How do you "broaden your horizons"?
And how do you do it?
Roy met Maha's gaze across the rocking chair. The old man seemed to read the doubt in his heart and chuckled.
"Easy. Go all out… and punch me."
No one is born strong, and no one is born all-knowing. Whoever you meet, whatever you live through—those things settle into your understanding of the world.
And Nen awakens from that understanding.
The old and the young stayed quietly in the dim little room. By the window, the curtain fluttered, lifting a corner to let a strip of light fall across them.
Not far away—
Zeno, who hadn't gone far;
Silva, who was helping Kikyo and had called for Tsubone to escort her back to the bedroom—
as if by some shared intuition, they paused, or looked over through layers of stone walls.
Maha's question pinned Roy in place. He fell into thought.
All out? What even was his "all out" now?
He had the world-crossing ability granted by the Gate of Cognition.
He had the "copy" book that let him replicate talents through the Monster Index.
He had Yin–Yang and the Five Elements, and the ninjutsu derived from them.
He had Bankai. Swamp Space. Sharingan. Genjutsu. A sword art already at Level 4—bordering on a domain.
Too much. Too many.
Was this a "good problem" to have?
No.
Roy understood his great-grandfather. Maha loved to joke, but he never spoke without purpose.
And this was Kukuroo Mountain—home. The Zoldyck castle. Maha's little retirement room.
If Roy truly went "all out" here…
Was Maha not afraid Roy would tear the whole place apart?
His thoughts churned. His brows knotted. For the first time in a long time, Roy felt lost.
He lowered his head and stared at his palms in a daze—
then his forehead stung.
When he looked up, his head was already in Maha's hand. The old man had stood on tiptoe—somehow—and was pinching his forehead like he did when Roy was little.
"Kid," Maha said, eyes sharp, "did you forget what you just told your brother?"
Maha's dry, bony fingers rested against Roy's brow. Under the sunlight, that frail body seemed taller than it had any right to be.
"Love others by loving yourself first."
"And you said you've seen people, seen things—fine. I believe you."
"But what about you?"
"Where did you put yourself?"
"And where did you put the followers who trust you, rely on you, and push you forward?"
Boom!
It hit Roy like thunder—right in the heart.
For a split second, it was as if he'd seen Maha again as that towering figure holding a thunder hammer, one strike shattering the fog in Roy's mind and punching a hole through it—revealing blazing dawn light behind.
"I get it," Roy said softly.
"Then tell me."
"You're telling me to steady my heart… to know exactly who I am."
"And?"
"And…" Roy's eyes cleared completely, brighter than they'd ever been. He smiled—wide, radiant—and threw the question back:
"Great-grandfather… do you believe in light?"
Maha laughed, genuinely delighted. His hand slid from Roy's head to his shoulder and landed there with two heavy pats.
"Of course!"
"My grandson has to be light."
"Only light can give people—give life—give this world—hope."
He released Roy and sank back into the rocking chair, staring out at the bright day. Outside, shadows moved: Milluki, Luca, butlers, beasts, masters—the Zoldycks, in every identity and role.
Maha's voice turned low and deep.
"One home is hard enough to manage. One team is hard to lead."
"Let alone a city. A country."
"Roy—if you can't even clearly define your own role as the leader…"
"Then I advise you to give up the road of faith."
Revolutions need a doctrine—same way Nen can't exist without the heart.
Roy bowed, respectful and sincere.
"Your grandson has learned."
Maha waved a hand, dismissing him. His eyelids drooped again. Roy took the hint and slipped out, pulling the door closed gently behind him.
The door opened and shut.
Footsteps faded down the corridor.
A moment later, Maha's Nen stirred.
A soft, gentle silhouette—warm as a memory—appeared faintly in the room, watching Roy's retreating back.
She clicked her tongue, half-scolding.
"He's still a child. Couldn't you wait a little longer?"
"No," Maha said, opening his eyes. His expression was grave. "You saw it too. He doesn't have that kind of time."
Betty fell silent.
She sat beside Maha's leg as if she could lean into him again—but she had no body. Only a remnant of will, a "post-mortem Nen" bound to him.
Still, a thread of Nen light wrapped around her. Maha's hand—coated in Ten—reached out and held her anyway, then drew her into his arms.
A man and a ghost, sharing warmth in a sunlit room.
Betty pressed her cheek to Maha's chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling how heavy his thoughts were.
Then she looked up, cupping his face.
"…Did someone project a shadow into the human world?"
Maha frowned, silent.
Betty understood. "A… god?"
"He can't come down," Maha said.
"Then… a believer?" Betty asked. "A divine servant? An angel?"
"Not sure yet. Silva's investigating."
Betty sighed and tried to smooth the wrinkles on Maha's face. They flattened—then immediately came back. Pointless.
He was old.
And she… couldn't help.
If she could revive—
if the countless comrades who'd died with Maha could revive—
maybe he wouldn't have to carry everything alone.
But the world didn't have "if."
A breeze swept the courtyard willows.
…
Meanwhile—
in this same parallel timeline, in the Naruto world…
Konoha. The Hokage Tower—like a giant rice cooker sitting over the village.
After returning from the Academy, Hiruzen immediately ordered Anbu to summon Uchiha Fugaku to discuss the "school bombing."
But before his butt even warmed the chair, Fugaku suddenly handed him a scroll titled "Limb Regeneration Technique."
Hiruzen's old eyes narrowed. He glanced up at Fugaku, then lowered his gaze and read every line.
His mind instantly leapt to a forbidden technique—
Edo Tensei.
A Second Hokage–developed, S-rank "otherworld summoning" that called dead shinobi back with bodies—revived as physical beings. It had once shocked the battlefield so badly even Chiyo and the Second Tsuchikage, Mu, had cursed it as vile… while secretly envying it.
Yet right now, in this office—
this regrowth technique shook Hiruzen even harder.
Because shinobi needed hands to weave seals to shape chakra. Even the First Hokage couldn't dodge that rule.
Hands were everything.
And Konoha had plenty of veterans who'd lost limbs in war—people who'd never again stand as shinobi.
Hiruzen pressed the scroll down on the desk with one hand and stared at Fugaku.
"Fugaku. You've given me an enormous surprise."
"Limb regeneration, as the name says. With this technique, all of Konoha's disabled will owe you a debt from today onward."
"Battlefield fortune," Fugaku replied, face as cold and rigid as ever. "You praise me too highly."
Battlefield fortune?
If an enemy village had this, why hadn't it appeared in any war report?
Hiruzen's gaze sharpened. He remembered one child—too calm, too bright.
He laughed softly, harmlessly.
"Tell me about this child of yours—Uchiha Ren."
"Such Fire Release. And to develop a technique like this at his age…"
Hiruzen praised, watching Fugaku's face for even the smallest twitch.
"You truly have a fine son."
Fugaku's heart jumped—but his expression didn't. He slammed on an angry "father" mask.
"I've made the Hokage laugh. That child doesn't know restraint. He damaged the Academy wall. By regulation he must be punished—harshly."
"When I return, I'll revoke his enrollment, drag him to the Police Force for judgment, and imprison him!"
So… it really wasn't Fugaku.
Hiruzen studied him for a beat, then waved it off.
"A child. Don't take it so seriously."
"In my view, you shouldn't punish him at all—you should encourage him."
"With his ability, staying in the Academy is wasting him. I approve early graduation."
"Hokage-sama… that violates procedure—"
"Procedure is dead. People are alive. When needed, we make exceptions."
Hiruzen decided it on the spot.
He granted Fugaku a day off and promised he'd later notify him who Ren's instructor would be.
Fugaku bowed, stiff and controlled, and left.
The office door opened and closed.
Footsteps vanished.
Alone by the window, Hiruzen sat at the desk and thought.
He reached for the crystal ball—
then hesitated, and withdrew his hand.
That boy's words at the training ground—his eyes—his fireball that swallowed half the field—
still burned in his mind.
Hiruzen murmured to himself, "So… it truly wasn't you?"
He picked up his brush and wrote beside Uchiha Ren:
"Exceptional genius… likely the true developer of Limb Regeneration…"
He started to write two more words—"perhaps usable…"—then stopped.
Because he remembered the question that had made him hesitate at the Academy:
That boy understood the Will of Fire.
But did that "fire" include the Uchiha?
…
Back home, Fugaku arrived at the entryway and asked, already taking off his shoes:
"Where's Ren?"
"He's sleeping," Mikoto answered helplessly. "He said the noon sun is perfect for napping. He even ordered Itachi not to let anyone disturb him. Same as when he was little—always loved sleep."
Fugaku wanted to wake him, to talk—but stopped himself.
"Let him sleep."
"I'll eat first."
"I saved you food." Mikoto watched him eat, then asked softly, "What did the Hokage say?"
"Early graduation," Fugaku answered.
Mikoto blinked. "That early?"
Too early… meaning too conspicuous.
Fugaku set down his chopsticks and sighed.
"I used to want him to be a genius—so the Uchiha wouldn't lose face."
"Now… I'd rather nobody knew about him at all."
Mikoto frowned. "Why? Isn't having a talented son a good thing?"
"It is," Fugaku said, bitter. "But it invites… thoughts."
He remembered Hiruzen's testing questions. He'd managed to bluff it through.
Still—
"Ren can't be allowed to fall. Not ever."
"At least not right now. I don't want too many eyes on him."
"That's why I took the regeneration technique onto myself—claimed it was 'battlefield gain.'"
Mikoto went quiet.
She'd never expected to be troubled by her son being too outstanding.
Then she sighed.
"Either way, Anata… sleep."
She leaned in with a playful blink.
"The kids are asleep."
She sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Fugaku: "..."
He finally had a day off, and you're going to—
~~~
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