Kisame Hoshigaki’s roar echoed across the empty camp.
But the clan alliance ninjas stood there, dazed.
They were still immersed in Fugaku’s words—his entirely new way of thinking.
And yet, in the very next moment, the one shouting for unity…
…was their longtime enemy.
The man who represented Kirigakure’s Anbu.
The embodiment of the Blood Mist’s ruthless will.
Kisame Hoshigaki.
The feeling was surreal.
Almost unreal.
And all of it—
was because of one man.
Fugaku.
He had used nothing but words… and made the most entrenched opposing faction lower their guard.
Even Mei couldn’t hide her shock.
Her emerald eyes widened slightly.
She and the clan alliance had struggled together for years…
And yet they had never truly bridged that divide.
But this man—
With just a “film” and a few honest words—
Had done it.
Honestly, that was more shocking than him swallowing a thousand Konoha shinobi with his mud technique.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
“Senior Kisame is right!”
Mei stepped forward, her clear voice ringing across the field.
“Whatever grudges we had before—starting today, in this camp—there is no clan alliance, no bloodline faction, no non-bloodline faction!”
“There is only one enemy!”
Her gaze swept across both sides—the uneasy alliance members and the alert assassination squad.
“The rat hiding in the shadows… trying to destroy Kirigakure!”
“According to Fugaku’s investigation—”
“That person… is among us right now.”
A ripple of tension spread instantly.
“From this moment on—everyone keep your distance!”
“But without permission—no one leaves this camp!”
She turned to Kisame.
Their eyes met.
A silent agreement.
“Anyone who tries to leave—”
“…is the traitor harming Kirigakure.”
“Kill them on sight!”
“Then… what now?”
A young ninja couldn’t hold back anymore.
“We can’t just stand here forever, right?”
“How do we even find him?”
At that—
Fugaku, supported lightly by Mikoto, slowly straightened.
The fatigue on his face seemed to fade slightly.
Then—
He snapped his fingers.
Snap.
The ground trembled.
At the center of the camp—
The black mud began to churn.
Like something alive.
It swelled, twisted, and slowly lifted something up.
A figure.
Barely human-shaped.
Its entire body was an eerie pale white.
Smooth.
Hairless.
Its facial features were blurred—like an unfinished sculpture.
Even more disturbing—
Beneath its “skin,” faint wood-like textures could be seen.
At the joints, fibrous structures resembling plant roots twisted together.
It didn’t breathe.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t have a heartbeat.
Like a corpse.
No—
Like something artificially made.
Something wrong.
“What… is that thing?”
“…A monster?”
Even someone as seasoned and battle-hardened as Kisame Hoshigaki couldn’t help but knit his brows tightly.
That thing… just looking at it sent a chill crawling up one’s spine.
Fugaku stepped up beside the grotesque “corpse,” his gaze sweeping across every uncertain face in the camp.
“Ever since my friend, the Fourth Hokage Minato Namikaze, was assassinated in a conspiracy, I’ve been tracking the mastermind—the one who pushed the Uchiha clan to the margins of Konoha and caused Minato’s death.
And this thing… is one of the pieces of evidence I found.”
He pointed at the White Zetsu body.
“It’s not human.
It’s closer to a sentient plant construct.”
“They possess a peculiar technique—moving underground at incredible speed.
Worse, they can evade most conventional detection methods, including the Byakugan and Sharingan.
I can only barely track them using my Mangekyō Sharingan, combined with my own bloodline ability—this mud.”
“To capture even this single specimen took quite a bit of effort.
And as I said before, that mysterious individual is hiding among us… by relying on another trait of these creatures—spores.”
“These spores can attach to a person silently, siphoning off their chakra.
Once they accumulate enough chakra, they have two options.”
“First, they grow independently, slowly forming a separate individual identical to the host.
It’s slow, but extremely covert—the host may never even realize they were parasitized.”
“Second, if the host is weak, they grow inward—parasitizing from within and replacing the host entirely.
Faster, but riskier.”
“But regardless of the method, the resulting ‘body’… is no longer human.”
“If you cut it… no blood will flow.”
A deathly silence fell over the camp.
Even these veteran shinobi felt a cold shiver down their backs—not fear, but that instinctive disgust humans have toward parasites.
Fugaku paused, giving them time to process, before continuing calmly.
“So, finding the one hiding among you is simple.
One by one—we test you.
Draw blood.
Under my Mangekyō Sharingan, no one can cheat.
Human or not… we’ll know instantly.”
Meanwhile, through the spore-linked mental network, Obito Uchiha’s voice echoed within the consciousness of the “minor clan leader,” currently being remotely controlled by Black Zetsu.
“So, what now?”
Standing in the corner, the man lowered his gaze, stealing a glance at Fugaku.
Black Zetsu replied coldly, “It’s clear now—’Kotoamatsukami’ was just bait.
From the very beginning, his target was us.
You can leave anytime using Kamui, but… he knows too much.
The spore technique, our nature—even our methods of movement.
How does he know all this?
He’s too dangerous.
We can’t let him live.”
Obito hesitated.
“If he’s relying on his Mangekyō for close-range detection, that’s our opening.
We can attempt a surprise attack.
But I can’t guarantee success—every Mangekyō ability is an unknown.
If we fail…”
Black Zetsu fell silent for a moment before replying, “Don’t worry.
I’ve prepared a backup.”
“…What backup?”
Back in the camp, the atmosphere had grown so tense it felt suffocating.
Everyone stood in place, several meters apart.
Fugaku walked at the front, with Mei and Mikoto half a step behind him, forming a stable triangle.
The inspection began from the outer perimeter, moving inward.
The process was simple—and merciless.
At each stop, Fugaku’s crimson Mangekyō swept across the group.
Every shinobi he looked at, no matter how uneasy, would raise a kunai and cut a shallow line across their arm.
Blood flowed—real, undeniable.
Those who passed moved outward, forming a loose encirclement, watching those still untested.
One ring.
Then another.
More and more were cleared, the circle tightening, pressure mounting on the remaining few.
Finally, Fugaku stopped in front of one man—the same minor clan leader who had stirred panic earlier and revealed the “secret” about Mangetsu Hozuki’s illness.
Now he stood alone, isolated.
All eyes locked onto him.
No one here was a fool.
How could a minor clan leader possibly know such high-level secrets?
Earlier, fear had buried the question—but now, with the truth closing in, it was impossible to ignore.
Fugaku smiled faintly.
“Your turn.
Show me your hand.”
The man didn’t move.
Slowly, he raised his head.
The cautious, anxious expression vanished, replaced by something hollow, inhuman—cold, with a faint glint of malice.
“Impressive,” he said calmly.
“Layer upon layer, step by step… It’s been a long time since the shinobi world has seen someone like you.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Fugaku replied lightly.
“So you’re admitting it?
Then tell me—will you surrender… or fight?”
His Mangekyō began to spin faster.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man said, shaking his head.
“Do as you like.
But before that… I’m curious.
How do you know so much?”
Fugaku’s smile deepened slightly.
“Take a guess.”
The man sighed.
“…I see.”
His voice suddenly twisted, sharp and inhuman.
“Then you’ll just have to take those secrets… to your grave!”
Before the words even finished—
His body swelled violently, like a balloon being overinflated—then exploded.
Pale, viscous, fungus-like matter burst outward in all directions, most of it surging toward Fugaku as if alive, expanding midair into a grotesque membrane that sought to engulf him entirely.
At that exact moment—
Less than five meters away, another seemingly ordinary ninja flashed forward, appearing directly in front of Fugaku.
His kunai stabbed straight toward Fugaku’s right eye without hesitation.
It was Obito Uchiha.
His reasoning was simple: when the enemy’s abilities are unknown, targeting the eye is the optimal choice.
Even if the attack failed, it would force out the ability and reveal crucial information.
A dull thud echoed.
But it wasn’t the kunai piercing Fugaku’s eye.
Instead, a black blade wrapped in mud shot out like a serpent from the underworld, piercing Obito’s abdomen at an even faster, more violent angle.
The impact slammed him backward, and with a thunderous crash, he was pinned to the massive wooden gate of the Mist camp.
“Cough—!”
Blood spilled as his disguise fell away, revealing the familiar orange spiral mask and the single red eye beneath it.
At the center, endless black mud surged beneath Fugaku’s feet, effortlessly swallowing the spore mass.
He looked up at the battered Obito and said calmly,
“Finally… I’ve hooked the big fish.”
“You… pretended to be exhausted on purpose?” Obito struggled weakly, unable to free himself.
Fugaku only smiled, offering no answer.
Under normal circumstances, that strike should have decided everything.
Anyone pierced by his blade would be contaminated by the mud within it, losing all ability—just like Danzo Shimura before him.
But Obito was different.
His body was a patchwork—part human, part White Zetsu.
As the mud spread through him, it hit a clear boundary—the divide between his original body and the grafted parts.
Because of that boundary, the mud couldn’t fully neutralize him.
In an instant, his body phased, slipping out of reality, the mud falling away uselessly.
Fugaku nodded slightly.
So that’s how it works.
He didn’t mind that Obito hadn’t been instantly defeated.
After all, sometimes a victory that’s too absolute only invites doubt.
He had gone through all this trouble… just to draw Obito out.
And now—
He could show everyone what true power looked like.
After a moment, he stroked his chin.
“As expected… Minato was right.”
“At the moment you attack—”
“You have to become solid.”
Obito’s expression changed instantly.
That sentence struck straight at his deepest trauma—his defeat at the hands of his teacher, Minato Namikaze.
How could this man possibly know that?
“…Were you there?”
Around them, everyone else was confused.
Only Fugaku understood—Obito was referring to the night of the Nine-Tails.
Fugaku smiled faintly.
“…Take a guess.”
“YOU BASTARD!!” Obito roared in fury.
“What are you, a kid?!
Still telling people to guess?!”
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