"Ding."
[New Technique Acquired: Kamui]
[Accept?]
That familiar, flat, emotionless tone echoed in Raizen's head again. He swallowed the grin threatening to break through and said, "Accept."
The glowing phantom in front of him flickered out, and in the same instant, a flood of information carved itself into his mind.
Raizen exhaled slowly, eyes closed, feeling that strange pull inside his skull. When he opened them again, the world bled red. Three black tomoe spun into scythes as his body flickered out of existence.
The next moment, he stood in emptiness.
"…So this is Kamui's space."
Cold, gray, and infinite. It felt eerily silent, like standing inside the pause between heartbeats. Raizen looked around, his voice barely audible in the void. "It's like Obito's dimension… but this one's mine."
He focused again, and the space twisted. His body reappeared back in his room — no transition, no sound, just the faint shimmer of displaced air.
Kamui wasn't just a teleportation trick. It was a space-time jutsu, the kind that shredded the line between reality and nothingness. With one eye, he could twist space itself, swallowing matter whole. With mastery, he could make his body intangible — an untouchable ghost while others swung uselessly through him.
And if he ever combined it with Flying Thunder God someday?
He smirked. "Not even the Senju would be able to tag me then."
Still, Kamui wasn't without flaws. He needed to materialize to attack or absorb things. For that split second, he was vulnerable — and in the Warring States, a split second was the same as a death sentence.
"Yeah… not perfect, but damn close."
Raizen clenched his fists and activated the technique again. His body shimmered faintly, then phased through the wooden wall like a ghost slipping through paper. He appeared outside, boots crunching softly against the cold dirt.
"So it works. I'm officially untouchable."
His body twisted again — gone, then reborn in the shadowed clearing behind the clan's training field. He fixed his gaze on a wooden post. His left eye narrowed; the tomoe spun wildly.
The air around the stake warped like rippling water. Then, with a sharp crack, the stake imploded — devoured into the void.
Raizen exhaled hard, blinking. "Left eye's Kamui… takes focus. Miss the center by a few centimeters and it eats chakra like crazy."
The ache behind his eye pulsed deep, almost to nausea. Mangekyō Sharingan wasn't cheap power — it was a loan with interest paid in blindness.
He'd seen the warnings in old scrolls: eyes that bled themselves empty, vision fading to black. Kakashi's condition, Obito's desperation, Itachi's sacrifice… all because of these cursed gifts.
"The system patched the bloodline issue, sure," Raizen muttered. "But it won't stop the burnout. Not unless I evolve them — Eternal Mangekyō, or maybe Hashirama cells. Right. Like those grow on trees."
He chuckled bitterly. Power came easy; keeping it never did.
Still, he couldn't deny the thrill — his pulse raced, heart pounding. Kamui wasn't just another weapon. It was freedom.
After a few more tests, Raizen canceled the jutsu and returned home.
The moment he slid open the door, a shadow flickered from the rafters and dropped to one knee. The figure wore black armor and a beast-like mask.
"Patriarch," the masked ninja said, voice steady. "Ten ri from the eastern border — scouts report four Hatake approaching the clan."
Raizen's brow furrowed. "Hatake? That's unexpected."
"They're moving directly toward us," the operative continued.
"Keep eyes on them. Report every move."
The Anbu nodded once, vanishing like smoke. Raizen stared at the empty air, an odd sense of pride surfacing.
These weren't the ragtag spies from a few years ago. His Anbu had become something real — disciplined, silent, and lethal. Give it a few more years, and they could stand toe-to-toe with the legendary units that would one day serve under the Hokage.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, the four Hatake were already closing in.
A middle-aged man led the group — Hatake Akimasa, his hair silvering at the edges. Three younger shinobi followed: two men and one woman.
"Elder Akimasa," the woman asked quietly, "if Gintama really is within the Amamiya Clan… what are our orders?"
"If he's truly there, we'll speak to their patriarch. Peacefully, if possible," Akimasa replied. His tone was firm but weary.
"And if he refuses?" one of the younger men pressed. "I've heard Gintama's made quite a name for himself there. Would Amamiya really let him leave?"
The third Hatake snorted. "If they refuse, we'll take him. The Hatake don't bow to a minor clan."
"Watch your mouth," Akimasa hissed. His head turned sharply toward the trees.
Far ahead, among the dense branches, a masked shadow froze. The Amamiya Anbu.
Caught.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then the forest returned to silence — the calm before a spark that could ignite a war.