Next Bonus, 100PS
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Deep in the forests of the shinobi world, sunlight broke through the canopy in scattered coins of gold.
Uchiha Senichi stood alone in a clearing, dark clan robes blending with the shadows. His fingers traced the surface of the Crimson Fan, feeling the faint thrum of power embedded in its ancient patterns.
"Fire Style: Multi-Fireball Barrage!"
An Uchiha sparring partner blurred through hand signs. Three fireballs the size of wagon wheels screamed across the clearing, trailing heat so intense the grass beneath them curled and blackened before they'd even passed.
"Let's see."
Senichi didn't blink. His Sharingan held steady. One flick of the wrist brought the Crimson Fan up flat in front of his chest.
"Uchiha Reflection!"
White light burst from the fan's surface. The three fireballs hit an invisible wall and reversed course—same speed, same trajectory, same killing power—slamming back into their caster.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM——!!!
The explosion shredded a dozen trees and sent a column of smoke rolling skyward. When the dust settled, the sparring partner was on all fours, singed from head to toe, robes half-disintegrated.
"Chief! That thing the old man gave you… It can reflect ninjutsu?? That's insane!"
Senichi looked down at the fan in his hand. Turned it over slowly.
"Good stuff. That old man was the real deal."
His voice was quiet, but his Sharingan showed more than just satisfaction. This was proof. The stranger in the forest had been on a level that made all of Senichi's ideas about power seem childish.
"Chief, this thing belongs in a vault! This is a generational heirloom!"
The clansman was practically vibrating.
Senichi barely heard him. His thoughts reached far beyond the fan.
It wasn't just the weapon. Everything from that encounter had upended his sense of the world.
In less than a month, the entire shinobi world had flipped upside down. The Tailed Beasts, hunted relentlessly by every major power, were now untouchable. Protected species. Sacred creatures. Every Daimyō on the continent had issued bans. Every clan had pulled back. Every bounty had been withdrawn.
It all changed overnight. As if the world's rules were rewritten without warning.
And Senichi knew exactly who was responsible.
"Is that what we look like to real power? ANTS?"
He stared at the sky, Sharingan catching the light, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable settling behind his ribs.
'An old man walks into a forest. Beats me twice in sixty seconds without breaking a sweat. Gives me a priceless artifact like it's spare change. Then, he casually restructures the global political order because his pet fox was having a bad week.'
The scale of it was staggering.
Senichi had once believed the Sharingan could perceive every threat and truth.
Now, he realised some things were simply beyond the Sharingan's sight.
That old man wasn't just strong. He was infrastructure. He was the kind of power that doesn't fight wars because wars happen beneath him. He was the reason certain things in the world worked the way they did, and nobody had ever noticed because noticing was never an option.
Day one: somebody messes with his pet fox.
Day two: a new federal directive drops the ban on all Tailed Beast operations.
If that wasn't the nuclear option of the shinobi world, nothing was.
........
Consciousness space.
Nine massive silhouettes materialised in the void, each one distinct, each one radiating a different flavour of primordial power.
"Sage Art: Nine-Link Conference Technique."
Manji's voice rolled through the empty space, and then he was there. Standing at the centre, surrounded by the towering spiritual projections of all nine Tailed Beasts.
His own creation. No physical travel required. No distance limitations. He activated the technique, and every Tailed Beast on the planet got pulled into a shared mental space simultaneously.
A shinobi-style video conference.
"MASTER!!!"
Nine voices crashed over each other in a tidal wave of enthusiasm. Nine pairs of enormous eyes locked onto him with undisguised adoration.
"I'm guessing you've all noticed some recent changes in the world."
Manji looked at the grinning, preening, tail-wagging collection of divine beasts surrounding him and let himself smile.
"Master! You're the BEST!"
"I'm being worshipped now! There's a temple in the desert with MY face carved on the front! Nobody calls me a monster anymore!"
Shukaku puffed out his sandy chest, practically glowing with smug satisfaction.
"Master's methods are beyond anything this world can comprehend. All nine of us went from hunted beasts to sacred guardians in a single month. That's entirely your doing."
Gyūki's deep voice rumbled with warm respect, his massive octopus-bull form dipping in a slow nod.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Let's get one thing straight! Master did this because YOUR BOY Kurama was getting pushed around! The rest of you are just riding my coattails!"
Kurama threw all nine tails into the air and roared with laughter.
Eight sets of eyes rolled in perfect synchronisation.
Matatabi curled her spectral feline body into a tighter coil, her voice carrying a warmth that bordered on bashful. "Master… you really are amazing. Reshaping the entire world just to protect us… I don't even know what to say."
The other Tailed Beasts murmured agreement, their spiritual forms rippling with genuine gratitude.
"It was nothing."
Manji dismissed their gratitude. Protecting his own students was not optional—centuries of training would be pointless if he failed in that duty.
This was also, quietly, one of his biggest departures from canon. In the original timeline, the Tailed Beasts were feared and reviled for centuries. Monsters. Calamities. Things people sealed away and weaponised. The cycle of hatred made living weapons out of sentient beings who'd done nothing to deserve it.
Not anymore. Between his teaching and this latest manoeuvre, the Beasts had a real shot at a different kind of existence. Not perfect. The world was still the world. But better.
........
A Six Paths temple, somewhere in the neutral territories.
Two cloaked figures arrived from opposite directions.
"So you showed up."
Uchiha Senichi leaned against a pillar, hood pulled low, watching the newcomer with those ever-burning crimson eyes.
"You asked me here, Senichi. I'm assuming this isn't a social call."
The second figure pulled back his hood. Senju Shūichi. Calm features. Open expression. The kind of face that made people want to trust its owner, whether that trust was warranted or not.
The two strongest shinobi alive, standing in a temple dedicated to the god neither of them had ever met. The irony wasn't lost on either of them.
"I need your help with something. Actually, let me rephrase that."
Senichi straightened up. The playful edge dropped from his voice. What replaced it was dead serious.
"There's an old man out there. And I think we need to deal with him together."
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