To the Esteemed Great Elder, Taihiro Hyuga,
I truly did not wish to trouble you with this letter. However, given my current, unfortunate circumstances, and out of profound respect for your continued patronage, I feel it is my obligation to apprise the Main House of my situation.
First and foremost, I wish to express my deepest gratitude for specially assigning Haru to my care. She is an exceptionally capable assistant, and with her tireless help, the clinic is operating with remarkable efficiency.
Yet, even with her invaluable presence, I have encountered an insurmountable hurdle.
It is deeply shameful to admit, but I find myself entirely without options. While the clinic's daily operations are steady, the income generated by civilian consultations is meager. Furthermore, because of my severed connection to the light, I can no longer accept active shinobi missions to acquire funds as I once did.
Because of this harsh reality, I fear I will be completely bankrupt within a matter of days.
After much agonizing internal struggle, I have decided to confide in you, seeking the boundless benevolence of the Main House.
I have carefully calculated the absolute minimum required to navigate this crisis and keep the clinic operational. I would require an emergency stipend of 300,000 ryo. Naturally, any further generosity would be received with the utmost gratitude.
I understand this is a considerable sum, and I will harbor absolutely no resentment should you refuse. My true fear is that my impending bankruptcy and subsequent idleness would bring shame and disappointment to both you and the proud Hyuga name.
Your loyal servant, Kei Hyuga
In the warmly lit, opulent study of the Great Elder's residence, Taihiro Hyuga sat deeply settled into his high-backed chair. His aged face, usually a mask of placid control, was currently pulled into a severe, calculating frown as he read the parchment in his hand.
"Lord Taihiro," a cool, disciplined voice broke the silence. "Is something in Kei-sama's letter troubling you?"
Haru stood perfectly still before the massive oak desk, her head bowed at the precise angle dictated by clan etiquette.
Taihiro lowered the letter, his solitary white eye settling on the girl. "Haru, how many times must I ask you to dispense with such rigid formality in private?" he chided, his tone dripping with manufactured paternal warmth. "Though we are bound by the rules of master and subordinate, I have always looked upon you as a daughter."
"Please do not speak such words, Lord Taihiro," Haru replied instantly, shaking her head. "The clan's hierarchy and etiquette are absolute. They must be upheld."
Taihiro sighed softly, playing the part of the weary patriarch. "Very well. Tell me of your charge. How has Kei been conducting himself these past few days? Have you observed any anomalies or treasonous behaviors?"
Haru seamlessly shifted into her report. "During this period, his daily routine has been remarkably mundane. He wakes, opens the clinic, treats civilians, and returns home."
She proceeded to recount Kei's every word, action, and movement with flawless, photographic recall. She detailed the strange, unquantifiable psychological methods he employed, specifically highlighting the bizarre 'mirror box' technique he had used to cure a maimed veteran's phantom pain.
Taihiro listened with rapt attention, his fingers steeped beneath his chin. After a prolonged silence, he murmured, "It seems his innate mastery of the human mind is genuinely impressive."
"I cannot deny it," Haru agreed, her tone purely objective. "While his tools appear crude and commonplace, the clinical results he achieves are undeniably effective."
"Fascinating..." Taihiro stroked his long, snow-white beard, his gaze drifting back down to the letter resting on his desk.
Based on Haru's meticulous surveillance, Kei appeared to be the very model of a humbled, loyal Branch member. He was polite, compliant, and deeply respectful of the Main House's authority. He had even penned a formal letter of gratitude—a gesture Taihiro had genuinely not anticipated from a boy whose life had been so abruptly ruined.
A fiercely loyal, intellectually gifted Branch member could serve as a magnificent political tool if manipulated correctly.
However, Taihiro had not survived decades of Konoha's bloody politics by trusting a few days of good behavior. The surveillance would absolutely continue.
Noticing the Great Elder's prolonged silence, Haru ventured a rare question. "Do you perceive a hidden threat in his actions, my Lord?"
Taihiro snapped out of his reverie, shaking his head. "No. Based on your intelligence, Kei appears to be entirely benign. I was simply weighing the merits of granting the financial assistance he requested in this letter."
With a flick of his wrist, Taihiro tossed the parchment across the desk. "Read it. You will understand."
Haru took the letter. As her pale eyes skimmed the elegant calligraphy, her stoic facade cracked, replaced by a deep, incredulous frown. "Three hundred thousand ryo? That is extortion! Even the combined bounties of two perilous B-rank missions might not amount to such a sum."
She stepped forward, her conditioned obedience warring with genuine outrage. "Lord Taihiro, this 'request' is a blatant demand. You cannot possibly agree to this!"
The economy of a shinobi village was rigidly tied to its mission classification system. D-rank missions—menial labor such as recovering lost pets or clearing agricultural land—yielded a maximum payout of 50,000 ryo. C-rank assignments, which introduced the threat of armed banditry and required guarding VIPs, offered between 30,000 and 100,000 ryo.
It was only at the B-rank level, where lethal combat with rival ninja was expected, that the payouts scaled from 80,000 to 200,000 ryo. A-rank missions, involving political assassinations or defending the village from imminent disaster, paid upwards of a million, while S-rank suicide missions had no financial ceiling.
For a retired, blind Chunin to instantly demand 300,000 ryo—the equivalent of risking one's life against enemy Jonin—was an act of breathtaking audacity.
Taihiro, however, did not share her outrage. He had his own, deeply cynical considerations. "Three hundred thousand is an overreach," the Great Elder conceded smoothly. "We will issue him a stipend of two hundred thousand. Deliver it to him yourself, Haru. And ensure you impress upon him that this is a rare, merciful blessing from the Main House. Tell him he must be frugal."
Frugal? Not a chance. The second that money touches my hands, I am liquidating it into assets.
Walking alone through the damp evening streets of Konoha, Kei methodically calculated his impending shopping list. He needed surgical tools, chemical reagents, and specialized preservation scrolls—the foundational equipment required for human experimentation.
He had possessed the fragmented, horrifying brilliance of Orochimaru's biological theories for weeks. Now, it was time to drag those theories out of the abstract and into the physical world. Human experimentation, however forbidden, was the only viable path to rewriting his own ruined genetics and restoring his sight.
He was well aware that a measly two hundred thousand ryo would barely cover the cost of a centrifuge, let alone a fully operational subterranean laboratory. But it was seed money. He didn't need to build the entire facility overnight.
As for why he had dared to extort the most dangerous man in the Hyuga clan? It was simple leverage.
His blindness was a terrifying variable to the Main House. Why hadn't Taihiro simply activated the Caged Bird Seal and disposed of a broken, potentially troublesome asset?
Because the elders were terrified. They had exhausted their best medical ninjutsu and still could not identify the pathological root of his blindness. To the Hyuga, the Byakugan was godhood. The prospect of an invisible, untraceable disease rendering their all-seeing eyes dark was an apocalyptic threat.
They had to keep him alive. They had to study him. If similar cases began appearing among the pristine, pampered ranks of the Main Family, they needed to know how the affliction worked. Until the elders isolated the true cause of his condition, Kei held the ultimate bargaining chip: his own ruined body.
Furthermore, both Hiashi and Taihiro had publicly, loudly declared that the Main House would support him in his time of need. While it was obvious political theater, Kei had cheerfully called their bluff. Denying his request would shatter the benevolent illusion they were desperately trying to maintain.
Kei's mood was surprisingly light as he navigated the familiar route home.
That is, until his sensory web slammed into an immovable wall of chakra standing directly in his path.
Kei halted, his cane tapping once against the cobblestones. "Good evening," he called out, effortlessly projecting his customary, warm clinical smile. "Is there something I can assist you with?"
Through his heightened empathic perception, Kei felt a profound, suffocating aura radiating from the man blocking the street. It wasn't the sterile, manufactured emptiness of a Root assassin like Fu. This was a bottomless, crushing sorrow. An ocean of survivor's guilt so dense it felt like a physical weight.
Coupled with that crushing grief was a terrifyingly distinct chakra signature burning from the man's left eye—a cold, oppressive, transplanted energy that felt remarkably similar to Shisui's.
It didn't take a genius to profile the man standing before him. Hatake Kakashi.
Seeing the blind doctor's gentle, unassuming smile, Kakashi's visible eye widened a fraction. For a fleeting, agonizing second, the warm expression perfectly mirrored the ghost of Minato Namikaze.
Forcing the phantom of his dead sensei from his mind, Kakashi buried his hands deep into his pockets. "I have some questions I need to ask you," the silver-haired shinobi said, his voice a lazy, detached drawl that entirely masked the lethal tension in his frame. "I would highly recommend answering them truthfully."
"Oh?" Kei murmured, his fingers idly stroking the smooth iron handle of his cane.
His mind raced. In this timeline, Kakashi was still an active elite within the Hokage's direct-command ANBU black ops. He wasn't here on a casual stroll. He was here on the orders of Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Kei almost wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. First Danzo's Root, then the Snake Sannin, then the Great Elder of his own clan, and now the Hokage's personal hounds.
He had only exchanged a handful of words with Uchiha Shisui, yet that single, fateful conversation had apparently kicked a hornet's nest large enough to trigger the paranoia of the entire Konoha high command.
Shisui, Kei thought, a dark thrill of amusement mingling with his annoyance. You truly are a walking disaster.