It was much like the concepts of the id, ego, and superego in Freudian theory.
In a broad sense, such terms felt somewhat exaggerated and ill‑suited to his current reality.
Fundamentally, though, they described differences in spiritual standing, with the core purpose of distinguishing oneself from others.
That was why Hikuro drew close to so many kunoichi: partly to release the darkness building up inside him, and partly to anchor his sense of being a transmigrator.
Even so, he remained extremely cautious when facing the remnant soul—even one that looked like a mere child.
Truth be told, with a will forged in the sheltered peace of his old world, the odds of successfully taking over the body of a seven‑year‑old in this harsh realm would have been slim at best.
Yet he carried the cumulative weight of modern knowledge, an overwhelming flood of information that hit with terrifying force.
The boy he had displaced had simply been overwhelmed, his mind “crashing” in an instant.
In such a struggle for dominion, the victor takes all—no mercy, no second chances.
Now two souls had briefly dwelt in one body; clearly the original Hikuro was gone, and his modern self had inherited everything.
Unless something unexpected occurred, this lingering consciousness would remain as it was, slowly drained until it faded away entirely.
Philosophically, what is memory?
Plato equated it with knowledge; some say it is the soul itself.
Whatever the answer, memory is the foundation of self‑awareness, a subjective reality.
I am my memories, a fusion of all I have been and all I am.
The deep trauma of Hikuro’s childhood—he was certain—had stemmed from this very presence.
Though he felt genuine affection for his parents in this life, the intensity of his grief had been amplified by this foreign spirit’s influence.
“Since you are gone, be good and become my nourishment,” he said coldly.
“Everything you ever longed for… I shall achieve it all.”
He stared at the fractured spirit before him, then returned his awareness to the present. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
He knew that until this flaw in his soul was fully resolved, he would never find true peace, nor ever break through to the Kage level.
Seven days later, Hikuro worked busily in his laboratory, pausing only to enjoy sweets and replenish his sugar levels.
Since arriving in this world, he had never denied himself; if he craved something sweet, he indulged fully.
That afternoon, the newly appointed Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, paid him a visit.
“Lord Hikuro!
Lord Hikuro!” he called out warmly as he stepped inside.
He glanced around, and the contrast with Orochimaru’s damp, shadow‑choked, eerie laboratory could not have been greater.
This space was bright, spacious, well‑ventilated, and comfortably cool—clean, orderly, and entirely free of foul odors.
Various devices hummed along steadily, while a row of large service robots lined the aisles.
Some swept waste, some laundered and dried clothing, some sliced fruit, and some even baked pastries.
Most impressive of all were the advanced all‑in‑one units capable of grilling, simmering hot‑pot dishes, and steaming rice.
All of these were accidental by‑products of his prosthetic‑limb research.
Building robots was not especially difficult once you had the right materials and understanding.
Minato watched in awe.
This is truly wonderful!
No wonder Master Jiraiya and the Third Hokage speak so highly of him.
In the flush of his own youth, he found every detail here inspiring. New chapters come out on g.com first.
He thought of his pregnant wife Kushina and all the household burdens she carried alone.
Once we finish our business, I must ask Lord Hikuro if I might purchase a few domestic robots to lighten her load.
As the thought crossed his mind, Hikuro looked up.
“Minato, what brings you here?”
Setting down his dark caramel mousse cake, he ordered one of the robots to prepare a cup of coffee for his guest.
As a researcher, he often worked late into the night whenever inspiration struck, yet he had brought with him a modern appreciation for comfort and pleasure—he would never tolerate skipping meals.
Improving his quality of life with a few well‑built robots was only natural.
Thanks to his advanced prosthetic technology, the meals prepared by these robots were almost indistinguishable from those made by master chefs—save for one thing: they could never recreate the unique warmth of a mother’s cooking.
“Lord Hikuro,” Minato began, “what are your thoughts on the Uchiha clan?”
The question seemed odd at first, yet Hikuro understood.
It reflected the unease shared by Konoha’s leadership, rooted in long‑standing factional distrust.
Minato himself was well aware that every Hokage after the First had viewed the Uchiha with deep suspicion and wariness.
Though he counted Fugaku and Mikoto as friends, he could not instantly erase generations of mistrust.
Even now, following established policy, spies kept the Uchiha under constant surveillance, reporting every move to Danzō and his allies.
Itachi, the clan head’s son, had begun spending time with Hikuro—a man as valuable to Konoha as the Nine‑Tails itself.
Hikuro’s breakthroughs in prosthetics during the three great wars had already made him indispensable.
Now he had unveiled Life‑Formula One, a serum capable of elevating a Genin straight to Chūnin strength with a single injection.
The leap in power was staggering, and most importantly… “Monday to Friday – Update 3 Chapters a Day”
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