Shorai stood perfectly still, a shadow woven into shadows, watching Team 7 from a distance. Outwardly, he was merely a boy seeking a moment of privacy; inwardly, he was a man standing at the precipice of a cosmic abyss.
His handguards felt heavy, though not from weight. The ink of the alerting seals hadn't just faded—it had been erased, edited out of local reality as if the very concept of 'protection' no longer existed.
Damn it, he thought, his jaw tightening. To think the person closest to me would become the most dangerous variable in this world. And it isn't even because of the Nine-Tails.
His mind flashed back to the night of the Forbidden Scroll: the yellowish shockwave, the subtle, oily rewriting of the atmosphere. The truth was now undeniable. The Mind Stone had chosen a host. Or rather, it had found a vessel that wouldn't shatter under its metaphysical weight.
Shorai activated the Reality Stone, drawing only a fraction of its power. Dark-crimson energy, like ink dropped into clear water, crept through his veins and slightly distorted the space his body occupied. He needed to see.
Through the Stone's gaze, he looked at Naruto.
The boy was laughing, showing off his already-healed hand to a skeptical Sakura. But to Shorai's sensory sight, Naruto was a sun—a setting sun, specifically. Faint, yellowish strands of energy—not chakra, but pure Will—radiated from the boy's forehead, brushing against everything in his vicinity.
Naruto is unaware. He is a child holding a live wire, Shorai deduced.
On the night of the scroll's theft, that wave hadn't just been an explosion; it was an integration. The Mind Stone had woven itself into the metaphysics of this universe, becoming a fundamental law of intelligence and influence. This time, it might not be mere charisma, but cosmic resonance. In the story Shōrai remembered, one might argue that his words carried a Logos of Yin and Yang—or perhaps a verbal genjutsu. But here, in this reality, it was something far more absolute.
He exhaled, the cold air of the Land of Fire forest biting at his lungs. If the Mind Stone had successfully integrated, what of the others?
Soul is likely dormant, lacking a vessel—a terrifying relief. Power is a raw battery, likely anchored to a massive energy source. Time is perhaps a localized loop. But Space...
Shorai's eyes narrowed as his gaze drifted toward Kakashi—specifically the tilted headband covering his left eye.
If the Space Stone is awake, it is bound to space-time jutsu. If Obito possesses it, the game is already over. Total control over dimensions. Phasing. Instantaneous erasure. I will need to articulate a precise vision for my Reality Stone just to keep up with the raw utility of Space. I cannot simply wish his disintegration into existence, any more than I could simply 'wish' the Mind Stone away. I must work within the rules of the vessel.
He shook off the existential dread. There was work to do.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu," he whispered.
With a muffled puff, a perfect replica appeared.
"Rejoin them," Shorai commanded. "Make the switch seamless. I need to re-engrave my defenses."
The clone frowned, its eyes reflecting the original's exhaustion. "You're splitting your chakra before a battle with Zabuza? Is that wise?"
"We have a day before we reach the bridge," Shorai replied, already pulling fresh paper from his scroll. "I'll swap back with you by the midnight watch. Go."
As the clone slipped back to the group with a casual, "Nature call's over, guys," the original Shorai knelt in the grass. For hours, he worked with surgical precision. Using his chakra-engraving method, he replaced the dissolved seals. Each stroke was a silent prayer against mental intrusion.
By the time he finished, the sun had surrendered to a bruised purple twilight. He stood, his joints popping, and felt the shift in the air. The Demon Brothers were gone, taken by the ANBU Kakashi had summoned, but the silence they left behind was louder than their chains.
He moved through the trees, a blur of wind and white hair, rejoining the encampment just as the soup was being served. With a subtle mental tap, he signaled his clone to dispel. The rush of memories hit him—the warmth of the fire, Naruto's endless questions, Sasuke's silent brooding.
"Shorai!" Naruto called out, waving a bowl. "You missed it! Sakura-chan actually made something that doesn't smell like charcoal!"
"Naruto! Another word and charcoal will be your only meal!" Sakura snapped, though her eyes lingered on Shorai with curiosity.
"Totally safe," Shorai chuckled, taking a seat. "You have an abnormal body, Naruto. It heals fast. Perhaps that 'inheritance' of yours is why you're so energetic."
Naruto grinned, entirely oblivious to the "inheritance" Shorai was actually referencing.
"You shinobi are lucky," Tazuna remarked, staring into the flames. "If my people had your skills... we could save ourselves."
Kakashi, leaning against a tree with his book, didn't look up. "You see? Even the 'squirts' are enough to protect you." His eye shifted, locking onto Shorai. "Shorai. A word?"
The campsite went quiet as the two walked into the deeper shadows of the treeline. Once they were out of earshot, Kakashi's slouch vanished. His posture became steel.
"You did well back there," Kakashi said, his voice low and clinical. "Your skills aren't just distinct for a graduate; they're specialized. I wonder what 'path' the Hokage has you on."
Shorai met the gaze of the Sharingan hero. "How much did he share with you, Kakashi-san?"
"Enough to pique my curiosity. You've deepened it. I have a good guess."
Shorai offered a thin, crescent smile. "You're a former Captain. You know better than anyone that the Hokage makes radical changes when the world becomes... volatile."
Kakashi's brow rose. "Oho. So that's how you've spent your last few weeks. Trainee status?"
"They say I'm very disciplined," Shorai said simply.
"I can see that," Kakashi replied. "I should thank you for showing restraint. You helped me test my team's growth while verifying the real target. Solid work."
"I was suspicious of Tazuna the moment we saw that puddle," Shorai speculated. "Mercenary Chunin from Kirigakure don't come cheap. There is a new player in the region, or a Hidden Village looking to annex the Land of Waves."
Kakashi shook his head. "Kirigakure is in a civil war. These are rogue scraps—assassins for hire. But they tracked us from Konoha. That means our employer lied about the mission rank."
"Which makes this a mission of protecting the client until he touches his homeland," Shorai countered. "Before we declare a forfeit for the misinformation."
"Exactly," Kakashi agreed. "We'll get the safe-return payment and renegotiate the rest." He paused, looking at Shorai with new weight. "What can you really do, kid? If things go south?"
Shorai summarized his achievements: Swift Release, medical diagnostics, and high-level Fuinjutsu.
The Copy Ninja was visibly shaken. A Genin with the versatility of an elite specialized squad. "No wonder Hiruzen wants you in the shadows. It took me years to reach that level of utility."
"It's a heavy burden to repeat," Shorai said, a genuine, helpless smile touching his lips. "Was it the same for you, Kakashi-san?"
Kakashi gave a rare, nervous laugh, a ghost of his own childhood trauma flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. Something like that."
The two returned to the fire, the tension replaced by a professional understanding.
"I'll place the guarding seals tonight," Shorai announced to the group, pulling tags from his pouch. "Everyone needs to be top-notch tomorrow. If serious trouble comes, you'll need the rest."
Sasuke watched Shorai with burning intensity, realizing the gap between them was a chasm he hadn't yet begun to measure. Sakura looked on in awe, while Naruto simply beamed, happy to have his friend back.
That night, Team 7 slept soundly—guarded by the specialized skills of a boy who was no longer just their teammate, but their silent sentinel against a universe he was only beginning to understand.
The following morning, the group resumed their journey. All three Genin were significantly more cautious. The memory of the previous day's ambush pressed hard against them, uncovering the cold reality of a shinobi's life.
By midday, they reached the shore. A few scattered huts marked a small fishing village. A man in his late thirties welcomed them, shaking hands with Tazuna and sharing a brief, nervous hug.
"You're just in time! I was getting worried," the man said, darting glances at the horizon.
After a short walk, the group boarded a spacious fishing boat. As the engine sputtered to life and they zoomed toward the islands, Shorai didn't waste time. As he and Kakashi sat, Shorai subtly placed a sound-proof seal on the inner layer of the hull. They shared a silent nod—his way of signaling that the perimeter was secure.
Soon, the man at the helm grew visibly tense. He cut the engine, allowing the boat to drift through the thickening mist toward the massive, rising silhouette of the bridge.
The silence was broken by Naruto's exclamation of surprise at the bridge's scale, which led to the inevitable confrontation regarding Tazuna's lies. Kakashi was shocked to hear the name behind the threat: Gato. The shipping magnate. The billionaire behind the assassins.
Shorai looked ahead, only half-listening to Tazuna's "sob story." He watched Kakashi observe the team's reactions as the bridge-builder began to play on their emotions, his voice cracking with the threat of tears.
"Kakashi-sensei... can't we really help him?" Sakura and Naruto asked, their expressions pained.
Kakashi's gaze shifted across the group, finally landing on the white-haired boy.
"Don't mind me," Shorai said, his voice hardening. "But if you guys are serious about proving yourselves... this time, it won't be mere Chunin on our backs. You can count on me, Kakashi-san. I'll assist you to the full extent of my abilities."
Kakashi fell into a silent ponder. Whether he was unable to find an excuse or simply curious to see what this "Fox" trainee could do in a real war zone, he finally relented.
"Oh well. I suppose it can't be helped."
"He-he..."
Shorai twitched, noticing Tazuna's poorly hidden victory signal toward the boatman. The old man was a manipulator, but in this world, that was just another form of survival.