Wood Release.
It was the signature Ninjutsu of the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama—a memory branded into Kurama's very soul, steeped in humiliation and terror.
Before the Nine-Tails' eyes, that crimson-armored figure surfaced from the depths of history. He remembered being effortlessly crushed by that man's peerless biological constructs—pinned like a common insect by the heaven-reaching Shinsu Senju, the Veritable Thousand-Armed Kan'on. With a single hand, as casually as plucking a flower, Hashirama had suppressed the ultimate disaster.
Even now, the fox could recall the suffocating helplessness of that wooden grip, and Hashirama's parting taunt delivered inches from its snout: "Nine-Tails, your power is simply too great. For the sake of the world, I must seal you."
Across the long centuries, few things inspired genuine dread in the Great Beast, yet the First's Wood Release, the Uzumaki's Sealing Arts, and the Uchiha's Sharingan stood unchallenged at the top of that short list. And now, this brat before him dared to question the very nature of that power?
Seeing Kurama hiss and bristle, Naruto knew he had the ancient being's undivided attention. He stopped playing the provocateur, sat cross-legged in the shallow water, and laid out his theory with clinical precision.
"I suspect the First Hokage's Wood Release isn't a simple Earth-plus-Water Kekkei Genkai," Naruto began, raising three fingers. "It's a Kekkei Tōta—Earth, Water, and the Yang Release of the Sage of Six Paths combined. Think about it, Kurama. Look at the rules of heredity."
He ticked off his points like a grandmaster analyzing a board. "Bloodline Limits—the Sharingan, the Byakugan, Ice or Lava Release—normally breed true. They create clans. But look at Kekkei Tōta: no great clans have ever sprung from them. The most famous case is Iwagakure's Dust Release (Jinton)."
"Created by the Second Tsuchikage, Mū, it fuses Wind, Earth, and Fire. The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki, isn't Mū's blood kin, yet as his disciple, he mastered the art. Conversely, Ōnoki's own son, Kitsuchi, cannot use it. That proves a Kekkei Tōta is a high-level application of chakra theory that can be taught but not necessarily inherited through blood alone."
Naruto leaned in, his blue eyes burning. "After Hashirama, neither his direct descendants nor the entire Senju Clan ever produced another natural Wood Release user. It violates every law of bloodlines. Instead, it fits the profile of a Kekkei Tōta perfectly. Hashirama's boundless vitality and life-giving forests aren't just 'magic trees'—they are the manifestation of Yang Release breathing life into elemental form."
To Naruto, Wood Release was the ultimate "bug" in the shinobi system—a perfect fusion of offense, defense, and lockdown capability. He knew his own lineage; the Senju and Uzumaki were both descended from Ashura, the younger son of the Sage.
"If Hashirama and I are transmigrations of Ashura's chakra, then the soul is the key," Naruto mused. "But it isn't literal reincarnation. If it were, Hashirama's soul couldn't be summoned via Edo Tensei while I'm still breathing. It's about the will—the blueprint of the chakra."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A crisp, measured rap—like a pebble dropped into a still pond—echoed from the physical world into the damp silence of the Sealing Space.
Naruto broke off mid-sentence, a wry smirk playing on his lips. He shrugged toward the restless titan behind the bars. "Company's here. Probably the Sandaime. I'll go handle the old man."
With that, his awareness ebbed like a receding tide, withdrawing from the subterranean chamber. The great cage and Kurama's simmering questions were locked away in the back of his mind.
In the waking world, Naruto's eyelids fluttered. He sat up briskly, feigning the grogginess of a child awakened from a deep slumber.
"Coming, coming!" he called out, padding toward the door.
He tugged it open to find the night air rolling in alongside a familiar silhouette. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, stood there in his ceremonial robes and conical hat. He carried a bulky parcel, his weathered face softened by the glow of the hallway light.
"Grandpa Third? What brings you here so late?" Naruto widened the door, his "Little Sun" persona snapping into place with practiced ease—a mix of surprise and genuine-looking delight.
"Please, come in!"
He ushered the Hokage into the tiny sitting room, whisking a discarded coat off a chair in one fluid motion. Hiruzen's gaze swept the tidy room, settling on Naruto with grandfatherly fondness.
"Nothing special, little Naruto. I found myself nearby and realized I hadn't checked on you today." He set the parcel on the table. "I picked up a new winter coat on the way. It's getting colder; see if the fit is right."
"Really? For me? Thanks!"
Naruto's eyes shone with a boyish light as he tore into the wrapping. Inside lay a thick kraft envelope—likely his monthly stipend—and a neatly folded, high-quality black winter coat.
"Whoa, this is awesome!" Naruto exclaimed, his voice filled with unfeigned wonder.
The Third's wrinkles deepened into a smile as he stroked his goatee. "Try it on. If it doesn't fit, we'll exchange it tomorrow."
"Mm!"
Naruto nodded and quickly peeled off his old coat. It was a pathetic sight—the sleeves were inches too short, exposing his reddened wrists to the draft. But as the old coat came off, it revealed a threadbare autumn shirt beneath, stretched so tight by Naruto's recent growth spurts that the fabric was nearly translucent at the seams.
Naruto donned the new coat, zipping it snug and smoothing the hem. It was perfect—warm, functional, and sturdy.
"It fits great, Grandpa!" Naruto beamed.
But Hiruzen's smile had vanished. His eyes were fixed on that frayed, undersized shirt Naruto had just covered up. It was a silent, stinging indictment of the village's treatment of its hero's son—a reminder that while Naruto projected sunshine, he was living on the razor's edge of neglect.