The smell of blood still had not faded from the conference room.
Kisame listened to Kurō’s words and nodded.
He did not ask any unnecessary questions.
He simply reached behind himself and slowly drew Samehada.
His fingers pressed against the bandages.
Chakra surged faintly, and the white wrappings loosened as if they were alive.
Samehada “woke up.” That hideous great mouth slowly opened along the blade, revealing row after row of barb-like teeth.
Under Kurō’s utterly speechless stare, Kisame very naturally reached his hand into Samehada’s gaping mouth.
His hand searched around in Samehada’s “throat” for a few moments, then pulled out a somewhat old scroll.
The scroll was not large.
The paper had already yellowed, and the edges were slightly worn.
It clearly had quite a few years on it.
There were no words written on it, only a clan crest blurred by the passage of time.
The Uchiha fan.
‘Is this thing Doraemon’s four-dimensional pocket or what…?’ Kurō silently complained in his heart.
He reached out and took the old scroll from Kisame’s hand with obvious distaste.
“To be able to hand over the swordsmanship notes of the legendary Uchiha Izuna to you…” Kisame watched Kurō accept the scroll.
On that shark-like face, the corners of his mouth stretched into a friendly smile.
“That lord must trust you very much.” ‘Trust?’ Kurō repeated the word inwardly with disdain.
His fingers brushed over the edge of the scroll.
In his black eyes, a cold glint flashed almost too faintly to notice.
‘If that lunatic really trusted me, he wouldn’t have kept rushing over here when I first came to Kirigakure.’ If he had not been worried about him, if he had not suspected him, then what?
Had he simply missed his old friend?
Trust him?
Uchiha Obito, the man who murdered his teacher and helped slaughter his own clan?
Don’t make your brother Kurō laugh.
No one understood Uchiha Obito better than he did!
To Kurō now, Uchiha Obito was nothing more than a stranger wearing a mask, calling himself Uchiha Madara, with his hands soaked in countless lives.
The faint hope he once had that Obito still possessed some shred of conscience had vanished the moment Kurō learned he had still taken part in the massacre of the Uchiha Clan.
In his heart, that former friend, that kind Uchiha Obito, was already dead.
The one still alive now was only a criminal covered in blood, a criminal Kurō would one day end with his own hands.
For the dead members of the Uchiha Clan, for Obito who had once existed, and also for himself… He forcefully suppressed the thoughts in his heart.
His face still carried that casual look, as if he were merely listening to something that had nothing to do with him.
His fingers idly untied the cord around the scroll.
As he opened it, he answered perfunctorily, “If we’re talking about trust, you’re not bad yourself.” “As far as I know, that guy trusts you quite a lot too.” ‘After all, if he didn’t trust you, how could he have sent you to keep an eye on me?’ He silently added that in his heart, his tone carrying a hint of self-mockery.
“…Me?” Surprise flashed through Kisame’s eyes.
On that stiff face of his, a rare complicated expression appeared.
He fell silent for a moment.
His small eyes looked toward Kurō, then moved away again, as if he were weighing something.
“A man like me… is not someone worth trusting.” Kurō did not raise his head.
While carefully reading the contents of the scroll, he answered naturally, “Is that so?
I actually think you are someone worth trusting.” Kurō meant those words sincerely.
Whether as a ninja or as a comrade, Kisame was one of the few people Kurō genuinely acknowledged from the bottom of his heart.
It had nothing to do with strength.
It came from the force of his will and conviction.
Kurō had seen too many people, but very few were like Kisame, someone who clearly knew what kind of person he was, clearly knew what he wanted to do, and never made excuses for it.
Kisame did not pretend.
He did not use pretty words like “for the village,” “for peace,” or “for the greater good” to dress up his actions.
He simply did what he believed was right, then paid everything he had for it.
It was precisely because Kurō knew that he was the kind of person who always placed his own life and safety first that he admired someone like Kisame from the bottom of his heart.
After all, if their positions were reversed, he would never throw away his own life just to complete a mission or chase some ideal of a better world.
When Kisame heard Kurō’s answer, the natural smile on his face instantly stiffened.
His eyes widened slightly.
Those small eyes were filled with shock he could not quite hide.
He opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to say something.
But after thinking for a moment, he finally closed it and said nothing.
His expression returned to calm, but there was now something in his eyes that was difficult to describe.
After Kurō roughly finished reading through the scroll and confirmed that it was indeed Uchiha Izuna’s swordsmanship, he carefully rolled it back up, tucked it into his clothes, and raised his head to look at Kisame.
“All right.
I’ve received it.” His voice returned to its usual casual tone.
“I’ll be going first.” He stood up, lowered the feet he had propped on the table, and straightened his clothes.
His black eyes swept across the conference room, across the scattered bloodstains, and across the “Mizukage” who still sat in his chair with empty eyes.
His gaze paused on Yagura for an instant.
In those eyes, a trace of pity flashed so faintly that it was almost impossible to notice.
‘If it weren’t for Obito, Kirigakure might have already completed its reforms under his leadership…’ ‘Though someone like me, who plans to use him and Kirigakure, has no right to pity him either…’ He sighed inwardly.
In the next instant, his figure flickered and vanished from where he stood.
He disappeared into thin air, as if he had never existed at all.
“That level of Body Flicker really is impressive…” Kisame looked at the place where Kurō had vanished, his small eyes full of amazement.
“It’s almost like the space-time ninjutsu used by Konoha’s legendary Yellow Flash…” He stood there, staring at the empty corner for a long time.
Kisame recalled what Kurō had just said.
His small eyes were full of confusion.
“I actually think you are someone worth trusting.” Those words echoed in his mind again and again.
After a while, Kisame lowered his head and murmured with a hint of emotion, “I think I understand you a little better now, ‘Madara-sama.'” “Kurō-sama really is a terrifying man.
The kind people can’t help but like…” Outside the window, the mist drifted silently.
That white fog wrapped the entire village in a hazy silence.
Kisame stood there in silence, guarding the Mizukage seated in his chair, a man who could no longer truly be called “human.” On the outskirts of Kirigakure, outside a hidden limestone cave.
Night had already fallen.
The trees in the forest showed twisted branches through the mist, like hands stretching up from underground, trying to seize something.
The puddles in the marsh reflected the faint moonlight, flashing with eerie silver through the fog.
Kurō carried a basket in his hand.
It was woven from bamboo strips and filled with ingredients he had bought at the market.
A few rice balls, a package of sweets, and some fresh vegetables and meat.
He passed through the mist, avoiding the cover of the forest and marsh, skillfully circling around dangerous ground no ordinary person could cross.
Soon, he arrived at the entrance of the cave.
The opening was not large.
It was covered by vines and moss, and unless someone deliberately searched for it, they would never notice there was a cave here.
Kurō stood at the entrance and formed hand signs, undoing the genjutsu he had carefully placed over it.
After the illusion was released, a layer of sealing jutsu covered in symbols was revealed.
He skillfully formed several more signs and undid the seal.
The cave entrance revealed its true appearance.
Kurō stepped inside.
There was more to the cave than met the eye.
At the entrance was a long, narrow passage.
Several glowing stones were embedded in the rock walls on both sides, giving off a faint cold light.
After walking through the passage, the space before him suddenly opened up.
It was a huge underground chamber that had been renovated into something like a private home.
There was a living room, a bedroom, a study, and even a small kitchen.
Wooden tables and chairs stood in the living room.
An oil lamp rested on the table, its wick still flickering faintly.
In the corner stood a bookshelf, filled with all kinds of books and scrolls.
This was a base that belonged to him alone.
Even Obito knew nothing about this place.
“Sensei!” The moment Kurō stepped into the “home,” a red figure rushed into his arms with a clear child’s voice.
It was a small red-haired girl, around seven or eight years old.
Her hair was a bright red, her skin pale, and her features delicate.
Her large eyes were now curved into two crescents, filled with joy.
Kurō fondly stroked the girl’s red hair.
In those eyes of his, which were always carrying some kind of disguise outside, there was now a relaxation he never showed to others.
“I’m back, Karin.” His voice was very soft, carrying a smile.
Karin raised her head and looked at Kurō with complete attachment.
The corners of her mouth lifted into a wide arc, and her smile was as bright as one of Kirigakure’s rare clear days.
“Welcome home, Sensei!” Kurō looked at the girl before him and nodded with a smile.
His gaze swept across the cave that had been transformed into a warm and comfortable home.
This place was his secret base.
And in this ninja world, it was also the only place he could now call “home.”