Later, the clan had accepted the First Raikage, A, and ceded the lands of the Cloud-Lightning Gorge to him. From there, Kumogakure was founded.
To be able to endure such a harsh environment, to live there for generations, and even preserve their surname—it could only mean the clan carried a unique gift in their very bodies.
The body itself was a manifestation of yang release.
Uchiha Seiji reasoned that his own "yang affinity" most likely came from the Yotsuki clan.
The stronger the body's innate gift, the more abundant the life force it held—and the greater its ability to heal itself.
Though, it was still probably inferior to the overwhelming vitality of the Senju or the Uzumaki.
Once he was certain no one's eyes lingered on him, Seiji stretched lazily and pretended to head toward the restroom.
Closing the door behind him, he pulled out the slip of paper.
It was an utterly ordinary piece, no larger than two fingernails put together.
On the front, in tiny black script, were the words:
"Yotsuki Seiji, no matter what, you are one of us in Kumogakure. The gates of the village will always remain open to you."
Seiji's brow arched.
The message wasn't encoded in the usual way shinobi used, with ciphers and layered codes.
It was written in plain script—something even a child could read.
He guessed Kumogakure had done this intentionally, knowing he was still only a student of the Academy, not yet trained to decipher complex codes.
He turned the slip over.
On the back was an address. A shop. Something utterly ordinary.
Kumogakure's spy point…
Seiji tore the slip into pieces and let them scatter into the toilet bowl.
The ink began to dissolve the moment it touched water, the words fading into nothing, until even the paper pulp swirled away.
Expressionless, he pressed the flush. The fragments vanished into the pipes with the rush of water.
It seemed Kumogakure regretted losing a Uchiha to Konoha. And now, in desperation, this was the sort of subtle hand they had to play.
This was not the future Konoha that Kumogakure would one day dare to openly challenge—the weakened Konoha that had lost White Fang, lost its Fourth Hokage, driven away the Sannin, and staggered after the Nine-Tails' assault.
That Konoha had been forced to offer up the Hyūga clan head like a lamb to keep the peace.
If not for Hiashi's twin brother, Hizashi, who took his place, Hyūga Hiashi himself would have died that night.
But here and now, Konoha was strong.
That address on the slip was Kumogakure's "sincerity."
Seiji could report the spy post to the village and earn a reward.
Or, he could use it in reverse—squeeze Kumogakure for benefits, even keep a pathway back to the village of the clouds.
But that last option… that was only if there was no other choice. Seiji would not willingly walk it.
If he returned to Kumogakure, as their sole surviving "prize," it would mean the loss of his freedom. He would live forever under their watchful eyes, caged and controlled.
He didn't doubt they'd experiment on him. Perhaps not vivisection—but surely controlled draws of blood, of tissue. Repeated endlessly, again and again, until he was spent.
And likely, they'd turn him into nothing more than breeding stock. Forced to sire children endlessly.
In a few short years, his body would be hollowed out.
Seiji liked women. But not like that. Not under that kind of brute-force treatment, not degraded into livestock.
Kumogakure would never risk letting him grow powerful enough to escape their leash. They'd stifle his growth, keep him as nothing but a tool for procreation, and instead funnel all resources into the children he sired—children they would brainwash from birth to serve the Cloud.
Konoha, even with the looming shadow of the Uchiha clan's eventual downfall, still gave him the chance to study ninjutsu, to grow stronger.
Everything in this world had already been priced, marked in secret.
To gain something, you had to pay the cost.
Life was nothing more than a string of choices.
Konoha and Kumogakure each had their risks and their rewards. For now, Konoha was safer. For now, Konoha gave him time to sharpen his blade.
"Seiji, are you home?"
The voice outside broke through his thoughts. Familiar.
Mikoto.
Seiji knew immediately this was the "inspection" from Root.
He set aside the book of biographies he'd been memorizing, went into the kitchen, and splashed his face with water. He straightened his hair, wiped down, checked his breath with a puff against the mirror, and made sure he looked clean and harmless.
Then, sliding on his wooden sandals, he went to the door.
The Uchiha compound occupied its own walled district within the village, where only clansmen lived.
Seiji's own home was a somewhat shabby estate. The only benefit was how spacious it was.
"Mikoto-sama," Seiji greeted, bowing slightly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
She was a jōnin. He, a mere Academy student.
Even if he carried the soul of an adult into this life, he couldn't afford to appear unnaturally calm for his age.
Sometimes, weakness was the best mask of all.
"Seiji, there's no need to be so formal," Mikoto said with a gentle smile, shaking her head.
Did she really look that frightening? Seeing the boy bow and scrape like that made her sigh inwardly.
Seiji lowered his head further, his short black hair casting shadows over his face, hiding his expression.
"I told you before," Mikoto reminded softly, "just call me 'nee-san.'"
"…Alright. Mikoto-nee-san."
She nodded, satisfied, then gestured to the woman at her side.
"This is Yakushi Nonō, captain of the medical division."
"Hello," the woman said with a warm smile. "I'm Yakushi Nonō."
Her plump, voluptuous figure seemed at odds with the mournful gentleness of her expression.
"I'm here to examine your eyes, to make sure there's no problem."
"I'll trouble you then, Nonō-sama," Seiji said politely, leading them inside.
Soon, Mikoto and Yakushi Nonō sat cross-legged on the tatami before a low table.
Seiji slipped into the kitchen. Standing on a stool, he rummaged for a packet of cheap tea, set water to boil, and carefully poured two cups.
Yakushi Nonō watched the boy's slight frame moving busily back and forth. A pang of pity stirred in her chest.
Perhaps it was all the years she had spent in Root, drowning in blood and orders to erase herself, to erase others. Perhaps it was the weight of the darkness hidden beneath shinobi masks.
But lately, she found herself drawn to children like Seiji.
Pure. Untainted. Like unpolished gems, each with their own colors.
"Please, have some tea."
Seiji placed the cups on the table and sat across from them.
"Thank you."
Mikoto, out of courtesy, lifted the cup. It was low-quality, almost bitter, but she took a few small sips anyway.
Yakushi Nonō raised her own cup but kept her eyes fixed on Seiji.
Pity was pity. The mission still came first.
Her emerald eyes, behind round frames, scrutinized every flicker of his face as she began asking questions. Seemingly casual ones. Things that had nothing, on the surface, to do with medicine.
Seiji answered them all calmly.
The questions were subtle, carefully angled probes meant to unearth whether he was a spy. At times, Nonō even wove in subtle genjutsu techniques, pressing a heavier weight down upon his mind.
Mikoto stayed silent at his side, her eyes lowered to the rippling tea.
The ceiling above was covered in old wooden panels, some already rotting. A moth fluttered too close to the fluorescent bulb.
Then, silently, a black spider crept out. Its jagged jaws closed on the moth.
Mikoto blinked. Only then did she notice the nearly invisible web stretched across the light.
"So slow…" she muttered under her breath.
When she turned back, Yakushi Nonō had already finished her round of questions and was examining Seiji's eyes with her instruments.