Beneath The FoxTree

Chapter 4-"The Day the Yokai Stood Tall"

I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n account that is solely dedicated to writing naruto fanfiction if you are interested in reading advanced chapters, please check out my account my author name is my account name is zx20000006 or you can google search the story name/patre-on to find me.
disclaimer: I dont own naruto or highschool dxd, I only own the plot and any original charaters I might add
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Kyoto – Eastern Pilgrim District – Morning, Day Two
Beneath the Veil
Clarisse La Rue kicked a loose cobblestone hard enough to send it skittering into the koi pond behind the shrine wall.
"Another shrine. Another dead end," she muttered.
The morning light slanted through the paper lanterns overhead, golden and soft. But Clarisse's mood was anything but.
Sylvia adjusted the clasp on her inner coat, nose buried in a new scroll of leyline signatures. "That's the twelfth one. No trace of a non-yokai chakra signature near any shrine gate, spirit well, or teaching circle."
Clarisse scoffed. "How does a guy plant a reality-bending chakra tree in the middle of a military no-go zone and then disappear like a damn stage magician?"
Mark sat upside down on a bench, staring at the sky with half-lidded eyes. "Maybe he is a magician."
"Mark."
"I'm just saying. At this point, I'd believe he was a sage reborn from an asteroid crash with a god complex."
Clarisse sighed and slumped down beside him. "We've been through prayer archives, foxfire academy records, even bribed that half-drunk tanuki priest."
Sylvia scowled. "Which was unnecessary."
"He accepted the meat bun, didn't he?"
Sylvia ignored her.
"The monks won't talk. The tail maidens won't talk. Even the merchant gossip circles go quiet the second you mention the tree."
"It's not silence," Sylvia muttered. "It's a ritualized defense. Cultural. Synchronized. They know something."
tucking the scroll away into her coat. "But they're too trained. Too uniform. It's not improvised paranoia. It's protocol."
Clarisse tapped her fingers against the hilt of her concealed dagger. "A shrine network that obedient? Without centralized authority?"
Mark, still lounging, tilted his head. "Makes you wonder who they're protecting. Or what."
Clarisse stood again and looked down the street toward the horizon. The Foxtree's faint shimmer danced in the sky like a mirage—always there, just out of reach. "We've been careful," she muttered. "Discreet. But nothing cracks."
"Maybe that's the problem," Mark said. "We're trying too hard to blend."
Sylvia shook her head. "We can't risk exposure. Not unless you want the Shinto crawling down Olympus' throat."
"I'm not talking about blowing our cover." Mark sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm saying we stop chasing shadows and start tugging on the threads. Let them come to us."
Clarisse raised a brow. "You want to bait the yokai?"
"No," Mark said. "I want to bait whoever they're protecting."
Sylvia frowned. "You're assuming they're protecting a person."
Mark gestured toward the Foxtree glow in the distance. "That thing wasn't summoned. It wasn't inherited. It was made. Grown. Someone touched the leylines and told them to listen. I don't care how disciplined this network is—someone had to do it. And they're still here."
Clarisse crossed her arms, expression unreadable.
Sylvia said nothing.
Then Clarisse spoke. "So what do you suggest? Light a flare and hope he's watching?"
Mark smiled faintly. "Not a flare."
Clarisse's brow arched.
Mark leaned back against the bench, the sun catching his eyes. "Something smaller. Louder. Dumber."
Clarisse smirked. "You mean something you'd do."
He nodded. "Exactly."
Sylvia sighed, already regretting this. "You two are going to provoke the yokai military."
Clarisse's grin widened. "Not all of them."
Sylvia's voice dropped. "And when it backfires?"
Clarisse turned, already walking.
"We'll know who shows up to clean the mess."
Mark followed with a shrug and a lazy wave. "Time to find out if the foxes bark or bite."
Sylvia remained seated for a moment longer.
Then stood, brushing off her coat.
She didn't like it.
But it was the first real move they'd made in twenty-four hours.
And sometimes, silence had to be broken to hear what was hiding behind it.
⸻
Kyoto – Eastern Market Ring – Late Morning
The cobbled plaza was already stirring with festival preparations—charm vendors dusting their counters, tailors unfurling bolts of silk, shrine bells being strung between paper lanterns.
Then—
Shouting.
Screaming.
A yokai patrol cart flipped end over end, crashing into a melon stall with a deafening crack.
Clarisse La Rue stood amid the wreckage, arms crossed, face bored. She didn't even look winded.
"That's six," she said dryly.
Mark cracked his knuckles beside her, dusting off a smear of powdered rice. "I liked the one with the horns. He made a satisfying thunk when I punched him."
Across the square, the last of the yokai squad struggled to rise—bloodied, dazed, uniforms torn. A kitsune lieutenant with a broken arm crawled toward his fallen comrade, growling something guttural and low.
Clarisse La Rue stood over the scattered bodies of the yokai patrol like a war goddess bored with her own conquest. Her coat hung open, the faint gleam of celestial-forged leather armor glinting beneath. She rolled her shoulder once, cracking her neck as she nudged a broken spear haft aside with her boot.
"That's six," she said again, voice flat. "No counter-formations. No reserves. Not even a squad shikigami."
Mark dropped his elbow onto a broken fruit stall and rested his chin lazily in his palm. "You'd think they'd send at least one spellweaver. Or a barrier mage. Something."
Clarisse gave a sharp, short laugh. "You're assuming they have any."
The yokai they'd fought weren't weak in number—ten in total—but they'd been woefully outclassed. Lightly armored, wielding ceremonial staffs or enchanted rings, their formations were more parade than war. Coordinated, yes. Brave, absolutely. But effective?
Clarisse dusted a splash of blood off her sleeve. "They're trained to protect tourists. Not repel Olympian steel."
Mark yawned and flexed his fingers. "The fox with the glaive had potential."
"He lasted twelve seconds."
"Which is eleven more than I expected."
Groans filled the air as a couple of the downed yokai tried to crawl toward a summoning charm—either for reinforcements or for medical help. Clarisse casually crushed it beneath her boot.
The market square had emptied the moment the first guard went flying. A few braver citizens still watched from behind shuttered windows or the cracks of half-lowered screens—but no one moved.
No one interfered.
Mark kicked over a crate of prayer candles and scattered the contents across the street. "Where's your tree-loving mystery messiah now, huh?" he muttered to no one in particular. "Letting his people bleed while he plays hermit behind a glowing shrub?"
Clarisse crouched beside the kitsune lieutenant. His left eye was swollen shut, tail bent at an unnatural angle. She tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"You're in uniform," she said, voice calm. "So either you're bait, or your leadership is criminally stupid."
The fox spat a mouthful of blood at her boot. "You don't belong here."
Clarisse smiled like a knife unsheathing.
"Neither does your miracle tree. Yet here we are."
She stood again, letting the insult hang in the air.
Mark rubbed his knuckles together, bored now. "Maybe we need to break something bigger. A statue, maybe. A shrine post. That usually brings out the champions."
Clarisse nodded absently. "Too obvious. If they really do have someone worth protecting, they won't rise for showpieces. But if they think we're going after their people—"
"They'll send someone to stop it."
Mark grinned. "Perfect."
From above, Sylvia's voice crackled faintly through the comm pin hidden beneath Clarisse's collarbone. "You've made your point. You're being watched now. Four different leyline probes just rerouted in your quadrant. Local shrine barriers are shifting patrol cycles."
Clarisse didn't look up. "Good. Let them stare. Let them twitch."
"They're not twitching," Sylvia replied sharply. "They're adjusting."
Clarisse tilted her head. "What does that mean?"
"It means they're preparing. For something. I just don't know what yet."
Mark stood up fully and clapped his hands together. "I'll take left. You take right. Let's see if the next squad shows up with actual weapons this time."
Clarisse grinned.
The kind of grin that said: Please be stupid enough to fight back.
The kind of grin that gods carved onto war banners.
Then she drew her dagger—Celestial bronze laced with bloodroot alloy, forged in Hephaestus' minor forgeworks, tuned to slice through both magic and bone with equal ease.
"Time to put a little fear back in fox country."
⸻
second patrol had arrived.
It had lasted three minutes.
Clarisse stood atop a cracked vendor stall, wind lifting her coat behind her like a cape. Below her, three more yokai sprawled unconscious or twitching—one bleeding from the mouth, another curled in on himself, broken ribs visible even through reinforced robes.
Mark hadn't even drawn a proper weapon. Just his fists.
Ares' blood hummed in his veins like wildfire. His eyes glowed faintly crimson as he swung a crescent hook-blade casually through the air, not to attack—but to clear space. When a desperate fox-fire charm fizzled at his feet, he kicked the source—a shrine acolyte—clean across the plaza. The boy didn't get up.
"That's twenty total," he muttered. "Not even winded."
Clarisse touched the blade of her dagger to her wrist and whispered a line of invocation. A glowing glyph shimmered down her forearm—sleek, fluid, Olympian. The air around her pulsed.
"Call that twenty two ," she said, glancing toward the collapsed second wave.
"They're getting slower," Mark noted.
"No. They're getting scared."
Behind the edge of the square, a few civilians tried to drag the wounded away—one elderly tanuki woman wept openly as she tried to carry her grandson, only to flinch and drop him when Clarisse turned her head.
"Cowards," she murmured.
A ripple of panic scattered the crowd farther back into the alleys.
Sylvia's voice crackled faintly again through the comm. "Leyline probes still fluctuating. The Foxtree's ambient flow is stabilizing again—but something's shifting in the spirit net. I'm feeling a power draw north of your position."
Clarisse wiped blood from her dagger. "Target acquired?"
"No. Not yet."
Mark kicked over a box of prayer scrolls, then caught one midair and examined it. "Protection ward. Weak. Can barely hold back a fever."
He dropped it and stomped on it.
"This entire faction is ornamental," he said. "Shrines instead of shields. Talisman booths instead of barracks. They pray for strength instead of earning it."
Clarisse didn't disagree.
She crouched again beside a groaning officer, pressing the heel of her boot into his chest.
"Where's your real defense?" she asked, voice like marble dragged over glass. "Where's your wardens, your elite guards? Or did your queen forget to train anything that wasn't ceremonial?"
The yokai spat at her.
Clarisse didn't even flinch.
She stabbed her dagger into the stone beside his head, burying it to the hilt without breaking eye contact.
The yokai flinched.
But didn't cry out.
That made her pause.
"...You're not afraid of me," she murmured.
His eyes were bloodshot—but steady. "You're not the worst thing we've seen."
Clarisse blinked once.
Mark strode over, cracking his neck. "You want me to shut him up?"
"No," Clarisse said slowly. "Let him speak."
The yokai coughed, then whispered—almost reverently.
"You're not ready... for what's coming."
Clarisse's eyes narrowed.
She stepped back.
"Sylvia. Any movement yet?"
A pause.
"...Yes," Sylvia said slowly. "The leyline signatures just shifted again. Multiple points. Synchronized chakra bursts."
Clarisse turned toward the northern alley.
Mark tilted his head.
Mark tilted his head. "More soldiers?"
Sylvia's voice came slower this time—more uncertain. "...No. Not soldiers. I think... ambient feedback. The tree's chakra signature just flared again. Something in the natural leyline flow's reacting. Strongly."
Clarisse's jaw flexed. "You saying the Foxtree's protecting them?"
"No," Sylvia said quickly. "Not directly. But something tethered to it... just pulsed."
Mark gave her a skeptical look through the corner of his eye. "Did we poke the magic shrub too hard?"
"No idea," Sylvia admitted. "But I'm telling you—whatever that flare was, it wasn't defensive. It felt... aligned. Intentional. Like a heartbeat."
Clarisse didn't respond right away.
She scanned the far end of the plaza. No movement. No reinforcements. Just silence and a few fleeing fox-citizens vanishing into alleys.
Mark yawned. "We're wasting time. If someone was coming, they'd be here by now."
Clarisse wiped her blade clean on the back of a downed yokai's cloak. "No," she muttered. "Someone's watching. You don't hide a tree like that unless you're confident no one can reach it. Something is holding the line."
Sylvia's voice was fainter now, her tone tightening with each word. "I don't like this. I've run the field density readings twice—the spiritual atmosphere around the eastern quadrant is growing heavier. It's not chakra recoil. It's something new."
Clarisse snorted. "Everything's new in this backwater sector."
Mark swung his hook-blade in a slow arc and cracked his knuckles again. "Yeah? Well I say we stomp a little louder. If their precious miracle-maker doesn't show, maybe we break something irreplaceable next time."
Clarisse gestured to the shattered patrol cart, the unconscious guards, and the overturned shrine booth leaking charm papers into the wind. "What's left?"
Mark shrugged. "Their pride."
He cracked a grin.
Clarisse didn't smile back.
She just stared down at the fox lieutenant.
The bloodied yokai still hadn't looked away.
He was smiling.
Not cruelly. Not with defiance.
With hope.
And that unsettled her more than anything else that morning.
"...Sylvia?" she said, quieter now. "What direction did that leyline pulse come from?"
Sylvia didn't answer right away.
Then—quietly, uncertainly:
"Behind you."
Clarisse and Mark turned.
At first, they saw nothing.
Just wind.
And then—
The crowd in the far alley parted.
Not like scattering prey.
But reverent.
Still.
Waiting.
Clarisse felt something shift in her gut.
Mark blinked. "What the hell—"
A silhouette stepped forward.
Unarmed.
Unarmored.
Alone.
They didn't know what they were looking at yet.
But they would.
Soon.
Too soon.
And too late.
⸻
Kyoto – Yasaka's Shrine Mansion, Inner Garden Terrace
Late Morning
A low breeze drifted through the manicured garden, carrying the gentle rustle of plum blossoms and the sweet perfume of tea leaves steeping nearby. The koi pond shimmered beneath a halo of golden sunlight, foxfire butterflies flitting lazily between the reeds.
Kunou was currently halfway up a tree.
"Kunou," Yasaka warned, arms crossed and voice steeped in parental authority.
"Yes, Mama?" came the reply—from somewhere above her head.
The five-year-old peeked out from between the topmost branches of the plum tree, a scroll somehow tied to one of her tails and an inkbrush clutched between her teeth like a rogue ninja preparing for a calligraphy ambush.
Yasaka sighed.
"Why," she asked slowly, "is there a seal-inscribed declaration of war taped to your tail?"
Kunou dropped the brush and grinned. "Because Papa said declarations should be dramatic!"
"I meant during battle," Naruto called from the low deck, where he lounged shirtless and shameless in the sun like a vacationing sage. One hand cradled a teacup. The other held a bowl of sliced fruit. "Not during recess."
Kunou pointed triumphantly from her perch. "You said inspiration strikes when you're upside-down in a tree!"
Naruto tilted his head. "...Okay, fair."
Yasaka closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "You're both grounded."
Naruto raised his cup. "Grounded on the roof again, or—?"
"Don't push me, Naruto."
Kunou giggled and sprang down from the branch with an acrobatic twist, landing on the grass and immediately latching onto her father's leg like a limpet. "Papa, tell her I'm a ninja princess and ninja princesses don't get grounded!"
Naruto leaned down, grinning. "Sorry, star tail. Queen outranks princess."
Kunou pouted. "Treason."
Yasaka turned away to hide her smirk—just as the first ripple hit the barrier around the estate.
A sudden rush of wind.
A flicker of aura.
Then—
Footsteps.
Frantic.
A yokai courier skidded onto the terrace, panting, eyes wide with panic.
Yasaka's tails rose instantly. Naruto sat up, all humor gone in a blink.
The messenger dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty—market ring district. Multiple patrols down. Unknown aggressors. Not yokai. Possibly Olympian."
Yasaka's expression went cold. Regal. Terrifying.
"How many?"
"At least two. Disguised as human pilgrims. But their strength—" The courier's voice broke. "—our forces couldn't contain them. Civilians injured. Property damage widespread. They're... toying with us."
Naruto stood slowly.
Yasaka turned. Her voice was iron. "Send word to the elite guard. Prepare a response team. I want a perimeter locked—"
Another set of footsteps.
A second courier barreled down the garden path, eyes shining, breathless—but not with fear.
With awe.
"Your Majesty! Forgive the intrusion but—!"
"Speak."
"The new sages. They're moving."
Silence.
Even the koi paused mid-swim.
Yasaka blinked.
"The Foxtree-initiated ones?" she asked, voice rising ever so slightly.
"Yes, Majesty," the messenger breathed. "The first batch—fully awakened. They've already entered the district. I—I think they sensed the battle."
Naruto glanced sideways—and barely dodged as Yasaka squealed with sheer joy.
She grabbed his hands, spun in a giddy circle, and jumped straight into a celebratory kiss that caught him completely off-guard.
"Yes!!" she shouted against his mouth, tails flaring behind her like sunburst banners. "They're ready! They're actually ready!!"
Naruto sputtered a laugh, pulling back. "Should I be jealous, or are you proposing to the military?"
Yasaka beamed and kissed him again.
Kunou hopped in place, clapping. "Mama's glowing! Mama's really glowing!"
Yasaka turned toward her daughter with a radiant smile. "We're going to the overlook. Now."
Kunou gasped. "Can I come?! Can I watch?!"
Naruto swept her up in one arm, chuckling as she wrapped her tails around his neck. "Of course. But we're staying hidden, got it?"
"Yes, Papa!"
Yasaka adjusted her sleeves and summoned a burst of foxfire to coat her aura—disguising their presence. "If the sages are answering the call themselves," she murmured, more to herself now, "then we may be witnessing a turning point."
Naruto watched her.
Watched the fire in her eyes. The hope.
She'd been receiving reports for weeks now. Small things. Acolytes meditating longer. Veterans recovering from wounds that should've lingered. Young yokai entering the early signs of senjutsu circulation without bleeding from the nose or fracturing their minds.
And now?
Battle-ready sages.
Dozens of them.
A generation awakened by a tree made for one small girl.
Naruto exhaled.
"Your people," he said quietly, "are starting to walk taller."
Yasaka looked at him.
And for once—she didn't smile like a queen.
She smiled like a mother.
And a woman in love.
"Not just taller," she said softly. "Together."
Kunou tugged his collar. "Papa, when can I be a sage?"
Naruto kissed her forehead.
"Not yet," he said gently. "But one day, star tail? You won't just have Sage Mode. You'll have a Sage Legacy. One this world's never seen."
Kunou squealed in excitement, arms flailing.
Yasaka's tails shimmered with happiness.
And far above the rooftops of Kyoto, the royal family moved into shadow—silent, watching—
As their people began to rise.
⸻
The second messenger knelt in place, eyes wide, mouth very much not closed.
He'd faced oni bandits. Endured blizzard patrols. Once even helped escort a delegation of vampire nobles during mating season without fainting.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of his sovereign leaping into her lover's arms like a teenager at a harvest dance.
Yasaka-sama, Queen of the Yokai, She Who Walks the Leylines, was squealing.
And kissing him.
Loudly.
Twice.
He wasn't sure if he should bow lower, avert his eyes, or just perish politely on the spot.
The first messenger beside him leaned in and whispered, "...Is this treason to witness?"
"I don't know," the second hissed. "I think I'm in love with her and terrified at the same time."
Up ahead, Yasaka spun on her heel, eyes sparkling, tails flared with joy as she called for their immediate departure.
The messenger stared after her, dazed.
"She's... kinda adorable when she's like this," he muttered.
The first nodded solemnly. "I would die for her."
"Same."
Naruto, who absolutely heard them, tried very hard not to laugh as Yasaka grabbed his hand and took off toward the overlook like a woman possessed.
⸻
Kyoto – Eastern Market Ring – Noon
He was barefoot.
That was the first thing Clarisse noticed—bare soles brushing against cracked stone like he owned the ground beneath him. His gait wasn't hurried, wasn't slow. He simply walked.
And the plaza shifted with him.
A tiger yokai, broad-shouldered and tall, built like a mountain's shadow at sunset. Thick stripes curled beneath loose monk's robes dyed in earth tones, sleeves pushed up to reveal scarred forearms—and on those forearms: marks.
Not tattoos. Not ink.
But runes.
Color-shifting, glowing faintly in a pulse that didn't match chakra, didn't match yokai magic—something else. Something new. Each breath he took shimmered through the seals like breath into glass.
Clarisse stared at him. Then laughed.
"Oh, come on." She waved a hand mockingly. "This is who they send? One guy?"
Mark rolled his shoulders, bored again. "Maybe the uniform's back at the dry cleaners. Looks like a shrine janitor."
The tiger didn't speak. Didn't pause. Just kept walking until he reached the exact center of the square.
The earth stilled beneath him.
Clarisse's eyes narrowed. "What's he waiting for?"
From the rooftops, Sylvia's breath caught. Her senses flared like alarms behind her eyes.
"Guys," she said urgently, "that's not a normal yokai."
Clarisse scoffed. "Obviously."
"No," Sylvia said, louder. "That signature—his body is saturated in chakra residue. Not corrupted. Not strained. Perfectly aligned. It's Foxtree energy. Denser than anything I've read. More stable."
Mark rolled his eyes. "So the miracle gardener has groupies now."
"I'm serious!" Sylvia barked. "He's not channeling it like magic. He's breathing it. Like his entire system was rebuilt around that tree."
Clarisse was already stepping forward. "So what you're saying is... this might be fun after all."
Sylvia's voice dropped into a hiss. "Don't engage. You don't know what he is."
The tiger yokai finally stopped.
He looked up—just slightly. His eyes met Clarisse's across the broken square.
They glowed.
Not with rage. Not even power.
Balance.
A deep, golden equilibrium.
And then—he exhaled.
The runes across his body bloomed.
Shifting from amber to deep jade to sun-washed copper in an endless ripple. They moved like chakra lines had been carved into calligraphy—no tremor, no delay. Pure synchrony.
The earth beneath him didn't crack.
It settled.
Like the land itself wanted to bear his weight.
Clarisse froze.
Mark blinked. "...What the hell is that—"
The tiger yokai vanished.
No flash. No boom.
Just appeared in front of Mark mid-sentence—one open palm already chambered like a hammer.
BOOM
Mark flew.
He pinwheeled midair across half the square before skipping like a stone and crashing into the fruit stall he'd mocked earlier.
Clarisse lunged, blade flashing, divine glyphs activating up her spine. "You son of a—!"
The tiger caught her wrist mid-swing.
And gently—gently—redirected her own momentum.
Her feet left the ground. Her body flipped. And she landed flat on her back, air stolen from her lungs like it had been taxed.
Clarisse gasped. "What—"
She barely blocked the next blow, and even then, her forearm screamed as the force cracked the barrier she'd summoned.
The tiger stepped in again—silent, precise.
No wasted movement. No fury.
Just overwhelming, perfect martial grace.
⸻
Kyoto – Overlook Shrine, Hidden Viewing Pavilion
Just Outside the Eastern Market Ring
The wind carried faint tremors up the old wooden beams of the fox-spirit pavilion—an ancient overlook half-swallowed by flowering vines and protected by seven layers of cloaking charms. It was once a training perch for spiritual archers.
Now, it was used as the royal family's private balcony.
Yasaka stood at the railing, tail tips twitching with electric excitement, her golden eyes wide and unblinking. She hadn't moved in a full minute.
Below, the battle had begun.
Naruto leaned lazily against one of the pillar posts, arms crossed, watching with the relaxed posture of a man thoroughly unsurprised—but quietly impressed.
Kunou, meanwhile, was bouncing in place, standing on a pile of folded shawls just to see over the edge of the railing. Her tails swayed frantically like flags caught in festival wind.
"Is that a new sage, Mama?!" she blurted. "Is that really one of them?! He's soooo fast! Did you see how he popped up right in front of the meanie guy?!"
"Yes, baby!" Yasaka squealed, gripping the railing tighter. "That's one of the newly awakened from the third wave—Tiger Clan, I think! Look at his stance! His control!"
She turned toward Naruto, beaming like the sun. "He's perfect! Did you see his seals?! They didn't even destabilize when he transitioned chakra layers! That's advanced! That's harmony!"
Naruto raised a brow, chuckling. "You're gonna rupture a lung if you scream any louder."
Yasaka spun—grabbed his face—and kissed him hard.
When she pulled away, Naruto blinked, dazed. "...Okay. That was unexpected."
She turned back toward the overlook with a radiant smile. "I've waited years for this. For real strength. Stability. No madness. No backlash. Just power—our power—rising."
Kunou bounced again. "I want that! I want the glowy runes! I want to be a sage right now!"
Naruto reached down, scooping her into his arms. "Easy there, star tail. You're not done with your chakra scrolls yet. Gotta walk before you sage."
"But he gets to sage!"
"He trained every day for years sweety, the Foxtree gave him a final push," Naruto said. "And besides..." He tapped her nose with one finger. "Your sage mode? Someday? It's gonna make his look like beginner sparklers."
Kunou gasped. "Really?!"
Yasaka smirked over her shoulder. "You're our daughter, Kunou. You'll have Uzumaki stamina, and a chakra circulatory system with a chakra capacity already rivaling my own, sweety you don't need the tree, Your sage mode will be something this world's never seen."
Kunou glowed with pride, practically vibrating.
Naruto gently tousled her hair. "But first, let's see how our tiger friend handles round two."
Yasaka stepped forward again, arms crossed proudly.
Her voice dropped—soft, reverent.
"They're finally standing."
Naruto looked at her sidelong. "Your people?"
She shook her head, eyes wet but smiling.
"Our people."
⸻
Clarisse stabbed. The tiger twisted, the dagger sliding off a chakra-cloaked forearm. She went low—he was already gone. Her legs were swept out from under her, and she landed again—hard.
Above, Sylvia watched, stunned.
"He's fighting like he has eyes in the back of his head!!!," she whispered. " there's no delay. No hesitation. He's predicting everything."
Mark dragged himself up, blood at his temple, panting. "That all you got, furball?!"
The tiger turned.
Didn't answer.
Just dropped into a stance older than war.
Mark snarled and burst forward—eyes glowing, blade spinning. He swung. Thrust. Dropped glyph mines under his feet—detonated one mid-air. The explosion lit the plaza.
Dust settled.
Clarisse shielded her eyes—"Did you hit him—?"
Mark stood, chest heaving. "Nailed him."
A gust of wind brushed past them.
The dust cleared.
The tiger yokai was still standing.
Untouched.
The only change—his eyes.
Now both glowed like twin dawns.
Then he moved.
Mark didn't have time to shout.
The strike was like thunder. Clarisse reached for him—too slow—Mark's body hit the cobblestones like a fallen god.
"MARK—!"
Sylvia snapped out of her trance, already moving—scrolls sliding into her hand, a smoke ward half-formed on her tongue. "I'm pulling them out. Sending a diversion now—!"
She spun—
And froze.
There was breathing behind her.
Soft. Calm. Steady.
She turned—
A chameleon yokai leaned against the chimney beside her. Cloaked in foxtree-imbued sage mode, his skin shimmered with adapting camouflage—chakra dampeners woven into his very breath.
"Wha—" was all Sylvia managed.
Then his fingers tapped her pressure points in perfect silence.
Darkness.
She collapsed into his arms.
Back in the plaza—
Clarisse had managed to stand.
She and Mark—bruised, bloody, gasping—stood back to back. Their divine weapons hummed low.
But the tiger yokai hadn't moved.
He looked fresh. Composed. Breathing in rhythm with the earth.
Mark swayed. "We... we need to retreat."
Clarisse bled from her nose. "We can't. Not yet—"
Then she paused.
Because they weren't alone anymore.
Dozens of footsteps.
Soft. Grounded. Precise.
Thirty yokai stepped from the alleys. Foxes, wolves, badgers, cranes—each radiating calm power.
Each cloaked in shifting runes.
Color-shifting sage seals danced across arms, chests, faces.
Clarisse's breath hitched.
"...No," she whispered. "That's not possible."
Mark's jaw slackened. "When did they... get this strong...?"
⸻
Kyoto – Westwind Spire
High Tower of the Foxfire Council – Private Observation Room
The breeze up here carried no scent of fear.
Just incense and history.
Councilor Mizuchi leaned against the lacquered railing of the open-air viewing room, feathers ruffled by the wind. His long gray sleeves were tucked behind his back, ceremonial cuffs pushed up past his elbows. He hadn't worn armor in years—but he didn't need it to feel the tension humming beneath the floor.
Because down below—just barely visible through the enchanted viewing crystal—a battle was unfolding.
And it was not going as expected.
"...He caught that Olympian's glyph-strike with a bare palm," Kitsu murmured.
He stood a few paces behind, pipe forgotten between his fingers, the embers long since cooled. His golden eyes squinted at the mirror, unblinking.
"And the girl's dagger—she used divine alloy," Mizuchi said quietly. "It bounced off."
They fell silent as the tiger yokai in the plaza pivoted with perfect balance, his runes glowing in harmony with his breath. In the crystal's focused view, the elder councilors could see the shimmer of his Sage Mode—no distortion, no overcorrection. Not even the faintest edge of madness.
Kitsu swallowed. "He's... stable."
Mizuchi gave a low hum. "No. He's more than stable. He's aligned. That sealwork—it's like the leylines are following him."
A beat of reverent silence passed between them.
Then Kitsu let out a long breath.
"...Do you remember Tengen's last trial run?" he asked.
Mizuchi chuckled bitterly. "The bark cracked off half the training grounds. Four instructors had seizures from backlash. I still have a feather bald spot from that one."
"And now," Kitsu muttered with a spark of hope in his eyes, "our sages don't collapse. They glide."
Mizuchi's beak twisted into a dry smirk. "We used to celebrate if one of our initiates survived ten seconds of sage-mode."
"Now they're painting the cobblestones with Olympian bloodlines."
Kitsu didn't smile.
He couldn't.
His voice dropped, rougher now. "I watched my entire patrol get turned to ash by a fallen angel when I was seventy. Watched the devils revive our monks just to chain them back as familiars. I've seen our best warriors offer their lives just for scraps of respect. Every time we rose, the world shoved us back into place."
He clenched his pipe until it cracked. "And we told our children that silence was safety. That obedience was strategy."
Mizuchi said nothing.
He didn't have to.
They both remembered the old treaties. The humiliating summons from divine courts. The countless times they bowed just to keep the gates open.
They'd survived.
But survival wasn't pride.
And yet...
Down below, in the heart of their homeland, a tiger yokai walked like he had nothing to apologize for. Like his presence alone rewrote the rules of who was allowed to stand tall.
A yokai sage.
Real. Unshackled. Whole.
And the enemy was breaking against him like paper in a storm.
The kind of storm the yokai had never been allowed to summon.
Until now.
"...They'll feel this," Mizuchi murmured with unshakable pride in his tone.
"Who?"
"Everyone. Olympus. Heaven. The devils. Even the Shinto who call themselves our patrons."
He stepped forward, the wind tugging at his sleeves.
"They'll see a yokai stand his ground and not fall."
Kitsu's eyes glimmered behind his narrowed lids, the fire in his old warrior's heart reignited once agian, shattered and crumbled national pride pieceing itself back together once again...this time stronger.
"Not kneel. Not beg. Not crack."
"No," Mizuchi said.
He exhaled.
"Win."
There was silence again.
Not the defeated silence of past decades. Not the broken hush of whispered loss.
This silence... was reverent.
Because it wasn't just power on display.
It was proof.
Proof that the yokai were changing.
Evolving.
Rising.
And somewhere—though neither of them said it aloud—they knew who had lit the first spark.
A foreign king with no crown.
A miracle tree grown not for conquest... but for a daughter.
Hope had returned to Kyoto.
And this time, it was not a prayer.
It was a promise.
⸻
Clarisse staggered, eyes wide. Her dagger trembled in her grip—not from fear, but from something worse.
Disbelief.
She scanned the thirty yokai encircling them—none bore armor. None needed it. Their bodies radiated pure chakra discipline. Each stance was perfect. Each breath coordinated.
And all of them...
All of them had those same radiant, shifting runes etched into skin and spirit alike. Foxtree signatures.
True sages.
The tiger yokai, still silent, lowered his arms.
Clarisse tensed, but he didn't strike.
He didn't need to.
Because this wasn't a duel anymore.
It was judgment.
Mark tried to step forward, stumbled, and coughed up blood. "We... we surrender," he wheezed.
Clarisse turned toward him, stunned. "What?!"
"We're not winning this," he muttered, swaying. "I'm concussed. My ribs are cracked. They have a f*ing sage army. We lost."
Clarisse wanted to argue.
Wanted to scream.
But her legs weren't steady anymore.
And every yokai eye on her didn't shimmer with fear—
They shimmered with something else.
Conviction.
Her dagger clattered to the stone.
The tiger yokai inclined his head once.
From behind Clarisse, a presence moved fast—too fast.
She turned—
—and saw nothing.
Just before her vision blacked out.
A single pressure point tapped beneath her jawline.
She collapsed.
Mark was caught as he fell.
The tiger yokai himself cradled him for a moment, studying his face—then passed him off to a nearby fox warrior with sage tattoos running down his arms.
Around them, the other sages bowed their heads in unison.
Not to gloat.
Not to mock.
But in respect for the end of conflict.
The yokai didn't shout.
Didn't cheer.
They simply turned.
And vanished into the mist.
Taking the intruders with them.
Above, in the hidden overlook, Yasaka wiped a proud tear from her eye.
"...My people," she whispered. "They're finally standing."
Beside her, Naruto smiled.
And Kunou, eyes huge and sparkling, clutched the edge of the railing. "I want to be exactly like them!"
Naruto chuckled and ruffled her hair.
"Star tail," he said softly, "you're going to be something even more."
⸻
Kyoto – Eastern Market Ring Perimeter
Citizen Viewpoint
They had watched from shadows.
From shuttered stalls and behind prayer screens. From rooftops and alley cracks. From under charm stalls and beneath half-collapsed awnings.
At first—they watched in fear.
Because this was what they had always been to the world outside Kyoto.
Weak.
Laughed at.
Yokai were myths to some, pests to others. They weren't seen as warriors. Not anymore. The supernatural world had moved on—while they were still seen as the remnants of old folklore. Left behind by the age of gods, caged by the Shinto's indifference, and kept in place by the whims of devils and angels who saw them as nothing more than half-spirit nuisances.
They watched their guards fall.
Watched shrine acolytes tossed like sacks of rice. Watched a proud lieutenant claw his way toward comrades and get mocked for it.
Children had cried.
Elders had covered their eyes.
And still—they stayed. Watching. Hoping.
Some part of them always hoped.
And then...
He arrived.
One tiger.
Barefoot.
Walking.
No weapons. No title. Just breath, balance, and glowing runes carved like calligraphy across skin and spirit.
And then—it changed.
The wind changed.
The plaza changed.
Everything changed.
The yokai hiding in the shadows gasped as the tiger yokai moved—not like a warrior—but like a river given form. Grace and power in perfect synchronicity. When he struck, the earth didn't groan—it sighed. When he redirected attacks, he didn't push—he guided. Like nature itself wanted to protect him.
The demigods couldn't touch him.
The citizens could scarcely believe it.
One elder, her tail trembling as she peered through a screen of paper charms, whispered to no one in particular:
"...That's sage movement. But... clear. Not poisoned. Not twisted."
A young kitsune beside her, voice barely audible, murmured, "The Foxtree... he's using the Foxtree."
Whispers spread like fire through the gathered unseen crowd.
Another sage joined. Then another. Then dozens.
Runes blooming across their bodies.
Balanced. Radiant. Whole.
Yokai sages. Not myths. Not broken madmen.
Real.
And theirs.
The citizens of Kyoto—old shrine caretakers, food vendors, retired patrolmen, flower girls, talisman boys, wandering monks—they all looked on in silence.
And then...
They wept.
Not out of sorrow.
Out of something they hadn't felt in generations.
Pride.
"Did you see how he caught the blade?" one whisper choked out.
"That boy's family lives near my brother's inn!" another said.
"I thought sagehood always ended in madness," said an elder with a cracked voice.
"Not anymore," came the answer.
They didn't cheer when the Olympians fell.
They didn't gloat when the spies collapsed.
They just stood there, watching the sages bow in unison.
And one elderly tanuki, who had spent her entire life believing her people would always serve or survive—but never lead—finally allowed herself to whisper the impossible:
"...We are rising."
⸻
Kyoto – Foxtree Citadel – Twilight Council Hall
Evening, Same Day
The light inside the citadel had changed.
It wasn't the soft flame of shrine lanterns, nor the warmth of foxfire that lit the ceremonial chamber.
This was colder.
Sharper.
The kind of light that flickered behind court walls and battlefield treaties—the glow of politics weaponized and truth dissected.
Clarisse La Rue stood chained between two pillars, shoulders square, chin lifted. Mark sat beside her, arms bound tightly across his lap, blood still drying at the corner of his mouth. Sylvia knelt, hands shackled, her head bowed not in submission—but in calculation.
Yasaka stood on the dais above them, flanked by four senior councilors and a trio of high-ranked sages in ceremonial armor. Her tails shimmered faintly with controlled power—regal, composed, terrifying.
She wasn't a queen now.
She was a sovereign adjudicator.
This was a tribunal.
And no one had yet dared to speak.
The silence lasted just long enough to fray nerves.
Then—
"State your names," Yasaka said.
Her voice wasn't cruel. It didn't need to be.
Clarisse met her eyes. "Pilgrims. Tourists. No titles."
The chamber didn't laugh.
It stiffened.
Mark spoke next, voice rough. "We didn't come to fight. There was... a misunderstanding. Local patrol got aggressive."
A pause.
Sylvia raised her eyes.
"We're not acting under any direct orders from Olympus. Our visit was personal. Scholarly. We were tracking an energy anomaly."
The moment she said it, Clarisse's nostrils flared slightly.
Yasaka's gaze didn't change. "An anomaly."
Sylvia nodded. "A leyline fluctuation registered in multiple realms. The signature was non-divine. Our presence was an independent investigation."
"A private field trip," Councilor Kitsu said dryly from behind her, his voice like rusted iron. "How quaint."
Yasaka stepped forward. The clack of her sandals against the jade inlay rang like a hammer strike.
"You trespassed within a sovereign faction under the Shinto pantheon's protection. You entered through cloaked means, bypassed border rituals, violated shrine space, and initiated physical violence against twenty-three local enforcers. You attacked sages in active duty."
Clarisse opened her mouth.
Yasaka's tails snapped once behind her.
"You will not insult this court by calling it a misunderstanding."
Silence.
Clarisse's jaw tightened.
"We acted in self-defense."
"Your weapons were divine-forged," Councilor Mizuchi said, feathers bristling. "Your footwork was Olympian. Your tactics were military. Don't treat our soil like some third-rate borderland you can test at whim."
Mark's voice cracked. "You had sages. Real ones. That's not supposed to be possible. Not here."
"Ah," Yasaka said softly, eyes narrowing. "So the truth slips when your pride flinches."
Clarisse said nothing.
Yasaka's voice dropped lower. "Let me be perfectly clear. Your presence here is illegal. You have violated inter-pantheonic accords signed under the Watchers' Compact. You have engaged in armed conflict within the yokai territory without sanction. And you have attempted to disguise yourselves as human pilgrims while mapping our leyline grid."
Sylvia closed her eyes.
Yasaka leaned forward.
"Which leaves me with a very simple question: Why are you here?"
Another silence.
Clarisse inhaled sharply. "We told you. We felt a fluctuation. That's all."
"No one leaves Olympus for a fluctuation," Councilor Kitsu muttered.
"Unless Olympus was afraid," Mizuchi added. "Or curious."
Yasaka stepped down from the dais now—closer, slower.
"You came here looking for something," she said, her voice low. "Something you couldn't identify. Something that frightened you."
Mark's fists clenched.
Yasaka smiled thinly.
"You found us instead."
Sylvia's lips parted—then closed again.
She wasn't just hiding something.
She was protecting something.
A mission.
A directive.
A name.
Yasaka turned, slowly ascending the dais again. "Then allow me to share my concern. You trespass. You lie. You provoke. And yet you expect me to believe that Olympus will not act further?"
"We are not Olympus," Clarisse said quietly.
"No," Yasaka agreed. "You're three of its weapons."
She turned toward the side alcove, where a dozen sages stood ready to escort the prisoners.
"Send word to the shrine embassies. We are officially lodging a formal complaint with Olympus. Three of their children crossed into sovereign yokai territory without notice, initiated conflict, and violated the Accord of Twilight signed under Heaven's observation. This tribunal will submit record of their silence, their aggression, and their refusal to answer questions under sanctified truth seals."
"And what will you do with us?" Mark rasped.
Yasaka turned her head, golden eyes unreadable.
"I haven't decided," she said.
Then she gestured.
"Return them to confinement. Under full chakra suppression. Keep them away from shrine nexus points and leyline altars."
The sages bowed.
Mark and Clarisse were hauled to their feet. Sylvia staggered as her weight shifted, but didn't resist.
Just as they were being pulled toward the corridor—
Yasaka spoke again.
"No one here believes you came without orders."
The words echoed in the chamber.
And behind her regal calm, behind the quiet fire of a queen wronged in her own home, something deeper stirred.
She would get her answers.
Kyoto – Foxtree Citadel – Private Council Chamber
Thirty Minutes Later
The tribunal hall had emptied.
The prisoners were gone.
But Yasaka remained seated on the high dais, her hands steepled in front of her mouth, eyes locked on the brazier flickering at the room's center. Her tails coiled around her like a cloak. Not at rest.
Thinking.
Furious.
Mizuchi stood a few paces to her left, arms folded, posture tense—not with doubt, but readiness. He no longer bristled like an offended hawk. He stood like a general awaiting orders from the only monarch he would ever kneel to.
Kitsu paced quietly near the mirror-glass window overlooking the Foxtree gardens. His movements were small. Thoughtful. Not as jaded as usual.
Because today, something had shifted.
"I bluffed," Yasaka said finally.
Mizuchi glanced her way.
"To shake them," she clarified. "To make the spies sweat. But it won't last. If we acually filed a complaint olympus would just stall. Deny. Offer polite indifference while preparing for the next step."
Kitsu stopped pacing. "Then the question is what that step will be."
"No," Yasaka said. "The question is how far they're willing to go."
Silence answered her. Heavy. Measured.
"They didn't flinch at the threat of a formal complaint," she continued. "Not even a whisper of panic."
Mizuchi spoke, voice low. "Then they didn't come to intimidate."
"No," she said. "They came to confirm."
Kitsu frowned. "Confirm what?"
Yasaka turned her gaze to the flames. They danced like threads of memory.
"They were chasing the same energy pulse we felt days ago."
"The same pulse that came with him," Mizuchi said carefully.
A beat of silence.
And then Yasaka stood.
Her tails shimmered—flicking with tension, but her expression was calm. Calculated. Royal.
"They came to find it," she said. "They came for him. They just don't know it yet."
Kitsu exhaled slowly. "If they ever do..."
"They won't," she said. "Because I won't allow it., we need to stall, we are not ready to face olympus yet, i have every confidence that we will oneday reach that level especially of we maintain the rate of growth out sages have experienced in the past 5 days but right now it is simply too early we just started to stand on our feet, we cannot have the enemy know of our rising strength yet"
"But what if they push harder?" Mizuchi asked. "If they escalate? If they send a second team—officially this time?"
Yasaka turned toward them both.
"That's why we need answers now. Before Olympus moves through the front door instead of the shadows. We need to find out everything they know and all the information they have on us and olympus to prepare"
Mizuchi hesitated.
Then said the thing he'd been holding in for minutes.
"We could go to the Shinto."
Yasaka's face hardened. "NO."
"It would shift the balance."
"It would shift everything," she snapped. "If they knew even a fraction of what happened under that tree—what it's doing to our people—do you think they would hesitate?"
Mizuchi didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"They would not support us," Yasaka continued. "They would seize it. Study it. Tear it out from the roots in the name of balance."
"They would find Naruto," Kitsu said quietly.
That stopped the room.
Mizuchi's next words came with reverence.
"...And if they did... if they threaten him though you or worse kunou...he would destroy them."
The fire crackled.
Yasaka's voice was cold. "Which would create a power vacum and possibly spark an inter-pantheonic war, that is why we cannot let that happen."
Kitsu moved closer. "Then how do we silence Olympus without drawing the Shinto?"
Yasaka finally turned toward the far wall—toward the sealed inner chamber behind the veil.
"By getting all the information we need then erasing what they've seen."
"Your talking about memory manipulation?"Kitsu asked
"we have a few yokai clans who can do that but none that would be able to leave no trace linking us to it, their analysts would recognise the marks of yokai techniques and energy signature immediately"
She took a slow breath.
"Then we need to use techniques that this world has never seen before with a foreign, unknown energy signature that is impossible to trace,
And there's only one man who can do both."
She didn't call his name.
She didn't need to.
The chamber veil peeled back on its own.
And Naruto stepped through.
Not with flourish. Not with presence.
Just quiet strength.
He held two scrolls under one arm—faint sealing lines glowing in soft gold across their bindings.
Mizuchi bowed, as did Kitsu. A shallow nod of acknowledgment, not ceremony.
Naruto nodded back with casual warmth. "They gave me the run-down. I saw the recording of the tribunal."
He stepped forward and placed the scrolls gently on the table before Yasaka. "I caught five more spies yesterday. A pair of fallen and three devils. They were watching us during our stroll through the market."
Yasaka's expression darkened.
"I've got them sealed in modified prisoner scrolls from my world," Naruto added. "They are Suppressed. Hidden. No chakra leaks, no paper trails."
Mizuchi's eyes flicked toward the scrolls. "They were after you the creator of the tree?"
Naruto nodded. "Or Kunou."
Yasaka closed her eyes briefly.
Then reopened them. Sharper.
"You kept this hidden."
"I didn't want to start a panic," Naruto said calmly. "Or give the devils something to scream about. Same reason you didn't call the Shinto."
Mizuchi exhaled. "And now?"
Naruto met Yasaka's eyes.
"Now I'm going to take them with me."
She stilled.
"I'll bring them back to my world. To my people. The Yamanaka can read what they won't say—and clean up what they saw. Clean. Surgical. Total wipe."
Kitsu arched a brow. "You can remove memories?"
Naruto nodded. "The Yamanaka have been doing it for centuries. They know how to erase without harming the mind."
"And you trust them?" Yasaka asked softly.
"With my life,they are my people after all" he said without pause.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then—
"...You're leaving?"
"Only for a few days," Naruto said. "Just long enough to extract what we need. Then I'll be back."
"Right," she said faintly.
Mizuchi's gaze darted between them.
"...The gate," Yasaka whispered. "It's finished, isn't it."
Naruto nodded. "This morning."
"I felt the shift," she said. "I was hoping it was something else."
Naruto stepped forward. Not too close.
"I didn't want to reactivate it yet," he said. "Not while all this was happening. Not when you needed me here."
She was silent.
Then asked, barely above a whisper, "And now?"
"I have responsibilities," he said. "I'm the Hokage. My people need me. I can't disappear again."
A pause.
He lifted one of the scrolls and rolled it open—revealing the array structure of a dual-locus seal system.
"But I'm not leaving you behind," he said.
Her eyes snapped to him.
"I'm moving the anchor in my world," he said. "From the Hokage Monument to my home. Then I'll attune it to your mansion here."
He tapped the scroll.
"One home. One door connecting two universes. No distortion. Seamless transition."
Kitsu's pipe dropped.
Mizuchi looked like he forgot how to breathe.
Even Yasaka blinked.
"You're going to connect our homes?" she asked slowly.
"Same front door," Naruto said. "Same bedrooms. Same kitchen. You want tea, you step through the door and you're in Konoha more specifically the uzumaki mansion. I am also thinking of connecting a door to my office in the hokage tower and eventually a deplomatic room for envoys from both worlds to meet.
Kunou peeked from behind the entry screen, eyes gleaming.
"...We'll have two gardens?" she whispered.
Naruto grinned. "We'll have four."
Yasaka swallowed.
Then, quietly—
"And Kunou?"
Naruto looked to her. "I want to bring her. Just for a visit. I want her to see my world. Just once."
The air in the room tightened.
Yasaka's lips parted.
Then closed.
"...I see."
Naruto immediately knew what that meant and stepped closer.
"Nothing changes," he said. "You and her—you're my family. Same as Hinata. Same as Boruto."
Mizuchi cleared his throat. "If I may—"
Yasaka lifted a hand gently.
He fell silent.
Then Yasaka rose.
Her voice was steady.
But low.
"You're building doors across dimensions like you're moving furniture. You're wiping minds like it's nothing. You've already caught spies that even our best couldn't detect."
She looked at him.
Not as a queen.
But as a woman.
"...And I'm still afraid I'm going to lose you."
Naruto didn't reach for her.
He didn't promise what couldn't be guaranteed.
But this he could
"You won't."
And Yasaka?
After a long silence, she finally nodded.
"...Then go."
He bowed his head.
She turned away.
But just before he stepped out of the chamber—
She said softly:
"Come back safe, the both of you."
He paused.
Smiled faintly.
"Always."
⸻
Konoha – Hokage Tower Plaza
Morning, Day Five
It began as whispers.
At first, no one noticed. Not really. The sun still rose. The shops still opened. ANBU still flitted through shadows, and Genin still raced past vendors chasing training scrolls and half-eaten dango sticks.
But the clones were gone.
That's what tipped the balance.
For five years, Naruto Uzumaki—Hokage, hero, symbol of peace—had become more than just a leader. He was everywhere. Literally. Thousands of shadow clones moved throughout the village every day, tending to everything from mission reports to roof repairs to listening to elderly flower vendors tell the same stories for the hundredth time.
He was A force of nature wrapped in orange and sunshine.
And now... he wasn't.
One day passed. People assumed he was busy. Two days—maybe a closed-door summit. Three? Questions began.
By the fourth morning, merchants were whispering to each other in the market square.
By the fifth, Konoha was nervous.
⸻
Ichiraku Ramen – Midday
Ayame stirred the broth absently.
The stall was half-empty. Which was rare. Because Naruto wasn't there.
"Something's off," she murmured, ladling noodles with a distracted frown. "He always stops by. Even if it's just a clone."
The Genin team seated beside her shared a glance.
"He's probably in a meeting," one muttered.
"Five days of meetings?" another said skeptically. "C'mon. You ever seen him not drop by for a snack?"
Ayame didn't speak.
But her ladle trembled slightly.
⸻
Konoha – Medical Tower – Sakura's Office
"Where is he?" Sakura demanded, slamming her palm on the desk hard enough to crack the edge.
Shizune winced. "Sakura—"
"No one's seen him," she hissed. "Not even a clone. He missed his rounds. His reports are delayed. The patrol schedule hasn't updated."
"Sakura," Shizune said again, slower this time. "We don't know everything."
"No. But someone does."
Her eyes narrowed.
And with terrifying calm, she turned and stormed out.
⸻
Konoha – Uzumaki Mansion, Private Courtyard
Late Afternoon, Day Five
Hinata stood beneath the winding limbs of the cherry tree Naruto planted two years ago. The blossoms were just beginning to open—late bloomers, stubborn in their timing, refusing to be rushed by the seasons.
Much like her.
She gently rocked Boruto on her hip, his tiny hands curled in sleep, his breath warm against her neck.
The door behind her slid open with sharp force.
Hinata didn't flinch.
"Sakura."
The footsteps that followed were brisk. Measured. Controlled—but barely.
Sakura's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"Where is he?"
Hinata didn't turn immediately. She finished adjusting Boruto's blanket, brushing a fallen petal from his cheek.
"He's safe."
"That's not what I asked."
Hinata turned then, slowly, carefully, so as not to wake her son. Her eyes met Sakura's—soft lavender, but steel-backed now. Gone was the girl who had stammered through her sentences. What stood here was a wife. A mother. A woman who had walked through fire and come out quietly burning.
"I'm not telling you, Sakura."
Sakura blinked.
"...What?"
Hinata's voice didn't waver. "I said I'm not telling you. He's safe. He's doing something important. And I trust him."
"Important enough to vanish for five days without a word? Without even a clone?" Sakura's hands curled into fists. "Do you know how many people are asking questions? How many of us are worried sick? I thought we—" She stopped herself. Swallowed. "I thought you cared enough to tell us the truth."
Hinata took a quiet breath.
"I do care," she said softly. "But he asked me not to tell anyone That's why I'm not telling you."
Sakura took a step forward. "So you do know where he is."
Hinata didn't move. "Yes."
The silence stretched between them.
Boruto stirred faintly in her arms.
Sakura exhaled hard through her nose, pacing a slow, tense circle across the courtyard stones. "Then why Tsunade?" she said at last.
Hinata blinked. "What?"
"Tsunade," Sakura repeated. "She came back early from Kiri. Two days ago. She was supposed to be gone for another week."
Hinata said nothing.
Sakura's gaze sharpened. "She didn't ask where Naruto was. Not once. Just went straight to the Tower, spoke to Kakashi and Shikamaru, then left like everything was fine. You don't come back from a diplomatic mission and not ask where your godson is—unless you already know."
Hinata's grip on Boruto tightened slightly.
"You told her," Sakura said.
"I did," Hinata replied.
Sakura stared. "Why her?"
"Because she deserved to know." Hinata's voice was quiet, but it didn't flinch. "She's been a second mother to him since Jiraiya died. Because if anything went wrong... she would move the heavens to help. And because I trust her."
Sakura's jaw tensed.
"I trust you too," Hinata said. "But Naruto asked me not to say anything. Not to anyone. And I honor that. Even when it hurts."
Sakura looked down. Her fists were still clenched, but now they trembled. "He's been gone for five days, Hinata. That's not nothing. That's not a joke. Do you know what it's like—walking past Ichiraku and seeing that stool empty? Watching Ayame stir her broth like she's expecting a ghost to show up?"
"I do," Hinata said softly. "Every hour."
Sakura looked up sharply.
"I miss him too," Hinata said. "But this isn't abandonment. He didn't leave us behind. He's doing something only he can do—and I will not betray his trust by handing over his secrets just to ease your fear."
The words struck.
Sakura stood frozen.
And then—
She stepped back.
"I wasn't asking for secrets," she whispered. "Just to not be shut out."
Hinata's expression softened, and for the first time, she stepped forward.
"Then stay by him," she said. "Like you always have. Trust him like I do. He's not running away. He's building something. Something for all of us."
Sakura looked down at Boruto.
He yawned in his sleep, reaching instinctively for his mother's collar.
"I've never seen him this still," she murmured.
Hinata smiled. "He knows his father's coming home."
There was silence again.
But this one... was lighter.
Sakura exhaled. Her voice steadied.
"Tell him—when he gets back..."
Hinata tilted her head.
Sakura hesitated. Then smiled faintly, old fire flickering in her eyes.
"...Tell him if he ever vanishes again without telling me, I'm punching him through the Hokage Monument."
Hinata grinned.
"I'll let him know."
And in that moment—quiet, stubborn, loving—the two strongest kunoichi of their generation stood in the late afternoon sun, waiting for the same man to come home.
Not rivals.
Not opponents.
But pillars.
Guarding the same future
⸻
Konoha – Hokage Tower – Council Chamber
Evening,
The room was chaos.
The long council table—once a place for policy, protocol, and polite bickering—had become a war zone of speculation.
"He's been kidnapped."
"I'm telling you, it's poison! He ate a bad dango, and now he's unconscious somewhere!"
"Assassination attempt. Had to be. Probably some jealous noble."
"What if it was divine punishment?! He did flatten three mountains during that sparring match last week!"
"I heard he fell in love with a merchant woman and ran off to start a second bakery."
That one came from Kiba.
Shino didn't even blink. "Statistically improbable. Naruto's chakra signature could not be contained by a civilian bakery."
Choji nodded sagely. "Unless the bakery was massive."
"Focus!" Ino snapped, smacking her palm on the table. "We're the official advisory council to the Hokage, and we're standing around like we're reading fanfiction!"
Sai, ever neutral, raised a finger. "Technically, Kiba did write a fanfiction about Naruto starting a bakery."
Kiba folded his arms. "It got four stars and an honorable mention."
Across the chamber, Shikamaru sat slouched in his chair, face blank, eyes half-lidded.
They've lost their minds.
Beside him, Kakashi leaned lazily against the wall, expression unreadable behind his mask.
The village is full of war heroes, Jōnin tacticians, and ANBU specialists—and somehow, this is our central command.
"Maybe he's cursed!" someone shouted. "What if he opened a forbidden scroll?!"
Kiba slammed his hands on the table. "I told you, it's the bakery woman! She probably hit him with a love seal and now he's making strawberry mochi in the Land of Tea!"
Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose.
'Naruto. Uzumaki. Hero of the Fourth Shinobi War. Tamer of Kurama. Unifier of the Five Nations. Otsutsuki Slayer. And these people think a love seal from a merchant knocked him out?'
Kakashi sighed dramatically.
'He survived being impaled, absorbed, sealed, erased, blown up, and emotionally blackmailed—and they think he fell into a coma from bad dango? '
"We need to send a search party!" one of the elder civilian representatives cried. "Dispatch ANBU squads—activate the sensory division! Track every breadcrumb!"
"That's a violation of privacy," Shino said calmly. "And a waste of chakra."
"Maybe it's a clone rebellion," Choji suggested helpfully. "Like... what if the clones finally got tired of being dismissed?"
Everyone went silent.
Even Kakashi blinked.
Shikamaru snorted.
Then—because he could not physically help himself—Kakashi muttered, "So Naruto's been overthrown... by himself?"
Ino sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "We're losing it. He's only been gone five days. He's probably doing something incredibly important."
"And dangerous...and stupid," Sakura muttered from her seat, arms crossed. "Whatever it is, it's something only he can do."
Kiba scowled. "Still think he should've left a note."
"Or a clone," Shino added.
Shikamaru finally sat up.
"Look," he said. "He's not sick. He's not kidnapped. He's not being wooed by a bakery lady, and he's not building a love nest in the Land of Tea."
Kakashi nodded. "He's fine. He's Naruto."
Shikamaru smirked slightly.
"Let me ask you this—what kind of moron kidnaps the man who defeated a god, united five nations, punched a time-bending demigod into orbit, and still found time to help granny Sumiko carry her pickles home every Thursday?"
Silence.
Then Sai, very softly: "A deeply ambitious moron."
Ino buried her face in her hands.
And finally—finally—Tsunade rose from the observation gallery, arms crossed, glaring down like a storm goddess barely tolerating this mortal plane.
"You're all dismissed," she barked. "Go home. He'll be back when he's ready. And he's not missing. He's on a mission."
"Where?!" Kiba yelped.
Tsunade's eyes narrowed.
Kiba sat down again.
"...Okay."
Kakashi turned to Shikamaru as the room began to empty.
"Well," he muttered. "On a scale of one to idiot, I'd say that was... bakery tier."
Shikamaru grunted. "I swear if he comes back and finds out about the clone rebellion theory, he's going to prank every single one of them."
Kakashi paused.
"...We should write that down."
"Already done."
⸻
Konoha – Hyūga Compound, Southern Courtyard
Late Morning, Day Five
Cherry blossoms drifted lazily over the manicured stones of the inner courtyard, softening the rigid lines of Hyūga architecture. Once, this place had been defined by silence and stoicism.
Now?
Now it echoed with baby giggles.
Hiashi Hyūga, former Clan Head, sat beneath the shade of a maple tree with a dignified air and a proud grandfather glow that refused to be hidden. He balanced a plush mat on his knees, where little Boruto Uzumaki babbled happily with a pacifier in his mouth, kicking chubby legs and tugging earnestly on Hiashi's sleeve.
"Careful," Hiashi said mildly, shifting the pacifier before it tumbled. "You may dislocate your grandfather's shoulder, you tiny tyrant."
Boruto gurgled in triumph and slapped his hand against Hiashi's chest.
The baby's chakra flared for a split-second—a tiny pulse of potential—and Hiashi narrowed his eyes.
Already stabilizing instinctively... just like his father. Or worse.
...I should probably alert the estate guards before this one figures out walking and summoning jutsu at the same time.
He resumed rocking the child gently and glanced sidelong as footsteps approached from the covered walkway.
Hinata stepped into view, her expression calm, her posture perfect, her presence unmistakable. She'd grown into her strength long ago, but now—now she moved with the confidence of someone who no longer asked permission for it.
Hiashi's smile was subtle. "Hinata."
"Father," she greeted, bowing slightly before taking a seat beside him.
Boruto squealed and kicked at the air when he saw her, flinging his arms toward her in wobbly demand. Hiashi lifted him with measured care and handed him off.
"He missed you," Hiashi said.
"I was only gone fifteen minutes," Hinata replied,
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, broken only by the baby's soft cooing and the occasional birdcall beyond the wall.
Then—
"I've heard... troubling things," Hiashi said casually, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.
Hinata raised an eyebrow without looking up. "Oh?"
"Word is... the Hokage has not been seen in five days."
Her voice was neutral. "He's a busy man."
Hiashi nodded solemnly. "And there have been whispers. Market rumors. Diplomatic concerns. Strange energy readings on the northern ranges. Very curious."
Hinata kissed Boruto's forehead. "Mmm."
Hiashi leaned in slightly. "Even the Uchiha returned early. And Tsunade-sama... was in Kiri, wasn't she?"
Hinata finally looked up, eyes half-lidded.
"Father."
"Yes?"
"That's classified."
Hiashi blinked.
Then leaned back, steepling his fingers with the slow satisfaction of a veteran tactician.
Behind his calm expression, a tiny mental Hiashi cackled maniacally inside a miniature war room.
'So that's how you want to play this...
Very well.'
Hiashi adjusted his posture with imperial calm as Boruto began chewing enthusiastically on the edge of his formal shoulder sash.
Behind his composed exterior, a mental Hiashi—the one who wore armor and barked commands in a thunderstorm—stood at a chalkboard labeled Operation: Information Extraction. Diagrams filled the space. Chakra graphs. Emotional pressure timelines. Hanabi's location tracker.
Step One: Subtle Prying — failed.
Step Two: Strategic Guilt-Tripping — countered.
Step Three...?
The miniature Hiashi steepled his fingers and let out an evil laugh.
Time for the Ultimate Weapon.
Back in the real world, Hiashi gently patted Boruto's tiny back and turned his head toward the breezeway with a voice as smooth as aged sake.
"Hanabi."
A pause.
Then a soft, bright voice answered, "Coming!"
Hinata's eyes flicked up. Her aura didn't shift—but her spine stiffened slightly.
Hiashi didn't smile. Not outwardly.
But inside?
Checkmate in three.
Hanabi appeared around the corner in a soft blur of pastel robes and training tape, her hair pinned up messily, cheeks flushed from sparring. She practically bounced into the courtyard with the same energy she'd had since childhood—now refined, but no less explosive.
"Hi, nii-san!" she chirped, leaning down to boop Boruto's cheek. "And you...are You conquering the clan again?"
Boruto shrieked in delight and grabbed her hair.
Hiashi raised one hand and executed the most casual betrayal in Hyūga history.
"Your sister seems to know something about Naruto's sudden disappearance."
Hanabi froze mid-squish.
Her head turned slowly. "What."
Hinata's sigh was silent.
"Gone for five days," Hiashi added helpfully. "Not a clone in sight. And your sister won't tell me a thing."
Hanabi gasped theatrically, grabbing the hem of her sleeves. "Wait—he's gone?! No clones?! No ramen breaks?! No overstuffed mission scrolls exploding in the kitchen?!"
Hinata spoke flatly. "He's fine."
"That's not an answer!" Hanabi pouted. "And you knew?!"
"I said he's fine."
"Oh my god," Hanabi whispered, eyes wide. "Is he on a secret infiltration mission? Wait—is it another world again? Did he get dragged into another dimension without a shirt on?!" Her voice pitched up, horror-struck. "Is it a love dimension?! Is that even real?! Wait—are you okay?! Is this how the other woman arcs start?!"
Hinata's eye twitched, her sister's guesses where getting scarely accurate. "Hanabi."
"What if he's sick? What if he got poisoned? What if he got abducted by angel ninja and now he's brainwashed and leading a cult made of ramen bowls?!"
Hinata narrowed her eyes at her father, who was innocently feeding Boruto a rice cracker as if he hadn't just unleashed chaos incarnate.
Hiashi said nothing.
But in his mind, mini-Hiashi stood at a glowing tactical map, arms folded, nodding smugly as orchestral victory music swelled in the background.
Battle won. Target panicking. Morale broken. Emotional overload achieved. The child is weaponized. The younger daughter is in full hysteria. The elder daughter is... glaring at me. Ah.
She's glaring harder.
Oh dear.
Hinata reached up calmly, took Boruto back into her arms, and addressed Hanabi without raising her voice.
"Hanabi."
"Yes?" Hanabi blinked, mid-spiral.
"It's classified."
Hanabi deflated. "Noooo, not the classified wall—!"
"I love you. But stop."
Hanabi drooped onto the tatami mat like a wilting flower. "I haven't seen him in a week. He promised to taste my new yuzu broth!"
Hiashi cleared his throat with dignified amusement. "Your grief is noted, daughter."
"I'm emotionally compromised!" Hanabi wailed. "I need big brother Naruto to fix me!"
Hinata closed her eyes. "He'll be back soon."
Hanabi rolled dramatically onto her back. "Do you promise?"
"Yes."
"Do you super secret Hyūga mother-of-his-son promise?"
Hinata exhaled. "Yes."
"...Do you pinky swear?"
Hiashi finally chuckled. "You're twenty-one."
"I'm twenty-one and Naruto-deprived," Hanabi grumbled.
Hinata gave her father a long, slow look over the rim of her teacup.
"I hope you enjoyed that," she said. "Because now she's your problem until dinner."
Hiashi bowed his head with all the grace of a man accepting his consequences.
Boruto, now seated squarely in Hanabi's lap and poking her forehead like a frog summon, burbled joyfully.
⸻
Konoha – Hokage Tower, Upper Offices
Early Evening, Day Five
Shikamaru Nara regretted many things in life.
Accepting the position of Hokage Advisor was near the top.
It wasn't the paperwork. Or the treaties. Or the power-hungry merchants trying to sneak "flavored dango" into the national food reserve budget.
No.
It was this.
This moment.
Right now.
The moment when the office door burst open for the sixth time today and Hanabi Hyūga marched in like a storm cloud in pigtails and kunai earrings, followed by Konohamaru with a notebook, a corkboard, and a wild look in his eyes.
"We have proof," Hanabi declared, slamming a poorly drawn diagram on the desk in front of him.
Shikamaru didn't look up. "No, you don't."
Konohamaru slammed down a scroll. "Two-dimensional energy anomalies. Documented. Tracked. Cross-referenced."
Shikamaru rubbed his temples. "That's your electric bill and a ramen shop receipt."
"They match the known pattern of dimensional fluctuations from the last time Naruto disappeared!" Hanabi pointed accusingly at a string of thumbtacks stuck into the corner of the corkboard. "There's a gap in the leyline field behind the Hokage Monument!"
"That's where the birdwatchers meet," Kakashi said from the couch, not even looking up from his book.
Konohamaru gasped. "You're in on it too?!"
Hanabi spun. "I knew it! The secret sixth dimension—Kakashi-sensei was the gatekeeper all along!"
Kakashi slowly turned a page.
Shikamaru deadpanned, "I will approve this theory if it gets you both to leave my office."
Hanabi leaned over the desk, her voice low and dramatic. "Where. Is. My. Brother-in-law."
Shikamaru gave her a look.
"Hanabi," he said flatly, "he could be arm-wrestling a god in another realm and still beat them in time to get home for dinner. What exactly are you worried about?"
"I haven't seen him in a week!"
"It's been five days."
"And he missed taste-testing my new yuzu broth!"
Shikamaru blinked. "...You tracked leyline anomalies because of broth?"
Konohamaru, still scribbling frantically, added, "She also filed a missing persons request disguised as a birthday invitation."
"Which was a brilliant plan," Hanabi sniffed. "But someone canceled the mission scroll before it posted!"
Shikamaru tilted his head toward Kakashi.
Kakashi nodded without remorse. "Wasn't even subtle."
Hanabi crossed her arms. "You're all hiding something. And I will find out what it is."
Konohamaru brandished a glitter pen. "For the people of Konoha!"
Kakashi glanced toward the ceiling like he was praying for lightning to strike him.
Shikamaru groaned. "This village is going to implode from sheer affection."
Hanabi grinned. "If you're going to lie to us, at least lie better."
Shikamaru leaned back with a long-suffering sigh. "If I told you the truth, you'd follow him."
Hanabi brightened. "So there is a him to follow!"
Kakashi, eyes still on his page, muttered, "You just lost your bait."
Konohamaru gasped. "She's onto you!"
Shikamaru dropped his head on the desk.
"Just once," he muttered, muffled, "just once, I want to survive a week without someone building a conspiracy board out of ramen wrappers and chakra charts."
Hanabi grinned. "So you admit there's something to conspire about."
Kakashi sighed and stood, finally snapping his book closed.
"I'm going home," he said. "If you break into the Monument, make sure you clean up the rubble. Last time Naruto rewired the sealing chamber, it took us a week to resettle the squirrels."
Konohamaru snapped his fingers. "I knew those squirrels were too organized!"
Hanabi slapped a hand on her corkboard. "Phase Three begins tonight!"
They turned and stormed out of the office in a flurry of scrolls and sparkling pushpins.
Silence.
Shikamaru slowly sat up.
"...I give it twenty-four hours before she breaks into the Hokage Monument."
Kakashi didn't even pause on his way out the door. "You're being generous."
⸻
Konoha – Hyūga Clan Hall, Later That Night
Hiashi sat by the fire, sipping sake, Boruto snoring softly in his arms.
From down the hall came the sound of drawers opening. Footsteps. Whispered arguments. A corkboard falling.
He smiled faintly.
Inside his mind, mini-Hiashi saluted with a victory fan.
Step Four: Let Hanabi do the rest.
⸻
Kyoto – Yasaka's Mansion, Inner Sanctum Gate Room
Twilight, Day Five
The room was no longer a room.
Not truly.
The walls shimmered with spiraling runes—three-dimensional coils of chakra-infused ink suspended in midair, rotating slowly like constellations caught in a frozen hurricane. The floor had been etched with a grand circular seal that pulsed in rhythmic harmony with Naruto's hands as he crouched near the center, brush moving in precise, impossibly fast strokes.
Every line was alive.
Every symbol—a living equation.
To Yasaka, it felt like watching a man stitch two realities together with a pen.
And Naruto... looked utterly calm. Focused. Barefoot and shirtless beneath his robe, sleeves rolled back, sweat on his brow, but posture relaxed. In his element.
A creator. A master.
Her lover.
Her daughter's father.
The father of miracles.
Yasaka stood near the threshold of the chamber, her arms folded, tails brushing softly behind her. And yet she didn't move forward. Couldn't. Her body was still—but inside, her thoughts surged like a tide.
He's really going through with it.
A door. A bridge. Between two worlds.
Her golden eyes tracked every glowing line he inscribed—marks that defied even divine understanding. This wasn't yokai magic. It wasn't divine authority or Shinto decree. This was something wholly other. Something she could hardly begin to grasp.
And he wielded it like second nature.
He's never looked more foreign, she thought—and then: He's never looked more like mine.
But beneath the awe...
...was the jealousy.
Not bitterness. Not hatred.
But a low, tightening ache in her chest she couldn't silence.
Hinata.
The woman he returned to. The one he still wore a ring for. The one whose name he said with softness. With reverence.
Will I ever be that?
Will there ever be a ring for her?
Will she ever be something more than the secret?
Yasaka clenched her jaw. Her eyes betrayed none of it—but the pain was there. Quiet. Tucked beneath her pride and power and posture.
A tail flicked with more force than necessary.
Then—
A blur of foxfire and gold crashed into her hip.
"Mom! MOM!! Is it almost ready!?"
Yasaka blinked. Kunou had skidded to a halt beside her, eyes wide and nearly glowing as she peered past her mother and into the array-filled room.
Her little fists were balled tight with anticipation.
Naruto looked up from the seal matrix and smiled faintly. "Almost."
Kunou squealed.
Then bolted to the edge of the room, skidding to a stop just short of the seal's containment line like she'd been trained.
She bounced on her toes. "It's so cool! Look at the spinning rings! Papa, is that a transport formula? Or is it a dimensional weave with interlock seals?"
Naruto blinked.
Then grinned wider.
"Interlocked wave layering with a triple-bind anchor. The base seal's built from a hybrid of my world's fuinjutsu and some stuff I had to invent on the spot."
Kunou gasped.
"That's so unfair! You just make seals like that!? I wanna learn! Teach me that one!"
"One day," he promised. "When you're ready. These are really dangerous if you mess them up."
She bounced in place. "But I'm gonna be the first-ever yokai fuinjutsu master with chakra hair and chakra eyes and chakra everything! Right!?"
Yasaka, despite herself, smiled softly.
Naruto reached for the final piece—a key seal. It was shaped like a lotus bloom, etched onto a paper-thin plate of folded gold chakra ink. He pressed it gently to the door.
The seal bloomed.
With a pulse, the air shifted. The space bent inward.
And the gate awakened.
The doorway shimmered—just a plain wooden arch embedded into the wall, but it hummed with power that defied all sense. On the other side was nothing.
And everything.
Naruto stood slowly and wiped his forehead. "Alright... it's done."
He turned and held up a small strip of paper, stamped with three names written in perfect Uzumaki script.
"Yasaka. Kunou. Me."
He pressed the paper to the side of the arch. The gate shimmered, then dimmed to a gentle glow.
"Only keyed individuals can pass," he said. "Later, I'll tune in the others—Hinata, Boruto, Tsunade. But for now, just us."
Kunou froze.
Then exploded into motion.
"I'M GOING TO ANOTHER WORLD!!" she shouted, running in excited circles. "I'm gonna meet baby Boruto! And this Tsunade lady who's super strong! And see chakra everywhere! Everywhere!!"
Naruto laughed.
Yasaka didn't.
Not quite.
She was still watching the door.
The connection.
"...And it works?" she asked.
He nodded. "It's stable.right now the other anchor is still in a sealed secure room inside the hokage monument, so thats where we will crossover to, once we are on the other side I'll move the anchor in my world to the uzumaki mansion. That way This door... will lead to my house. Making it One house. Two worlds."
Kunou gasped. "So I get two bedrooms?"
"Yes."
She squealed.
Naruto smiled.
Yasaka, finally, stepped forward—slowly, as if her body resisted every motion.
She reached out and brushed her fingers against the glowing edge of the doorframe.
It felt like nothing. Like air.
But she knew, from the magic and seals woven into its bones, it was more solid than any fortress.
"You're trusting a doorway... with everything," she whispered.
"I'm trusting us," he said softly.
Yasaka closed her eyes for a breath.
Then opened them—and looked at Kunou.
At the way her daughter was glowing. Radiating pride. Bouncing on the balls of her feet with so much happiness it hurt to look at.
And all at once, she understood.
This wasn't just Naruto's world.
It was Kunou's now, too.
Her legacy.
Her birthright.
Her future.
Yasaka's voice was quiet. Shaky.
"She's going to be part of it."
Naruto looked over. "She already is."
Kunou grinned. "I'm a double princess now!"
Naruto blinked. "...A what?"
"A DOUBLE PRINCESS!" she declared, hands on her hips. "I'm the princess of the yokai and the daughter of the Hokage and I have foxfire AND chakra and my papa can bend reality—which means I get to do that too one day!"
Yasaka let out a quiet laugh.
Not bitter.
Not guarded.
Just full.
Warm.
And Naruto—finally—reached for her hand.
"I won't make you wait long," he said.
She nodded.
But held his hand tighter anyway.
⸻
Author Note:
Please leave reviews, they motivate me to continue writing, tell me about your thoughts and opinions regarding the story so far.