Mei still ended up sitting beside Fugaku.
The wooden floor beneath the eaves let out a faint creak, unusually clear in the quiet after the rain.
She placed her hands neatly on her knees, back straight, eyes fixed on the rain-soaked moss in the courtyard—deliberately avoiding looking at the man beside her.
“…Sorry.”
She suddenly spoke, her voice low, tinged with embarrassment.
“Just now… I should’ve knocked first.
I came at the wrong time.”
She knew very well—before a Mangekyō Sharingan user, her little movements were impossible to hide.
And the moment she recalled what she had seen through that narrow crack in the door, the tips of her ears began to burn again.
Fugaku turned his head to look at her.
The warm glow from the hearth filtered through the paper door, casting a soft light across her profile.
Then—
He reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“No.”
His voice sounded above her head.
“You came at just the right time.”
The moment she felt his embrace—broad, warm, inescapable—Mei’s heart began to pound wildly, so loud she was certain he could hear it.
Almost instinctively, she turned her head.
Through the thin gap in the paper door, she could see inside the room—Mikoto was still asleep on the tatami, wrapped in blankets, breathing slow and steady, completely unaware of what was happening outside.
For some reason, a strange feeling welled up inside Mei.
Exciting.
Thrilling.
Dangerous.
“…What did you come to see me for?”
Fugaku’s voice pulled her back to reality.
Mei flushed slightly, then instinctively glanced again at Mikoto inside before answering:
“I just… came to check on you.”
“And… Hōzuki Mangetsu said that if you’ve woken up, he’d like to meet you.”
Hōzuki Mangetsu…
Fugaku searched through his memories—both from his predecessor and his past life.
A prodigy of the Hidden Mist.
The current head of the Hōzuki clan.
A genius who became clan leader at just seventeen.
In the original story, there wasn’t much about him—only that he mastered all the Hōzuki clan’s secret techniques at a young age and could wield all seven ninja swords.
More importantly—
He died young… from illness.
For a powerful shinobi, falling ill was almost unheard of.
If it did happen, there was only one explanation—
A bloodline disease.
Something like Kimimaro’s condition.
But so-called “bloodline disease” wasn’t really a disease.
It was simply that the bloodline limit was too powerful—so powerful that the body couldn’t keep up.
Such abilities required immense amounts of nutrients and vitality to sustain their development.
Nutrients were easy—money could solve that.
But vitality?
That was another matter entirely.
Just as Fugaku had already realized—
The ninja world lacked any reliable way to replenish life force.
Even when such materials existed, they couldn’t be directly absorbed.
As for his Blade of the Underworld Mire, it could only absorb external energy and convert it into chakra—it couldn’t reverse the process.
Like a mythical beast that only devours and never gives back.
His right eye—Takamimusubi—could indeed generate near-limitless vitality.
But—
The method of transferring that vitality required… very specific conditions.
And he wasn’t exactly “that kind of person.”
So, for Mangetsu’s condition—
He was helpless.
Or more accurately—
Until he could summon the exclusive Mangekyō weapon of his right eye, it was impossible.
And according to the instinctive knowledge etched into his eyes—
That would require reaching the fourth stage of Susanoo.
The ultimate form of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
It was only one stage higher—
But sometimes, the gap between two stages… was greater that what he could imagine.
This fourth form of Susanoo—within the original story—had only ever been achieved by Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Sasuke.
Even Uchiha Itachi… only reached the third stage.
In other words, Fugaku had every reason to believe that simply piling up chakra wouldn’t be enough to reach the fourth stage.
It likely required something more—perhaps Indra’s chakra as a kind of “catalyst.”
It sounded like a ridiculous bloodline myth at first glance.
But thinking about it from another angle…
Chakra, the God Tree—these weren’t ordinary things.
They were weapons of war belonging to the Ōtsutsuki clan, a civilization capable of traversing the void of space.
Like a spacecraft.
If you wanted to activate its ultimate weapon, needing the highest level of authorization… wasn’t that only natural?
So—
Fugaku concluded that if he wanted to reach that level, the key would likely lie with Sasuke.
“Why does he want to see me?”
Returning to the present, Fugaku casually stroked Mei’s soft, fragrant hair.
She had clearly just bathed as well.
“He and I are both core figures in the ninja clan alliance,” Mei said, leaning lightly against him.
“Once you join us, that makes three pillars.
If we’re going to confront the faction led by the Fourth Mizukage—or rather, the one controlling him—we need a formal discussion.
Some things, some positions… have to be made clear face-to-face.”
Fugaku nodded.
“Alright.”
Then he paused, as if recalling something.
“Oh, right.
About the eye I gave you—there are two things you need to know.”
“First, for outsiders, transplanting a Sharingan comes with a heavy chakra burden.
That white-haired ninja from Konoha who escaped—Hatake Kakashi, the son of the White Fang—he had immense potential, but ever since he received a Sharingan, his chakra has been constantly drained.”
“Why?”
“Because outsiders can’t deactivate the Sharingan.
It stays active at all times, continuously consuming chakra.”
“That’s why Kakashi is called the ‘Copy Ninja.’ Not because he wants to use the Sharingan—but because he has to.
Since he can’t turn it off, he might as well make full use of it.
But that also means his total chakra reserves never grow much.
In prolonged battles, it puts him at a serious disadvantage.”
Mei blinked.
Then, a faintly proud expression appeared on her face.
“That won’t be a problem.”
She lifted her chin slightly.
“I’ve never had issues with chakra.
If anything, the more I use it, the more it grows.
I’ve never run out.”
Fugaku paused.
Looking at her—this woman practically radiating “I have too much chakra” energy—he suddenly recalled the original story.
…And realized she wasn’t exaggerating.
Back then, during the Five Kage battle against Madara, Mei didn’t stand out much—so it was easy to underestimate her.
But thinking carefully—
Her Lava Release techniques flowed endlessly.
Her Boil Release covered absurdly wide areas.
Her Water Release techniques came out in volleys.
Combined with the memories he had inherited after arriving in this world…
Fugaku finally understood—
Mei’s chakra reserves were likely monstrous.
Possibly even surpassing those of the Uzumaki clan.
She was only in her early twenties now—still about a decade away from her peak.
Yet even so—
Her chakra was already anything but ordinary.
“…Alright then.”
Fugaku continued.
“The second thing—there’s no proper preservation setup here.
You should perform the transplant as soon as possible.
If the Sharingan stays outside the body too long, it may degrade.”
“But… after surgery, there’s a recovery period.
My combat ability might be affected.
The situation isn’t stable right now—what if—”
“It’s fine.”
Fugaku smiled.
“I have a special medicine.
It restores you immediately after use.
The taste is a bit… intense, but the effect is excellent.”
“Really?”
“Of course.
I’ll go meet Hōzuki Mangetsu first.
After that, stay here—I’ll perform the surgery for you.
Tonight… you can stay here as well.”
“…Huh?”
Mei’s face, which had just calmed down, flushed bright red again.
“Why?”
“No choice.”
Fugaku spread his hands, looking utterly innocent.
“That special medicine I mentioned can only be taken here.
After surgery, you need to take it immediately—otherwise the recovery won’t be as effective.”
Mei stared at him for several seconds.
Her Kage-level instincts were screaming warnings.
Something about this felt… suspicious.
And yet—
His expression was so sincere.
So convincing.
And when she thought about it, it did make sense.
Special medicine often came with strange restrictions.
“…Fine.”
She muttered under her breath, but still nodded.
Somewhere in the Land of Whirlpools.
A damp, cold underground cave.
Water droplets clung to the rock walls, falling steadily into puddles below with a monotonous drip… drip…
A White Zetsu emerged from the wall, its body melting and reforming into a pale humanoid shape.
It grinned exaggeratedly.
“Madara-sama~ that’s everything I overheard!”
Its voice echoed through the cave, carrying an unsettling cheerfulness.
At the center, Uchiha Obito sat on a raised stone, still wearing his orange spiral mask.
“…That bastard.”
After a moment of silence, he let out an annoyed sigh.
“The moment he opens his eyes, he’s already doing that kind of thing… I’m starting to think his Mangekyō Sharingan boosts that aspect of his ability.”
“Possible,” Black Zetsu replied calmly.
Obito turned to him like he’d just heard something absurd.
“…You do realize I was joking, right?”
“Who said I was joking?”
Black Zetsu looked back at him.
“…Didn’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“That sound… ah, right.
My mistake.
You’re still inexperienced—you wouldn’t understand.”
“Go to hell!”
Obito snapped, hurling a rock at him.
Black Zetsu easily dodged, the stone shattering against the wall.
“Anyway—”
Black Zetsu’s tone shifted, becoming cold and analytical.
“I’ve more or less figured out his abilities.”
“His left eye—Yomotsu Shokufu.”
“It devours external energy and converts it into his own chakra.
That’s why he could manifest the third stage of Susanoo—the combined technique of a thousand Konoha ninja became nothing more than fuel for him.”
Obito nodded.
He had already suspected that.
“And the right eye?”
“Still no confirmed name,” Black Zetsu said.
“But one thing is certain—it generates an enormous amount of vitality.”
“First, the strain of reverse-summoning hundreds of people.”
“Second, the backlash from hundreds of shadow clones dispersing at once.”
“Third, repeated use of the Mangekyō—yet no signs of vision deterioration, even after activating third-stage Susanoo.”
“Fourth, White Zetsu observed that Mikoto has been growing visibly younger—her skin, her complexion… unnaturally good.”
“So, his right eye—likely Takamimusubi—is tied to life force.
It repairs damage, even the strain on his eyes.”
Obito frowned.
“…So basically an Eternal Mangekyō?”
“Not quite.”
Black Zetsu shook his head.
“It’s similar—but not the same.
Still, in certain situations—like war—it’s extremely powerful.”
“And that vitality… can likely be transferred to others.”
“…How?”
Black Zetsu’s tone turned faintly amused.
“Based on White Zetsu’s observations… Mikoto’s changes happened after frequent… marital interactions.”
“So it’s probably transferred through bodily fluids.”
“…Bodily… fluids?”
Obito froze.
Then his eyes widened in realization.
“…You mean saliva?!”
His face twisted in disgust.
“That’s gross…”
Black Zetsu simply chuckled, offering no clarification.
“Leave that aside,” Black Zetsu continued.
“That Sharingan isn’t the real issue.
The real problem is Fugaku’s arrival—it disrupts the balance within Kirigakure.”
“…Factions…”
Obito exhaled slowly, his expression growing colder.
Under his control, Kirigakure had split into two sides:
One faction—led by the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura—suppressed bloodline clans, enforcing the Bloody Mist policy.
The other—represented by Mei and Mangetsu—was the bloodline faction, resisting that rule.
Originally, the anti-bloodline faction held the advantage.
But as Mei and Mangetsu rose, the balance began to shift.
Now—
With Fugaku and the Uchiha joining—
That balance would collapse entirely.
“…Doesn’t matter.”
Obito said flatly.
“I’m already bored of this game.”
The Bloody Mist had always been nothing more than a tool—something he used for revenge and chaos.
If it broke, it broke.
No one knew better than him how many talents he had already destroyed.
“But a stronger Uchiha faction will affect you,” Black Zetsu said coldly.
“Especially Fugaku.
His eyes are unique—almost like an Eternal Mangekyō from the start.
Until the Ten-Tails is revived, he’ll be one of your most troublesome opponents.”
“And don’t forget—Kirigakure still has the Three-Tails and Six-Tails.”
Obito fell silent.
His Kamui made him nearly untouchable defensively.
But offensively?
Limited.
If Fugaku’s right eye truly granted near-infinite vitality…
Their battle could easily turn into a stalemate—
You can’t hit me.
I can’t exhaust you.
“…If you’ve got no solution,” Black Zetsu said calmly, “then follow my plan.”
“To us, the ninja world can remain unstable—but not descend into full-scale chaos.
If it does, the major nations will tighten control over the tailed beasts, making our task harder.”
“Kirigakure included.”
“So—if the problem is the rise of the clan alliance…”
A faint smile crept into his voice.
“Then we simply… make the alliance collapse from within.”
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