Michel saw Hinata crying… and though his heart ached, he knew he couldn't interfere. This was something she had to face on her own. All he could do was stay by her side, quietly, patiently, until the moment she was ready to speak again.
Each day spent in silence would be torment for him. But he accepted it. Because he loved her—as if she were truly his granddaughter, of his blood and legacy. And because he knew she needed to confront her memories.
She had locked away so much of her past. He believed that this suppression was one of the greatest obstacles stopping her from unifying the two versions of herself—the dream and the real. He had seen signs of progress during her time at the academy, signs she couldn't yet see for herself. But now… now her eyes were open.
To distract himself from the heaviness of the moment, Michel's thoughts drifted—back through the years, through her time at the academy, reflecting on how far she had already come.
Time began to move faster once Hinata joined the academy. Gone were the slow, quiet days of early childhood—now her world was filled with lessons, drills, and pressure. I watched her shrink further into herself, bit by bit.
She sat near the back of class, quiet, wearing a headband that hid the cursed mark of the branch family. No one knew. But she felt it.
Chakra control training began. Others advanced quickly—keeping leaves on their foreheads, molding chakra. Hinata struggled. Her chakra came slow and unstable. I began collecting techniques from all the places where there were bloodlines aspected to the Yin Chakra, and seeing the methods of the Nara and Yamanaka he tried to develop something that Hinata could use and taught it to Hinata of the Silver World hoping that the mastery in the Silver Would slowly be carried into the real world.
Her classmates passed her by. Bruises became more common in sparring. Some mocked her quietly. She never lashed out. Just bowed, breathed, and tried again.
One boy pushed too far, calling out her failure to use the Byakugan. She didn't bow. She didn't respond. But something in her changed. At that moment she decided to evolve beyond her lineage. And she seriously considered the idea of using a quarterstaff, as her main weapon.
That night, I trained her in the Silver World. I introduced new forms—staffs, motion, breath—not chakra. Kuro watched and then joined. I added basic projection drills, adapted from Yamanaka training, making sure her soul could internalize techniques even if her waking self forgot.
In time, she moved cleaner. Not because of Hyūga training—but because something of her own began to bloom.
I also saw Kuro learn—replicating complex motion instinctively. Even mimicking Nara Jutsus I hadn't taught or shown her yet.
Eventually in the real world I dared something new. A silver thread, guided not to her chakra, but to her muscles. For seconds, Hinata flowed with unexpected precision and physical strength—her staff intercepted, redirected, danced. Then the thread faded. She collapsed, winded. I knew it was too much—but it was progress. With her help at the Silver World, they both began to refine the new technique, they named it boost.
The next night, she returned to the Silver World. She didn't speak to me. She simply began training, quietly, alongside Kuro. It hurt that she wouldn't talk—but I understood. She needed time.
Exhausted, I retreated into the dojo. I went to the room where I kept all the techniques I had gathered throughout the years—copied from scrolls I read over the shoulders of unaware shinobi, notes I compiled through countless hours of silent observation.
This was where I built the training dummies for Hinata, where I stored anything that might help her and Kuro grow. Martial arts books from my world, perfectly reconstructed from memory. Diagrams from experiments aimed at helping her harmonize body and soul. I couldn't use chakra myself—but I could give her the tools to surpass every obstacle.
What I could offer was creativity—a gift from the world I came from. And in this dreamscape, she could learn and perfect what others might never even conceive. But all that would come in time. The present was about foundations. About giving her structure in combat, awakening her instincts, enhancing her use of chakra.
She had less than others because of her dissonance… but I swore I would help her use it better than anyone else ever could.
And once again, my thoughts drifted—to the boy whose actions had started it all.
That night, unlike the actions that I do every night when Hinata sleeps, that night I decided while a fragment of my consciousness is talking to Hinata in the Silver World, and taking her to the Glass Table, I found myself following Ren, even though I couldn't do anything with him, I could follow him invisibly in the real world and try to find out something about him and his plans.
I found Ren in his home—small, quiet, nestled near the southern edge of the village.
The boy's grandmother was kind, old, and wrinkled with grief. She had raised Ren since his parents had died in the Nine-Tails attack.
I watched as Ren sat across from her, speaking confidently.
About the future.
About the way things were supposed to go. As the Chunin exams would be problematic, Sunagakure and Orochimaru would attack the village, along with the death of the third Hokage. How Naruto was supposed to become the village's savior.
The way he spoke—it wasn't with reverence.It was with ownership. Like a child who had read only the beginning of a book and now believed himself the author of its ending.
He knows just enough to be dangerous, and far too little to understand the consequences.
I watched closely as Ren pulled out a scroll. My soul tensed. The seal. The handwriting. The language.
Danzo.
A recruitment letter—offering Ren a place in Root. A chance to train in secret. To become more than his peers. To control power, not beg for it.
I hovered above the scroll and the child who held it like destiny.
He didn't understand—couldn't, really—that Danzo was a path that closed far more doors than it opened. But that truth, like many others, wasn't something I could share with Hinata yet.
The nature of the future, and its branches, was a burden still beyond her grasp. And despite the shadows ahead, I was proud of who she had become in the Silver World. I could see that she would grow into that same strength and character in the real world. She just needed time.
For now, I remained what I had always been. A silent observer in her life—both in this world and the other.
<<<< o >>>>
The days passed more quickly now—not because life had become easier, but because Hinata had grown used to enduring it. At the academy, she moved like a shadow, soft-spoken and watchful. She answered only when asked and found comfort only in Kuro's silent presence.
I began to see a noticeable increase in his chakra reserves, like a dam that had been released. Techniques inspired by the Nara and Yamanaka clans allowed her to visualize and guide her chakra. Her reserves were still modest, but her soul and body no longer pulled against each other. The dissonance hadn't vanished—but now, her body was learning the rhythm of her spirit.
I continued to support her subtly—boosting her reflexes, bracing her steps, just enough for her to adapt. Each time, she grew a little stronger, held her stance a little longer. Her quarterstaff became an extension of her will—granting distance, rhythm, and control where her clan's techniques had failed.
Kuro, too, evolved. Through instinct and repetition, she mimicked my dream-based shadow techniques and began to anticipate movement rather than react. No longer mere imitation—it was more complicated; it was instinctual learning.
One quiet training night in the Silver World, Hinata's staff struck in harmony with Kuro's leap. I observed them, knowing one remembered more than she knew… and the other was beginning to choose.
Graduation came quietly. Hinata stood apart—still without Byakugan, still bearing the branch family's seal. But she held her head high, forehead protector secure. Her staff—worn and familiar—was the first thing she had ever chosen for herself.
I watched from beyond, hoping for a better future for her.