The storage structure near the abandoned Uchiha district had not been used in years, at least not officially.
The doors were reinforced but unmarked. No lanterns hung outside. No paperwork accompanied the transport. Only masked Root operatives and silence.
He waited until the last of the patrol shifted beyond sight before moving.
There was no rush in his steps, no reckless impulse. Every movement was measured. If this was a trap, it would reveal itself soon enough.
The outer guard fell quietly.
Not dead.
Unconscious.
The second followed just as cleanly.
Inside, the air felt different.
Not stale. Not dusty.
Heavy.
As though the room itself resisted intrusion.
The crate rested at the center, bound in dark sealing marks he did not recognize. They were not standard chakra formulas used by Konoha's storage division. These were foreign—curved, spiraled, almost ornamental.
Almost.
He crouched beside it, fingers brushing lightly against the wood.
The pressure inside his chest responded instantly.
Stronger.
Pulling.
Not outward.
Inward.
His breath slowed.
This was the source.
He broke the first seal carefully, studying how the energy dispersed. It did not unravel like chakra.
It collapsed.
As though gravity swallowed it.
His expression remained calm, but his mind sharpened.
Whatever lay inside did not belong to the shinobi system.
The lid shifted open with controlled force.
Inside—
A single fruit.
Dark. Twisted. Spiral-patterned.
It looked unnatural in a way he could not articulate. Its surface absorbed light rather than reflected it, and the air around it seemed slightly distorted, as though something subtle bent inward toward its center.
He did not touch it immediately.
He studied it.
Root had transported this secretly.
Root had increased surveillance.
His mission had been engineered.
And his body had begun reacting before he ever opened this crate.
This was not coincidence.
The pressure inside him deepened, syncing faintly with the object before him.
For the first time since this began, uncertainty gave way to clarity.
This fruit was not here by accident.
It had been brought into the village.
And somehow—
It was responding to him.
Outside, faint footsteps echoed in the distance.
Patrol returning.
He closed the lid slowly, but not fully.
His gaze lingered on the spiraled surface one final second.
If this was a weapon—
Then someone intended to use it.
The question was simple.
Would it be them—
Or him?