Akira began by cleaning the house.
He started with his parents' room.
Every movement was careful, almost reverent. He folded their clothes, wiped the shelves, and cleared away the dust that had gathered since the war. Nothing was thrown away. Nothing was rushed.
Then came his own room.
Finally, the upper floor.
By the time afternoon arrived, every corner of the house had been cleaned and arranged. The silence felt heavier, but also… orderly.
Only then did Akira sit down.
He opened a worn but well-kept shinobi bank book.
The number written inside did not surprise him.
Two hundred and twenty million.
In addition to that, there were eleven civilian shops, all rented out—each providing a steady monthly income shared between the village and him.
This was the inheritance his parents had prepared openly.
Not through the clan.
But through the village and legal systems.
A safeguard.
Normal shinobi were fortunate to save even ten million in their lifetime. But his parents—and their parents before them—belonged to an old bloodline. History had its privileges.
And yet…
This was not the real inheritance.
Akira stood and activated his Byakugan.
Veins bulged around his pale eyes as his vision pierced through walls, floors, and earth itself. He remained still for five full minutes, scanning every layer beneath the house.
Then he closed his eyes.
And turned toward the basement.
The staircase was long and steep, descending far deeper than the house's structure should have allowed.
At the bottom stood a massive black door, smooth and lightless, as if it swallowed all reflection.
Akira stepped forward.
He placed his right palm against the side of the door.
A green marking slowly spread across his skin, forming a single word:
OPEN
A sharp, thread-like pain pierced his hand.
This was a secret technique passed down through his family.
A seal mixed with blood and chakra.
At the age of one, his grandfather had branded it onto his hand—without explanation.
Only once, during the war, had his mother told him the truth.
The door pulsed.
A powerful pulling force dragged Akira forward.
The world twisted.
And then—
He arrived.
The space beyond was vast.
Scrolls and books filled towering shelves. Gold, silver, and priceless treasures were stacked neatly, untouched by time. The sheer value of the room could supply the entire Hidden Leaf Village for a year.
Torches burned along the walls, their flames steady and eternal—lit by a special oil meant to last centuries.
At the center of the chamber stood a massive book.
Akira approached it slowly and opened it.
As he read, understanding dawned.
This place was the accumulation of fourteen generations.
It had all begun when the Hyūga first used the Bird Cage.
One ancestor had immediately realized the curse's flaw—and its danger. While others accepted their fate, he secretly began studying fūinjutsu, searching for a way to break it.
He failed in his lifetime.
But he did not let his work die.
Instead, he created this space—the black door—a sealed treasure vault bound strictly to his bloodline.
Generation after generation added to it.
Knowledge. Wealth. Research.
At the founding of Konoha, Akira's great ancestor Hyūga Akin finally solved the Bird Cage problem. But in an age of peace, he chose silence over chaos.
The secret remained hidden.
And now—
The inheritance had passed from the fourteenth generation…
To Akira.
The fifteenth.
Akira removed the massive book.
A keyhole appeared beneath it.
Slowly, he took out the small key his mother had given him and inserted it.
The altar split apart.
A huge scroll was revealed.
Akira already knew what it contained.
The technique to unbind the Bird Cage.
As he read, his expression remained calm—but his mind raced.
The requirement was clear.
Strength equivalent to a jōnin.
He closed the scroll, returned it carefully, and retrieved the key.
This was not something he could use yet.
He walked deeper into the chamber.
The space stretched nearly two thousand meters.
Thankfully, detailed records were preserved.
More than ten thousand jutsu.
Akira froze.
Even the entire Hidden Leaf did not possess this many techniques.
Then he understood.
Just like the Sharingan, the Byakugan had its own terrifying advantage.
Seeing chakra.
Seeing distance.
His ancestors had watched other clans, studied their chakra flow, and copied techniques with terrifying precision.
Akira exhaled slowly.
He selected a few basic books—chakra fundamentals, fūinjutsu introduction, medical ninjutsu—and exited through the black door.
Back in the familiar basement, Akira looked at the black door with a complicated expression.
Even with all this wealth… his parents had still gone to war.
They had chosen their friends.
Their village.
He sighed quietly.
The black door was flawless.
A fail-safe ensured that if anyone forced entry, the door would teleport itself to a distant location—returning only after a year. Built upon summoning principles, it could also be called back by its rightful owner at any time.
No one else could touch it.
Akira turned away.
For now—
He didn't need to worry about inheritance.
He needed to grow strong enough to deserve it.