Minato waited quietly outside the orphanage.
The building was a long, single-story structure with front and rear courtyards, sitting entirely isolated in the desolate wilderness bordering Konoha.
Despite his high rank, Minato had never actually visited the facility.
He knew the Director was a former elite operative from Root’s intelligence division—a formidable kunoichi known in the underworld as the “Wandering Miko.”
It was a profound contradiction that a woman forged in Danzo’s darkness could possess the compassion required to build a sanctuary for war orphans in such a desolate place.
A soft smile touched Minato’s lips.
Not everyone trapped in Root was a monster.
Many possessed kind hearts, buried alive under Danzo’s absolute control.
At the thought of Danzo Shimura, Minato’s smile vanished.
Pure, glacial killing intent flashed in his blue eyes.
He couldn’t let the man live.
But Minato’s tactical mind forcefully suppressed the urge to teleport into the Root compound and execute the elder immediately.
The Third Shinobi World War was still raging.
Assassinating a Konoha council member without an ironclad political mandate would instantly ignite a civil war.
If the Leaf fractured internally while fighting a war on three fronts, the village would be annihilated.
He had to wait.
Minato kept his eyes on the tree line, suppressing his chakra.
Half an hour later, the heavy iron gates creaked open.
Kabuto stepped out.
He spotted Minato, walked over, and offered a respectful nod.
“Lord Minato.
Is there a specific tactical matter you require my assistance with?” Kabuto asked quietly.
Minato returned the nod.
“Let’s talk while we walk.
I’ll brief you on the extent of the memory transfer.”
Because Kabuto was the co-architect of the Fourth Shinobi World War, Minato knew the boy’s strategic value was immeasurable.
Furthermore, since Kabuto and Orochimaru had survived the war and lived into the era of peace, their future memories were far more comprehensive than the veterans who had died on the battlefield.
“Understood,” Kabuto said, falling into step beside the Hokage.
“Where are we heading?”
“Obito Uchiha’s apartment,” Minato replied.
“Obito?
Excellent.
I haven’t seen him in quite some time.
It will be a good opportunity to coordinate our intelligence.”
The two shinobi walked at a measured pace, dissecting the geopolitical landscape of the future timeline.
It took them roughly an hour to cross the distance from the orphanage to the Uchiha compound.
“So, regarding Naruto’s current status…” Kabuto asked, adjusting his glasses.
“I don’t know,” Minato admitted, his tone heavy.
“The mechanics of the Kinjutsu are beyond my expertise.
I was hoping Orochimaru might have a solution.”
Kabuto tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“It is a highly complex temporal anomaly.
I spent the post-war years managing the orphanage, so I wasn’t actively researching Six Paths kinjutsu.
I am not intimately familiar with the exact chakra conversion rates of the Kinjutsu.
However…
once Lord Orochimaru returns to the village, if we combine our research data, we should be able to formulate a theoretical framework to reconstruct Naruto’s soul.”
Minato felt a massive surge of relief at the clinical confidence in Kabuto’s voice.
But then Minato frowned.
“Wouldn’t your time be better spent at the orphanage right now?”
Kabuto looked at Minato, his mild expression hardening slightly.
“As you detailed in your briefing, the Otsutsuki threat concerns the survival of the entire human race.
How could I possibly stand idly by?
Besides, the orphanage is secure.
The Director and Urushi are there, and the Third Hokage has extended his personal protection over the facility.” Kabuto’s eyes glinted knowingly.
“And if my tactical projections are correct, you and Lord Third are preparing to permanently eliminate Danzo Shimura in the very near future.
Once Root is dismantled, my mother will be completely safe.”
Minato didn’t verbally confirm the assassination plot; he simply gave a single, firm nod.
They arrived at the Uchiha compound.
Minato knocked on the door.
“It’s unlocked.
Come in,” Obito’s voice called from inside.
Minato and Kabuto stepped into the apartment.
Obito was alone; Rin had apparently left to attend to her duties in the hospital shifts.
But a freshly prepared meal sat on the small dining table, and a new bouquet of wildflowers rested in a vase on the nightstand.
Given Obito’s famously chaotic domestic habits, it was obvious Rin had been taking care of him.
Hearing them enter, Obito pushed himself upright on the futon.
He was still pale and exhausted, but the catastrophic chakra drain had subsided enough for him to move without collapsing.
He offered a respectful bow to Minato.
Then, Obito shifted his gaze to the ten-year-old boy standing beside his sensei.
Because Kabuto had engineered the war as an adult, his current childhood physique and drastically lower chakra signature didn’t immediately register.
Obito squinted, failing to recognize him.
Kabuto smiled faintly.
He stepped forward.
“I never expected we would cross paths again under these circumstances, Obito.”
The cadence and clinical tone triggered Obito’s memory instantly.
His eyes widened.
“Kabuto?”
“I’m flattered you still recognize your old business partner,” Kabuto said smoothly.
“It is a rare privilege.”
“How did you get the memories?” Obito asked, genuinely shocked.
“The exact same way you did.
A mutual acquaintance paid the toll for both of us,” Kabuto replied.
He pulled a wooden stool from the table, sat down beside the futon, and immediately began a visual medical assessment of Obito’s condition.
“I’m fine,” Obito grunted, waving him off.
“Just chakra exhaustion.
I’ll be back to full combat capacity after a few more days of rest.”
“Your stubbornness remains entirely unchanged from the future timeline,” Kabuto noted dryly.
“But your physical condition is critical.
Forcing a dual-Kamui activation with your current, unaugmented chakra network has placed an immense degenerative strain on your optic nerves and cellular structure.
If you continue using the Mangekyou Sharingan at this rate, your body will collapse long before the Otsutsuki ever arrive.”
Obito frowned.
“Is the degradation that severe?”
Minato, who had been listening quietly by the door, finally stepped in.
“Is there a permanent solution to this, Kabuto?”
“The solution is incredibly straightforward,” Kabuto answered, pushing his glasses up.
“Obito requires a direct transplant of the First Hokage’s cells.
In the future timeline, Hashirama’s DNA allowed him to spam the Mangekyou Sharingan with zero blowback.
Furthermore, the integration of Senju DNA will grant him rudimentary mastery over Yin-Yang Release.
Without it, he will inevitably suffer the same fate as Itachi Uchiha—total blindness, followed by catastrophic systemic organ failure due to the sheer physiological burden of the Mangekyou.”
“I reached the same conclusion,” Obito nodded.
“That’s exactly why I need to infiltrate Madara Uchiha’s sanctuary.
In the original timeline, Madara was the one who grafted the White Zetsu tissue—which is cultivated from Hashirama’s cells—onto my crushed body.”
“Then I strongly advise you to abandon that infiltration plan,” Kabuto stated clinically.
“Madara Uchiha is a ruthless, venomous sociopath.
In the original timeline, he secretly branded your heart with a cursed seal to ensure your absolute obedience!
He manipulated your entire existence.
If you walk into his subterranean graveyard right now, you are simply volunteering for an early execution.”
Obito rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I wasn’t planning on begging him to join our alliance before asking for the surgery.
I just need the cells.
There are very few medical-nin in the world capable of successfully grafting Hashirama’s DNA without the host body rejecting it and turning into a tree.
Madara is the only viable surgeon I know.”
“I have no objection to you interrogating Madara for intelligence,” Kabuto said smoothly.
“But if you require a Hashirama cell transplant, I am perfectly capable of performing the surgery.
Frankly, in the current shinobi world, the only two individuals who possess a deeper understanding of Hashirama’s DNA and the Sharingan genome than Madara Uchiha are Lord Orochimaru and myself.
Need I remind you that I was the one who genetically modified and resurrected Madara’s prime body during the war?”
Obito eyed the ten-year-old boy suspiciously, a dry smirk touching his lips.
“Have you lost your mind, Kabuto?
Why are you so eager to help me?
I remember our ‘partnership’ during the war.
You were a paranoid, stingy snake who constantly schemed behind my back.”
A flicker of genuine nostalgia crossed Kabuto’s eyes.
He smiled.
“We were business partners leveraging mutual assets for a global conflict.
Why on earth would I have offered you genuine medical assistance back then?”
“Oh?
Sounds like you caused your own fair share of political disasters in the future,” Obito chuckled, leaning back on his pillows.
“Enlighten me.
If the story is entertaining enough, maybe I’ll agree to be your lab rat.”
Since receiving the memories, both former masterminds had realized a profound, liberating truth: the atrocities they had committed in the future timeline hadn’t actually happened yet.
The blood wasn’t on their hands.
Stripped of the crushing psychological weight of a world war, their mentalities had unconsciously reverted to a much younger, lighter state.
In the future, a meeting between them involved layers of lethal deception and hidden contingencies.
Now, they were casually trading insults in a dusty apartment.
“I made my share of catastrophic errors,” Kabuto admitted, his tone sobering slightly.
“Unlike you, I didn’t have a tragic romance driving me; I was just a lost asset looking for an identity.
But as you know, the body count we racked up couldn’t be erased with a simple apology.”
Kabuto looked down at his hands.
“I assumed I would rot in a maximum-security black site for the rest of my natural life.
But entirely against protocol, someone leveraged their massive political capital to grant me a full pardon.
I avoided prison.
I returned to the orphanage, and I took over as Director.”
“Oh?” Obito raised an eyebrow, a knowing grin spreading across his face.
“So you’re telling me the great Dragon Sage is coming out of retirement to save the world?”
Kabuto rolled his eyes behind his glasses.
“I owe a man an unpayable life debt.
How could I possibly stand idly by while his timeline burns?”
Neither Obito nor Kabuto explicitly named Naruto Uzumaki, but the absolute, unwavering loyalty in their voices required no translation.
“Forgive the interruption,” Minato said, stepping forward.
He needed actionable intelligence.
“Regarding the First Hokage’s cells…
where exactly do we procure a viable sample?”
“You can put your concerns to rest, Lord Minato,” Kabuto smiled, the clinical confidence returning to his voice.
“The largest, most stable repository of Hashirama Senju’s cultivated DNA is located within Lord Orochimaru’s primary laboratory.
While Konoha’s black-ops vaults likely contain raw samples, requisitioning them would trigger an internal political crisis.
However…
given that Lord Orochimaru has received the temporal briefing and is currently en route to the village, I calculate a ninety-nine percent probability that he is already bringing the required genetic samples with him.”