Kimimaro moved toward the Hokage's Residence like a phantom cutting through smoke, White Bastion Frame humming around him, each step a whisper and a blur.
Any shinobi unlucky enough to glimpse his silhouette didn't even finish the thought.
A flick of his fingers and ten drilling bullets stitched through their skulls before their lungs remembered to breathe.
He didn't need signs or maps.
His vague memory of Konoha's layout, mixed with the natural flow of chakra networks running beneath the village, guided him straight there.
Why was he so certain the Scroll of Seals would be in the Hokage's residence?
Because canon had spelled it out plainly, back when Naruto "stole" it in the first chapter.
Even if not every detail was true, the broad logic still held.
And more importantly, Kimimaro understood Hiruzen's psychology far better than most.
Hiruzen would keep the most dangerous, prestigious A– and S-rank techniques close to himself.
As a trophy.
As a security measure, he could personally oversee.
As a symbol of his own authority.
There was also the simple tactical truth:
Which invader would guess the Hokage kept Konoha's deadliest secrets in his personal home, instead of some labyrinthine bunker carved inside the Hokage Rock, connected to the main official building?
Everyone would assume they were in the administrative complex or ANBU vaults.
Hiding them in plain sight made sense.
As for the scroll Naruto had supposedly "stolen"?
Kimimaro didn't buy that farce for a second.
Naruto didn't steal anything.
Hiruzen had practically gift-wrapped the Multiple Shadow Clone technique for him.
His graduation present.
His insurance.
His attempt at finally training the village's nuclear deterrent after twelve years of neglect.
The entire drama with Mizuki, Iruka's devotion, Naruto's moment of belonging, all of it was staged, supervised, and engineered to forge a loyal shinobi out of their jinchūriki.
Or else why would Hiruzen waste so much personal attention on some random chūnin instructor like Iruka in the first place during that time?
And of course, the first jutsu inside that so-called secret scroll just happened to be the perfect match for Naruto's monstrous chakra reserves.
That large scroll?
Useful, but a curated lie.
The real treasures, the genuine forbidden seals, jutsu, and techniques Konoha would never allow anyone to see, those would be stacked somewhere nearby.
Kimimaro intended to search every shelf, drawer, chest, and hidden compartment until he found them.
The true scrolls.
The real ones.
The ones worth stealing.
Kimimaro soon descended upon the Hokage's Residence like a passing gust, and the obstacle revealed itself the moment he arrived.
The place was swarming.
Not the usual two-man patrols and bored guards.
These were Hiruzen's personal Anbu, stacked across the courtyard, rooftops, and balconies, forming a living net.
Even with the village collapsing into chaos, or rather because of it, this building had been locked down tighter than any clan vault.
Dozens of masks turned his way the instant he stepped into view.
One Anbu recoiled. "What is that—?!"
A second cut in, "Another infiltrator?!"
Another, more experienced, stiffened. "White armor… something bone-based. Defensive formation! Close ranks, now!"
Kimimaro didn't bother with subtlety anymore.
The First to Fifth Gates opened in a smooth internal cascade, the rush of power folding perfectly into his White Bastion Frame.
His bones hummed. The world sharpened.
His speed tripled. And then he moved.
A sweeping arc of Clematis: Vine erupted from his back slot like a blooming whip, slamming into the first three Anbu before they could weave a seal, hurling them into the stone wall hard enough to leave cracks.
"Earth Release, Wall—!"
A squad slammed their hands to the ground.
Kimimaro was already above them.
Dance of the Willow flared, long blade-bones blooming from his palms and forearms, cutting through the hastily raised earth barrier as if it were damp parchment.
"Impossible—!"
They didn't even have time to retreat before the slicing wind of the Willow arcs carved through their shoulder plates and masks.
Two fell immediately. A third tried to leap back.
The Larch variant answered.
Needle-dense spikes erupted from Kimimaro's chest and ribs as he stepped past him, the man's own momentum skewering him mid-move.
More Anbu dropped from the rooftops.
"Fire Release, Great Fireball!"
Five spheres of flame roared toward him in overlapping formation.
Kimimaro spun Clematis: Flower around himself, the hardened drill-bone releasing a spiraling shock that cut through the flames, turning them into scattered embers.
Before the casters could react, he fired ten Drilling Finger Bullets rapid-shot, each one piercing a throat or helmet with perfect lethal precision.
"Retreat! This isn't human—!"
Kimimaro's voice was calm as he stepped through their panic.
"You should have stayed hidden."
A cluster of kunai wrapped in explosive tags came screaming in from the left flank.
He didn't dodge.
He simply shifted the plates of the White Bastion Frame, letting the water-pressure vents ignite, and launched himself forward like a projectile.
The explosion cracked behind him as he appeared directly in front of the throwing squad.
Dance of the Falling Branches, Willow variant.
Long spears of bone erupted from his shoulders and back, slicing past them in sweeping arcs.
Cloaks tore. Bodies fell.
Those who lived long enough to look shocked died a heartbeat later when the spears curved back through their torsos.
One last Anbu captain lunged in desperation, tanto flashing.
"You—monster—!"
Kimimaro caught the blade between two fingers, twisted, and drove his palm into the man's sternum.
A spike shot through his back, killing him instantly.
Silence bled into the courtyard.
Dozens of bodies lay across the stones, many still steaming, others pinned to walls by bone spears or lying in pieces where the Willow arcs had cut.
Kimimaro flicked a speck of blood off his armor.
"Annoying," he murmured, more to himself than to the dead.
Then he walked toward the entrance, stepped over the shattered remains of the door, and slipped into the Hokage's Residence to retrieve the scrolls he'd come for.
The flies were no longer in the way.
Kimimaro slipped into the Hokage's Residence the moment the last Anbu fell, and the first thing that hit him was… taste.
Not wealth. Not gaudy daimyo excess.
Just quiet, curated luxury.
Polished wood. Old scroll racks. Incense that tried a little too hard to smell scholarly.
He let his eyes wander for a moment, the faintest curl tugging at his lips.
"So this is where the 'humble' Third Hokage lived," he murmured. "Modest, for someone who lectured half the world about virtue."
Ashina's voice flickered through the pendant like a thin vibration of chakra.
"At least your generation's leaders learned some refinement," the old man said dryly. "In my time, they piled war trophies in their bedrooms and called it decor."
Kimimaro snorted once, then moved deeper.
He wasn't here to admire taste.
He began combing through the interior swiftly, methodically, his sensory field spreading like fine needles through every drawer, panel, and wall.
Ashina drifted ahead of him, slipping through inanimate objects with ease.
"In this state, my awareness surpasses yours within ten paces," Ashina said, almost smug. "A soul sees what flesh overlooks. I'll guide you."
A beat of silence.
"…And this is strangely entertaining."
Kimimaro didn't disagree.
They moved room by room.
Behind a false panel.
Under a floorboard sealed with layered chakra.
Beneath a layer of dust that pretended to be untouched.
And then Ashina hissed in cold irritation.
"Here. And look at this nonsense."
Kimimaro pulled out a long scroll, unrolled enough to read the inked symbols—
Uzumaki.
Practically screaming it.
Ashina's temper spiked like a whip. "Mito. She leaked these to them. Or we simply handed them over like naive fools in the name of 'alliance'. And now Konoha hoards them as inheritance? Thieves."
"Calm," Kimimaro said mildly, flipping through another compartment. "We'll take back what matters."
Ashina grumbled in ancient Uzumaki profanity but forced himself to assist, his knowledge of clan seals cutting through the layered traps like a surgeon's blade.
Kimimaro had no intention of lingering, not with the village still burning and shifting around him.
He wasn't here to blindly pillage.
Just to take exactly what mattered.
He sorted through scrolls rapidly, Ashina confirming authenticity.
Shadow Clone Technique.
He pocketed it. Perfect for his build.
Edo Tensei.
He narrowed his eyes at the complexity, at Tobirama's fingerprints.
Dangerous, but potentially useful and a good thing to have in general.
Into the pouch.
Flying Raijin.
Arguably, the most valuable technique Konoha possessed.
His grin sharpened. "This one might be fun."
Then—
Dan Katō's Spirit Transformation Technique.
His fingers paused on the ink.
A technique built on slipping consciousness from flesh.
Interesting. Relevant.
Potential synergy with his own affinity for soul engineering.
He tucked it under his cloak as well.
The rest, dozens of Uzumaki-derived seals, he ignored.
He already had the original source whispering in his ear.
No need for Konoha's watered-down versions.
"That's enough," he murmured. "We're done here."
Ashina hummed with a satisfied, predatory approval.
Kimimaro stepped back into the hall, feet silent, posture relaxed, as if he'd only taken a stroll.
Behind him, no trace remained of the hidden vaults he had gutted.
He turned toward the exit.
Toward the Hyūga Compound.
A slow, cold smile pulled at his lips.
"Time to take some eyes next."