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Seimei didn't even blink. He topped off his chakra from the stash in his third-eye space, then instantly spat out a Wood Clone and parked it right there in the mountain hideout.
For good measure he slapped down a handful of Flying Thunder God markers inside the chamber, on the peak outside, and scattered a bunch more around the surrounding area. Teleport network complete. Coming and going just got stupid easy.
That done, he locked onto the mark back on Moonlight Island and—bam—Flying Thunder God.
World flipped.
One blink and he was back home, breathing the salty island air.
He waved the Wood Clone that had been pulling sky patrol down to him.
"Anybody sniff around while I was gone?"
"Nope. Dead quiet. No people, no weird chakra, nothing."
"Cool."
With a thought he popped the clone. The wooden dummy crumbled into dust, and a fat wave of chakra rushed back into him. He funneled the excess into storage, then digested the last few hours of patrol memories.
Finished, he headed to the cabin and crashed.
Night was silent.
Next morning—still dark as hell.
Seimei rolled out before dawn, splashed creek water on his face, scarfed a few turbo soldier pills, and kicked off the daily grind.
First order of business: shadow clones for natural energy.
Except now he didn't need a thousand-plus anymore.
After yesterday's test, a clean hundred clones was plenty. His Wood Clone ferried them straight to that juicy node in the Land of Rice Fields. Way denser natural energy there, way less chakra burned on his end.
Sure, it only saved him about two million points a day, but free chakra is free chakra. Stack that up over months and it's real money.
Days blurred into weeks.
At first he was half-expecting the big three holy sites—Mount Myōboku, Ryūchi Cave, Shikkotsu Forest—to throw a tantrum over him siphoning their juice.
Three whole months later? Crickets.
Makes sense when you think about it. Those places aren't running on a single straw. They rotate nodes every eight hours, so there's gotta be at least three active at all times, probably way more with redundancy built in. The trickle he's stealing is a raindrop in the ocean compared to what they pull from the planet every second. No wonder they haven't noticed.
Give it a few more years, though? When he starts gulping by the bucket instead of the teaspoon?
He'll probably stroll in and help himself to their stockpiles personally.
Anyway, Orochimaru watch.
Exactly like Seimei figured—the second he started camping that node, the snake started peeping from the shadows.
Seimei knew. Orochimaru knew he knew.
Neither of them felt like starting shit yet, so they just… vibed in the creepiest Mexican standoff ever.
Three months of peace, quiet, and insane gains.
Then one night, deep inside the volcano.
Seimei finished another round of Extreme Body Forging, checked his progress, and felt… nothing.
No gains. Just tighter, heavier invisible shackles clamping down on his cells.
Breakthrough time. Again.
Three straight months of hell had finally pushed his body to the absolute limit.
He was itching to smash through right then and there. Four months of his stupidly overpowered spirit energy grinding his flesh into paste had left him running on fumes. He'd barely rested over New Year's—just trained like a maniac to get to this exact moment.
But he forced himself to breathe.
He was wrecked. Forcing the evolution half-dead would be dumb as hell.
Sleep first, breakthrough tomorrow at 100%.
Smart.
He shut off the body forging, Flying Thunder God'd topside, dropped Sage Mode, waited for the lava burns to heal, then popped every shadow clone on the island—including the one chilling at the node—so he'd be pristine for the big show.
Memories digested, he flickered back to the cabin and passed out.
Silent night.
Next day—still pitch black outside.
Seimei was up before the sun, washed up, swallowed some pills, then parked himself dead center of the island, legs crossed, ready to ascend.
Same ritual as always.
Rinnegan first—silver eyes blazing.
Then layered the Mangekyō on top.
Six pitch-black tomoe spun to life in his pupils.
No hesitation.
He triggered his personal Mangekyō technique: Human Control.
Invisible pressure slammed down over his entire body, forcing every cell into overdrive.
Right after, he fired up his custom-upgraded Palm Sage Technique.
A blinding golden surge of pure Yang-release chakra condensed in his hands—dense enough to make the air hum.
Then he drove it straight into his own tenketsu.
The energy roared through his coils, flooded every cell, and kicked evolution into warp speed.
Time crawled.
Every few minutes he'd pump another shot of Yang chakra in to keep the process screaming forward.
Whenever his eyes started bleeding from the Mangekyō strain, he'd pause Human Control just long enough to let them recover, then slam it right back on.
No rush. No mistakes.
Just him, the dark, and the sound of his own body rewriting its limits.