Hyūga Kiyonari carried a simple travel pack on his back and walked slowly along the mountain road leading to the next town.
Hundreds of meters up in the air, Konan hovered in silence. A pair of wings made of white paper spread behind her, catching the sunlight with a faint sheen.
Those amber eyes stayed locked on the figure below, emotions churning beneath their surface. Even though she had "known" Hyūga Kiyonari for a long time, this was the first time she'd ever seen him in person.
First impression?
He looked like a noble, a young lord, a scholar—anything but a shinobi.
About two kilometers ahead of Kiyonari, a band of mountain brigands had taken up residence. They usually targeted small merchants who hadn't hired ninja escorts, then disposed of the bodies afterward. Somehow, they'd gone unnoticed for years.
Konan spent some time using genjutsu to plant suggestions in their minds. For habitual thieves like them, robbing passersby was already routine—this time, she'd simply chosen the target for them.
Her plan was simple and direct: when the bandits attacked Kiyonari, she would descend from the sky and drive them off.
Whether Kiyonari could handle them himself didn't matter. As long as she acted quickly, she could step in naturally and strike up a conversation afterward.
The mountain road curved ahead, and the trees on both sides grew denser.
Right at this point where visibility was blocked, seven bandits suddenly burst out of the woods and surrounded Kiyonari.
Their leader was a scar-faced brute with a face full of thick muscle. He gripped a broad saber, and dark, nearly blackened blood still clung to the blade—blood that looked deliberately unwashed.
"Kid, if you've got any sense, hand over everything valuable!" the scar-faced brute snarled, a greedy glint in his eyes. "Dressed like that, you must be loaded, huh?"
The lackeys erupted into crude laughter, shouting over one another.
Kiyonari slowly set down his pack, then asked in a calm, even tone, "If I give you all my money, will you spare my life?"
The question stunned the bandits—and even Konan in the sky froze for a beat.
They exchanged glances, clearly not expecting him to fold so fast. Then the scar-faced brute recovered first and burst out laughing.
"Hah! Hahahahaha!"
He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, and the other bandits joined in.
"I see." Kiyonari's voice stayed steady. "Even if you aren't shinobi… I can't let you walk away."
In an instant, the bandits' laughter died in their throats.
Kiyonari's figure blurred—then, in the next heartbeat, he was beside the closest bandit.
Body Flicker Technique: a basic requirement for any ninja. But the simpler the technique, the more it revealed whether someone's fundamentals were truly solid.
That bandit was clutching a spear. He hadn't even processed what happened when he felt a sudden chill at his throat.
Kiyonari's fingers, sharp as blades, pierced straight through his windpipe. Blood burst out at once, painting a vivid arc through the air.
The bandit's eyes bulged. All he could manage was a wet, rattling "gkk—gkk." His body swayed twice, then crashed to the ground. Blood poured from the wound, quickly pooling into a dark red puddle.
Konan's pupils tightened. "That was Wind Release: Vacuum Blade?"
It was a B-rank ninjutsu—inject Wind Release chakra into a kunai to form a razor-edged "sword," involving chakra shape transformation.
But Kiyonari hadn't just mastered it. He seemed to be using Gentle Fist principles as well, releasing Wind Release chakra directly from the tenketsu in his fingers and wrapping it around them with exquisite precision.
And yet that razor-sharp chakra didn't nick his fingers in the slightest—proof that his fine chakra control was already outstanding.
Konan changed her mind.
The journal had never mentioned how strong Kiyonari was. She'd always assumed he was just an ordinary Hyūga ninja. Now, she wanted to see more.
Kiyonari glanced at the blood on his hand and frowned faintly.
Then his figure blurred again—this time appearing in front of a bandit holding a bow. His palm pressed lightly against the man's chest. Chakra surged in, shattering his internal organs.
"T-That's impossible—!"
The remaining five bandits finally realized they'd kicked a steel plate.
This harmless-looking boy was a powerful shinobi. How could they have ever thought it was a good idea to rob a ninja?
The genjutsu suggestion planted in their minds was instantly crushed by a more primal terror. Their courage collapsed. They scattered, fleeing in different directions like madmen.
Too late.
Kiyonari's gaze turned cold and focused. He bent down, picked up the bow, coated the arrowhead in green Wind Release chakra, and drew the string in rapid succession.
The forest fell back into dead silence—broken only by the whisper of wind through the treetops, and the faint, crisp drip of blood hitting soil.
Seven corpses lay sprawled across the mountain path. Blood stained the ground a dark red. A heavy stench of iron filled the air. A few crows, drawn by the scent, landed on branches and watched the slaughter scene with black, assessing eyes.
Kiyonari tossed the bow aside, bent down to retrieve his pack, and walked about a kilometer along the road until he reached a small river. He crouched, plunged his bloodstained hands into the icy water, and scrubbed them carefully.
They say the human brain is capable of empathy. As long as something isn't seriously wrong with you, you can feel at least a little of someone else's pain.
The younger you are, the stronger that empathy tends to be. That's why some kids cry just watching a chicken get slaughtered, thinking it's pitiful.
Kiyonari, after all, hadn't been born into this screwed-up world. Wanting his first kill to be completely burden-free was asking too much.
You still needed a reason—some lie you told yourself before you did it.
Judging by the result, it seemed to be working.
Up in the sky, those eyes never once left the figure walking below.
Most shinobi his age, the first time they kill someone, either get bound by morality and hesitate when they should strike; or get drunk on power and act frivolous or smug; or feel sick to their stomach and need time to adjust.
But Hyūga Kiyonari was different. He was kind—but he knew those bandits deserved to die, so he didn't hold back. And afterward, he accepted the outcome calmly.
That clarity and maturity didn't belong on a boy barely in his teens. No wonder, in the future—
Around dusk, Kiyonari finally walked out of the mountains.
Once he entered town, his pace noticeably slowed. His gaze swept over the rows of shops lining the street, until it stopped at a dumpling shop.
No appetite. I'll just get some dumplings and call it a meal.
He ordered a serving, found a seat in the corner, and sat down. After setting his pack aside, he raised a hand and gently rubbed his temples. A trace of fatigue he couldn't quite hide surfaced on his face.
Just then, the shop's noren curtain lifted, and a woman in a deep black robe stepped inside.
The zipper of her robe was casually left open, revealing a black bodysuit that hugged her figure. Her blue hair was loosely tied back. When she looked down at the menu, her bangs shaded her forehead. Her wrists were pale and slender, and her nails were clean and neatly kept.
The only adornment on her face was a pair of black eyeglass frames, perfectly suited to her features. At a glance, she gave off an immediate sense of quiet serenity.
She didn't look like a shinobi.
Then, carrying her tray, she walked straight over and sat down across from Kiyonari.
"My name is Konan." She smiled slightly. "Mind if we get acquainted?"
Kiyonari replied evenly, "Kiyonari."
"Eyes like yours—I've seen them before. You're a shinobi from Konoha, aren't you?"
Kiyonari didn't deny it. He simply waited for her to continue.
Konan picked up a skewer, brought a dumpling to her lips, and took a small bite. She chewed slowly, as if savoring the food—yet it also seemed like she was thinking about how to steer the conversation.
"I do have a purpose," she admitted frankly. "Believe it or not, I just wanted to meet you. And—someone asked me to ask you this: why did you stop writing your story?"
The moment she said it, Kiyonari's hand holding the skewer trembled violently, almost slipping from his fingers.
That was completely beyond his expectations. How had that magazine even made it to the Land of Rain? And from the way Konan said it, it sounded like she wasn't the only one reading it.
"Then tell me—what did you think of the story?" he asked, forcing down the turmoil rising in his chest.
"I really liked it," Konan said. "But there were parts I didn't understand." She frowned slightly, like she'd run into a stubborn puzzle.
"Like what?"
"Like…" Konan stared into his eyes and asked, "Why does the protagonist J rebel against the Narrator, when the Narrator built a peaceful world? And after Ultraman kills the Narrator, he just walks away without looking back—does that really count as saving the world?"
It was obvious she'd read the story seriously.
Kiyonari felt a surge of happiness, suddenly in the mood to talk.
But instead of answering directly, he said, "Do you know? They say that in the distant past, the first humans were just a group of monkeys living in a canyon."
"In that canyon, there were no natural predators. Food and water were plentiful. But sometimes, they'd still stare at the high mountains in a daze. What do you think they were thinking?"
Konan thought for a long time, then shook her head. "I don't know. No enemies, no lack of food… I can't imagine what they'd be thinking about."
Kiyonari smiled, then said, "What do you think is on the other side of a mountain that tall?"
"…What?"
"Because humans," Kiyonari's tone turned firm, "are the kind of creatures who see a mountain—and wonder what's beyond it."
Konan's eyes widened. She murmured in disbelief, "Curiosity… something humans are born with—so that's why J rebels against the Narrator? Even if the price is exposing humanity again to an uncertain wilderness, welcoming chaos and war… is that really worth it?"
"You can't understand it, because you're the one reading the story," Kiyonari said, shaking his head as he continued.
"J wasn't born a revolutionary. He wasn't a savior carrying some grand mission. He was a defective product—something squeezed out by an almost perfect world."
"The peace the Narrator granted came at the cost of civilization's stagnation. In that world, humanity had no history, because everything was controlled. No art, because there was no need to express anything. No true philosophy, because the right to think had been taken away."
"Humanity's wings had long since been broken. It became a bird in a cage. The story of humanity as a whole ended the moment the Narrator descended."
A bird in a cage!
Konan finally understood. "So Ultraman didn't just walk away irresponsibly—he did it so he wouldn't become the next Narrator."
Just like the Hyūga clan: from the moment the Caged Bird Seal was created, whether main family or branch family, the Hyūga as a whole stopped moving forward.
The Hyūga of today were no different from the Hyūga of centuries ago.
She was absolutely certain that—whether through intellect, authority, or sheer power—Hyūga Kiyonari had the ability to solve the Hyūga clan's problems.
But judging by the outcome, he didn't. The one who changed the Hyūga clan was the main family's eldest daughter—Hyūga Hinata.
Like Ultraman, he helped Hyūga Hinata break the foundation of the "Caged Bird" system, and then—handed the right to choose the future back to the Hyūga clan itself.
"What a pity…" Konan shook her head slightly, her gaze dropping.
Kiyonari would not become the successor she'd hoped for—much less a "god" standing above the entire shinobi world.
"A pity for what?" Kiyonari asked.
"A pity that…" There was an indescribable wistfulness in Konan's voice. "There isn't a single person in the Hyūga clan who can truly understand the story you wrote."
~~~
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