Root's Third Base, Armory Division.
A dim room with only a single ventilation duct and one door. A tall, four-tier iron rack devoured more than eighty percent of the space. It was packed with white masks etched in bizarre patterns, standard-issue cloaks, fitted bodysuits, kunai, shuriken, and all kinds of weapons and gear.
On the top shelf along the inner side of the rack sat rows of sealing scrolls. On the back of each, a single crimson character was written: Explode.
To the right of the rack, in front of a rectangular rosewood table, Kono and Abura Ryūma stood quietly. A black-haired woman sat behind the desk, expression empty, head lowered as she filled out forms.
"Height."
"One thirty-five."
A ballpoint pen scratched out a blur of cursive strokes.
"Weight."
Kono pressed her lips together. She did not like the number, not literally, not in what it implied.
"Two fifty."
Click.
The pen stopped.
The woman slowly lifted her head. Heavy dark circles frad her eyes, making her look like a sleepless panda. She studied Kono's childish face for a mont, her gaze lingering on the black cloth that covered her eyes, then lowered her head and resud writing.
Weight: 250 kg.
After writing it, the panda-eyed woman hesitated, then added a decimal point between the five and the zero.
Only then did she nod in satisfaction.
"Codena."
"Yato."
Scratch, scratch.
Question and answer. The form filled quickly.
Abura Ryūma waited behind Kono like a cold wax statue.
The pen clicked as it retracted.
The panda-eyed woman folded the completed form, stamped it, then turned to pick out appropriate clothing for Kono.
"Can I wear my own clothes?"
"When you're on a mission, the cloak and mask are mandatory. Otherwise, wear whatever you want."
She bent to rummage. Soon she yanked out a set of clothing from the bottom of the rack and handed it to Kono, then took a mask down from the shelf.
"There aren't many masks that fit your face. No choices. As for tools, everyone has a limited allotnt. You need to file requests to receive more. I suggest you take this chance to request extra."
"No need. Thank you."
Kono did not fuss. She accepted the mask and uniform.
The mask resembled the upper half of an owl's head. Around the eye sockets, red and black lines ford strange patterns.
Not ugly. Not pretty either.
Common, standard issue.
From the emotional light above Danzo's head, Kono could tell his main reason for recruiting her was to target Hiruzen Sarutobi.
If her relationship with Root beca public, it would likely interfere with Danzo's later plans.
Danzo understood that even better than she did. He would not send her on ordinary missions. Chances were these items would rarely be used. As for ninja tools, unless it was sothing on the level of the Sage of Six Paths' remnants, most of it would not help her much anymore.
"One more thing."
The panda-eyed woman pulled out a dark green handbook and a wooden black disk from under the desk.
The disk's surface was carved with dense curse markings. At the center was a hollow square.
"The handbook contains Root regulations, maps, and the thod to解除 the base's sealing barrier. morize it after you go back, so you don't break taboos. Put your chakra into this disk and it will generate a symbol unique to you. It's used to confirm identity."
Kono carefully stored the handbook, then accepted the disk and studied the deeply carved script.
A six-year ninja academy did not only teach the Transformation, Clone, and Substitution Techniques.
Will of Fire, chakra theory, trap setting, ninjutsu structure, hand seals, throwing, taijutsu, genjutsu analysis, infiltration and reconnaissance, and more. The curriculum covered everything.
Back in the academy, "Kono" had even mobilized her little "fan club" to borrow higher-grade textbooks. So of them included basic knowledge of fūinjutsu and curse seals.
Fūinjutsu and curse seals sounded lofty, but they were not as mysterious as people made them.
"Fūinjutsu" represented a broad category of techniques.
Just as Shadow Clone, Water Clone, and Lightning Clone all fell under "clone techniques," any technique that produced a "sealing" effect could be called fūinjutsu. If she developed a technique that controlled ropes to bind an enemy, that would be a perfectly standard sealing technique.
Even sothing like Rabbit Hair Needle, which could lock the flow of chakra in an enemy's tenketsu, could technically be categorized under fūinjutsu.
A "curse seal," on the other hand, was a semi-automatic technique. It was an alternative way of releasing ninjutsu.
If you took the chakra circulation route and the hand seals used to cast a technique and translated them into abstract written form, that written form beca "spell script."
Using the rope example again, if you analyzed the rope-control technique and translated it into text, you would get a "sealing script." If you then drew that script onto a material that could conduct chakra, you would no longer need to focus intensely or form seals. With chakra input alone, the corresponding technique would activate, turning it into a curse-seal style "Rope-Binding Seal."
A "sealed scroll" containing forbidden techniques was simply the combination of these pieces.
Its principle was to use a curse-seal thod to write the spell script of a sealing technique onto chakra-conductive paper.
That kind of paper was not unfamiliar. It belonged to the sa category as the test paper used to determine chakra nature.
The manufacture of "ninja tools" followed a similar logic. The difference was that tools often required rare chakra tals, making them far more expensive.
Beyond those materials, human skin was also an excellent chakra conductor. Curse-seal specialists who wanted a little more combat power would sotis draw seals directly on their own bodies.
There had even been a ti in the shinobi world when most shinobi wore strange curse markings on their faces and bodies, treating them as symbols of strength. Later, as scripts grew more complex and human skin simply did not offer enough surface area, that practice faded out.
In short, fūinjutsu and curse seals were two completely different concepts. They were simply used together so often that their overlap beca extensive.
By reading the aning of the script on the disk, Kono confird that the curse seal carved into it was not a sealing array, nor any bizarre secret art. Just as the panda-eyed woman said, it was a simple curse seal that generated a representative pattern based on chakra fluctuations.
A faint violet chakra glow gathered around Kono's hands.
Buzz.
The disk trembled. One curse marking after another began to emit a violet sheen.
Behind Kono, Abura Ryūma's icy expression finally shifted. Tiny black insects crawled out from his eyelids, releasing pheromones filled with hunger toward that pale violet light.
Yang?
He pushed his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose, forced down the agitated kikaichū inside him, and stepped back three paces. He retreated into the shadow by the door, like a creature that could only survive in the dark.
Buzz.
The markings around the disk lit in rings, gathering at the hollow square in the center, forming a unique emblem.
All three of them looked over, curiosity tugging.
The symbol was an unclosed circle ford by two overlapping wing silhouettes, mirrored against one another. The left wing held a spiral pattern, the right a radiating pattern. Two arcs, one forward and one reversed, interlocked into a crescent and an eclipse ring that never fully closed. At the gap hovered three small diamond points.
The emblem was static, yet those three points looked alive, flowing like water.
"This is your chakra fluctuation imprint. The sensory barrier around the village records everyone's chakra, and in the end it all gets converted into patterns like this."
The panda-eyed woman took the disk from Kono and admired the beautiful, mysterious imprint for a mont. Then she pulled out a blank sheet of white paper and rapidly ford seals.
The rotating violet pattern froze, then stained itself onto the paper and fixed in place.
"From now on, this is your mark.
Codena, mask, and chakra mark. All three are unique. Together they confirm your identity far more accurately than appearance, which can be changed at will."
She handed the paper to Kono, returned the disk beneath the desk, and then, as if her job had ended, sat back down. Motionless. Wooden. Empty.
Kono looked at the puppet-like panda-eyed woman, then at the insect man hiding in the corner, and decided there were not many normal human beings in Root.
"Let's go."
Arms full of items, she spoke to Abura Ryūma.
"Mm."
To her surprise, Ryūma responded. Still terse, but at least he was no longer completely uncommunicative.
Kono blinked, then glanced at the emotional glow above his head. A hollow void, mixed with the faintest trace of goodwill.
If everyone's affection for her was asured out of a hundred, Ryūma's had moved from a dead zero to perhaps five.
She did not know where that goodwill ca from, but she knew she needed an information channel. Root was still a black box to her.
As Danzo's right-hand man, one of only two elite jōnin in Root, Abura Ryūma was an excellent source.
"How should I address you?"
"…Ryūma."
They spoke as they walked, one in front, one behind, leaving the armory.
Behind them, the dark room swallowed sound. The woman slowly lowered her head. Black hair slipped down both sides of her cheeks. She slumped in her chair as if falling asleep.
Tap. Tap.
A solitary pair of footsteps echoed down the identical corridors.
Abura Ryūma moved ahead, black hood shading his forehead. He made no sound at all. Kono hugged her clothes and mask to her chest, her expression heavy.
The woman in the armory seed insignificant, yet her chakra response was terrifyingly strong. Stronger than Kono and Abura Ryūma combined.
Stranger still, she did not feel dangerous at all. Her muscle strength was ordinary.
"Ryūma, what's that姐姐's na?"
"…I don't know."
Ryūma hesitated, then as if recalling sothing, added calmly, "Do not disturb her. That is Danzo-sama's order."
Kono's gaze flickered.
Konoha officially had only one Hokage, but in reality, Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo jointly controlled the village.
One in the light, one in the dark. Together they kept every clan and faction in check.
The ANBU and Root were their direct forces. Root had fewer shinobi than ANBU, but with secret techniques, resources, and certain taboo human experints, the water here might be deeper than she imagined.
"Ryūma, how long have you been in Root?"
"A long ti."
"How long is 'a long ti'?"
"…I forgot."
Ryūma's body paused. In this cold, dim underground base, ti itself felt aningless. He could no longer rember the year he joined Root.
Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor.
No matter how he tried to recall, Abura Ryūma could not rember when he joined Root, or even why.
He only rembered, in that endless darkness, soone smiling and reaching a hand toward him.
He could not see that person's face. He did not know who it was.
Only that warm smile.
They walked for a long ti, passing room after room wrapped in sealing barriers. They also crossed paths with Root shinobi who offered greetings to Ryūma and Kono in passing.
No one else spoke.
"We're here."
Ryūma stopped abruptly. Kono, who had been quietly observing him, lifted her head.
Ahead, two iron-gray doors were shut tight. A red warning mark sat beside them. Above, large characters were written.
Experintal Division.
Experintal Division?
The place for human experints. Which ant Hashirama cells could be here.
Kono kept her expression calm, but she morized the route instantly, carving it into her mind.
"Chihaya Tōru is inside, waiting for you."
Abura Ryūma reached out and pulled the Experintal Division doors open. A harsh white light seeped through the crack, cutting into the corridor's gloom.
Kono flinched from the brightness. Ryūma, having delivered her, turned and left without a word, leaving only a black silhouette behind.
"If you ever rember when you joined Root, tell ."
With one foot inside the Experintal Division, Kono turned back and said it.
"…Mm."
The familiar answer was cold to the bone.
Kono shook her head and stepped inside.
Outside of Root, she was the kind of person who spoke little. Cold, even. But in Root, surrounded by ice blocks, she almost looked warm by comparison.
Sotis people are only afraid because they have sothing to compare against.
Clack.
The tal doors shut.
The sharp sting of disinfectant rode in on the cold air.
By feel alone, it was at least two degrees colder than outside.
After so long in dimness, the bright lights made Kono's Byakugan blur for a mont. Once her eyes adjusted, the familiar transparent world unfolded again.
Past the outer anti-peeping barrier, her Byakugan finally had room to work.
Aside from a few rooms deep inside that still resisted her vision, most walls and wooden doors beca semi-transparent outlines.
The Experintal Division was even broader than the conference chamber. Countless square compartnts divided it into blocks. From Kono's three-hundred-sixty-degree view, it looked like a giant beehive.
Inside the hive, long rows of fluorescent lights blazed overhead. dical staff in green one-piece surgical suits, masks, and gloves pushed gurneys covered with white sheets in and out.
No screams of test subjects.
No bloody mutations.
Just cold cleanliness, precise and sterile.
If not for the iron rings locking the people on the beds by their limbs, Kono might have thought this was an ordinary hospital.
"This is the new test subject?"
A nurse in white stepped out of the hive, pushing a cart of instrunts. She pointed at the silver-haired girl by the door, her voice threaded with excitent.
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