"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
A roaring fireball, nearly twice the height of a man, exploded from Yakushi Kabuto's mouth, incinerating a patch of dry earth in front of him with a blistering wave of heat.
The reincarnation of Yakushi Kabuto was something Akira had completed the night before they rushed back to Konoha. The journey since then had been long and taxing, leaving little opportunity to test the true potential of the vessel he'd recreated. But now, early in the quiet hours of morning, cloaked in the hush of a secluded grove, Akira finally had a chance to see what this body could do.
Originally, Yakushi Kabuto hadn't possessed any talent for Fire Release. But Akira had made modifications—a transfer of a portion of his own Fire Release affinity into this new vessel. Theoretically, it should have allowed Kabuto to wield fire techniques.
And yet, something felt off.
The fireball he had just produced was underwhelming. It wasn't the size or the destructive force that Akira was used to. If he had used his original body and the same amount of chakra, the resulting inferno would have scorched the entire clearing. Instead, it barely blackened the ground.
He frowned, studying the faint trail of smoke rising from the singed soil.
The technique wasn't wrong. His chakra control was precise. His understanding of Fire Release was unparalleled—even most Jonin couldn't match him. So why did it feel like forcing chakra through a sieve?
The realization settled over him like morning dew: the problem wasn't the technique. It was the body.
Using Fire Release in Kabuto's body felt like wielding a blade with the wrong hand. He knew every motion, every nuance, but the muscle memory wasn't there. The flow was unfamiliar. The body resisted. His chakra felt bloated, clumsy, and the output was lacking.
With a sigh, Akira turned his attention to Lightning Release.
He formed a quick sequence of hand seals. Sparks sputtered weakly from his fingers, crackling and fizzling into the grass.
Disappointment.
This body had no natural affinity for Lightning Release. Even with a tether to Akira's main chakra network, the Lightning Release techniques barely activated. There was no surging current, no crackling precision. Just scattered sparks, impotent and useless.
But when he turned to Water and Earth Release, the results were surprisingly promising.
The hand signs flowed, and chakra pulsed through him like water over stone. Mud walls formed without resistance. Water bullets exploded against trees with solid force.
Strangely, it felt even smoother than when he used his original body.
"Interesting..." Akira murmured to himself.
Perhaps Kabuto's body had naturally high affinity for Water and Earth Release. That would explain the ease of channeling and the subtle responsiveness of the chakra.
And that meant that chakra nature transformation wasn't just an intellectual exercise. The physical aptitude of the body mattered more than he had imagined. Even with Akira's immense knowledge and control, the limitations—or advantages—of the vessel directly influenced the results.
So even with all the same effort, the efficiency of a genius body was leagues ahead of an ordinary one.
Finally, Akira turned his focus to Wind Release.
He had never mastered Wind Release before, lacking the natural affinity. But on the Wind Country battlefield, he had copied dozens of Wind Release techniques with his Sharingan—techniques he had never been able to use.
Until now.
He plucked a leaf from a nearby tree and held it delicately between his fingers.
Closing his eyes, Akira concentrated. He recalled the instructions Asuma had once given Naruto in the original story: split the chakra, refine it, sharpen it.
He gathered his chakra into his palm, visualizing it slicing through the leaf like a blade of wind.
A faint crack sounded. He opened his eyes.
A small tear had appeared on the edge of the leaf.
A slow grin crept across his face.
"So, this body... really does have Wind affinity."
He turned toward the bubbling stream nearby, making a rapid series of hand seals.
"Wind Release: Breakthrough!"
A powerful gust erupted from his mouth. It slammed into the surface of the water, carving a deep gouge and sending a spray of droplets high into the air. Fish leapt from the disturbed surface, some stunned, some dead.
The destructive force was minimal—not enough to seriously harm a shinobi—but it was still exponentially stronger than when he had attempted the same jutsu with his original body.
A Wind Release user at last. Akira now wielded all five chakra nature transformations.
He took a slow breath, exhaling with satisfaction, then focused on his vision.
Chakra flooded into his eyes.
His pupils turned red, three tomoe spinning into place with graceful precision.
This was not the Uchiha clan's Sharingan, but rather, Uchiha Kawa's Sharingan, which Akira had extracted and transplanted using the Forbidden Yin Reincarnation technique. Along with a carefully measured fragment of Kawa's ocular power.
Typically, non-Uchiha recipients like Kakashi or Danzo could not deactivate the Sharingan due to lack of genetic compatibility, causing constant chakra drain. But Akira's Yin Reincarnation had rewritten the body's affinity on a fundamental level.
Kabuto's new form could activate and deactivate the Sharingan like a true Uchiha.
It was a small miracle.
Granted, the eye power wasn't complete. The abilities weren't as sharp or overbearing as Akira's Eternal Mangekyou, but it was enough for most practical purposes.
He blinked slowly, letting the tomoe fade. The world softened, cleansed of its microscopic detail. It reminded him how disorienting the Eternal Mangekyou had been at first. He'd seen dust dancing in sunlight, invisible to normal eyes. Fibers on every surface, imperfections on every object. It had been like living under a microscope.
But he'd adapted.
The current eyes were more forgiving. The world looked clearer, yet cleaner. Peaceful.
A rustle in the distance caught his attention.
"Kabuto, where are you? Come back for dinner!"
It was Nono.
She'd come to find him. The voice was warm and motherly, wrapped in gentle concern.
Akira, or rather Kabuto, bent down quickly and scooped up the stunned fish from the stream, gathering them in his hands. With practiced speed, he restored the area to its natural state, hiding all traces of chakra or ninjutsu.
He couldn't risk anyone discovering what this vessel was capable of.
Especially not that an orphan from the Wind Country could use four chakra transformations and the Sharingan.
He emerged from the trees, smiling innocently, fish in hand.
Nono smiled warmly at him, a mixture of gratitude and maternal love.
"You were gone so early," she said. "Did you go fishing?"
Akira nodded, carefully molding his tone.
"I noticed that the food at the orphanage has been a little plain lately, so I wanted to catch something for everyone. I thought... maybe this could help."
Nono's eyes softened, and her hand gently touched his shoulder.
"You're such a thoughtful child, Kabuto. Thank you."
There was something deeply comforting about her praise. Warmth pooled in his chest.
Though Akira had lived countless lifetimes through countless plans and identities, this simple affection still struck a chord.
The orphanage was overcrowded since the war ended. Funds were tight, food scarcer than ever. Even with the village's support, Nono carried the burden almost alone.
And yet, she never complained.
Akira had been an orphan in his original world too. He understood that hunger, that fear, that need to matter to someone.
Maybe that was why, even as his mind plotted ten steps ahead, he found himself watching over the other orphans Nono had taken in.
Helping. Shielding.
Even a shadow needs a home.
And in this fragile moment, Akira allowed himself to believe—even if just for now—that this place, this woman, might be his.
After Yakushi Kabuto followed Nono back to the Konoha Orphanage, Akira's main body also stirred awake in his secluded home on the outskirts of the village. As consciousness surged back into him, a familiar and thrilling sensation washed over him—the control of two bodies at once.
It was a strange, beautiful thing.
Most shinobi relied on Shadow Clones to mimic such an effect, but even that had limitations. Shadow Clones did not share a continuous stream of consciousness. The clone functioned independently, and only when it dispelled would its experiences surge back into the original body like a flood of memories. There was always a lag—a gap.
But not with Akira.
Yakushi Kabuto, reborn and repurposed through Akira's Infinite Reincarnation technique, was something far more profound. He wasn't a mere puppet or tool, nor was he a typical clone. He was a fully functioning extension of Akira's will, a living vessel carrying synchronized thoughts, shared chakra, and a mind tethered to Akira's own in real time.
It was like having a second brain.
Even the Phantom Body Akira often used paled in comparison. Though it could act independently to some degree, it lacked true intelligence. It could follow orders but not innovate, not question. It was a shadow, nothing more. But Kabuto's body, reanimated and repurposed, was different. It thought, reasoned, reacted—and most importantly, it felt. Through it, Akira experienced the world from two angles at once.
In the days since obtaining this powerful vessel, Akira had grown increasingly comfortable with the duality. It no longer disoriented him to think two thoughts at once, to feel the world with two pairs of hands, two pairs of eyes. It had become a dance, a harmony.
But now, Akira was curious. Could he take it a step further?
The thought had occurred to him the previous night as he watched Kabuto return to the orphanage. What if one mind could actively control the other body? Could the clone's brain serve as a second processor for Akira's main body?
And so, he conducted the experiment.
Before drifting into sleep, he had stationed a Phantom Body to watch over his slumbering form. Then, in the early hours, with Kabuto fully awake and his mind alert, Akira directed his focus inward—toward himself. With careful intent, he reached out through their mental tether and imagined moving his sleeping body like a puppet.
His real fingers twitched.
A moment later, his main body slowly sat upright in the darkness. Controlled not by his own awareness, but by the fully conscious mind inside Kabuto's skull.
The sensation that fed back was almost indistinguishable from his own. The nerves responded. The muscles flexed. And though it was Kabuto's brain issuing the commands, it was his will behind it.
Akira grinned. The implications were staggering.
If the brain were a computer, humans were singular processors—capable of focusing on one complex task at a time. True multitasking was a myth, a trick of rapid focus-switching. But now, he had two processors. Dual-core. He could assign one body a task and have the other perform a completely different one. Not with diminished attention. Not with a trade-off. Truly simultaneous.
His mind leapt to the possibilities.
The Rasengan—a jutsu that even Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash, had failed to perfect with nature transformation due to the sheer focus required. Naruto had only succeeded by using a Shadow Clone to handle the wind-nature infusion separately. But Akira? He didn't need a clone. He could assign one brain to the Rasengan's shape transformation and the other to its nature change.
And that was just the beginning.
He recalled the fusion jutsu Naruto and Sasuke had pulled off—"Scorch Release: Halo Gale Jet Black Arrow Style Zero."
It had always bothered Akira. Kekkei Genkai were, by definition, bloodline traits. Their existence was predicated on the user's genetic makeup. How could two people, unrelated, combine chakra elements to synthesize a new attribute?
The answer, Akira now suspected, lay in their compatibility—Naruto's innate ability to modify chakra via the Nine-Tails, Sasuke's mastery of Blaze Release and visual prowess to read chakra's subtle flows. It was less about bloodline and more about perfect timing and precise cooperation.
With his dual-brain setup, Akira could achieve that level of synchronization internally.
He didn't need a partner. He was both partners.
It was a tantalizing idea.
He rose from his bed, energy coursing through him, and moved to the center of the room. Holding out both hands, he focused the attention of each consciousness separately. In his left hand: Fire Release. In his right: Lightning Release.
The result was immediate. His left hand flared with heat, red-orange chakra swirling into a visible blaze. His right sparked with crackling arcs of electricity. They danced independently, yet symphonically. No conflict. No struggle. Just mastery.
But he didn't attempt to merge them. Not yet.
Combining natures into a new Kekkei Genkai would take time, precision, and more research. The fusion of Lightning and Fire had never been documented in the shinobi world, not even in the vast scrolls of the Uchiha clan. What would it yield? Plasma? Light? Something entirely new?
This was his home. A single misstep could incinerate his own roof. There was no rush.
Just as he began powering down the chakra flow, a grumble echoed from his stomach. Kabuto had eaten, but the main body had not. Shared will, shared mind—but alas, not shared digestion.
He sighed, amused.
Stretching, Akira moved to prepare for the day, only to find his cupboards barren. It had been some time since he'd restocked. With a shrug, he threw on his cloak and prepared to step out.
Just as he reached for the door handle, a knock echoed through the quiet room.
His brow furrowed.
Few people knew where he lived. Apart from a handful of Uchiha and trusted allies like Kakashi and Might Guy, no one had reason to visit him, especially not at this hour.
Who could it be?
He slowly approached the door, chakra subtly gathering in his fingers just in case.
Because in the world of shinobi, even the smallest knock might herald the next great turn of fate.