From the far end of the observation chamber, dimly lit by spiritual torches, Orochimaru stood with his arms crossed, gazing down at the now-settling arena. Kabuto stood beside him, scribbling quick notes on a scroll, though his eyes flicked constantly toward his master, trying to read his reaction.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
"That wasn't just a battle of Jutsu," Kabuto said at last, tone analytical. "We couldn't even see half of what was happening. The Genjutsu exchange—it's impossible to evaluate from out here."
Orochimaru's tongue clicked softly against his teeth. "No... but the aftermath speaks volumes."
His golden eyes gleamed as they followed Hinata and Sasuke's parting conversation. "What we did see was enough to grasp the outline of what we couldn't. Her kenjutsu... far more refined than I expected. But more than that—those illusory clones of hers..."
Kabuto nodded. "I've never seen an illusory clone used to such physical effect. They didn't just look real. They moved like her. Responded like her."
"They felt like her," Orochimaru added. "Even their scent."
Kabuto blinked. "Scent?"
"Her scent vanished completely the moment she began manifesting those illusions," Orochimaru explained, voice curious and fascinated. "And not just that. Each projection carried a different scent... deliberately altered. Some sweeter, others laced with dust or ash. Enough to confuse even a hound's senses. I also noticed—when the illusions began, her speed and reaction time surged again. That technique, whatever it is, amplifies more than just deception."
He leaned slightly toward the window. "And she moved like a phantom. You noticed how she used a variant of the chakra-water walking technique to avoid disturbing the ground? Not a footprint. Not a vibration."
Kabuto glanced back at the field. "Even with Sasuke's cursed seal activated, she was able to match his strength. That redirection of the Chidori... I've never seen anything quite like it."
"A seamless redirection," Orochimaru murmured. "She used chakra flow like a guiding current, turning the lightning back on its wielder. And her ability to track and respond to Sasuke's moves... Her World of Intent seems capable of keeping pace with the predictive power of the Sharingan. That alone is unprecedented."
"And yet... not once did she draw on senjutsu," Kabuto affirmed.
"No," Orochimaru said slowly. "More accurately: it's impossible to use senjutsu in a battle where both begin on equal terms. Not unless you can delay, or control the tempo from the start. She chose to fight as she was... and still held her own."
He exhaled, not in exasperation, but something closer to awe.
"Hinata Gin... is a nightmare to fight. She isn't just fast. Then she becomes faster. She doesn't just strike hard. She redirects strength. And when she disappears into her illusions... even I wouldn't want to fight her close quarters without preparation."
Kabuto looked at him, unsettled for the first time.
Orochimaru smiled, a long, slow curl of the lips.
"If I had to identify a weakness, though... She has yet to demonstrate large-scale damage output or long-range offensive capabilities. But perhaps that's by choice, not limitation."
<<<< o >>>>
The following morning, after the battle and the promise of a future encounter, I prepared to leave Otogakure. Only Sasuke and Karin came to see me off.
Sasuke looked at me with that usual intensity of his. "Why are you traveling through the different nations? What's your goal?"
I smiled gently. "It's probably a bit naïve... but I want to understand this world. I want to understand its people. And maybe... help a few of them along the way. Change a few fates, if I can."
He gave a quiet nod, as if that answer told him more than he expected.
"Now that you've accepted my help," I continued, handing him a sealed envelope, "I have something for you. When the time comes for you to leave, give this letter to Orochimaru. It will be enough to lift his oversight over you and any team you wish to take. Just make sure to send a message to the Land of Iron before you depart."
Karin had remained silent through the whole exchange, though I could feel her gaze. Her soul churned with a curious mix of jealousy and respect. There was something like rivalry in the way she regarded me.
As I turned to go, she didn't speak. She just nodded once.
I returned the gesture before mounting Kuro, and together we began the next leg of our journey—toward the Land of Hot Water.
<<<< o >>>>
In Iwagakure, the Tsuchikage Onoki sat in silent contemplation, a thick report resting in his lap. The sun barely filtered through the high office window, casting long shadows across the floor. Opposite him, Rōshi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze focused and concerned.
"Two ANBU down... and the others returned with injuries they won't soon forget," Onoki muttered. "Five samurai—five—managed to take on and defeat six jōnin-level shinobi. That kind of ratio used to be impossible."
Rōshi sighed. "You're not wrong, old friend. These weren't ordinary samurai."
Onoki tapped the edge of the scroll. "And the trap the Iron Princess set for us... it was precise. Calculated. Her Shadow Guard orchestrated a formation that could have broken even our ambush units. My greatest concern is this: there was a secondary team ready to strike once our forces were exposed—but they never had to move. Her Shadow Guard neutralized the threat on their own."
Rōshi raised a brow. "You think Kumogakure was behind it?"
"We confirmed it. One of their high-ranking spies was exposed—and quickly silenced. But not before sending information about your encounter, Rōshi. Fortunately, the identity of your successor remains a secret."
There was a long pause.
"This wasn't just a warning or a skirmish," Onoki murmured. "It was a declaration. The Land of Iron and its samurai are no longer just about numbers. They are cultivating quality. Skill. Discipline. They are producing individuals who can rival our jōnin now."
He stared out the window for a long moment.
"Perhaps that's why Takama Gin is allowing his daughter to handle these negotiations... because the real message is that the Land of Iron doesn't need permission to matter anymore."
Onoki shifted his shoulders with a grunt.
"And then there's this Moon Cult. Its influence is spreading. Everyone claims it's positive... but I don't like it. Not one bit. Those dreams of a white space... they're starting to appear even among our shinobi."
Rōshi nodded gravely. "We've had a few reports. Nothing conclusive yet."
"Hmph. At least our new generation shows promise," Onoki muttered, almost to himself. "If I'm lucky, I'll find someone to take my place soon... and I can finally retire. I'm too old for this madness," he said as he settled back into his new favorite chair—a gift from the Iron Princess herself.
<<<< o >>>>
The mist in the Land of Hot Water was different.
It wasn't the cold fog of the mountains nor the damp haze of river valleys. This steam had warmth to it—not only on the skin, but in the soul. As we traveled toward the capital, the air itself seemed to soften voices and dull burdens.
Lord Masaru rode at my side in thoughtful silence before speaking. "You know, the capital used to be Yugakure—the Hidden Village. This shinobi enclave. But within a few years of establishing it... they dismantled it."
He glanced toward the path ahead. "Not from weakness. The villagers realized they could sustain a better life through peace and commerce than by contract killings. Tourism became the nation's true lifeline."
I nodded slowly. "And the shinobi families?"
"Some remained," he said, "They kept their skills, but used them only when necessary. Old traditions now flow quietly beneath the surface, like heat through stone."
When we reached the capital, I was welcomed with a level of formality that felt almost... musical. The officials bowed with precision, and the halls of the palace smelled of cedar, fruit steam, and polished stone. My guide to the daimyo was one of his many sons, perhaps the heir—gracious, composed, and inquisitive.
The daimyo himself was a man of age and quiet gravity. Wrinkles lined his face like the rings of an ancient tree. His body bore the grace of someone who once moved with lethal intent, but now held a fan instead of a blade. It was whispered he had once been a famed shinobi before trading Jutsu for commerce—and gaining many wives and even more children.
Our conversation was brief but insightful. He spoke of balance and legacy, of how the greatest power was knowing when not to draw the sword.
Kuro discovered a hot spring that didn't irritate her, and lounged with his head resting against a rock, letting out small, satisfied grunts. Mitsue took to sprawling beneath a maple tree, dipping just the tip of her tail into the warm water, sighing contentedly.
As for me... I found that I enjoyed the baths more than expected. Not just for the warmth, but for the quiet that came with it. There was something sacred in submerging into stillness, in breathing without urgency.
Most of my diplomatic exchanges were with the daimyo's son. He had the aura of a statesman in training, but there were hints of a curious spirit beneath the polish—one who asked questions not out of duty, but out of hope.
When it came time to leave, I did so with more reluctance than I expected. As we passed through the final village, steam rising behind us and laughter echoing through pine groves, I felt something settle inside me.
The people here lived slowly, but with intent. They believed in soft power and long stories.
Our next destination was the Land of Frost. But I carried with me the scent of mineral water and plum blossoms, and the weight of a lesson I hadn't realized I'd learned:
Peace is not always absence of battle—it is choosing not to fight when you still have the strength to do so.
And in that village of mist and spirit, I had seen a dream not unlike my own.