Uchiha Gen never minded bowing. To him, it was nothing more than etiquette, a surface-level courtesy.
In his past life, many outsiders were amazed by the exaggerated bowing culture of the Land of Sakura. But to those who lived there, it was no more than a habit, a tool.
Apologies and ritual bows weren't about genuine remorse, they were bargaining chips. 'I apologized, what more do you want?' was the unspoken rule.
Compensation? True change? Forget it.
It was morality reduced to performance.
And in the shinobi world, the same logic applied.
No matter how heinous a deed, as long as one knelt, begged forgiveness, and swore repentance, society was all too willing to pardon.
Gen despised this hypocrisy. But that didn't stop him from using it when needed.
Double standards lived in every human bone. If someone's weapon could be turned against them, why not do so?
He smirked. Wonderful. If I ever commit a crime, whether willingly or not, I'll just bow, repent, and walk away forgiven.
Back in his courtyard, Gen used a weakened wind-style jutsu to sweep away the winter dust.
Then, stepping inside, he lay on his sofa, raised a hand, and scattered orbs of white soul-light. They floated down, merging into brooms, rags, and buckets.
"Master, Master, Master…" the tools chirped as they came to life.
"Quiet." Gen waved, suppressing the noise. "Shuryu, Shizukamaru. You two supervise them."
The two Homies eagerly saluted, happy to play overseers while the lesser tools bustled about.
Leaving them to their work, Gen retired to his bedroom.
Sitting cross-legged, he formed hand seals. Half of his soul detached from his body, slipping underground, far beneath Konoha's barrier.
The sensory barrier covered much of the village and even underground, but not at extreme depths.
And, thanks to Orochimaru, Gen knew the exact windows when the barrier shifted.
Still, caution was second nature. He went deeper before breaching beyond the village.
In a single breath, his soul drifted dozens of miles, finally surfacing in a snowy forest west of the Forest of Death.
There, hidden beneath camouflage tarps, stood rows of carefully packed research instruments. A large tent shielded them from snow.
Floating above, Gen stretched out his ethereal hands. Soul-light bubbled forth, sinking into the machines.
"Master, Master, Master…"
Soon, each instrument sprouted tiny limbs and simple faces, chirping like newborns.
Gen frowned. "Quiet!"
The Homies hushed instantly.
"You are no longer newborns, you are mature Homies. Learn to carry yourselves. And don't break anything. If you do…" His voice turned cold.
"I won't forgive you."
The instruments trembled and bowed. "Yes, Master!"
Unlike Shuryu and Shizukamaru, whose gifted souls were cultivated over time, these makeshift Homies had shallow intelligence. But that was fine. Tools didn't need cleverness, just obedience. Once they reached the cave, he'd reclaim their borrowed souls. No loose ends, no risks of tampered data.
"Come with me."
Gen floated forward slowly, letting the Homies follow at a walking pace.
Along the way, he activated the sensory ability of his Spirit Transformation Technique. The forest lit up in his mind with sparks of life—animals hibernating, faint clusters of chakra.
During the Fourth Great War, Kato Dan had used this same ability to locate Tsunade. Gen knew its worth well.
Thanks to it, he avoided beasts and ambushes with ease.
Even in deep winter, the journey took hours. By dusk, he reached the remote cave where Uchiha Yuichi and Uchiha Mori hid.
Splitting his soul again, Gen possessed the wooden puppet bodies of Mokui and Mokuna, using them to approach. Yuichi and Mori raised their heads, startled, only to be knocked unconscious by Gen's swift strike.
Dragging the Homies inside, he oversaw the careful unpacking of the instruments. Once arranged, he drew back the soul-light, leaving the tools lifeless again.
Satisfied, he released the wooden shells and soared skyward. His spectral body streaked across the night like a blue comet, tracing a glowing arc before plunging back into his true body in Konoha.
By then, the barrier had just shifted for evening changeover, creating a fleeting gap.
Perfect timing.