Hinata sat with Kuro resting in her lap, her fingers gently stroking the black Ninken fur. She felt nothing but happiness in that moment—grateful that Kuro was in her life. The beast's intelligent eye shimmered with a glint of wisdom beyond her kind.
"So," Hinata said, her voice steady, "what's next?"
Michel raised a brow. "Are you sure you want to continue? We could take a break—train a little, then pick this up tomorrow."
Hinata shook her head, eyes firm with determination. "I told you—I'm not going backward. I want to know what happened. No more hesitation."
Beside her, Kuro gave a soft bark, as if offering moral support.
Michel smiled faintly, then let his hands hover over the crystal table. "Very well…"
The silver threads began to glow again, gathering in quiet arcs as they prepared to dive once more into memory.
The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Michel had learned to recognize the rhythms of the village—the sighs of wind between buildings, the far-off pulse of chakra, the whispers of dreams.
But tonight… There was silence. A stillness too deliberate. And then—A muffled scream.
It came not from the Silver World, nor the Grey, but from the real world, piercing and terrified.
Hinata.
Michel flared awake, from his meditation. He could not move in the flesh, but his presence surged like fire through their soul-bond. He felt the sharp snap of terror in her chest, the cold sting of foreign chakra wrapped around her tiny frame.
"No—what is this?"
He reached out. His silver threads pulsed, trying to stabilize her body, to ease her lungs and slow her panicked heart.
But the danger was real, and close.
In the compound's outer wall, a masked ninja from the Cloud Village attempted to flee under cover of night, a small bundle in his arms.
That bundle screamed again. But the attacker had miscalculated. He wasn't alone.
From the shadows, Kuro launched herself—fur bristling, teeth bared. The little black dog tore into the intruder's arm with a fury born of pure loyalty.
The ninja snarled and struck back. A flash of chakra. A shriek of pain.
Kuro hit the ground, blood on her face, one eye clouded and red. She tried to rise again. But her legs failed.
Hiashi Hyūga arrived in a flash of cold rage.
There were no words. Only a strike.
A hand glowed white. A chakra point collapsed. The assassin crumpled—dead before he hit the ground.
Michel felt the change instantly.
The soul of the attacker, severed violently, twisted in the air—and was claimed. Not by a Shinigami, not yet. Because Michel hit him with a punch that threw him straight to the shinigami's door... before he could manifest himself to finish claiming this soul.
Michel did not follow it. He turned inward, toward Hinata—trembling, unconscious, and placed gently in her father's arms.
Beside her, Kuro whimpered weakly.
Hinata took a few minutes to fully process what she had just seen. Her young but sharp mind connected the dots, even if the memory wasn't truly her own.
"So that's when Kuro was injured…" she murmured.
Michel nodded, his voice low. "It was a moment of helplessness. I couldn't reach you… not when you needed me most. Thankfully, she was there. And then… your father."
Hinata's expression darkened slightly, her emotions still tangled when it came to Hiashi. "At least you managed to punch him towards the Shinigami's gate. That must've felt good."
Michel let out a small laugh. "More than you can imagine. Though… I wish I could've done more."
Her gaze lowered. "That was the event that led to Uncle's death… Neji's father."
Michel confirmed it with a quiet nod. "Yes. Do you want to see it?"
Hinata said nothing, but slowly placed her hand on the crystal table again, her resolve clear.
The following days were a storm of silence.
No shouting. No cries. Only formal words behind closed walls. Diplomacy layered in poison.
Michel listened from within.
The Cloud denied everything. Demanded justice. The Leaf responded with cold calculation.
In the end, a single decision settled the matter: Someone from the Hyūga must die to satisfy the demand for balance.
Hiashi stood to offer himself. But the clan did not accept.
Michel watched with heavy stillness as a man who looked like Hiashi—his twin, Hizashi—stood quietly before the elders.
"It will be my honor," Hizashi said, bowing. "Let the world believe it was Hiashi. The secret will protect us."
"It will mark my son," he added, "but such is the fate of our branch."
Michel felt the moment the seal on Hizashi's soul pulsed, preparing for the coming end.
It wasn't just binding. It corroded. Twisting the soul with obedience masquerading as duty.
Hinata slowly withdrew her hand from the crystal table and wrapped her arms around Kuro in her lap. Her voice trembled with realization.
"I thought… I thought he sacrificed his brother. I didn't know Uncle volunteered."
Michel's voice was calm but firm. "Your father is a man of duty. His position defines him, but he carries the weight of that responsibility with clarity—for the sake of the clan."
Hinata held Kuro closer, seeking comfort in her presence. "What happened after that?"
Michel looked at her carefully. "It was a difficult time for you. The only thing that brought you peace was walking… your father arranged for servants to—"
"Show me," Hinata interrupted gently, placing her hand back on the crystal table, her resolve unshaken.
Weeks passed. The clan moved forward.
But Hinata… shrank. She spoke less. Played less. Smiled only in dreams.
Kuro stayed close—now with one eye less, but still vigilant. Still hers.
Then one day, it happened. A routine stroll in the inner streets of Konoha. A rare outing for Hinata, accompanied by a bored woman from the branch family—meant to watch her, meant to keep her safe.
But the woman turned away to speak with another servant, and Hinata, curious, wandered.
She didn't go far. But far enough to be seen. Three boys stood at the edge of the street. Aged 7 or 8, a few years older. They stared at her—at her pale, pupil-less eyes.
"Creepy," one muttered.
"Is she blind?" asked another.
"Maybe she's cursed."
They moved closer.
Michel felt the spike in her pulse. Her hands curled into small fists, her knees locked.
She didn't speak. Couldn't. They laughed.
One of them shoved her. She stumbled. Another yanked her sleeve.
Kuro barked, growled—but one of the boys grabbed her by the neck, hoisting her just off the ground.
She kicked, snapped, struggled—but couldn't reach.
Michel surged, silver threads flaring in panic. "Stop. Please, someone—!"
Then came the shout. "HEY!"
The boys turned just as a blur of yellow and orange slammed into them.
Naruto Uzumaki—filthy, loud, and wild—plowed into the lead bully and knocked him over.
"Pick on someone your own size, jerks!"
He stood in front of Hinata, arms out, teeth bared like an alley cat.
Michel paused.
There was no chakra flare. No technique. Just… raw emotion. It wasn't just wild. It was focused, like a beam through the fog. Untrained. Untamed. But unmistakably… a soul that would move the world.
The boys scattered. One of them cried. Another threatened to tell a teacher.
Naruto turned around. "You okay?"
Hinata looked up, wide-eyed. She nodded slowly. He grinned, scratched his head, then sprinted off before anyone could scold him.
The boy who had held Kuro dropped her and ran.
The little dog limped to Hinata's side and growled into the empty air, tail low but still defiant.
Michel watched them both. "He is chaos," he thought. "But he is light."
He looked at Hinata—still frozen, her cheeks red, her eyes wide and glistening.
And for the first time in many, many nights…
She smiled in the real world.
Hinata blushes slightly as she says, "I remember that… he came… and I felt safe… he was the first boy my age who protected me when I needed it…"
Michel sighs and answers her "That boy is… special, yes… he has a great future ahead of him."
[Here's an image of Kuro that I put together with the AI that I think respects what I thought of her at this point in the story.]