Minato, however, believed in it.
If it worked, peace might finally be real.
He had resolved then that if he ever became Hokage, he would bring that vision to life.
He had seen firsthand how Hikuro’s prosthetics and tools had turned the tide of war—raising Konoha’s effective strength by nearly a third.
“It can be done,” Hikuro assured him with a smile.
Real peace, he knew, required two things: shared prosperity through trade and infrastructure, and overwhelming force strong enough to deter aggression—like Hashirama or Madara.
As long as the daimyō and clans faced no personal danger, wars would continue endlessly over the lives of expendable shinobi.
Hikuro had once hoped to be a force for good, using science to mend this broken world.
But his proposals had been rejected out of hand by elders set in their ways—neither Danzō nor Sarutobi possessed the vision to see what was possible.
“I was young then,” Hikuro said simply.
“They called it a child’s dream.
There was no one to listen while war raged.”
“But the Third Great Ninja War is over,” Minato said earnestly.
“Conflicts will now be local at most.
We have a chance for peace.
I ask you to lead this project—to help me build that better world.”
He extended his hand with a bright, hopeful smile.
Hikuro had long grown cynical, yet for the sake of those who suffered as he had, he would try.
That night, within Hikuro’s estate.
Moonlight filtered through drawn curtains, casting long, silver shadows across the room.
The air smelled faintly of herbs and incense, like the prelude to a secret rite.
She wore no Root uniform tonight, but a black habit of a nun—soft fabric that nevertheless clung to her form, revealing subtle curves.
The collar fell open just enough to show the delicate line of her collarbone, glowing faintly in the dim light.
Her golden hair fell in loose curls, as if stirred by a quiet struggle.
Hikuro sat watching her.
His gaze moved slowly, like a serpent—from her ankles, up her legs, to the waist wrapped in black cloth.
It was meant to be the most modest dress of all, yet it radiated a strange, holy allure.
She looked as if she had stepped straight out of the stories he had once known.
He nodded in satisfaction.
Danzō’s gift had been excellent.
“Lord Hikuro,” she whispered, voice soft yet taut with fear, bowing low to the floor.
He did not answer at once, but rose slowly, the sound of his shoes heavy in the quiet room.
He stopped before her, close enough to catch the faint scent of lavender.
With long, slender fingers, he lifted her chin.
Her skin was cool.
He forced her to meet his gaze—eyes filled with fear, despair, and beneath it all, a spark of stubborn pride.
“Do not look at me like that,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her trembling lip.
“I… very much admire that strength and purity you carry.”
“The boy Kabuto shows remarkable potential—I am quite fond of him!”
“Kabuto… that child…” Her voice came out almost strangled, edged with pleading.
Hikuro’s smile deepened.
He leaned close to her ear, warm breath brushing her skin.
“Why?
Afraid he will become one of my specimens?”
A single tear slipped silently down her cheek.
Guilt welled up within her, and her fingers clenched the hem of her habit until the fabric crumpled.
She bowed her head, hiding the turmoil in her eyes behind her lashes.
Slowly she sank to her knees, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Lord Hikuro… please spare Kabuto.
I will do anything you ask.”
She had no wish to be a spy again, nor to see him made an experiment, nor to let him carry her burdens.
That boy had already given so much for the orphanage—and she, its director, had failed to truly protect him…
Hikuro watched her quietly, his gaze lingering on her trembling shoulders, then gave a low chuckle.
“I am not a villain, you know.”
Before she could respond, he caught her wrist—firm enough to stop her from pulling away, yet not cruel.
With a gentle tug, he drew her to her feet.
She stumbled, nearly colliding with him, catching the faint scent of herbs on his breath and holding her breath.
“Look at me!” He brushed his thumb over her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Monday to Friday – Update 3 Chapters a Day”
“Saturday and Sunday – Off”