"I offer my loyalty... and the Kimera Technique."
Each word sounded as though it were being squeezed out of Hiruko's throat, carrying the metallic tang of blood.
Menma watched him silently. Beneath the white, three-eyed fox mask, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a microscopic, fleeting arc. That invisible, suffocating killing intent receded like a tide, vanishing as if it had never existed.
"Very well."
Two simple words declared the end of the negotiation.
Hiruko collapsed onto the ground, his strength deserting him. He gasped for air, cold sweat completely soaking the bandages beneath his restraint suit, leaving them clinging to his chilled skin.
Soon, Menma used the Flying Thunder God Technique to bring Hiruko back to the City of Stars.
They arrived within a heavily fortified underground prison constructed of solid rock. The massive iron door groaned as it slid open with a dull, grinding sound. Menma led the disheveled and pale Hiruko inside.
The cell was spacious but sparsely furnished with a stone bed and a few chairs. The dim light flickered, and the air held the earthy scent of stone mixed with the subtle, hum of sealing barriers.
"Stay here for now," Menma said. His voice was a flat line, devoid of emotion.
Hiruko kept his head bowed. Yet, deep within his eyes, resentment and malice flickered alongside a newly ignited, desperate hope. Submission was merely a necessity of the moment...
Footsteps echoed from the depths of the prison as a slender figure stepped out from the shadows. Uchiha Hikari walked toward them.
She wore the iconic deep blue, high-collared robes of the Uchiha clan, with the fire-fan crest embroidered on her chest. Her long black hair flowed smoothly over her shoulders, with a few stray locks framing her porcelain face. Her features were delicate, carrying a coldness that felt almost transparent. Her dark eyes, like deep pools of still water, fixed onto Hiruko.
"Where is Kakuzu?" Menma asked, noticing the absence of the dark, brooding figure. Usually, the Captain of the Anbu was responsible for overseeing the prison.
"Gato needed to go to the Land of Water," Hikari explained calmly. "Something happened with the company there. I sent Kakuzu to escort him."
"I see," Menma nodded. Though Gato had been branded with the Blood-Contract Curse Seal, he still lacked the strength to defend himself against high-level shinobi. Kakuzu often acted as his bodyguard during international business trips—a side hustle the elder shinobi enjoyed for the extra pay.
As they spoke, Hiruko looked up at Uchiha Hikari.
He froze for a moment. Then, the spark of hope in his eyes transformed into a sense of the absurd, followed by an uncontrollable wave of contempt.
A... little girl from the Uchiha?
He was surprised to see a member of the Konoha Uchiha here, serving under Shura. But as a contemporary of the Sannin, Hiruko hadn't witnessed the terrifying height of the clan's golden age or the true power of Uchiha Madara.
To him, the girl looked no older than fourteen or fifteen—slight, delicate, almost sickly. This was his warden?
Was Shura too arrogant, or did he simply think that little of Hiruko?
He scanned the cell. The guards at the door didn't seem particularly formidable. And this girl? He felt no oppressive pressure from her. Perhaps she was just another arrogant Uchiha brat.
Maybe... this is my chance.
The thought grew in his mind like a poisonous vine. The humiliation of being crushed by Shura and the bitterness of forced submission turned into a desperate motivation. He needed a hostage. He needed to reclaim his destiny!
Hiruko forced a humble smile onto his face. Bowing slightly, he moved a small, inconspicuous step closer to Hikari. His eyes, like those of a viper, searched for a weakness, a moment to strike.
Menma seemed oblivious to his intent. He stepped toward Hikari and handed her the ancient scroll containing the core of the Kimera Technique.
"Keep this safe and hand it to the Medical Department later," Menma said. "The situation out there isn't fully resolved yet; I have to head back out."
"Understood," Hikari replied. Her pale hand reached out to take the scroll. Her movements were gentle, but her gaze never drifted from Hiruko.
In that split second—the moment Menma's attention seemed divided while handing over the scroll—Hiruko's eyes flared with murderous light!
"Now!"
His hands, hidden within his sleeves, snapped upward. Bandages shot out like striking cobras as his body lunged forward like an arrow released from a bow, aimed directly at the seemingly defenseless Hikari.
He moved with ghostly speed, his fingers reaching for her throat. He would end this in one strike and take her as his shield!
However, the moment Hiruko launched his attack, Hikari's calm, dark eyes—those still pools of water—shattered!
It was as if the pitch-black night had been torn asunder by a splash of blood. Three black tomoe spun violently within her crimson pupils, stretching and warping into a complex, demonic pattern.
The Mangekyo Sharingan.
The stare felt like a gaze from the abyss itself. It instantly occupied Hiruko's entire field of vision and slammed into the very core of his soul!
Hiruko's forward momentum, his gathered chakra, and his murderous intent were all instantly frozen by a terrifying, vast ocular power that felt as boundless as a sea of stars.
Time seemed to stop.
His mind fell into an absolute void. His body remained suspended in mid-air, hands reaching forward, while the snarl on his face froze into a look of comical shock.
There was no earth-shattering explosion. No flashy ninjutsu. Only a silent, absolute crushing of the spirit.
Hikari stood perfectly still, the pattern in her eyes rotating slowly. She didn't even make a move; she simply looked at him.
Hiruko's rigid body began to tremble. His eyes rolled back into his head, saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his limbs twitched aimlessly. His consciousness was utterly lost in the infinite, nightmare world of Tsukuyomi.
Ambition, schemes, and ego—all of it was paper-thin before the power of the Mangekyo.
Menma turned toward the exit, acting as if he had just finished a minor chore. He didn't even pause to look back, leaving behind a single, light instruction:
"Don't kill him."
The heavy iron door groaned shut, sealing the silence within.