Shisui Abura rubbed his chin, contemplating the biological chanics of how these insects enhanced the human physique.
He wanted the benefits of evolution, but he had no desire to host a parasite permanently within his own body.
Nearby, Ichiro Kurosaki had witnessed the entire grueso process. He hadn't moved an inch, remaining on his knees.
His head hung low; any ember of rebellion had been thoroughly extinguished. He understood with icy clarity: resistance ant a fate worse than death. Submission was the only narrow path to survival.
After a long silence, Shisui finally acted as if he rembered Ichiro was there. He sliced open the belly of the latest white insect, harvesting only three eggs this ti.
He held one out to Ichiro. The ronin stared at the pulsing sphere, sweat beading on his forehead. With a sharp intake of breath, he took it and swallowed it whole.
Shisui wove the familiar hand signs, triggering the hatching process.
The transformation took hold almost imdiately. The thick, leathery calluses on Ichiro's palms began to peel away, revealing fresh skin.
Old scars faded into faint lines. His bones creaked as they hardened, and his stature seed to increase by a fraction.
Ichiro drew his katana and gave it an experintal swing. The blade humd; his speed and power had increased by a staggering margin.
"Thank you, Master, for the gift of strength," he said, dropping to one knee in a formal samurai salute—the ultimate gesture of fealty.
"Stand up. I will teach you things to further hone your skills. From now on, you will be my eyes and ears in the world, gathering intelligence.
Don't think of running; no one but can suppress the growth of the insect inside you."
A swarm of Kikaichu flowed from Shisui's sleeves like black smoke. "Now, remove your clothes. I need to conduct a thorough examination of your physical changes."
"Yes, Master."
Ichiro took a deep breath and stood still, offering no resistance as the tiny insects crawled into the various orifices of his body to begin their work.
Half an hour later, Shisui had a detailed map of the changes.
Ichiro's physical strength now approached that of a Jonin who didn't specialize in Taijutsu—a more than threefold increase.
Of course, such gains were partly due to his low baseline and partly because his natural aptitude far exceeded that of the other two ronin.
More importantly, Ichiro's chakra was actively stimulating the insect's further evolution. The third-generation parasite had refined itself: the outer shell had completely regressed into a soft, flexible hide.
The appendages hadn't grown larger, but the suckers had increased from four to six. Most notably, its brain was three tis larger than the previous generation and ten tis that of the "chira" prototype.
"Genetic stability is reaching an equilibrium," Shisui noted. "To push it toward a specific directional evolution will require a vast amount of ti."
The Petri dish could use Original Energy and simulated lifeforms as materials, but the consumption was astronomical. This ant specialized insects like these had to be hand-reared.
While Shisui hadn't yet pinpointed the exact substance the insect secreted to strengthen the host, he found them perfectly suited for cultivating and controlling subordinates.
He recalled his Kikaichu. "Now, go back and tell Mr. Ida that you encountered a wild boar in the forest and helped drive it off. This rabbit—" he lifted the wild hare—"is the proof of our cooperation."
Shisui turned and led the way back to camp. Ichiro dressed in silence and followed a respectful distance behind.
Back at the campfire, Ryuji Ida was pacing anxiously. When he saw Shisui return unhard, he exhaled a massive sigh of relief. "Master Takigawa! You're safe! We thought we heard a disturbance in the woods..."
"It was nothing," Shisui smiled. "Just a wild boar. Luckily, these gentlen were there to help drive it away. Look, the harvest wasn't bad."
He brandished the rabbit.
Ryuji bead. "Wonderful! I'll have the servants prepare it imdiately!"
As for why only Ichiro returned, everyone present was seasoned enough to know which questions were better left unasked.
The rabbit was soon skinned, cleaned, and set over the fire. Fat dripped into the embers with a savory sizzle, filling the camp with a mouth-watering aroma. The at was roasted to a perfect golden brown.
Young Keita ate until his face was covered in grease, his eyes never leaving Shisui.
"Brother Takigawa, you're so amazing!" the boy chirped, swallowing a mouthful of at. "You even handled a scary boar!"
"I didn't do it alone."
"Still! You're a hero!" Keita's eyes sparkled with the pure, naive adoration children have for power and legends. "Are all ninja that strong? I've heard stories that ninja can spit fire, summon floods, and even fly!"
"So can," Shisui said gently. "But ninjutsu requires talent and years of grueling practice."
Keita hesitated, then scrambled toward his father's carriage. He returned clutching a small, ceramic bottle of sake.
He offered it with a shy blush. "This is my father's prized sake. He was going to use it for bribes in the Land of Earth... but you saved us. I want you to have it."
In the Land of Earth, aged sake was a high-value commodity and a traditional gift of respect. Shisui took the bottle; it felt cool to the touch.
He unsealed it and took a sniff. The aroma was rich—truly top-tier by the standards of the ninja world. Even if he didn't drink it, it would fetch a high price.
"Thank you, Keita."
"You're... you're welco!" The boy stood there awkwardly for a mont before summoning his courage. "Brother Takigawa... can I learn ninjutsu too?"
Shisui took a bite of at. "Keita, why do you want to learn?"
"I want to be strong. Strong like you. Then I can protect my father and the caravan, and no one will ever bully us again."
His eyes were full of stars—the classic dream of the weak seeking strength to change their world. "My father spends all his ti bowing to people, giving gifts, being threatened by ronin... I don't want that. I want people to respect us."
Suddenly, Ryuji rushed over.
"Keita! What nonsense are you talking about?"
He grabbed his son by the shoulder and pulled him back, bowing deeply to Shisui—his forehead nearly touching his knees. "Master Takigawa, a thousand apologies! The boy is young and foolish! Please, do not take his ramblings to heart!"
When Ryuji looked up, he was pale and trembling with sweat.
Shisui waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine, Mr. Ida. A child's words are innocent. I don't mind."
One thing's for sure: Ryuji knew better than most that the path of a ninja isn't a fairy tale—it's a world of blood, and a rchant's son is often safer bowing in the mud than standing in the crosshairs of a war.
How are you enjoying the direction of Shisui's biological experints so far?
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