Perhaps now was a good time to mention the tale of Eiji.

It was a well-known one in Uzushio. Some said it was told to children as a cautionary tale, others believed it was meant to teach a deeper lesson — after all, sacrifice was the highest form of meaning.

Eiji, of course, was not born to greatness. He was a quiet, pleasant man, one whose talents either lay hidden or simply did not exist. Except, perhaps, for binding. In that, he excelled.

In the dark days of our clan's history, during the Great Clan Wars, when the storms of battle drew near and enemies — whose names have long since faded — closed in from every side, it was Eiji who left the deepest mark. Not for his strength, nor his cunning, but for something far more difficult.

He had lived a modest life, far from the heat of the battlefield, with a wife he adored and a daughter not yet old enough to form complete sentences. Eiji was no warrior, but he had something others lacked: resolve. Perhaps it was a fierce commitment, or perhaps something darker, a quiet determination that gnawed at him from within. The sort that would drive an animal to eat their leg.

When the fighting reached the old compound's borders and no one could stop the overwhelming tide, it was Eiji who stepped forward, though no one had asked it of him.

The legends say he crafted a seal, a final binding that would turn the tide of the war. No one knew the cost, not then. Or perhaps they only said so. They must have seen how he grew quieter with each passing day, how he stopped speaking of the future, how his eyes darkened with the weight of something unspoken.

On the eve of the final attack, when it was clear the clan could not hold against the advancing forces, Eiji, guarded by some of the most formidable warriors of the time, walked the corpse-strewn battlefield, a scroll in hand.

The seal was flawless.

The enemies were driven back, their lines shattered and their men torn apart by terrible forces. The Uzumaki were saved — but the price was not paid in chakra alone.

His wife and daughter had vanished without a trace. No funeral was held, and no grave was dug. They were simply gone, like whispers lost to the wind. Those who suspected the truth never spoke of it aloud. Some thought they had fled, frightened by what Eiji had become, but those closest to him knew better. The seal had demanded something greater than his life.

Though the clan celebrated his name, Eiji did not join in the revelry. He stared at the empty crib where his daughter had once slept, his body withering as fast as a fading dream.

These grounds became cursed.

The Uzumaki soon abandoned them, and to this day, it is said that a lonely infant still rises from the waves, wandering the shores, unable to move on, waiting for her father to save her. But he will never come. He cannot.

Not long after the battle, Eiji walked to the cliffs where the sea meets the sky and, without a word, cast himself into the water below, hoping to see them again. But although their bodies eventually may have, their souls will never meet.

The lonely daughter will wait forever if she must, but no one dares speak to her of the father who will never return. Instead, travelers leave her sweets, kind words, and faint hopes that she might forget. After all, they will return to warm beds, but she will remain in the cold waters, waiting.

黙

契

9 — A SILENT UNDERTAKING

"NOTHING CAN BE CREATED from nothing," Gojō had said, before pausing. "Unless you're the Sage of Six Paths. Or maybe that's not true either, and he just did things with chakra no one else has since. But as you might have noticed, I'm not him, so what I do is simple. I reshape my chakra into the shikigami I summon. Each seal I use gives them purpose, form, and limits. Without those seals, they would be nothing more than raw energy — scattered and without meaning."

But those words felt distant now. A lesson for and from another day. Naruto blinked, and Noboru's grip on his arm brought him back, his fingers digging deep enough to numb the skin.

"What were you thinking?" Noboru hissed, voice raw with anger. His face was inches from Naruto's, eyes blazing with an intensity Naruto had never seen — not in calm, controlled Noboru. "Were you thinking at all?"

Naruto didn't flinch again, didn't pull away. The pressure on his arm grew unbearable, but the pain was easy to ignore, especially when it came from Noboru, who always acted like he knew better, like he understood everything.

"I've asked you again and again to be patient," Noboru went on, his voice sinking into something darker, more troubled. "But you don't listen, do you? I indulged you, and allowed more training when I shouldn't have, thinking it would give you focus after everything. I was wrong. If this is how you intend to proceed, you'll end up standing at the edge of a cliff, with nothing left to hold onto. And by then, Naruto, it'll be too late."

The words bit, and they dug deep. Naruto met his eyes, but he stayed silent.

"What did you give up? What else did you sacrifice?"

Naruto stayed quiet.

"Who helped you?" Noboru pressed, his grip tightening even more. "Was it Gojō? No… even he wouldn't, not without a good reason."

Silence.

"Why didn't you come to me? Do you even understand what you've done?"

As though you would have helped, Naruto thought bitterly.

What was there to say? Noboru could pull at threads, and demand answers, but none of it would change anything. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't.

Naruto had done what was necessary. It wasn't grand, it wasn't wise, and it wasn't something he could talk about. Some things just were, and that was the way of the world. Some things couldn't be explained in neat logical words like one of Noboru's precise theories.

It was raw, instinctual, and painful in ways Naruto had never spoken of. And still, it might not be enough.

"Do you think this will help you?" Noboru spat, his grip tightening once again. His eyes burned with something deeper than anger — it was fear for him, threaded with disbelief. "Do you think you will ever feel whole again, now…? Do you not see beyond such shortsighted goals?"

Naruto's jaw tightened. It was all for the sake of the future.

He'd heard it before — from people who whispered behind his back. It was always the same. They didn't understand him, didn't understand why he kept beating himself up, why he kept going, even when it wasn't asked of him.

But to Noboru, it was more than that. It seemed personal — a betrayal, pure and simple, of everything he'd tried to teach Naruto.

"I shouldn't be teaching you at all." Noboru's voice dropped, low and cold. "I've said it from the beginning: you are reckless. A danger to yourself, at least. You don't understand the value of restraint. A Sealweaver without those notions is a loose cannon waiting to explode — and I'm not going to be the one standing near when it happens."

Naruto's chest felt tight. The words hit harder than he had expected they would. For all the jokes he (and Yasaka) had made about him, he respected Noboru. Maybe more than he had admitted to himself. And now, justifiably, Noboru didn't trust him; didn't want to teach him. He understood, of course, but it still cut deep.

And so Naruto tried to reassure himself: he made himself believe he had stopped looking for approval a long time ago. Noboru's doubts, his disappointment, none of it could matter anymore. It couldn't. If Naruto let every word sink in, let the weight of Noboru's judgment pull him down, he'd never move forward. So he stood his ground. The silence was the only shield he had left.

"This isn't — Do you think this is about you doing what's needed?" Noboru's voice was almost pleading now, the anger giving way to something more desperate. "Is this about Kushina?"

Naruto didn't flinch. He couldn't afford to.

"That's not—" Noboru said, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you think we never tried to cure her…? Do you think this is the way to help her?"

He was wrong. It wasn't about trying. It had never been about that.

It was about doing. That was all there was to it. He only needed to succeed. And if it all fell apart in the end — or before it even began — if everything he was fighting for turned to dust… then that was how it had to be. He had learned, just some days ago, that thinking too much about how wrong things could go wouldn't prevent anyone from dying. It never would.

And perhaps, if he could truly save just one person, even at the cost of himself, then maybe he could be forgiven for failing Karin.

He met Noboru's eyes, steady and unreadable, and stayed silent.

The silence between them thickened, heavy with words left unsaid. Noboru's hand finally slipped from his arm, his grip loosening, as if he had finally understood the futility of trying to drag something out of Naruto that simply wasn't there.

"There's no regret in you," Noboru muttered, shaking his head as he stepped back. His voice carried a weight of disappointment now, but also a strange, resigned calm. "You'll pay for this in ways you can't even see yet."

Naruto watched him, heart heavy but his face unreadable. Noboru was wrong about that too. The price had already been paid. A sacrifice had to mean something. He felt the void inside him, the hollow space left behind. Noboru couldn't understand that.

"I've been teaching you all the wrong things," Noboru murmured, his words barely more than a whisper as he turned to leave.

Naruto didn't stop him. There was nothing left to say. He had been paying for years, in silence, in sacrifices that no one else could understand. If it all led to nothing, then so be it.

That would have to be enough.

The process of the Selection would be over rather quickly, circumstances helping.

And because of other circumstances, Naruto felt he couldn't go home to his mother. What could he even say to her? He knew how she felt about the outside world. And if she said anything at all right now, even one soft, four-letter word, he feared his resolve would crumble.

So he wandered the islands, recalling every single piece of sealing knowledge he had learned over time in preparation, avoiding places she might search — if she looked at all. He hoped she would put her health first. His steps echoed on the stone roads, and without warning, his thoughts drifted to home.

Uzushio was all he had ever known — he knew it by heart, from the forest to the rivers carved by hand, the fields stretching under the vast sky; the gabled roofs to the scent of far-off clouds, salt; the endless blue and the endless white. It was home, but it was heavy, and it still felt heavier today.

He thought of the old oak at the edge of Amenogawa's square, where he had spent countless evenings with his mother —and yes, even Yasaka — pointing out constellations as they slowly appeared. Her quiet smile, which had grown rarer as the years passed. The creak of the porch as he'd sit with friends, the hum of voices from the streets, and the way the lanterns glowed at dusk.

He was unsure why he felt so strange right now: there was no certainty he would even be able to leave. The possibility was there, certainly, and perhaps it was just that.

Part of him wanted to turn back, to hold on a little longer.

But deep down, he knew he couldn't. If he was going to leave — no, not if, when — he could only keep his eyes on the horizon.

He wondered if that was how Yasaka felt, why she couldn't say goodbye. Maybe her heart wasn't built for farewells either. Maybe that was why she always disappeared without a word, trusting that somehow, some way, the place they called home — though it only felt like home when they were about to leave — would still be waiting when they found their way back.

He stayed there for a while, thinking and reminiscing.

In the late afternoon, along with every child who had taken part in the Selection, he was summoned.

Most of the children fidgeted, their eyes flitting nervously around. Naruto, however, felt nearly none of that unease. He couldn't quite explain it, but the fear that gripped the others seemed distant to him. Hadn't he studied as much as anyone could? Now, it was time to see just how far that knowledge would take him. For the first time in weeks, his mind was calm, almost empty. It had been so long since he'd shed a tear — since that day on the training grounds, before everything had taken such a dark turn. He wished he could cry, but it was as if all his emotions had drained away. In their absence, a strange sense of peace settled over him, and for once, he didn't fight it.

When his name was called, he walked forward without hesitation. His heart remained steady, even as he entered the circular room where the elders waited. A large round table stood at the center, and surrounding it were figures he recognized — members of the Elder Council, although none of them had been part of the briefing he had attended with Gojō. But then his eyes landed on one man, and the stillness in his chest shattered.

Noboru was here.

Emotion resumed. Naruto's heart stuttered, and the calm he had found slipped away like water through his fingers. Noboru wasn't just present — he was angry. For one who knew where to look, it was written all over his stoic face, in the tight set of his jaw, the hard lines around his eyes.

Time stretched on, until one of the elders, gray-haired and kindly, finally broke the silence. "Naruto, son of Kushina," he said. "Perhaps you should know that even as a member of the Hōshi-ke, we won't force you to go to Konoha."

Naruto blinked, unsure if he believed it. Shinpachi had seemed uncertain about the idea of going, and despite his status from a higher house, the choice had been made for him. Something didn't add up. Was this a test? Were there other factors he couldn't see? "Yes, sir," Naruto replied cautiously.

"Why are you here, then?" the man asked.

Naruto hesitated, uncertain of what Noboru had already told them. His mind raced, but he masked his doubt behind a steady breath. "Because I do wish to go."

Noboru's face tensed some, and Naruto had to make himself believe he was only one among eight.

Another elder, a slightly younger woman, interrupted. "Why do you wish to leave Uzushio?" she asked, her gaze scrutinizing him. "To venture into the world, at your age? What do you hope to gain in Konoha?"

Oh, seas below, he thought, Noboru has talked. Of course he has, why wouldn't he? Out of pity…? He was furious—

A member of the council he knew — Eizan — cut through his inner monologue, in a slightly jovial manner. "There's no need to press the lad that hard, Tsukiko. There are other willing candidates. I'd be nervous too, in his shoes." He turned to Naruto with a softer gaze, as if offering him a lifeline. "That said, it is an important question. Do you wish to see the world beyond our islands?"

"Bah," Tsukiko muttered. "Considering the state of it, he'd find himself sorely disappointed."

Naruto clenched his fists. The other candidates…? There was a dark impulse in him, a half-formed thought that he discarded before it could coalesce into something real, and still, he found himself horrified at the trajectories his mind was veering toward.

"There are still things to see, out there," another woman said. "Why, if I were still able to leave, I would want to see the Imperial capital of Water for myself. I was told the years have been kind to it."

Why is she chit-chatting?

Naruto's pulse quickened as the conversation flowed around him, all too casually.

Tsukiko's sharp tone returned. "Seeing the world isn't the same as living in it, Sayo. You'd be an ornament in there, at best."

Sayo chuckled softly. "Perhaps, but I'm not talking about politics. There's beauty in seeing how the world grows, even without us."

Another man sipped his tea, as Naruto's mind raced, barely registering flickering the flickers of amusement in some of their voices. Why were they speaking like this—?

No, Naruto thought with realized dread. From the way they speak…

They had already chosen someone else. That was why they seemed so casual about the matter. That was why Noboru was saying nothing — there was no need.

That was why Tsukiko's sharpness felt more like an afterthought than a true concern. That's why Sayo could laugh and reminisce about distant cities, a pleasant daydream rather than a serious decision. That was why the others did not even bother intervening.

The ugly thought returned, and he pushed it away once more, forcefully.

Was this the price of desperation? The lengths his mind would go to when faced with failure?

They didn't think he was worthy. He was just another hopeful in a line of candidates, one they had already passed over.

Naruto's throat tightened. Every word they said now felt like an echo, ringing hollow in his ears. All this talk of the world outside felt like a cruel mockery. How could they sit there, so calmly, so casually, discussing this as if his ambitions were nothing more than an idle curiosity? The air in the room grew suffocating, his skin prickled, and with it came the awareness of how powerless he was.

And he found himself speaking before he could even think twice.

"Masters," he said, bowing his head. "I humbly ask you to give me true consideration."

He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his voice steady, his face neutral, even as Noboru hissed — which drew a few curious glances toward him. He'd already spoken, and there was no going back now.

There was a long silence.

One of the council members, an older man Naruto had never met personally but recognized as Kenzo, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He was known for his sharp mind and sharper tongue, a strategist more than anything.

"True consideration?" Kenzo's tone was cool, almost amused. "And what exactly are we failing to consider, boy? Theoretical knowledge of seals?"

"Indulge him," Eizan cut in, after a pause. "It would only be fair."

Kenzo sighed. "Pray tell then, boy," he asked, voice deceptively calm, "if you were to seal a pond's worth of chakra into a single scroll, what would you prioritize: Will, Intent, or Restriction?"

Naruto blinked, his mind scrambling. It was a trick question — it felt like a trick question. Restriction wasn't usually lumped with the two others this way. But Kenzo was playing with him. Why else would he focus on slightly esoteric questions, instead of more practical ones about the symbology itself? He knew this wasn't a genuine test of his knowledge. Still, the weight of their eyes pressed on him, and he had to answer.

He inhaled sharply. "Without sufficient will, you can't impose anything," Naruto began, unsure of the connections he felt he was drawing on the spot. Think. "...But intent and restriction control the seal's form and power. Without either, the seal would collapse…"

Kenzo raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in a dismissive smile. "You're stalling."

"Restriction," Naruto pressed on, thinking as he spoke, "would limit the chakra's reach, its passive effect. The tighter the restriction, the more focused and stable the chakra becomes. Too loose, and the chakra would scatter and lose form. But too much restriction, and you risk choking off the power entirely. Or burying it so deep you wouldn't be able to access it. Without the right intent, of course, you'd have nothing to work with — But then again, for that much chakra, it would require a much stronger will than…"

Naruto swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Kenzo's smirk deepened. "So? Which one?"

Naruto hesitated for just a moment before responding. "…All three. You'd need all three."

"That's not what I asked."

Naruto took a breath. "You can't prioritize one. Will gives life to the seal, intent directs it, and restriction controls it. If you focus on one, the seal fails."

Kenzo's eyes narrowed, but Naruto pressed on, voice firmer now, "The trick isn't in choosing which is more important. It's in balancing them. If I only relied on will, I'd be pouring water into sand. If I only relied on restriction, I'd choke the power, coiling it so tight it might burst out and kill me. If I focused only on intent, the seal might take perfect shape, but without enough will behind it, there'd be no force driving it, leaving it hollow, weak." The answer was clear. "It's the balance of all three — will to fuel it, intent to shape it, and restriction to control it — that keeps the seal stable, functional, and powerful."

Kenzo's smirk faded slightly, but his eyes remained sharp, and calculating. "So, what you're saying is…"

"I'm saying," Naruto interrupted, "you can't afford to choose between them at all. You balance them. That's the only way to safely seal a pond's worth of chakra into a single scroll."

"See?" someone asked. "The boy has some promise."

Kenzo ignored that person. "And, aside from the fact that such a thing currently is entirely beyond your understanding of sealing language, it would leave all of the components weaker, as well. For example, what would happen when your restriction weakened over time? What good would your seal then be?"

Naruto opened his mouth to respond and then paused. When he began talking again, Kenzo cut him off.

"Exactly. Sealing isn't only a game of theoretical precision, it's just as much about application. Practicality. And you, despite your claims, lack it."

Naruto's frustration was growing. He had been Noboru's student, and it felt as though this was used against him, with no other ground. And Noboru, who didn't seem to appreciate Kenzo's intervention, still didn't bother intervening. He simply looked away from Naruto.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Naruto's chest tightened, a lump rising in his throat. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, holding back the urge to shout.

Another elder, a woman named Kayoko, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "The boy's not wrong, however, Kenzo," she said, her voice even, "and he does have an impressive grasp on theory."

Boy. Again. Naruto nearly spat out his name in frustration, tired of being dismissed. But Kayoko's tone carried no malice, only a neutral observation. That, at least, kept him from snapping.

Kenzo's scoff cut through the air. "Bookishness won't hold a seal, Kayoko. I asked him rather practical questions — appropriate questions — and he stumbled."

"Was anything he said wrong, however?" she asked.

"Misguided," Kenzo snapped, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"Well, that is to be expected, considering his situation."

Naruto, who had remained silent, clenched his fists before lifting his head. "One question," he said, voice low but determined. He couldn't let the fear that twisted in his gut show. He wouldn't back down. "I humbly ask of you, Master, ask as many as you want. If I get even one of these appropriate questions truly wrong, I will leave right away."

For a moment, Naruto wondered if this was the most foolish thing he had ever said in his life.

"Foolish words." Kenzo's eyes locked onto Naruto with a sudden intensity, as if he had just raised the stakes in a game Naruto didn't know he was playing. "Let's see if you're ready to answer a few more questions properly, then."

Naruto's heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to stand tall. His mind raced, every possible answer flickering through his head like a blur. Don't mess this up.

Kenzo squared his shoulders, barely masking his anticipation. "If you were partially binding an injured person's chakra system to prevent further damage, how would you maintain enough flow for healing without worsening the injury?"

Naruto blinked, his mind locking onto an answer he thought he knew. "Innate healing, or foreign?"

"Innate."

"I believe — You'd need a two-tiered seal, one to contain the excess chakra that might worsen the injury, and a secondary layer to allow a controlled, steady flow for healing. You'd have to manage the chakra like a valve — too much, and it would burst through the body; too little, and the wound might not heal at all."

"When creating a seal to contain corrosive chakra, how do you protect the scroll from being eaten away? Do you adjust the seal's design, or reinforce the material?"

Naruto's jaw tightened. "Both. The seal requires a buffer layer to prevent direct contact with the corrosive chakra, acting as a barrier. I'd also use chakra-resistant material, like talisman paper infused with earth chakra or fire-tempered parchment, to reinforce the scroll—"

Kenzo didn't flinch, launching the next question. "What about overlapping seals? If you were layering a tracking seal with a defensive one, how do you stop interference between the two?"

"You'd need to delineate the boundaries between the seals. Each seal has to occupy its own space in the matrix, like separate paths for chakra flow. You'd also have to tune their frequencies differently — tracking seals pulse regularly, while defensive seals stay constant. The key is to avoid overlap in function so that they might work independently while coexisting in the same structure."

Kenzo's eyes narrowed, clearly trying to find a flaw. "If you were to seal a sentient being, like a summoned creature, how would you preserve their consciousness inside the seal? How do you keep their mind from breaking?"

This time, Naruto was silent for a while. Kenzo smiled slightly—

"I'd use a stabilizing seal," Naruto said hesitantly, "to mirror the creature's own chakra flow, allowing it to remain connected to its original state even in containment. You'd need to design the seal to allow the mind some freedom of movement so it doesn't become overwhelmed or disoriented. You also have to monitor the seal's pressure regularly, to adjust if the mind shows signs of strain—"

"Risky. Do you have any idea how delicate that balance is? A single misalignment in the chakra resonance and the creature's mind could collapse in on itself. Besides, if you give too much freedom of movement within the seal, it might grow strong enough to break free. Too little, and it suffocates."

"…Yes," Naruto admitted.

The room was deathly quiet, but Kenzo wasn't finished. "And if a seal begins to leak chakra under strain, how do you repair it in real-time without dismantling the entire thing?"

Naruto didn't flinch. "You use a binding seal as a temporary patch. To reinforce the leaking points while redirecting the chakra flow back into the containment structure. You'd need to tighten the weak spots just long enough to stabilize the flow so the seal can be fully repaired later."

"What about a reversal?"

"…A reversal?" Naruto asked. It wasn't a term he was familiar with.

"A Sealbreak," Kenzo explained irritably, and this one, Naruto knew about. "If someone tries to break a containment seal, how do you stop it from being turned against you?"

"You build fail-safes into the seal's structure — triggers that activate if someone tampers with the containment. For example, a counter-seal that automatically reinforces itself if it detects tampering, or even explodes if this reversal process reaches a certain point. You'd have to layer the defensive measures to make it harder to turn the seal against the creator."

"Ha!" Kenzo laughed. "Would you be able to do such a thing?"

"...No," Naruto admitted. "Of course not." He took a deep breath. "Of all the things I have mentioned, I can do almost none. But, someday—"

"Answer the original question, then. When sealing a volatile amount of chakra into a scroll, how do you ensure that the restriction is tight enough to prevent collapse without suffocating the seal?"

Naruto exhaled, ready this time. "You calibrate the restriction based on the chakra's volatility. You tighten it just enough to hold it in place but leave space for slight fluctuations. You have to gauge the chakra's temperament and adjust the restriction accordingly."

Kenzo's eyes gleamed as he fired another. "When using physical materials for a seal — scrolls, talismans — how do you account for degradation over time? What adjustments do you make to ensure longevity?"

Naruto responded quickly. "I'd embed preservation seals into the material itself, slowing the natural wear and tear. You can also infuse the paper or talisman with chakra periodically to refresh it, making sure it stays stable over time. Seals, like anything physical, need maintenance, but a well-preserved material can last far longer if reinforced properly."

Kenzo's final question came, colder and sharper. "And when a seal requires Sacrifice, how do you determine what to give up? Blood? Chakra? Something more? What have you ever truly sacrificed to make a seal last?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Naruto didn't dare meet Noboru's eyes, too afraid of what he'd find in them right now.

"…Sacrifice is personal," Naruto said quietly. "It's more than ink or chakra or blood — although it can be just that, too. Using something tied to the purpose — like blood when binding a seal to life, or perhaps even a memory when trying to preserve something precious. The depth of the sacrifice depends on the seal's intent, and upon the weaver."

"And chakra itself," Kenzo said flatly. "Its very own eldritch Will."

"…Yes, sir. The Unknown."

The room was silent.

"I believe we have heard enough," Kayoko said. "Any of the questions you mean to ask, we know he can answer, already. And what he can't is expected to be beyond him."

Kenzo scoffed again, but it sounded more frustrated than before. "…Theory means little when the world is falling apart, Kayoko. He may understand the core principles to some extent, particularly so considering what little he's been given, but he lacks the experience. He's too green to survive a day outside of Uzushio."

"That is our failing, however, not his," the man who had been sipping on tea quietly countered. "Kenzo, you're too quick to dismiss him."

Naruto turned toward the speaker, his heart leaping, but the older man's gaze wasn't on him. It was locked onto Kenzo, flat and unwavering. "You claim he lacks practical experience, yet you forget," he continued, his tone steady and deliberate, "to mention that he has been more driven than any of the candidates we have chosen. For years on end, now."

Kenzo's frown deepened. "And yet, his own teacher won't vouch for him."

Naruto's chest tightened, his heart stilling in a moment of dread.

"That is true," Tsukiko said quietly. "Noboru. Why hold back, if you believe you have trained him well? I know you to be fair, certainly, but this is a bit much, isn't it…?"

This was it.

To Naruto at least, Noboru's face said everything. His eyes, dark and intense, barely concealed the simmering anger beneath the surface. For a moment, he locked eyes with Naruto, his expression flickering with emotions — brief, almost invisible shifts.

Before Noboru could speak, Naruto found his own voice breaking the silence. "Before Master answers," he said, his words drawing surprised glances from everyone — and surprising himself, too. "I would like to answer one more question I've been asked before."

Where to begin?

Dad dy—… leaving when I was seven? Mom's illness after that? Watching her life slowly slipping away? Feeling so helpless it nearly destroyed me…? That day at sea? Karin?

He saw their eyes on him, and all he saw were several images, juxtaposed — a frail body, a fire, accusing eyes.

I want to become so strong that nothing like that ever happens to me again.

The thought gripped him with a terror unlike anything he'd ever known. It felt as real as the need to save his mother — or worse, more real, in this instant. The idea of breaking free, no longer forced to bow beneath those cold, unfeeling eyes. To never be powerless again.

"I wish to leave Uzushio," he began, locking eyes with each council member in turn, and trying to let this part of his truth bleed into his voice. "Not because I seek adventure." He closed his eyes. "So that I might learn enough to heal my mother. It's going to take training. And time, and study. And I have come to believe I will not reach this goal in time, here. Not fast enough. If Uzushio had the answer, she would've been healed already."

He felt the heat rising in his chest, the intensity of his own words surprising him. But the truth was, nothing mattered more. Not the fear that drove him. Not the real possibility of offending their clan pride. His fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his voice even, cutting off any chance of protest.

"I'll do whatever it takes. Become the Hokage's personal dog, if I must. Hold on to life so tightly Uzushio will never have to send another Sealweaver until I pass from old age.

"If Konoha's famed medical arts hold the key, I'll learn them all. I will study everything that might help. I will get to know people, too. I'll study under Lady Mito herself. If Konoha doesn't hold the answers, then I'll create the path myself." His voice grew harder, resolute. "I will become a Sealweaver the likes of which Uzushio has never seen."

I will have my mother back.

There was a long moment of silence, in which Naruto realized he had vastly overstepped…

And then, Eizan laughed. The sound rang out, startling Naruto and breaking the heavy silence. "Well, lad," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "if nothing else, you've got Uzumaki fire in you! I'll give you that."

Naruto stared at him, unsure if the elder was mocking him or genuinely impressed. And whether the cold, calculating glint he saw in the jovial man's eye was real or imagined. The same thing went for the rest of them, and for a moment, he felt surrounded by skyhawks — or sharks, perhaps.

Tsukiko was unamused. She sat forward, her sharp gaze slicing through the levity like a knife. "Fire? More like recklessness," she said, her tone icy. "You think this is a game? A child's fantasy? That you'll just walk into Konoha, learn their secrets, and come back a savior?" Her voice dripped with skepticism, her eyes narrowing. "Your passion blinds you, boy."

Naruto's stomach dropped. It sounded too much like Noboru's words. He held his tongue anyway. Anything more, and they might dismiss him outright.

"Perhaps," Kayoko interjected, her voice softer but firm, "but the boy's conviction cannot be ignored. He speaks from a place of true purpose. Such a thing matters."

The man who had been quietly sipping his tea — one of the two whose names remained unknown to Naruto — offered a subtle nod. "There is something to be said for someone willing to take the risks he's proposing. His understanding of sealing — theoretical, at least — is advanced for his age, and I can see the potential."

"Potential often is just that," Kenzo said sharply. "It doesn't save lives. It doesn't bring people back. And most times, it doesn't even get to be cultivated before it is cut down."

Naruto's jaw tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to shout back, to tell the old man he didn't know what he was talking about, but instead, he forced himself to breathe steadily.

Noboru hadn't spoken yet. His gaze remained fixed on Naruto.

The kindly elderly man, however, raised a hand. "Enough. The boy has spoken with more heart than half the candidates we've seen. Reckless or not, he deserves to be considered."

Tsukiko crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she shifted her attention to Noboru. "And you, Noboru? What do you have to say?"

The silence felt endless, stretching with the weight of unsaid things, and the tension within Naruto continued to rise.

At last, he spoke, his voice carrying a chill Naruto hadn't fully expected. "He's already said his piece, hasn't he?" Noboru's eyes didn't waver. The words hung in the air, final and, to Naruto at least, distant.

"There is nothing else for me to add."

The Selection's results would be announced the next day.

The decision wasn't final yet, Naruto knew that much. But he had felt a shift in the room, subtle but unmistakable.

He had either been heard, or fully dismissed. He couldn't be sure which it was. The way Noboru had looked at him — distant, detached — he couldn't be.

He had either convinced them, or he had sealed his fate to remain in Uzushio forever.

The thought gnawed at him. Had his words helped? Or had they doomed him?

There was no way to know until tomorrow, and the uncertainty clawed at him. If Noboru truly suspected what Naruto had done — and when the other council members found out — there might be no path forward for him here.

No teacher would take a student who took such drastic risks with their teachings. Not one with crippled potential, on top of it. And for what? A chance, a fleeting hope…? Would anyone else ever see it that way? Or would they only see a boy who pushed himself to the edge without knowing if he'd make it back?

He should go home. His mother might be waiting for him, even though the thought scared him.

The thought of home, however, only came with complicated feelings. Staying here, with no clear path forward, felt like a slow suffocation. He couldn't bear the thought of watching her worsen.

Night had settled, wrapping the island in its usual quiet, and it was a night full of clouds. They billowed in the distance, heavy and thick; booming in layers, rolling from the distant sea toward Uzushio's jagged cliffs; underneath, and occasionally, above.

And there, on a cliff, he sat, where the occasional rustle of wind that swept up from the sea below could ruffle his hair. He felt tired, not just in his body, but deep within — like the weight of the past days (or years, perhaps) had drained him of something vital. His limbs felt heavy, and his mind clouded with the same uncertainty that filled the sky.

He wanted to curl into a ball, to pull himself tighter and tighter, as if he could make himself small enough to disappear entirely. If he put his thumb in his mouth, maybe he could shrink even more.

Perhaps this was it, then—

And then, as if in answer to his thoughts, the sky shifted.

For a brief moment, the clouds parted. Slowly, the pale sliver of the moon emerged, silver and delicate, hanging just above the horizon. Naruto's breath caught. It was faint, barely visible through the wisps of cloud that still lingered, but it gleamed anyway. Small. Distant. But it was there.

His heart, which had been starting to feel truly worn, stirred at the sight. It was nothing more than a glimpse, but it was enough.

Enough to remind him that beyond the storms, beyond everything he couldn't control, there was still something pure, untouched by the darkness. Something that would never fade away, no matter how long the night.

The struggles, the doubts — he was sure they would pass. And in their wake, something greater would remain.

Then, the stars emerged.

When they came, they broke through the veil of clouds all at once, like a great wave crashing against the sky, flooding the darkness with their soft, steady light.

And as though carried by this great wave himself, Naruto finally closed his eyes and wept.

lensdump

i/nUjblK : A Silent Undertaking

AN: Some light bonding with the old generation.

Next chapter: Pillars