle Namikaze Menma with the aftermath.
The missing energy could be made up later. His own world still had a surplus Dragon Vein. In fact, Tōma was already considering shifting his long-term training base there.
Unlimited energy meant unlimited Sage Mode training.
Quantity could eventually force a qualitative leap.
He resealed the section he had opened, then sat back down—not to train, but to focus.
To search.
Slowly, methodically, he expanded his perception.
Flying Thunder God marks flooded his senses—most of them clustered around Konoha. Not what he wanted.
He remained patient.
If he had sensed it once before, he could do it again.
Finally, a faint mark emerged.
Then it sharpened.
Then… changed.
Tōma's eyes widened slightly as the sensation resolved into something unmistakably familiar.
"…Moon Sprite?"
So that was it.
He hadn't sensed one of his own Flying Thunder God arrays at all.
He'd sensed Moon Sprite.
That meant only one thing.
Moon Sprite's connection to space-time was even stronger than the Flying Thunder God itself.
Without hesitation, Tōma released his chakra.
In the next instant, he vanished from the Dragon Vein chamber, leaving no trace behind.
Shikkotsu Forest.
Tōma's spiritual clone was mid-training when space rippled—and the original appeared.
For a split second, both froze.
Then the memories collided.
Two perspectives, two streams of experience, merging seamlessly. Everything the clone had learned. Everything the original had witnessed across worlds.
A moment later, both opened their eyes and smiled.
Synchronization complete.
The clone dispersed immediately.
With the original back, there was no need for a substitute. Someone needed to return to Konoha anyway—being Hokage meant disappearing too long invited trouble.
Especially from the advisors.
Tōma absentmindedly teased Moon Sprite as it hopped onto his shoulder.
Now it made sense.
The clone had only been able to vaguely sense him through Moon Sprite. And until he returned to the present, he himself couldn't sense Moon Sprite at all.
Without Moon Sprite, his perception simply wasn't strong enough to cross worlds.
Which raised an uncomfortable question.
He hadn't created Moon Sprite with this in mind.
Yet somehow… it existed.
Tōma cupped the small creature in his hands. Moon Sprite tilted its head, red eyes bright and affectionate.
"What else can you do?" Tōma asked quietly.
Moon Sprite seemed to think.
Then its eyes lit up.
In a blink, the world shifted.
They reappeared beside a Flying Thunder God marker.
Tōma paused.
He hadn't activated the technique.
Moon Sprite had.
It made sense. It had once dragged the Nine-Tails out of a seal. Spatial movement within line of sight—or toward a marked location—was well within its capability.
"Impressive," Tōma said, patting it gently.
Not essential to him—he already mastered Flying Thunder God—but the ability to teleport without pre-placed markers was dangerous in the right circumstances.
No warning. No prediction.
A flaw even the Flying Thunder God couldn't avoid.
Something to explore later.
For now, he needed to consolidate his gains.
The clone had been stuck at a spatial understanding bottleneck. It had studied endlessly, but without firsthand experience, progress was impossible.
Tōma had crossed time and space twice.
That difference mattered.
This insight had to be turned into strength immediately.
As always, his thoughts returned to a path he'd been circling for years.
Wind Release fused with space.
Not Rasenshuriken.
A purer path.
Absolute cutting.
Without hesitation, Tōma began training.
Konoha. Hokage's Office.
Nara Shikaku and Nara Shikamaru were drowning.
Paperwork covered every surface. Their expressions were identical: pain.
"That guy really just dumped all this on us and vanished," Shikamaru groaned, face planted on the desk.
"This workload reflects your current limits," Shikaku replied calmly, rubbing his temples. "Take it as motivation."
Shikamaru couldn't argue. His father had never been this busy when Tōma was around.
Was he… actually lacking?
Shikaku smiled faintly. His son was doing fine. The real problem was authority.
Tōma didn't negotiate. He decided.
Shikaku couldn't.
Meetings slowed everything.
And then—
Space rippled.
Tōma appeared.
Shikamaru's eyes lit up like he'd seen salvation itself. "You're back!"
Shikaku coughed sharply. "Mind your tone."
Tōma blinked, amused. "Did something happen?"
"Nothing," Shikaku said smoothly. "Just… busy."
"Oh? Shikamaru's your assistant now?"
"Yes."
Tōma raised an eyebrow. "Then how about making it official?"
"Please spare me," Shikamaru deadpanned.
Tōma laughed and sat down.
Shikaku handed over a thick stack of documents. "Urgent matters."
Tōma glanced at the pile, sighed, then started working.
Efficiently.
Decisively.
Shikamaru stared.
"…You're not consulting the advisors?"
"Why would I?"
Shikamaru slowly turned to his father.
So that's why.
"Still notify them," Tōma added. "Shikamaru, deliver these."
Shikamaru nodded automatically—then realized he'd agreed again.
Half a day later, the desk was clear.
Shikamaru finally understood how Shikaku used to leave on time.
"Dragon Vein mission report?" Tōma asked.
Shikaku handed it over. "Suna's rogue, Mukade, vanished. Mission marked incomplete."
"He's dead," Tōma said calmly.
Shikaku accepted that without question.
"Send word to Suna. Shikamaru, you're done for today."
Shikamaru vanished like smoke.
Tōma tapped the report. "Naruto's issue is noted."
Shikaku nodded. "It's serious."
"Assign him select B- and A-rank missions. No Nine-Tails power unless his life's at risk. Kakashi supervises."
He paused.
"Add Hyūga Hinata and Shizune."
Shikaku frowned. "Shizune answers to Tsunade—"
"She'll agree."
Shikaku smiled knowingly.
Ah. That kind of arrangement.
As the sun dipped low, Shikaku exhaled.
Everything really was moving in the right direction.
...
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