Chương 145: Big and Round... Rubber Balls

.. Rubber Balls The Night of the Nine-Tails plunged Konoha into absolute chaos. That evening, as the village's shinobi threw themselves into the frantic evacuation of civilians and the containment of the leviathan, opportunistic actors seized the distraction to execute their clandestine agendas. Certain operatives deployed communication arrays that would ordinarily invite immediate detection, desperate to broadcast Konoha's vulnerability back to their respective hidden villages at breakneck speed.

These were the deep-cover moles embedded by rival factions—numerous, tightly closeted, and content to remain dormant until a calamity forced the village's guard down. Others stared at the apocalyptic majesty of the Tailed Beast, salivating with raw envy as they dreamed of bending such ruinous power to their own whims. Though they lacked the suicidal audacity to confront the Nine-Tails in the flesh, their nerve for scavenging residual chakra from the margins of the devastated battlefield was remarkably bold.

Zhen was well aware of scavengers like Kazuma, but he dismissed them as inconsequential. The man did not belong to Konoha's military hierarchy; he was a mercenary shinobi bound to the Daimyo of the Land of Fire, a bureaucratic commuter between the capital and the hidden village who had simply found himself caught in the wake of the disaster. The fellow was a radical loyalist to the crown, perpetually dissatisfied with the "Two Kings" system that balanced the Hokage against the sovereign Daimyo.

Unfortunately for him, his personal might and political foundation were severely lacking, forcing him to keep his grand ambitions closely guarded while he quietly laid the groundwork for his schemes. He was a delusional clown blind to the broader board, genuinely believing that harvesting a fraction of the beast's residue to manufacture a pseudo-Jinchuriki would pose a legitimate threat to the Leaf.

The fool had evidently left his eyes at home, oblivious to the fact that the genuine article had just been leashed like a common stray by Konoha's elite. The Third Hokage knew that news of the Nine-Tails' rampage could not be contained. Thus, the moment his midnight summit with Danzo and the elders concluded, he utilized a communication toad left by Jiraiya to issue an urgent recall to his disciple. But it wasn't an immediate return; he needed Jiraiya to secure the village's ultimate healer first.

Hiruzen Sarutobi was confident Tsunade would return. If any anchor remained to tether her drifting soul to the Leaf, it was Kushina Uzumaki. It certainly wasn't going to be her former master. The major powers of the shinobi world received the intelligence almost instantaneously, yet none made an aggressive move. They watched from the wings. They were biding their time for a comprehensive damage assessment, waiting for some reckless fool to break the impasse and test Konoha's remaining teeth.

The Hidden Sand was an exception to this calculating stance; the desert-dwellers were praying for the world's gaze to fixate entirely on the Leaf. They had undergone their own volatile Jinchuriki transition at the turn of the year, leaving them profoundly vulnerable. Five days dissolved into this uncanny, fragile peace. As a decorated hero of the crisis—credited with repelling the fox and preserving countless lives—Zhen Dongye enjoyed an indefinite furlough under the pretext of "catastrophic chakra depletion."

He could indulge in his convalescence for as long as he pleased; Hiruzen and the council would raise no objection. This granted him the perfect window to familiarize himself with his newly ascended power. With his natural energy mastery having breached the third tier—Constant Sage Mode—his previously stagnant progress in Yin-Yang manipulation and elemental transformation began to leap forward at a visible pace, exactly as he had predicted. His execution of jutsu had become entirely fluid.

After all, the chakra coursing through his meridians was no longer contaminated by a foreign, nameless will; it was exclusively his sovereign power. He occasionally theorized that the sheer ease of chakra refinement for normal ninja was precisely because of this embedded alien code, which conversely made absolute mastery an impossible summit for the masses.

The vast majority of shinobi spent their lives merely unleashing techniques, unable to pierce the deeper echelons of elemental transformation, to say nothing of the esoteric realms of Yin and Yang. As noon approached, within a secluded training field near the Dongye estate, Zhen opened his eyes. Though he appeared to be cross-legged on a thick bough, he had actually been levitating inches above the bark. Terminating his Wind Style meditation, his form descended softly onto the wood.

A silver-haired Anbu operative materialized at his flank.

"Tell me, Kakashi-senpai," Zhen murmured, "what exactly is the utility of that porcelain mask when your identity is this blatant?"

"Well, your perception is an anomaly, Zhen. Just because you see through it doesn't mean the rest of the world can. Besides, who says every silver-haired Anbu is me?" True enough. Cultivating a predictable association in the minds of enemies was a classic tactical feint; when the pieces shifted, that assumption could be exploited to lethal effect. With Minato and Kushina surviving the crucible of the calamity, Kakashi's disposition was markedly brighter than it might have been.

He had been spared from hardening into that hollow, melancholic phantom who buried himself in darkness and repelled all companionship. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"What brings you here?"

"Sensei requests your presence."

"Very well. Lead the way." Upon arriving at the Namikaze residence, Kakashi melted into the surroundings, reassuming his post within the security perimeter. Though Kushina's delivery was a success and the immediate threat had passed, his vigilance remained absolute. He refused to tolerate another loss among those he held dear. The front door stood ajar. Through the opening, Zhen caught sight of another white-haired figure seated at the table, staring forward with profound intensity.

Jiraiya had returned—a development that came as no surprise. Intrigued by whatever predicament could reduce the legendary Sannin to such a severe countenance, Zhen bypassed his sensory network and slipped into the room unnoticed. Stepping up to Jiraiya's side, he mirrored the man's expression perfectly, adopting a look of grim gravity. This matter... is monumental. Across the living room, a wooden cradle swayed gently. Kushina sat with her back to them, completely absorbed in cradling a bottle for infant Naruto.

The sheer intensity of her maternal affection consumed her focus entirely, leaving her oblivious to Zhen's quiet ingress. Formula existed within the elemental nations as a supplementary luxury, though its exorbitant cost restricted it to the aristocratic enclaves of major hubs and prominent hidden villages; ordinary citizens could scarcely dream of such an expense. But the economic landscape of infant care was irrelevant.

What commanded attention was the figure occupying the opposite side of the cradle—a mature woman of remarkably bountiful proportions, her blonde hair bound in twin tails. She was leaning down to coo at the infant, a posture that aligned her figure directly with their line of sight. Sensing a sudden reinforcement to the gaze boring into her, Tsunade snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with righteous heat. Jiraiya flushed crimson, jerking his head away to adopt the mask of a refined gentleman.

Zhen sneered inwardly at the display. A classic degenerate—lecherous in thought, but a coward when caught. Pathetic. Tsunade bridged the distance in three sharp strides, looming over Zhen.

"Have you feasted your eyes enough, brat? Is it a pleasing sight?"

"Exquisite," Zhen replied smoothly.

"And what thoughts does it inspire within that small mind?"

"Truly magnificent. Magnificent, big, and perfectly round." Tsunade's temper breached its banks, her brow furrowing deeply enough to crush a stone.

"You possess an infuriating degree of candor. You don't even attempt to veil the fact that you're a precocious little degenerate."

"I merely observed that such toys seem exceptionally popular within the Leaf. Countless mothers purchase them for their offspring."

"Brat, what riddle are you spinning?" Zhen pointed a casual finger toward a disorganized mound of nursery items Kushina had extravagantly purchased during her term.

"I was referring to the rubber balls, of course. Oh? You must be Lady Tsunade. Why the severe countenance? Has someone provoked your ire?"

"Heh." Konoha truly was a wretched enclave; she should have remained in exile. Tsunade knew she had been played, yet she lacked the evidence to convict. Then again, as a notoriously volatile spinster, when had Tsunade ever required the sanction of evidence to execute a thrashing?

"Perish, you deceptive little wretch!" A pale, iron fist plummeted toward Zhen's skull. Seated at the periphery, Jiraiya gloated inwardly. Finally, someone else takes the blow. The luxury of a scapegoat was intoxicating—until his jaw nearly disconnected from his skull. With a resonant thud, a localized, amber barrier of chakra manifested above Zhen's head, arresting the momentum of Tsunade's fist. Earth Style: Single Horn Great Wall—now standard fare within his Senjutsu repertoire.

Zhen could swear it wasn't a deliberate provocation; it was pure muscle memory. Since ascending to the third echelon of Constant Sage Mode, the execution of ninjutsu required nothing more than a passing thought, entirely liberated from the constraint of hand signs. He could manifest techniques from any coordinate of his anatomy—an absolute defense reminiscent of the Hyuga's Rotation. Jiraiya's eyes burned with unadulterated envy.

"Magnificent!" he breathed. He vowed then and there to master the technique; with such armor, he could endure Tsunade's tantrums with impunity. Tsunade massaged her knuckles, casting a wary glance at the structural integrity of the Namikaze home. She suppressed the urge to follow up with a full-bore strike, loath to give the convalescing couple a heart attack. Yet the indignation demanded an outlet. Pivoting smoothly, she buried a fist directly into Jiraiya's cranium.

"Miserable wretch! This is entirely your influence!" The elderly sage, blindsided by the collateral damage, wailed in pure injustice.

"I had nothing to do with this!" Having sated Naruto's appetite, Kushina approached the group with a warm smile.

"Ah, Zhen, you've arrived. It seems you and Lady Tsunade have already acquainted yourselves, saving me the introduction." In her youth, Kushina had resided under the tutelage of Mito Uzumaki, alongside whom Tsunade had familial roots; addressing the legendary medic as 'Big Sister' was entirely natural. Conveniently, it also established her seniority over Minato by a full generation.

"Kushina-senpai, given Lady Tsunade's... distinctive profile, she requires no introduction."

"Cease with the formal 'senpai' business," Kushina chided, swatting the air.

"I imparted the foundations of Fuinjutsu to you. You will address me as 'Sensei'."

"Understood, Kushina-sensei." Minato emerged from the kitchen, offering a faint smile.

"Perfect timing, Zhen. The meal is served." The tragic plight of the Fourth Hokage: prior to Zhen's arrival, he possessed the finest culinary acumen among the group. Consequently, despite his shattered constitution, he had been relegated to the position of house chef, his patriarchal authority abandoning him entirely. Tsunade quietly observed the casual intimacy defining their interactions. Jiraiya's intelligence was accurate; the boy was woven deeply into the fabric of Minato's household.

She and Jiraiya had only just breached the village gates, bypassing all protocol to march directly to the Namikaze residence. As for her former master, the Third Hokage... who exactly was that?