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Manji had tossed Black Zetsu a carrot. Nothing more than that.
Of course, if Black Zetsu's loyalty turned out to be genuine, then sure, Manji could let Mount Myōboku gain one more sage.
Black Zetsu Sage.
As for whether anyone would ever want to sign a summoning contract with the guy... well, that was a problem for later.
..............
Mount Myōboku, Longevity Peak.
Manji appeared in his quarters, opened his palm, and looked down.
Two Rinnegan floated above his hand. Concentric rings pulsing with quiet, violet light. The unmistakable signature of the Ōtsutsuki bloodline, concentrated into a pair of eyes that contained more raw potential than most civilizations would ever produce.
"Hagoromo's Rinnegan. Not bad at all."
He turned them between his fingers, feeling the power coiled inside. A faint smile crossed his face.
His collection was getting ridiculous at this point. The Sword of Totsuka. The Yata Mirror. The Six Treasured Tools. The Rinnegan. He'd been intercepting legendary artifacts like a man standing at the bottom of a waterfall with a bucket.
But more was always better. The only sin was leaving power on the table.
Then his expression shifted. Something flickered behind his eyes, and his voice dropped half a register.
"Though I don't buy for a second that Hagoromo just died like that."
Manji stared at the Rinnegan with a look that had nothing to do with admiration. His sensory field contracted, narrowing to a needle point, and he pushed his perception into the eyes themselves.
One heartbeat later, the hidden truth peeled open like a rotten fruit.
A tiny, impossibly compressed thread of soul-chakra was curled up inside the Rinnegan. Dormant. Waiting. Unmistakably Hagoromo's.
Manji's smile turned sharp.
"Heh. Hagoromo, you crafty old man. Still too young to be pulling tricks on your teacher."
Exactly as he'd suspected. Hagoromo hadn't truly died. He'd hidden his soul-chakra inside the Rinnegan, playing dead while setting up the longest con of his career.
The gambit was clever, Manji had to admit. Once the soul-chakra was triggered by an external stimulus, Hagoromo could manifest as a spirit. And from that spirit form, he could do exactly what he'd done in the original story: hand out Yin-Yang Release buffs to chosen champions like party favors at a birthday celebration.
The whole "please take my eyes as a gift" routine suddenly made a lot more sense.
Hagoromo was betting that Manji wouldn't examine the Rinnegan closely. And he was betting that Manji would guard the eyes with his life, meaning they'd be the safest objects in the entire shinobi world. A perfect hiding spot.
From there, Hagoromo could ride along inside the Rinnegan, observe the world through Manji's vantage point, and intervene whenever he saw fit.
"The nerve of this kid. Trying to plant a Trojan horse on me."
Manji chuckled, more amused than offended. He didn't blame Hagoromo. It was a reasonable contingency plan. The boy was just covering his bases.
But Manji had survived Kaguya's betrayal, the Yatagarasu's assassination attempt, and roughly a thousand years of everyone he'd ever met trying to pull something. His paranoia wasn't a character flaw. It was a survival mechanism honed to perfection.
"Sage Art: Binding Seal."
A single command. Threads of Sage energy wrapped around the Rinnegan, sinking into the eyes like roots into soil, locking Hagoromo's soul-chakra in an airtight prison. No remote manifestation. No long-distance power transfers. No backseat driving from the afterlife.
Sealed. Permanently!
That done, Manji pocketed the Rinnegan and headed for the back mountain. "Time to check on Indra."
..............
Longevity Peak's rear slope was blanketed in rare spiritual herbs. The ambient chakra concentration here was several times denser than anywhere in the outside world.
Indra sat cross-legged on a flat stone, deep in training.
He'd abandoned every last fantasy about seizing Ninshū. The succession war was over, and he'd lost. The only thing left burning inside him was a single, white-hot obsession: defeat Asura.
The moment he sensed Manji approaching, he was on his feet, bowing.
"FOUNDING PATRIARCH!"
Manji studied the fire in those eyes. "Indra. Is beating Asura really that important to you?"
Indra didn't hesitate. Not for a fraction of a second. "Yes, Founding Patriarch. I need to defeat Asura first. Everything else comes after."
Manji suppressed a sigh.
He genuinely could not wrap his head around these two brothers. In the original story, their feud had persisted through death, reincarnation, centuries of reincarnation, an endless loop of two souls beating the hell out of each other across lifetimes for reasons neither of them could fully articulate anymore. What was the point?
Before Manji could respond, Indra spoke again.
"Founding Patriarch, there's a problem. Mount Myōboku's Sage Arts don't suit me. The energy is too gentle, too balanced. It clashes with my chakra nature."
Manji thought it over and nodded. Made sense. Myōboku's tradition was rooted in harmony with nature, warmth, healing. Indra's entire being was the opposite of that. Sharp. Cold. Aggressive. Solitary.
The Ryūchi Cave, on the other hand, dealt in dark, cunning, ruthless energy. A perfect match.
"If Myōboku doesn't fit, I'll point you somewhere that does. Go to the Ryūchi Cave. They'll train you."
"Drop my name when you get there. They'll take you in."
Indra's eyes flashed with gratitude so intense it bordered on devotion.
The Founding Patriarch had pulled him out of death's jaws. Saved him when his own father stood by and watched. And now, another lifeline. Another door opened with a single word.
"Founding Patriarch, there's something I've never understood. Why did you save me? Hagoromo was your student too. You had centuries of history with him. Why would you fight your own disciple for my sake?"
The question had haunted him since that night. He'd initially assumed it was simple teacher-student loyalty. But Manji and Hagoromo's bond ran far deeper, far longer than anything Indra could claim. By every metric of seniority and sentiment, Hagoromo should have mattered more.
Manji looked at him for a quiet moment. Then smiled and placed a hand on Indra's shoulder.
"Because Asura and Hagoromo had all of Ninshū standing behind them. Hundreds of people ready to fight for them, die for them, live for them."
"But you, Indra? Behind you, there was only me."
Simple words. But they hit like a freight train.
Indra's eyes went red around the edges. He's right. When the whole world turned against him, when his own father wanted him dead, when every person he'd ever trained alongside chose someone else...
The only one who came was the Founding Patriarch.
"Founding Patriarch! You're my REAL father!" Indra dropped to his knees, voice cracking.
Manji blinked. Then his mouth twitched. "...Alright. Get up. Stop saying that."
He waved his hand with the exasperated air of someone who'd heard this exact line one too many times. "Go to the Ryūchi Cave. Train hard. Just tell the White Snake Sage that I sent you."
"Yes!"
Indra nodded with fierce determination and left.
..............
About a month later, Indra returned from the Ryūchi Cave.
His aura had transformed. The chakra rolling off him carried a cold edge that hadn't been there before.
"Founding Patriarch, you got one thing wrong. The Black Snake Sage is dead. The one running the Ryūchi Cave now is the White Snake Sage."
Manji paused.
"The Black Snake is gone? And that little girl is in charge now..."
A beat of genuine surprise, followed by something softer.
"Oh, and the White Snake Sage asked me to deliver this."
Indra produced a sealed letter and handed it over.
Manji took it. Turned it in his fingers.
He hadn't visited the White Snake Sage in... how long? A few hundred years, at least. Not since the battle against Kaguya, when he'd summoned her to help suppress the Ten-Tails.
They still had an active summoning contract. But Manji had never once used it to call her. Never reached out. Never checked in.
He opened the letter.
One line. That was all.
"Manji, it's been centuries. Are you well?"
Just a simple greeting. Nothing more.
Manji looked at those words and, for one unguarded moment, the centuries fell away. He could see her clearly. That bright-eyed girl from the Ryūchi Cave who'd bitten his neck to inject Sage energy, who'd clung to his arm begging him not to leave, who'd watched him walk away with disappointment she couldn't quite hide.
Lively. Spirited. A little mischievous. Full of warmth in a place that was nothing but cold scales and dark stone.
But that... that was hundreds of years ago.
Distant shores, longing without sight.
Look back, and a hundred years have already passed.
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