Danzo cast the second vote.
In truth, he would have preferred to bring Mirai into Root, but Hiruzen had stubbornly refused every suggestion.
It was frustrating.
He’d have to find another way to persuade Hiruzen.
Otherwise, the man would definitely regret wasting such a talent someday.
Danzo wrote a name without changing expression and handed the slip over.
Inoichi unfolded it.
“Lord Shimura votes for—Mirai Uzumaki.”
Koharu Utatane and Homura Mitokado exchanged a look, then each wrote down a name.
There was no surprise.
Mirai Uzumaki.
The Ino-Shika-Cho representatives voted the same way.
Yamamoto Uchiha gave a faint nod as he submitted his choice.
“Mirai Uzumaki.”
The leaders of the other clans exchanged glances and wrote the same name without hesitation.
Eventually, every slip of paper ended up in Inoichi’s hands.
He opened them one by one.
The name never changed.
“Unanimous vote—Mirai Uzumaki.”
The room fell silent.
Tsunade remained against the wall.
Hearing the result, she couldn’t tell whether she felt relieved or devastated.
She did believe Mirai was the more suitable jinchuriki.
His talent, temperament, and physical condition all made him a better choice.
And objectively, a boy wouldn’t face some of the complications a female jinchuriki might.
But this also meant that at the end of the month, Grandma Mito would…
Tsunade closed her eyes and slowly exhaled.
“Then it’s settled,” Mito said calmly, as though she were discussing dinner.
“At the end of the month, we’ll transfer the Nine-Tails.
“I’ve checked Mirai’s condition repeatedly.
His sealing foundations are strong enough, and with my techniques assisting the process, there should be no problem.”
Hiruzen stood and bowed deeply toward her.
“Lady Mito, please rest assured.
Konoha will remember everything you’ve done for us.”
“Whether people remember doesn’t matter,” Mito replied with a wave of her hand, a rare hint of playfulness in her voice.
“Just make sure you don’t let that Nine-Tails fellow out to bite people afterward.”
A few quiet laughs filled the room, though every one of them carried bitterness.
At the same time, at the Ninja Academy, Mirai sat at his desk with a copy of The Ninja’s Guide to Self-Discipline open in front of him.
His eyes were fixed on one page, but he hadn’t read a single word.
Before he left that morning, Grandma Mito had said, “At the end of the month, Grandma will check how much progress you’ve made.”
For some reason, those words kept repeating in his mind.
There had been something strangely heavy about them.
His chest felt as though someone had gently squeezed it—not painful, but impossible to ignore.
Something inside him felt suddenly hollow.
Mirai frowned slightly, unconsciously pinching the edge of the page.
“Mirai?” Kushina leaned closer after noticing his expression.
“What’s wrong?
You look awful…
Are you still mad about this morning?”
She pouted, assuming he was still upset about their argument over Naori’s bento.
Mirai came back to himself and looked at her worried face.
He smiled and lightly patted her head.
“No.
I was just thinking about…
what we’re eating for lunch.”
“Hmph.
Liar.” Kushina puffed out her cheeks.
“Your eyes always shift to the right when you lie.”
Mirai laughed and was about to answer when footsteps came from outside the classroom.
A white-haired man wearing a cat mask stood at the door.
He wore black combat clothing, and a short blade was strapped diagonally across his back.
He looked like a sword still inside its sheath—no obvious display of killing intent, yet an instinctive pressure filled the room.
The classroom gradually went quiet.
The masked man looked around once, his gaze landing precisely on Mirai.
“Mirai Uzumaki.
Come with me.”
Mirai looked up and met the eyes visible through the mask.
He recognized him immediately.
That unmistakable white hair, that razor-sharp presence—Sakumo Hatake, captain of the Anbu.
At this point in time, for the Anbu captain himself to come to the Academy and call for him by name…
Mirai’s heart sank.
He stood and told Kushina, “It’s fine.
I’ll be back soon,” before following Sakumo into the hallway.
Kushina watched his back disappear beside the white-haired man and suddenly felt an inexplicable wave of panic.
Her fingers tightened around the corner of her desk until they turned pale.
Why did it feel as though everything had suddenly become unstable?
…
The door of the Hokage’s office closed behind Mirai with a dull thud.
He stood before the desk he’d seen countless times in his previous life.
It was a strange feeling.
He had watched this room through a screen over and over, and now it existed in front of him, down to the exact angle of the desk lamp.
Hiruzen sat across from him, slowly turning his pipe between his fingers.
He had been watching Mirai ever since first seeing the boy’s name in reports three years ago.
Now Mirai was noticeably sturdier than others his age.
He stood straight, his gaze calm, neither submissive nor arrogant.
“Mirai, I called you here because there’s something you need to know.”
Hiruzen finally spoke, his voice lower than usual.
“You should already understand Lady Mito’s condition.”
Mirai said nothing, only nodded faintly.
“We held a meeting this morning,” Hiruzen continued after a pause.
“The decision was unanimous.
“At the end of this month, you will inherit the Nine-Tails and become its next jinchuriki.”
Mirai’s heart dropped.
He had expected to become the Nine-Tails’ jinchuriki for years.
The way Grandma Mito taught sealing techniques—almost as if she wanted to force everything she knew into his head—had made her intentions obvious.
But hearing the words spoken aloud still tightened his chest.
“Grandma Mito…?”
Hiruzen exhaled smoke, deep weariness in his eyes.
“It was Lady Mito’s own decision.
She wants this settled while she still has enough strength to see it through.”
Mirai fell silent, grief settling across his face.
Today was the twentieth.
Ten days remained until the end of the month.
The only sound in the office was the faint crackle of burning tobacco.
“…I understand,” Mirai finally said, his voice steadier than he’d expected.
So that was why he’d felt so awful when leaving home that morning.
His chest had felt trapped in someone’s fist, not painfully, but tightly enough that he couldn’t breathe.
It had been warning him.
The old woman who brought him and Kushina back from the Land of Whirlpools, who always sat on the veranda drinking tea and smiling as the two of them argued and played…
She was about to leave them.