Humiliation.
The word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing deep into his Soul day after day, moment after moment. The dignity of an adult was crushed to dust by the shell (referring to the body controlled by the ancient consciousness) of an infant, then repeatedly ground by the sole of reality.
Breastfeeding? It was torture! He was force-fed a bottle like a duck by a poker-faced woman in an Anbu-standard vest (code-named "Crow" in his mind). The rubber nipple brutally pushed against his gums, and warm liquid with a strange, fishy sweetness poured in. His body's instincts greedily swallowed, but his consciousness screamed madly: I'm an adult! Not a helpless baby waiting to be fed! Yet his throat betrayed his will, letting out contented, sucking gurgles. Each time, a fleeting, indescribable hint of disgust would flash in the woman named "Crow's" eyes, as if she were feeding some dirty animal. This look was more nauseating than the fishy smell in the bottle.
Sleep? It was an abyss. An infant's sleep was irregular, like a switch randomly flicked by an invisible hand. One moment he was furious at his body's lack of control, the next his consciousness was forcibly dragged into the Chaos of darkness. Even more terrifying, sometimes in the depths of that darkness, a pair of huge, beastly eyes burning with pure hatred and a desire for destruction would suddenly light up, like two blood-red moons! The nightmarish whispers from the Nine-Tailed poured into his Soul like tangible magma. Each time he woke, his tiny body was drenched in cold sweat as if pulled from water, his swaddling clothes soaked, with only his heart pounding wildly like a drum in his chest, temporarily drained of the strength to even cry out. *Damn it! This is mental pollution!*
But the Peak of all humiliation was having his diaper changed.
When the warm, wet sensation came from below his body, and when that indescribable odor permeated the small space, every nerve in his Soul twitched violently. An adult's shame was stripped bare and flogged under a spotlight. Especially when "Crow" or another rotating, slightly younger but equally silent wet nurse (code-named "Kite") approached expressionlessly, mechanically unwrapping his swaddling clothes, and their cold, rough fingers touched his wet, sticky skin... *Kill me! Now! Immediately! Right now!* His inner self roared hysterically. Every wipe was like sanding his Soul. Their movements were precise, efficient, yet carried a deep-seated detachment and... an undeniable physiological repulsion. They would hold their breath, their gaze trying to avoid the contact point, as if dealing with toxic bio-waste. Those brief seconds were a time of complete negation of his personhood. He could only tightly close his eyes, clenching his tiny fists with all his might, his fingernails digging deep into his soft palms, trying to use this trivial pain to distract from the overwhelming shame.
*Endure... I must endure... Like a wounded beast licking its wounds, I forced myself to observe. Observe the fragility of this infant body, observe the subtle changes brought by each heartbeat, each breath, observe every detail of the caregivers' (or rather, monitors') movements, the shifting of their gaze, even the slight tension in their muscles. *"Crow's" left arm moves with a very slight delay, her right shoulder habitually shrugs slightly, an old injury? Vigilance? ... "Kite's" fingers instinctively linger for half a second longer when touching the edge of the diaper, her knuckles white from gripping, is it disgust? Or fear of Chakra contamination? ... Hiruzen Sarutobi, that old fox, appears once every three days, always at dusk, carrying fatigue and scrutiny, his feigned greetings full of probing... Those shadows outside the door, closer each day, their whispers clearer each day...*
It was in this daily torment and observation that he gradually figured out some of his body's most primitive, most instinctive reaction patterns. For example... the feeling of a full bladder.
It was a subtle, gradually expanding sense of pressure, coming from deep within his lower abdomen. At first, it only brought physiological irritation, but soon, a twisted thought, laden with strong vengeful intent, like a poisonous vine growing in the darkness, suddenly entangled his consciousness.
The opportunity arrived on a dull afternoon.
"Crow" uncharacteristically held him, walking towards the narrow alley outside the house, which always reeked of decaying vegetable leaves. It seemed to be a routine outing. The lingering, malicious sense of being spied upon in the air instantly intensified. He could "feel" those gazes in the shadows, like poisoned needles, pricking his back densely.
Less than ten steps out, a sharp, harsh, undisguised female voice exploded like a broken gong from diagonally ahead:
"Look! The Nine-Tailed fox cub is out! How unlucky! Why didn't he starve to death inside? Isn't it enough that he harmed the Fourth Hokage, does he have to come out and disgust people too?!"
It was the skinny, dark woman from the alley entrance, the owner of the general store. She leaned against the greasy doorframe, clutching a handful of melon seeds, spitting shells with "pfft pfft" sounds, while her triangular eyes glared at him, as if he were a lump of filth stuck to her shoe. Her voice was loud, deliberately meant for everyone to hear.
A cold rage suddenly shot to his head, scattering all the innocence of an infant. *It's you!*
Inside his body, that familiar fullness was rapidly accumulating. He tried to focus all his mental energy, not to "control" — this body was far too immature to control sphincters — but to "guide". To feel that pressure, to wait for that tipping point, to aim in that direction! All the humiliation, all the hatred, all the stifled anger of being treated as subhuman, transformed into the most primitive, most malicious intention of this moment!
"Wah..." He deliberately let out a muffled, somewhat aggrieved whimper, his small body squirming restlessly in "Crow's" stiff arms. This movement made "Crow" instinctively adjust her hold, turning him slightly.
The angle was perfect!
Now!
"Pshhh—"
A warm, precise, pale yellow stream of water, carrying the unique scent of an infant, cut through the dull air, tracing a brief yet dazzling arc in the dim afternoon light!
Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
"Ploosh!"
Direct hit!
That long-Brewing, "virgin pee", filled with all the humiliation and anger of an adult Soul, like a miniature water cannon, accurately splashed onto the skinny woman's face, which instantly contorted in shock, her mouth wide open, ready to continue cursing! A few drops even splattered into her wide, disbelieving eyes!
"Ugh... Ugh ah—!!!" A shrill, distorted scream tore through the dullness of the alley. The woman jumped up as if splashed with boiling oil, frantically wiping her face with her hands, spitting saliva with "pfft pfft" sounds. The pungent, fishy odor instantly spread. The expression on her face was spectacular, a mix of extreme disgust, furious rage, and a horrified shock at being desecrated by the most humble of things.
"Nine-Tailed fox! Damn Nine-Tailed fox cub! You... you dare... Ugh!!!" She was incoherent, trembling with anger, her finger pointing at him shaking. Finally, she couldn't help but bend over and gag.
"..." "Crow," holding him, visibly stiffened for a moment. He could feel the muscles in her arm supporting his bottom instantly tense, like iron. She seemed to be struggling to control something, was it shock? Or did she want to laugh? But in the end, she only uttered a cold, unruffled command: "Shut up! Step back!" At the same time, she quickly retreated two steps with him, creating distance.
The prying gazes in the surrounding shadows also froze instantly. After a brief, dead silence, an uncontrollable murmur of surprise and schadenfreude erupted.
*Heh...* An indescribable, twisted warmth, carrying a strong sense of vengeful satisfaction, instantly melted the cold humiliation accumulated in his chest. Watching the woman's disheveled, exasperated state, seeing a hint of instinctive apprehension and absurdity mixed into the originally hateful gazes around them, a pathological pleasure of being in control clenched his heart.
Let you curse! Taste my virgin pee! How's that feel?! *His inner roar carried an almost frenzied exhilaration. A weapon? This was his only weapon! Primitive, dirty, but... effective!*
"Wah—wah wah—!" He timely and with all his might let out an earth-shattering wail, as if greatly startled. His small body trembled violently in sync, perfectly portraying the victim's stance. This crying drowned out the woman's curses and retching, and also the surrounding whispers.
"Crow" didn't linger. Holding the wailing him, she turned with slightly hurried steps and quickly retreated back into the old-smelling house. The door closed behind them, shutting out the commotion outside.
Once placed back in the rough swaddling clothes, waves of physical exhaustion washed over him. That precise "counterattack" had almost drained all the strength and energy from his small body. But his spirit was exceptionally high, the lingering pleasure coursing through his blood.
However, after the pleasure faded, what remained was not ease, but a deeper coldness.
Outside the door, the skinny woman's hysterical curses had not stopped; in fact, they became clearer and more malicious due to the distance, carrying a hatred that wished to grind him to dust:
"...May that monster die a terrible death!... He should have been drowned in a chamber pot!... Just wait! One day I'll burn you to death!... Nine-Tailed fox! Scourge!..."
Every word was like a poisoned ice pick, stabbing fiercely into his ears.
"Crow" stood silently in the corner's shadow, like a lifeless statue, deaf to the malicious curses outside the door. Her duty was merely to ensure the "container's" survival; what the container endured was irrelevant to her.
*Die a terrible death? Drowned? Burned to death?* In the depths of his consciousness, he chewed on these murderous words. The faint, twisted pleasure that had just surged from his revenge instantly vanished, replaced by something harder and darker.
They hated him. Not because of what "he" did, but simply because "he" existed. Simply because of the Seal inside him. They didn't need to know the truth, didn't need to understand the process, didn't even need to confirm whether the infant's shell still contained the original innocent Soul. They only needed a target to vent their fear and pain. And he, this infant who couldn't resist, couldn't explain, and couldn't even control his own excretions, was the perfect target.
*Monster? Scourge? Nine-Tailed fox?* These labels were brutally and unequivocally plastered onto him, firmly adhered with the glue of hatred. They cursed a life still in swaddling clothes with the most venomous language, simply because he was a symbol of their fear.
A bone-chilling coldness, colder than the burning pain of Nine-Tails Chakra, spread from the depths of his Soul, rapidly freezing all remaining soft spots belonging to a "normal person."
*Heh...* A silent sneer formed in his consciousness.
*So that's how it is.*
*Sympathy? Understanding? Humanity?*
*No.*
*These people are not worthy.*
*Their tears, their pain, their fear... what do they have to do with me? They only want my life!*
His heart, twisted by humiliation and excited by revenge, at this moment, felt as if an invisible hand had fiercely clenched and squeezed it, wringing out the last trace of "human" warmth. In its place, a cold, hard, sharp-edged seed was deeply buried in the frozen soil of his Soul.
It was called "indifference." Or, more accurately, the cruel realization of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
*Hate me? Then hate.*
*Want to kill me? Then come.*
*But remember, as long as I'm alive, as long as I have a single breath, even if I can only retaliate with a stream of pee... I will make you pay!*
In the swaddling clothes, the infant stopped wailing. Tear stains still lingered on his tiny face, but in the depths of his opened blue eyes, reflecting the dim light from the window, the innocence and ignorance of a child had long been crushed, leaving only a nearly deathly cold glow, burning silently.
The wetness of the diaper still clung stickily to his skin, emanating the scent of humiliation. But now, it was no longer pure shame.
It was his first, trivial yet significant battle for survival, fought in the most primitive way, within this desperate cage.
And this war had only just begun.