Bang.
It was inaudible to the world—no thunderclap, no flash of light, no tremor in the earth. But deep within Ren Yamanaka, something shattered. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say something opened. A door that had been sealed, a wall that had been built, a barrier that had stood between him and his full potential.
It crumbled.
Ren sat in the darkness of the abandoned training cavern, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. The chakra within him—that roaring river of celestial energy—suddenly found new channels. New pathways carved themselves through his network like water finding cracks in stone. The pressure that had been building for weeks released all at once, flooding his system with power that felt both familiar and utterly alien.
Kage level.
The Tactician's voice was reverent. "We've done it. Full integration with the Otsutsuki physiology is complete. Combat capability restored and enhanced."
"Took long enough," Ryuichi muttered, but there was satisfaction in his tone. "One month. Not bad for a complete body transfer."
Ren opened his eyes. The world looked different now. Sharper. More detailed. He could see the individual particles of dust floating in the air, could feel the minute fluctuations in the artificial gravity, could sense the chakra signatures of every living being within a kilometer radius. The Byakugan activated without conscious effort, expanding his awareness in all directions.
He was no longer pretending to be powerful.
He was powerful.
One month, he reflected, allowing himself a rare moment of stillness. One month since I arrived on this sterile paradise. One month of playing the role of an awkward maintenance worker. One month of learning, adapting, growing.
It had been, by any reasonable measure, a good month.
The work was simple—maintaining ventilation systems, calibrating sensor arrays, occasionally assisting with puppet repairs. The Otsutsuki didn't demand much from their lower-ranking citizens, content to let them exist in comfortable mediocrity as long as they didn't cause trouble. Ren had caused no trouble. He had been quiet, diligent, unremarkable.
The perfect cover.
He had used the time well. Every free moment was spent in the Archives, downloading centuries of accumulated knowledge into his Memory Palace. Every night was spent in this cavern, pushing his new body to its limits, rediscovering techniques he had mastered in his previous life and adapting them to Otsutsuki physiology.
The Wood Release had stabilized into something he was tentatively calling "Lunar Wood Style"—pale white constructs of crystallized chakra that were harder than steel and conducted energy like superconductors. His Flying Thunder God had become nearly instantaneous. His sensory abilities had expanded to the point where he could track individual heartbeats across the entire lunar settlement.
And the Council… the Council was thriving.
"The children have adapted well," Goro reported, his simple voice carrying warmth. "They like the low gravity. Makes play easier. They've been exploring the new wings of the Memory Palace."
"The elders have completed their catalog of Otsutsuki medical techniques," the Medic added. "Fascinating material. Their understanding of cellular regeneration is centuries ahead of Earth's. I've already begun integrating it into our healing protocols."
"And I've finished the preliminary strategic analysis," Isamu said. "The Tenseigen is vulnerable. Commander Zishou's faction is growing, but they're overconfident. When we move—and we will move—they won't see it coming."
Ren smiled in the darkness.
A good month.
But there had been one small problem.
One persistent, irritating, increasingly dangerous problem.
Kira.
—————
The name surfaced in his mind like a splinter working its way out of flesh. Ren's smile faded.
Kira was—had been—Toneri's bully. A childhood tormentor who had never outgrown his cruelty. In the original boy's memories, Kira appeared again and again like a recurring nightmare: shoving him in corridors, mocking him in front of others, destroying his belongings, spreading rumors about his incompetence.
The Otsutsuki, for all their supposed enlightenment, did nothing. Bullying was seen as a natural sorting mechanism, a way for the strong to establish dominance over the weak. As long as no permanent damage was inflicted, the elders looked the other way.
Toneri had endured it. Had internalized it. Had allowed Kira's voice to become the voice of his own self-doubt.
But Toneri is gone now, Ren thought coldly. And I do not endure. I do not internalize. I act.
The problem was timing. In those first weeks, when Ren was still adapting to his new body, still rebuilding his chakra network, still vulnerable—engaging Kira directly would have been risky. The Otsutsuki might not punish bullying, but they certainly punished violence between citizens. If Ren had struck back too obviously, too brutally, it would have drawn attention. Questions. Investigation.
So he had waited.
He had endured Kira's taunts with Toneri's practiced submission, keeping his eyes down, his voice small, his posture defensive. It was acting—nothing more. A role he played while the real Ren worked in silence, growing stronger with each passing day.
"Patience," the Tactician had counseled. "Let him think you're weak. Let him grow complacent. When the time comes, he won't even see the blade."
"But every day he lives is a risk," Ryuichi had argued. "He's unstable. Unpredictable. What if he pushes too hard? What if he forces our hand before we're ready?"
"Then we adapt," Isamu had replied. "We always adapt."
But the debates in the Council had grown more heated as the weeks passed. Kira wasn't just annoying—he was becoming genuinely dangerous. His harassment had escalated from verbal abuse to physical intimidation. Twice he had cornered "Toneri" in isolated corridors. Once he had damaged maintenance equipment and blamed it on the boy, nearly getting him demoted.
Kira was an unstable factor. A variable that could not be controlled through normal means.
And the Council, after lengthy deliberation, had reached a consensus.
"Total control," Isamu had announced at yesterday's meeting. "Not elimination—that would create too many questions. But we cannot allow this threat to persist. He must become an asset."
"You mean…" Goro had started, his voice uncertain.
"A puppet," Ryuichi had finished, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "We break his mind. Crush his will. Make him ours. He'll still walk and talk and go about his duties, but behind his eyes… he'll belong to us."
"Is that… necessary?" Goro had asked.
"The vote has been called," the Tactician had said. "All in favor of total control?"
The ayes had been overwhelming.
And so tonight, on the one-month anniversary of Ren's arrival—on the night he broke through to Kage level—he would act.
Kira was scheduled for patrol duty in Sector 7. A remote section of the settlement, far from the main population centers. Far from witnesses.
Perfect.
—————
Ren rose from his meditation, floating effortlessly in the low gravity. He stretched his new body, feeling the power coursing through every fiber. His chakra reserves were full. His techniques were ready. His will was iron.
"It's time," Isamu said quietly.
"Finally," Ryuichi growled.
"Remember the plan," the Tactician added. "We don't want to kill him—not unless absolutely necessary. Total domination of the psyche. Complete erasure of independent will. He must continue to function normally in public while serving us in private."
"Like one of those puppets Shane works on," Goro observed. "But made of flesh instead of metal."
"Exactly."
Ren moved through the corridors of the settlement like a ghost. His gravity manipulation kept his footsteps silent; his chakra suppression rendered him invisible to casual sensors. He knew Kira's patrol route by heart—the boy was nothing if not predictable—and positioned himself in an alcove near the Sector 7 junction.
And then he waited.
—————
The minutes stretched into an hour.
Ren used the time for reflection.
What am I becoming?
The question surfaced unbidden, rising from some deep place in his consciousness. It wasn't doubt—Ren had moved beyond doubt long ago—but it was… consideration. Self-examination.
In his original life, before the first consumption, he had been a Yamanaka. A mind-walker. His clan specialized in entering the thoughts of others, in extracting information, in subtle manipulation. But they had rules. Ethics. Lines they would not cross.
Ren had crossed those lines so long ago that he could barely remember where they had been.
The first time, he thought. When was the first time I truly broke?
He searched his memory—the vast Memory Palace that now contained thousands of souls—and found the moment. A mission gone wrong. A capture. Torture. And in the depths of desperation, he had reached out with his mind and… taken. Not just read. Not just influenced. Consumed. The enemy ninja's consciousness had poured into him like water into a vessel, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.
It had felt like dying. And then it had felt like being reborn.
I told myself it was survival, Ren reflected. I told myself it was necessary. And perhaps it was—that first time. But after that? After I learned what I could do? After I realized that every mind I consumed made me stronger, smarter, more complete?
He had stopped making excuses. He had stopped pretending there was a line he wouldn't cross.
I am what I am, he thought. A predator. A collector. A god-in-training. I do not apologize for my nature. I do not regret my choices. I simply… am.
But there was something else now. Something new.
The family.
Thousands of souls, living in peace within his Memory Palace. The children who played in the gardens he had built for them. The elders who pursued their studies in quiet libraries. The warriors who trained for battles that might never come. The artisans who created beauty for its own sake.
They were his. His responsibility. His… loved ones?
Can a monster love?
The question hung in the darkness of his mind, unanswered.
Perhaps, the Tactician offered quietly. Perhaps love is simply another form of possession. You love them because they are yours. You protect them because their existence enriches you. Is that so different from how humans love?
"Humans are complicated," Goro said. "They love things that hurt them. They protect people who would destroy them. Maybe… maybe we're simpler. Cleaner. We love what makes us stronger. We protect what belongs to us."
"Philosophy later," Ryuichi interrupted. "He's coming."
Ren's thoughts crystallized into focus. He felt the approaching chakra signature—Kira's distinctive energy, tinged with aggression and insecurity—moving through the corridor toward his position.
Time to work.
—————
Kira rounded the corner and stopped.
"Hey, loser."
The words dripped with contempt. Kira was tall for an Otsutsuki—nearly six feet, with broad shoulders and a cruel mouth. His pale eyes gleamed with malice as he spotted the figure standing in the alcove.
"Didn't expect to see you here."
Ren feigned the usual act. He looked at his feet, hunching his shoulders, making himself small. But behind the mask of submission, his Byakugan was active. He observed Kira's position—three meters away, feet planted in an aggressive stance. He noted the bully's alertness level—low, contemptuous, utterly unprepared for genuine threat.
Perfect.
"The… the filters needed checking," Ren mumbled, not looking up. "Sector 7 has been having problems."
"Sector 7 has been having problems," Kira mocked, pitching his voice high and whiny. "Gods, you're pathetic. I don't know why they even bother keeping you around. You're useless, Toneri. Completely useless."
He stepped closer, and Ren could smell him now—the faint chemical scent of nutrient paste, the sharper tang of sweat, the underlying bitterness of someone who had never known genuine affection.
He's projecting, Isamu observed clinically. Classic displacement behavior. He hates himself, so he attacks others. He feels worthless, so he degrades those he perceives as weaker. It's textbook.
"The psychology of bullies is remarkably consistent across cultures," the Tactician agreed. "They lack internal validation, so they seek external dominance. They cannot love themselves, so they cannot love others. They do not respect themselves, so they cannot comprehend respect for others."
"Such people are actually projecting their disgust toward themselves onto their victims," Isamu continued. "If a man cannot love himself, he cannot love others. If you don't respect yourself, you cannot respect others—because you have no understanding of what those concepts truly mean."
"Kira was almost certainly abused," the Medic added quietly. "The signs are all there. The aggression. The need for control. The inability to form genuine connections. He internalized his parents' attitude toward him—their criticism, their disappointment, their cruelty—and made it his own. He became what was done to him."
"Sad," Goro said.
"Irrelevant," Ryuichi countered. "Understanding why a rabid dog bites doesn't make it any less dangerous. Put it down."
Kira was still talking, his voice rising with the pleasure of unchallenged cruelty.
"You know what I heard? I heard Shane laughing about you the other day. She said you followed her around like a lost puppy. Said it was disgusting. Said she'd rather kiss a maintenance drone than let you touch her."
A lie, Ren noted. Shane has never spoken ill of Toneri. Kira is fabricating, trying to hurt.
"And Commander Zishou? He's been asking questions about your work performance. Someone told him you've been sneaking into the Archives after hours. Reading above your station." Kira's grin widened. "Maybe someone will tell him you've been trying to access restricted files. Wouldn't that be interesting?"
Threat, the Tactician flagged. He's fishing. He doesn't know anything specific, but he suspects. This confirms our assessment—he's too dangerous to leave unchecked.
Kira stepped even closer, close enough to touch. His hand shot out and grabbed the front of Ren's robe, bunching the fabric in his fist.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, worm."
Ren kept his eyes down. His heart rate remained steady. His breathing stayed calm. But inside his mind, the Council was taking positions.
"On your mark," Isamu said.
"Waiting for optimal moment," the Tactician replied. "He needs to let his guard down completely. Right now he's still partially alert—the aggression is keeping him focused."
"I said LOOK AT ME!"
Kira shoved him against the wall. The impact was nothing—this body could withstand forces that would shatter human bone—but Ren let himself stumble, let himself gasp, let himself show fear.
It was what Kira wanted. What he needed.
"There," Isamu whispered. "See how his shoulders relax? He's satisfied now. He's proven his dominance. He's… safe."
"His guard is down," the Tactician confirmed.
"Then strike," Ryuichi demanded.
Ren looked up.
For the first time since his arrival on the moon, he let Kira see his true eyes. Not the soft, submissive gaze of a victim. Not the confused uncertainty of a boy who didn't understand why he was hated.
The eyes of a predator.
Cold. Ancient. Hungry.
Kira's expression flickered—confusion, the first stirrings of fear—but it was already too late.
Ren's hand came up, faster than Kira could track, and pressed against the bully's forehead. Chakra poured through the contact point, not the gentle probe of a Yamanaka interrogation but a tidal wave of psychic force that crashed through Kira's mental defenses like a battering ram through paper.
"INTRUSION DETECTED," the Tactician announced, his voice taking on the cold efficiency of a battle command. "Kira's mental architecture is… fragmented. Poorly integrated. Multiple trauma responses competing for dominance. This will be easy."
Ren's consciousness flooded into Kira's mind.
—————
The bully's inner world was a wasteland.
Ren had expected something—everyone had a mental landscape, a psychic representation of their self-concept—but Kira's was particularly bleak. A gray plain stretched in all directions, dotted with the burnt-out husks of what might once have been buildings. The sky was the color of bruises, and somewhere in the distance, a child was crying.
"His core self," Isamu noted. "That crying child is who he really is beneath all the armor. A broken little boy, still waiting for someone to love him."
"Should we… comfort him?" Goro asked hesitantly.
"No," Ryuichi said flatly. "We don't have time for therapy. This is war. Break him and be done with it."
Ren moved through the wasteland, his presence like a storm front rolling across the plain. Kira's defenses—such as they were—rose to meet him. Walls of anger. Spikes of resentment. A pathetic moat of self-justification.
He swept them aside without slowing.
"Please…"
The voice was small. Frightened. The crying had stopped, and now a boy stood before him—a child version of Kira, no more than five or six, with tears on his cheeks and terror in his eyes.
"Please don't hurt me. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."
For a moment—just a moment—Ren hesitated.
This is what made him, he thought. This is the wound that never healed. Some parent, some caretaker, someone who should have protected him… they did this instead. They broke him before he had a chance to become whole.
"Does that excuse what he became?" Isamu asked quietly.
"No," Ren admitted. "Explanation is not justification. Understanding is not forgiveness."
"Then finish it."
Ren reached down and placed his hand on the child's head. The boy looked up at him with desperate hope, as if maybe, finally, someone would show him kindness.
"I am not here to save you," Ren said gently. "I am here to use you. But I promise you this—in my domain, you will not suffer. You will simply… sleep."
And then he crushed.
—————
Kira's will shattered like glass.
There was no resistance—how could there be? His psyche had been fractured since childhood, held together by nothing but spite and fear. Ren's power flowed through the cracks, filling every space, claiming every corner.
The crying child went silent.
The wasteland began to change, transforming into something new. Not a part of Ren's Memory Palace—Kira wasn't worthy of that honor—but a subsidiary structure. A puppet theater. A stage where Kira's body would continue to play its role while his mind served its new master.
"Integration complete," the Tactician reported. "Full motor control established. Access to memories: confirmed. Personality overlay: stable. He will continue to function normally in all observable ways. But his will… his will belongs to us now."
"And if anyone tries to read his mind?" Ren asked.
"They'll find exactly what they expect to find. A bully. A malcontent. A man of limited vision and excessive cruelty. The puppet strings are invisible."
—————
Ren withdrew from Kira's mind.
In the physical world, only seconds had passed. Kira still stood there, his hand gripping Ren's robe, his expression frozen in mid-snarl. Then something shifted behind his eyes—a light going out, a new light turning on—and his grip relaxed.
"Toneri," he said. His voice was the same, his tone was the same, but there was an emptiness beneath it now. A hollow space where a person used to live. "I… apologize for disturbing you. I should continue my patrol."
"Yes," Ren said softly. "You should."
Kira turned and walked away, his movements smooth and natural. To any observer, he would seem perfectly normal. Perhaps a bit subdued. Perhaps having a quiet night. Nothing to warrant concern.
Ren watched him go.
"The Council rejoices," Isamu announced formally. "A threat has been converted to an asset. Our security is enhanced. Our position is strengthened."
"One puppet," Ryuichi mused. "But why stop there? This settlement is full of useful people. Useful tools. Why not collect them all?"
"Patience," the Tactician counseled. "One step at a time. Tonight was necessary—Kira was an immediate danger. But we cannot move too quickly. Too many puppets will draw attention."
"The Tactician is right," Isamu agreed. "We have time. We have power. We will build our network slowly, carefully, until the entire moon dances on our strings."
Ren turned and walked back toward his quarters. The corridors were empty, the settlement sleeping around him. Above, through the crystal ceiling, the Earth hung in the void—a blue marble, a distant memory, a future conquest.
Tonight I broke through to Kage level, he thought. Tonight I claimed my first puppet on this world. Tonight… tonight I took another step toward godhood.
He paused at a window, looking out at the stars.
And somewhere in the ruins of Kira's mind, a child sleeps forever. Dreaming of the love he never received. The kindness he never knew.
Ren felt nothing.
That, he reflected, is what I have become.
He went to his quarters and slept without dreams.
End of Chapter 31.