Shisui drew a massive summoning scroll from the folds of his robes and unrolled it across the ground. "Bite your finger and sign your na on it."
Shiringu nodded vigorously. Wasting no ti, she bit into her finger and pressed her bloody tip against the paper, scrawling her na: Uzumaki Shiringu.
A golden light flared from the characters of her na, forging a mystical connection. In the deep recesses of her consciousness, she felt a distant, faint calling.
It was the Seven-Tails, resting way down on the fiftieth floor of the subterranean palace; it was the newly hatched dragonflies; it was the entirety of this Summoning Sacred Land.
"From this day forward, you are the very first contractor of the Dragonfly Sacred Land," Shisui said, rolling the scroll back up and securing it. "Henceforth, you can summon them at any ti."
Shiringu's eyes lit up with excitent. But a mont later, her gaze dropped again, and she reached out to grasp the edge of Shisui's cloak.
"I... I want to follow you. I don't want to stay behind here." Her voice was soft, yet it carried an unyielding resolve. "I can go to the battlefield. I can fight for the Land of Grass. I'm not afraid to die."
Shisui knew the child didn't actually crave war. She was simply desperate to prove her worth, driven by the terrifying fear of being abandoned once again.
He knelt down, bringing his gaze level with hers. "Shiringu, do you know what your greatest advantage is?"
Shiringu shook her head blindly.
"You belong to the Uzumaki clan," Shisui explained calmly. "Your clan possesses the most powerful sealing styles, the most colossal chakra reserves, and the most resilient life force in the entire shinobi world. Boundless potential is latent within your very bloodline."
"However, you are still too young. Your body is severely malnourished, you have never molded chakra, and you lack any form of training. If you step onto the battlefield right now, you will die."
Shiringu's eyes welled with tears. "So..."
"So, I am going to give you three months," Shisui interrupted gently. "During these three months, I will use the finest nutrient solutions to reverse your physical deficits and awaken your Uzumaki physiology.
When that ti cos, you will possess self-healing abilities, the Adamantine Chains, and the Mind's Eye of the Kagura—skills specifically designed to keep you alive in the theater of war."
"Furthermore, once you master the Summoning Jutsu, you can call upon the Seven-Tails whenever you wish.
Should you ever find yourself in mortal peril, have the Seven-Tails use the Reverse Summoning Jutsu to pull you out. Unless you run into the true, absolute monsters of this world, you will not die."
Shiringu's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yes."
She nodded with absolute conviction. "I will work as hard as I can!"
Shisui offered a faint smile and patted her head once more. "Good. Let's go."
A three-month training regin was undeniably a forced acceleration of her growth.
Yet, Shiringu was a prodigy of the Uzumaki lineage; even with a rushed training schedule, so long as she maximized her genetic strengths and played around her weaknesses, her utility on the battlefield would dwarf that of multiple standard Jonin—at least compared to the lackluster Jonin of the Grass Vanguard.
Shisui suddenly realized that bypassing the traditional Jinchuriki sealing thod had been an incredible stroke of genius.
By keeping the girl and the beast separated, they could perfectly unleash the Seven-Tails' raw, destructive capabilities in battle while retaining the tactical flexibility to split them into two independent combat forces in the future.
Political Backlash
anwhile, inside the Konoha Hokage Residence.
Sarutobi Hiruzen sat at his desk, his eyes anchored to an intelligence report spread before him. Though the ssage was brief, it felt like a thorn driven deep into his heart.
The Hidden Grass Village has issued a public manifesto, openly accusing Konoha and Iwagakure of bullying smaller nations. They have provided evidence framing Iwagakure spies for the assassination of the Hokage's son. The rhetoric is inflammatory and aggressive, drawing intense scrutiny from multiple nations.
He set the report aside and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the mounting headache.
Shinnosuke's death was already an agonizing wound. Now, a minor entity like the Hidden Grass dared to step forward and mock Konoha for being blind and cowardly, questioning why they didn't have the spine to confront Iwagakure head-on.
It was a blatant slap to his face and a humiliation to the entire Leaf Village.
"Soone, co in."
An Anbu operative materialized silently from the shadows.
"Summon Orochimaru to my office."
Hiruzen stood up and walked over to the window, staring out at the distant Hokage Rock. His silhouette appeared far older and more weighed down than it had just a day prior.
Hidden Motives
Deep underground, Orochimaru's laboratory lay shrouded in gloom.
The lighting was dim, the air damp and thick with the pungent, clinical odor of chemical reagents.
Training vats of varying sizes lined the walls, filled with grotesque specins suspended in preservative fluids—severed animal organs, human limbs, and bizarre biological entities that defied classification.
Orochimaru stood before an operating table, his scalpel slicing with clinical precision through the chest cavity of a corpse. It was the fresh body of a rogue ninja, still retaining a trace of residual warmth.
"Lord Orochimaru," an Anbu ssenger called out from the entrance of the lab.
"What is it?"
"The Hokage requests your presence imdiately."
The scalpel in Orochimaru's hand paused. Suddenly, he broke into a violent fit of coughing, dark blood spilling from the corners of his lips and splattering onto the steel table.
"Cough... hack... cough..."
He lowered the blade and pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, hacking hoarsely for several monts before composing himself.
Witnessing this, the Anbu operative's eyes flared with fleeting shock. "My Lord, you..."
"My apologies," Orochimaru said, lifting his gaze to reveal a face as pale as parchnt. "As you can see, I am suffering from severe internal injuries and require an extended period of convalescence. I am afraid I am in no condition to audience with Sensei."
"Then regarding Lord Hokage's summons..."
"Inform my master that it is not a lack of willingness, but a physical impossibility that keeps here. If Sensei requires a commander to lead an army into battle, he ought to look for Jiraiya. I believe he is quite unoccupied these days."
The Anbu nodded respectfully and retreated. As the heavy laboratory doors slid shut, the fragile mask of illness lted from Orochimaru's face. He looked down at the blood-stained cloth in his hand and let out a soft, mocking sneer.
"Acting truly is an exhausting chore."
He tossed the handkerchief into a waste bin and retrieved his scalpel. Even if his body were in perfect health, he had no intention of participating.
The waters within the Land of Grass ran far too deep. He could sense a hidden hand orchestrating these events from the shadows, utilizing thodologies that felt uncomfortably familiar.
More importantly, his human experintation and body modification research were reaching a critical breakthrough. He had absolutely no leisure to squander on petty political power plays.
The Call to Arms
In a secluded valley within the Land of Rain.
Jiraiya sat cross-legged beneath a roaring waterfall. He remained perfectly motionless against the crushing weight of the torrent, resembling an ancient stone monunt.
Along the riverbank, Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan were diligently practicing their ninjutsu. Yahiko was making rapid strides, already capable of executing respectable Water Style techniques.
Nagato remained as taciturn as ever, though his mastery over chakra control grew sharper by the day. Nearby, Konan quietly folded sheets of paper, manipulating them into an array of intricate shapes and patterns.
A ssenger hawk plumted from the sky, touching down gracefully near the water's edge. Yahiko hurried over out of curiosity, spotting a sealed missive bound tightly to the bird's leg.
"Jiraiya-sensei! You have mail!"
Jiraiya opened his eyes and stepped out from the waterfall's cascade. He took the letter, breaking the seal to scan its contents.
A wry smile touched his lips—a mixture of resignation and a complex, unspoken emotion.
To pacify the Land of Grass... it looks like the old man wants back on the warpath.
Yahiko looked up, asking, "Sensei, are you leaving us again?"
Jiraiya offered no imdiate answer. He casually tossed the letter into their campfire, watching the flas swallow the parchnt.
Seeing this, Konan stepped forward and asked in a hushed tone, "Sensei...?"
Jiraiya turned back toward them, his features instantly morphing into his trademark, carefree grin. "Oh, it's nothing important! Just a letter from back ho, making sure I'm eating well."
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