Guided by Mirai, Hagoromo found that gloomy underground cell.
Would someone really be imprisoned in a place like this?
Then the two of them saw a white-haired child inside.
Imprisoning a minor was undoubtedly inhumane—but paradoxically, it made Hagoromo breathe a sigh of relief. The boy's age matched his expectations, which meant this trip hadn't been in vain.
Still, it seemed that everyone Hagoromo found shared certain similarities with him.
For example, that hard-to-classify face.
For example… white hair.
So in the shinobi world, white hair wasn't albinism or premature aging at all—but a fairly common occurrence?
"Who are you?"
Facing the sudden appearance of someone who clearly wasn't from his clan, Kimimaro's gaze remained calm, almost indifferent. His tone showed no emotional fluctuation whatsoever.
It was not the reaction a child his age should have had.
It was said that every white-haired person had a moving life story.
And if you added natural curls, dead-fish eyes, and a sugar addiction, that story only became richer—ranging from fighting aliens to raising little girls.
"I'm just a ninja passing by," Hagoromo said.
The credibility of that statement was about the same as someone claiming they were "just a passing-by housewife."
Every "passing-by housewife" was secretly absurdly strong.
And every "passing-by ninja" was definitely up to no good.
"You're not an ordinary ninja," Kimimaro said calmly.
"The guards outside were dealt with silently."
For someone his age, that was an impressively composed and accurate judgment.
"Who I am doesn't matter," Hagoromo smiled.
"What matters is—do you want to leave this place?"
Mirai looked around with curiosity, observing both the boy and the prison itself. But she remained silent, not interrupting Hagoromo's conversation.
"Leave?" Kimimaro asked.
"Why?"
He wasn't pretending—he genuinely didn't understand why he should leave.
"Don't you want something?" Hagoromo asked.
"Freedom, perhaps?"
"Freedom…?"
Kimimaro understood the word.
But did he need freedom?
Was there really any difference between inside the cell and outside it?
For someone with no goals in life, someone who was merely being moved around by others, there was no difference at all. If left alone, Kimimaro could probably squat here forever as a quiet, beautiful man.
Freedom meant nothing to him—so neither did confinement.
Hagoromo wasn't versed in psychology, but after just a few lines of conversation, he understood Kimimaro's condition.
Because once upon a time, Hagoromo himself had been like this.
Not as extreme, perhaps—but fundamentally the same.
There was a timeless saying:
A man without dreams is no different from a salted fish.
Without ideals, without purpose, without even a clear goal, a person became hollow.
That was usually something middle-aged men worried about—but in this world, some people matured far too early, and thought far too much.
"What's your name?" Hagoromo asked.
"Kimimaro."
So this was Kaguya Kimimaro.
Hagoromo was more familiar with the name "Kimimaro" than "Haku," but only just. He didn't know much beyond that.
"Kimimaro," Hagoromo said, pointing toward Mirai beside him,
"you can walk out of here now. Protecting this child can become your mission in life."
"Why?" Kimimaro asked.
"For no reason," Hagoromo replied.
"Because you need to leave this place."
Why would someone protect an unrelated girl they had never met, just because of a stranger's words?
It sounded ridiculous.
And yet—it didn't.
Kimimaro didn't know how to live. Now someone was telling him how.
Even if that path had nothing to do with him.
Kimimaro's expression finally changed.
He needed a certain degree of restraint—
and a deeper level of liberation.
The sound of chains clinking echoed through the cell.
Kimimaro tried to stand… and then walked forward.
There was a simple reason why Kimimaro was willing to follow Hagoromo—
the same reason Haku had.
A person ultimately needs to be needed.
They didn't follow Hagoromo for his sake—
they followed him for their own.
A sharp bone blade suddenly protruded from the center of Kimimaro's right palm.
With a single motion, the chains binding his body snapped apart.
The iron lock sealing the cell door split in two.
He stepped out of confinement and asked calmly,
"Where are we going?"
"Hold on," Hagoromo said.
"Let me take a look at your hand first."
Kimimaro extended his right hand.
The delicate bone blade had not only grown instantaneously—it was harder and sharper than steel.
So this was the Kaguya clan's legendary Shikotsumyaku.
…This kid's bone overgrowth was way too severe.
Just that one move—how many calcium tablets would it take to replenish?
Shikotsumyaku was clearly an abnormal physical state. Hagoromo could tell that at a glance. Using techniques like this would inevitably place a heavy burden on the body.
Every jutsu carried risk.
And Kimimaro's risk was visible even to the naked eye.
Cells could only divide so many times. Could Shikotsumyaku bypass that limitation? Hagoromo didn't know—but instinctively, it felt dangerous.
Just like how overusing the Sharingan led to blindness, the risks of kekkei genkai were often greater than those of high-level ninjutsu.
Power always demanded a price.
Shikotsumyaku would not be an exception.
"Put it away," Hagoromo said.
"For now, don't use that technique lightly."
Then he suddenly remembered something—an item he had been carrying around without much use.
"I've got a gift for you," he said.
"In future battles, use this instead whenever possible. Try not to rely on your bones."
From behind him, Hagoromo pulled out a scroll.
When he released the seal, a dark, beetle-shell-like weapon appeared.
Heh heh ha ha—go, nunchaku hammer.
It was used like a hammer—
but in truth, it was a massive cleaver.
One of the Seven Ninja Swords of the Mist — Twin Blades: Hiramekarei.
As for Nuibari, it would suit Haku perfectly. That face just matched a long, slender weapon.
Kimimaro nodded, understanding Hagoromo's intent. He retracted the bone blade and accepted the gift with both hands.
With some effort, he strapped Hiramekarei to his back.
…He really did look like a ladybug now.
Hiramekarei was an extremely heavy weapon.
For a seven-year-old Kimimaro, using it fluently was impossible—
even carrying it was a burden.
But he still carried it.
After all—
This was probably the first gift he had ever received.
Strange as it was, Hiramekarei was unquestionably precious.
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