Kiyohara and Kurenai walked side by side along the bustling rear-line town street.
"You going to offload all that stuff?"
Kurenai gave a glance at the bulky storage scroll strapped to his back.
The lollipop in her mouth had shrunk noticeably. The sweet taste lingering on her tongue had loosened her nerves far more effectively than expected.
"Yeah. Trade it for some cash, patch up my gear."
Kiyohara was succinct as always.
He led them through a familiar back alley and arrived at the same shop as last time.
Placing the scroll on the counter, he formed a hand seal and released it.
A puff of white smoke exploded outward—followed by a pile of standard-issue Kirigakure armor, ninja tools, and miscellaneous personal effects now spread across the countertop.
"Kirigakure Jōnin-grade armor, huh? Damaged, but the materials are solid. Melt it down and reforge—we can make a fair bit from that…"
The shopkeeper scribbled a number.
150,000 ryō.
Most of the value came from Ao's high-quality gear.
Kiyohara was satisfied with the price. Then he laid his sword on the counter.
"Sharpen this blade. Add a ring loop at the end of the hilt."
He tapped the pommel with two fingers.
If he could control shuriken and kunai remotely—why not a sword?
Something he could wield up close… or throw, and reel back in.
"Ring loop, huh? Easy. Maintenance plus modding comes to this."
The shopkeeper named his price.
Kiyohara nodded again, handing over most of the cash he'd just earned.
"Rush order. And give me two Fūma Shuriken with the rest."
Large, four-bladed throwing stars—perfect for mid-range suppression. Ideal for chaotic battles.
"Come pick up your sword by sundown,"
Master Yamada pocketed the money and handed over two folded Fūma Shuriken.
Kurenai had quietly followed this whole time. Watching Kiyohara barter, assess, and handle everything with methodical calm, she once again had that strange feeling:
This guy really is what a ninja's supposed to be.
"You're surprisingly… prepared."
She couldn't help commenting.
Kiyohara sealed the new weapons into a fresh scroll and glanced at her.
"You have to stay alive before you can talk about anything else."
The Mist Village hadn't launched a full-scale invasion yet. But once they did, the Land of Fire would see Kirigakure operatives popping up everywhere.
He remembered how the Three-Tails was supposedly implanted into Rin near the Land of Grass, even though the Land of Water was on the opposite side of the map. Completely illogical…
Unless, of course, it was a trap carefully set by Uchiha Madara.
So he could blacken Obito's heart.
'Now that I've messed with the timeline… what will Obito's breaking point be this time?'
Kiyohara wondered.
Rin was a good comrade. If possible, he wanted to keep her alive—and she was also his only current lead into learning medical ninjutsu.
The truth was, to someone like Madara, the lives of everyone aside from Hashirama or his brother Izuna… were irrelevant.
As long as the outcome led to Obito awakening the Mangekyō Sharingan, nothing else mattered.
'But "loss" doesn't always mean death…'
Kiyohara suddenly thought of a certain Lord of Ruin story.
"To forever lose my love… and gaze upon a world in ruin."
Could that kind of psychological blow be enough to push Obito over the edge?
Maybe it would be better to speed up his blackening—so Madara wouldn't get interested in Kiyohara instead.
Over the next twenty days, Kiyohara frequently visited Rin to study medical ninjutsu and gradually build rapport.
The rest of the time, he trained in secluded areas around the rear base, staying well within the safe zone but away from prying eyes.
That wasn't strange—ninja spent as much time gathering intel and training as they did fighting.
Even Jiraiya had died just to gather information on the Six Paths of Pain.
No one disturbed Kiyohara as he trained.
He moved like a shadow through the woods, sword flashing.
Since merging with Future Kiyohara's talent and memories, his improvement had skyrocketed.
Each swing had the subtle, layered feel of decades of cultivation.
His foundation was now rock-solid.
He refined the basics until sweat beaded on his brow and his breathing turned long and deep—then entered a focused, meditative rhythm.
In the past, Kiyohara had struggled to reach that kind of flow while practicing swordsmanship.
But now, he could slip into it with ease. That kind of mental focus… was itself a talent.
Next, he worked on refining his Lightning Style: Lightning Current Technique, trying to adjust chakra output for longer control duration.
For context: an average Jōnin like early-part Kakashi had about one chakra unit. That let him use four Chidoris, tops.
Only after he retrained and reached elite Jōnin levels did his reserves allow for more.
Now Kiyohara's blade began to hum faintly. Small arcs of electricity danced along the edge.
He moved.
Zzzzzz!
The sound of cutting wind echoed through the woods. Several thick tree trunks, set up as targets, fell silently to the earth—sliced clean in half.
Kiyohara sheathed his blade and exhaled, sweat on his brow.
Twenty days of focused training had paid off. His chakra control and mental stamina had reached new heights.
"Now for… Leaf Style Sword Technique: Willow."
He pulled out Yin-natured chakra and fused it with his sword form.
In an instant, phantom blades shimmered through the air—dozens of them, flickering like reflections in water.
Kiyohara's figure blurred, his movement ethereal.
An hour later, he wrapped up his training and returned to base.
He'd only been doing low-risk missions lately, and things had been relatively peaceful.
But he knew that peace wouldn't last long.
The war was intensifying.
Ninjas were dying on the frontlines every day.
Troop numbers were stretched thin.
So Kiyohara waited… for the next "Last Will" to arrive.
If the pattern held, it would appear in ten days.
And as expected, the moment he returned to the base, he received a rally order.
At the center of the outpost, Genin, Chūnin, Tokubetsu Jōnin—even full Jōnin—had all gathered.
Kiyohara arrived near the end of the crowd, but from afar, he immediately spotted the pale young man standing at the center of attention.
Golden slit pupils.
Purple markings on the nose.
A single earring.
Kiyohara recognized him instantly.
"You're late, Kiyohara!"
Rin waved at him from the crowd.
Over the past few weeks, the two had grown noticeably closer.