"Damn it…!"
Ōtsutsuki Isshiki's heart was overflowing with rage and regret.
Why?
Why did someone as powerful—so supreme, so legitimate, so noble—have to cling to life like some pathetic parasite, hiding inside a worthless monk's body?
And why did someone like Kaguya—an off-branch "failure" who should've been sacrificed—get to survive shamelessly… and even end up happy?!
It wasn't fair. It wasn't logical.
In a "proper" world, shouldn't the traitor Ōtsutsuki Kaguya have died miserably, while he successfully planted the God Tree, drained the entire shinobi world dry, and returned to the Ōtsutsuki clan as someone above everyone else?
So why had everything turned out like this?
Even though Isshiki had spent more years lurking in this world than Kaguya ever did, living here hadn't made him accept it.
If anything, it only made him hate it more—just like Shanks once said, "I hate everything about this place."
The difference was: Shanks was speaking with layers. Isshiki wasn't.
He truly despised everything here.
And the more this world improved—the stronger it became, the happier its people became—the more furious Isshiki grew.
To him, the world's "inferior" inhabitants were born low.
People born low didn't deserve peace. They didn't deserve happiness.
And when ordinary people in this world were living lives so comfortable—so stable—that they looked happier than some Ōtsutsuki, the hatred inside Isshiki didn't just rise… it exploded.
In the end, he couldn't help himself.
He wanted to see it with his own eyes.
He knew it was wrong. He knew it would change nothing. He knew it would only make him more bitter afterward.
But he still went.
Because if he didn't look—if he didn't confirm it—he couldn't settle his mind.
That obsession was Isshiki's weakness.
And it was exactly the trap Uchiha Yōrin had laid.
Schemes didn't have to be fancy. They just had to work.
The more "perfect" and intricate the plan, the more ways it had to fail.
Anyone who's read history knows: the simplest way to kill someone is to invite them to a meeting.
…
So Isshiki died—without fanfare, without drama.
He thought he was careful. He believed he was hidden.
But the moment he showed himself, he was caught.
Yōrin didn't waste words. He didn't negotiate.
He reached out, seized Isshiki—and refined him on the spot.
Ōtsutsuki Isshiki—the "mid-boss" of the Boruto era, responsible for so many bizarre calamities—was erased in the shortest possible time.
For Kaguya, that death was the best wedding gift imaginable.
The moment she confirmed the threat was gone, joy surged through her so violently she almost burst into an aristocratic "ohohoho" laugh.
"Today is the happiest day!"
She raised her cup and said something so blunt it begged for a snarky response.
But considering how much pressure the Ōtsutsuki had placed on her for millennia, it was… understandable.
Yōrin: "Alright, alright. You've had enough."
Seeing Kaguya on the verge of a drunken spiral, Yōrin figured he should at least try to rein her in.
She was still, technically, a goddess—she should mind her dignity.
Kaguya: "Dignity? Who cares! I'm enjoying myself!"
Maybe the alcohol was stronger than it looked. Kaguya became wildly, absurdly energized.
She downed another drink… and then shoved Yōrin down with a delighted grin.
Yōrin had a feeling that when she sobered up the next morning, remembering what she'd done would be mortifying—
…or she'd simply "forget," or pretend to.
And if he ever brought it up, she'd either play dumb or start a fight. So unless he wanted a pointless argument, he decided this would become "a thing that never happened."
Anyway, he wasn't losing out.
Yōrin: "This is nice. Really nice."
He sighed with genuine satisfaction.
Thirty years had passed since he first arrived in this world—gone in a blink.
He'd started as an ordinary jōnin who trembled at the thought of the Uchiha massacre night. Now he stood at the peak, unrivaled.
He hadn't relaxed for even a moment. Even when he "rested," he rested with one eye open.
But now…
Now the world was finally settled. The geopolitical storm had finally calmed. The world was unified.
The Ōtsutsuki threat still existed, sure—but Isshiki was dead, and Kaguya had become an ally.
At least for now, the danger was manageable.
In ten or twenty years, the invaders would arrive.
He couldn't become complacent. He still had to move forward.
But before that…
At least tonight, Uchiha Yōrin could finally allow himself to truly rest.
Holding onto warmth, peace, and a rare sense of safety, he slowly closed his eyes.
This was Uchiha Yōrin's story.
And here—at last—it paused.
The old shinobi era was completely over.
A new interstellar age was beginning.
…
And then, the epilogue.
Ten years later.
Three Ōtsutsuki prepared to descend upon the world.
As they had done to countless planets, they arrived with arrogance and certainty: capture the traitor, determine why the God Tree failed, plant it again, and harvest the planet's life and natural energy.
They'd done it so many times it was routine.
Cold, efficient, without pity.
Like an invading army deployed to a "lesser world," treating the locals as beneath contempt.
Yōrin couldn't even decide whether their attitude was worse than certain "holy nobles" in other worlds—both were different flavors of rot.
In the original Naruto "formula," maybe the future would've ended with reconciliation—love, peace, handshakes, everyone eating onigiri together.
But with Uchiha Yōrin here, that outcome would never be allowed.
Because letting it go would insult every species, every civilization, every world that had been butchered under the Ōtsutsuki scythe.
That was the weight of countless ruined planets—entire ecosystems erased.
Yōrin had no right to "forgive" on their behalf.
All he could do was take revenge.
So when those three Ōtsutsuki descended with smug confidence…
They met a formation so overwhelming, so brutal, so beyond expectation, that it was impossible to resist.
In fact, before they even entered the planet—before they even reached the star system—they were detected by high-power surveillance satellites.
Space defense stations activated.
Hundreds of chakra cannons locked on.
And then they fired.
These weren't the old Kumogakure prototypes anymore.
Their efficiency and output had been upgraded to a ridiculous degree.
One shot could approach Six Paths-level destructive force.
Hundreds fired at once.
Kinshiki—the weakest of the three—was annihilated instantly.
Urashiki screamed, dodging and weaving like a madman while shouting, "What is this?!"—but he only survived a few seconds longer.
The only one who barely endured was Momoshiki.
He still had his last resort: the Kāma—parasitic possession.
But there was no human body close enough to latch onto.
The defense stations were hundreds of thousands of kilometers away.
Even with Byakugan vision, flesh still had limits.
Momoshiki didn't even understand where the attacks were coming from.
He was shredded, battered, collapsing into panic.
His pre-industrial worldview couldn't process it.
To him, an over-the-horizon orbital strike might as well have been divine punishment.
Was it a god?
Was it the legendary Ōtsutsuki God beyond dimensions?
Why? Why was he being judged?
…
In a pre-industrial mind, this kind of war is indistinguishable from a curse.
Momoshiki tried to activate Kāma anyway.
But with no vessel, his soul was left drifting in cold space.
Of course, Yōrin wasn't going to let him die neatly.
More things happened—things Momoshiki couldn't comprehend.
A man in strange gear (a shinobi-world spacesuit) appeared before his soul.
Momoshiki lunged to possess him—
Only to discover it wasn't human at all.
It was a puppet.
A machine.
Before he could react, his soul was captured and sealed.
And the seal was delivered—straight into the hands of someone pale, almost Ōtsutsuki-like in appearance, but unmistakably not one of them.
That man's eyes were terrifying.
Not hatred.
Not fear.
Pure curiosity.
The look of a scientist staring at a specimen.
That was the end of Momoshiki's story.
His final fate was to become Orochimaru's newest "research project," wrung dry of every last scrap of useful information before being discarded.
For an invader drenched in blood, it was a fitting ending.
…
With Momoshiki's intel in hand, the machine of peace began moving again.
More arrogant capitalists were checked and punished.
More wealth and resources were redirected into deep-space exploration.
The republic's fairness and democratic mechanisms were strengthened.
And at the same time, it took its first hard step toward a militarized spacefaring era.
The Shinobi Republic would expand into the stars.
It would leave its warm cradle-planet behind.
It would build a true space empire.
And yes—along the way it would face retaliation from the Ōtsutsuki.
It would also encounter more planets with life, with civilizations.
Some friendly. Some hostile. Some weaker. Some stronger.
Some perhaps even more dangerous than the Ōtsutsuki.
How to deal with them would become the republic's next great test.
But that was fine.
The republic didn't fear hardship.
Not only because it had a complete technological system that kept advancing—rather than "research by archaeology" like certain grimdark universes—
But because it was united.
All citizens underwent gene improvement and became one extended "family." Class lines faded. Talent and ability became broadly equal, creating real equality and democracy.
And most importantly—
They had the greatest commander, the finest mind, the strongest champion in the world.
Uchiha Yōrin.
Ruler of the Shinobi Republic.
Teacher and marshal of all mankind.
The one who would lead them forward, crush the Ōtsutsuki for good, and carve out a brighter tomorrow.
~~~
Finished! Thank you everyone for reading!