Chapter 22

Sasuke calmly adjusted his stance, his movements precise under the silent direction of the Hokage's clone. His breathing was steady, controlled, though his thoughts churned beneath the surface.

"Better," the Hokage's clone said simply, nodding at him before turning to leave.

"Lord Hokage," Sasuke called out, his voice measured but tentative.

The Hokage's clone paused, turning back to face him. The expression—or lack thereof—on the clone's face gave nothing away. Sasuke hesitated but decided to interpret the silence as permission to speak.

He straightened, trying to appear more composed than he felt. "May I ask you a question, Hokage-sama?"

The Hokage said nothing, his gaze steady. Sasuke swallowed, choosing his words with great care. His voice, though formal, carried a note of unease. "You have been helping me a lot for the last three weeks, Hokage-sama. For that, I could never thank you enough. Under your guidance and the instruction of my sensei at the academy, I have progressed more in the last month than in the two years before that."

He paused, fidgeting slightly, his hands curling at his sides. "However… the graduation is in one week and…"

The hesitation stretched between them, the weight of the Hokage's presence making it harder to form his thoughts. Finally, he blurted out, "Will you continue to teach me after I graduate?"

The Hokage tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to make Sasuke feel like every inch of him was being scrutinized. Sasuke gulped, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite the pressure.

"Please," he added, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

The Hokage's clone stared at him for a moment longer before responding. "You are traumatized, Sasuke. You are not a normal, functioning child, even by the standards of ninjas. This is dangerous—for yourself and for others."

Sasuke's chest tightened, his denial spilling out before he could stop it. "I—"

The Hokage raised a hand, silencing him with a single, effortless gesture. The authority in that motion froze the words in Sasuke's throat.

"You want to bring back the Uchiha Clan, don't you?" the Hokage asked, his voice calm, though his words carried an unrelenting weight.

Sasuke nodded without hesitation, his conviction unwavering. "Yes," he said firmly. "Once I kill Itachi—"

"And how will you do that?" the Hokage interrupted, his voice sharp and direct.

Sasuke faltered. He opened his mouth but found no words. In his mind, he had often pictured the Uchiha compound full again, but the images were vague, like dreams half-forgotten upon waking.

"I… I will marry and have children?" he said, the statement coming out as more of a question than he intended.

The Hokage's gaze didn't waver. "And how will you find a wife? One strong enough to match the legacy of the Uchiha? Do you think a girl infatuated with you at the academy would suffice?"
Sasuke blinked, thrown off balance. He hadn't considered that. Not really.

"And how good of a father will you be," the Hokage continued, his tone unwavering, "if you don't know how to feel, how to think like a human, and how to love? If all you know is hate?"

The words struck like a blow, freezing Sasuke in place.

"Your hatred, Sasuke, is the greatest threat to your ambition of rebuilding the Uchiha Clan. You can avenge your family—I have no doubt about that. But after that? What then? What happens if you're left with nothing but ashes and anger? What happens if—"

The Hokage stopped, the sentence unfinished. He didn't need to say it. Sasuke understood.

His breath drew sharp, his chest tightening as the implication sank in. What if he became like his own father had been to Itachi? Distant. Cold. Unyielding. What if his own children, shaped by his inability to love, turned into another Itachi? What if the cycle of pain and destruction continued, and Itachi, in the end, had truly won?

Sasuke's voice came out small, almost broken. "How… how can I learn to love?"

The Hokage regarded Sasuke for a long moment, his eyes shadowed by something deeper, something almost sorrowful. Then he smiled—a small, sad curve of his lips that made Sasuke feel as though he was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable.

"You cannot learn to love, Sasuke," the Hokage said, his voice quiet but steady. "But you can let others teach you. You can give yourself the chance to grow. Love isn't a skill or a technique; it's something you build, brick by brick, with others."

Sasuke stood silent, unsure whether to speak or remain still. The words gnawed at him, unsettling in their simplicity. He waited, the weight of the Hokage's pause pressing against his chest.

"There are two paths ahead of you after the genin exam," Hiruzen continued, his tone taking on an edge of formality now. "And I have no doubt you will graduate."
Sasuke's shoulders squared reflexively, but the Hokage's gaze didn't soften.

"The first path is the one most take. You'll be placed in a standard three-person genin cell under a jonin sensei. From there, you'll be pushed, drilled in teamwork until it's second nature. You'll learn to trust your teammates, to rely on them, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. Until you can prove you're capable of that, your progress will stop there."

Sasuke's breath hitched. He didn't need to ask what that meant. No Chunin Exams. No advanced training. No solo missions. He could already feel the frustration gnawing at the edges of his composure. Worse, he pictured himself tethered to mediocrity, bound to someone like Sakura—her constant chatter, her fawning—dragging him down like a stone. The thought made his stomach twist. How could he restore his clan, let alone surpass Itachi, stuck in a loop of endless, stifling teamwork drills?

"And the second path?" he asked, his voice tight, forced through clenched teeth.

The Hokage smiled imperceptibly. Hook, Line and Sinker. He had him.

"What do I need to be here for?"

Hiruzen sighed, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of far too many years dealing with difficult subordinates. "Because, Kakashi, I cannot have my ANBU commander thinking I've been replaced by someone and trying to stab my blood clone thinking he's an impostor."

"Provisional ANBU commander," Kakashi muttered, his tone veering dangerously close to sulking. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his single visible eye narrowing in protest.

Hiroto exchanged a glance with Jiraiya, whose raised brow and faint smirk seemed to say, Your problem, not mine. He attempted the same with Ibiki, but the man was too focused on the metal slab before them, where lay what most would assume was a corpse, covered in a pristine white sheet. Hiroto glanced at it briefly before shifting his gaze to the clay pot on the counter nearby. The seals on its surface pulsed faintly, holding in check a fraction of the Kyubi's chakra.

Then Hiruzen stepped forward, pulling back the sheet to reveal what lay beneath. Hiroto had braced himself, but the sight still hit him harder than expected. It was a perfect copy of his father.
It looked like a corpse.

The body of the clone lay still, dressed in a simple medical gown, its chest exposed as if waiting for a soul. Hiroto couldn't help but notice—despite himself—that his father, even in this recreated form, was shredded. For a man of his age who spent most of his time behind a desk, it was absurd. But then his gaze fell on the scars.

So many scars.

They crisscrossed the clone's chest and arms, deep, jagged, faint, overlapping—a patchwork of history carved into flesh. Hiroto swallowed hard, his curiosity tinged with something heavier. He had been in Anbu for what - twenty years? But even there, he had not seen many body as…hurt…as this one.

"Which part do you want to start with?" Nono asked. Her voice was clinical, professional, and laced with an ever-present undercurrent of tension. Hiroto had learned to trust her skills, though he did not really care about her motives. Bound as she was to his father, her loyalty was as much compulsion as choice.

"The blood clone first," Hiruzen replied without hesitation. "Then the transformation. Once stabilized, the clone can assist with the process."

As Nono moved to prepare, Hiruzen's hands began to emit a soft glow of chakra—not the typical green of medical ninjutsu. He leaned over the clone, his movements precise, his focus absolute.

Meanwhile, Jiraiya crouched by the clone's torso, his fingers brushing the seals etched into its surface. His expression shifted, his usually carefree demeanor replaced with something more thoughtful. "What's this seal?" he asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity.

Hiroto blinked. Jiraiya questioning a seal was rare. The man was one of the greatest seal masters in the village, second only to Hiruzen himself.

"It's an inverted dispersion seal matrix," Hiruzen said, his tone slipping into his familiar lecturing mode. "When I create a shadow clone—whether nearby or far away—and it disperses, this seal allows me to redirect its memories to the blood clone instead of myself."

Jiraiya straightened slightly, his interest visibly piqued. "Ah, I see. So the blood clone, being a sturdier and more chakra-efficient version of a shadow clone, essentially acts as a hub. When its own clones disperse, the memories still funnel back to you. That's clever."

Hiruzen nodded. "It also allows me to maintain communication through the blood clone, even if I'm away in the field. One of its two main use."

"Two functions, then," Hiroto said, stepping closer. "What's the second?"

Hiruzen paused, his sharp gaze locking onto Hiroto. "Tell me, Hiroto. How long have you ever let a shadow clone live?"

"A day, maybe a little more," Hiroto answered. Why was his father asking this?

"Two days," Ibiki added from the corner, not looking up from his work.

"And do you think you're the same man now as you were three months ago?" Hiruzen asked, his question landing with pointed weight.
Hiroto hesitated. "I… suppose so. Though things have changed."

It was an understatement. He had changed a lot.

"Exactly," Hiruzen said, his voice deepening. "Clones, especially those sustained for long periods, are not immune to this. Over time, they can develop their own thoughts, their own ambitions. This link ensures that my blood clones remain aligned with me. No divergence. No risk of… growing apart. I, myself, have used a lot of clone and, more importantly, I'm old. Very old — so old that even years would not change my core being and my personality. But one is never too careful."

The words hung in the air, and Hiroto felt an involuntary shiver crawl down his spine. He glanced at the clone again, its still form somehow more unsettling with this new understanding.

Ibiki's jaw tightened, his focus momentarily slipping. A clone growing resentful of its creator was a chilling prospect, a potential security disaster waiting to happen. He trusted the Hokage, but imagining anyone else wielding such a technique…

Jiraiya let out a low whistle, his grin returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You never do things halfway, do you, sensei?"

Hiruzen's lips curved faintly. "Half-measures don't keep a village safe."

"Well, ladies," Nono said with a dry edge, adjusting her gloves. "We don't have all day."

Hiroto caught the subtle twitch in Ibiki's jaw, his rigid stance betraying his annoyance at the irreverence toward the Hokage. Nono's confidence had grown significantly since her days as little more than a trembling servant of circumstance. She was sharper now, wry, and undeniably more human.

Hiruzen, however, only chuckled softly. "You're right. Let's proceed."

The old Hokage stepped into the center of the room, his hands forming the signs for a shadow clone. Chakra flared around him, the air shifting as the clone took shape beside him, identical in every detail. It stood motionless, a blank slate waiting for its purpose. Without hesitation, Jiraiya moved to its side, his hands moving with practiced fluidity to inscribe a web of seals across its form. The glow of chakra danced along the lines as they took root, linking the shadow clone's energy to the body on the slab. Nono worked alongside them, her movements swift and precise, handing tools and adjusting the setup where needed.

As Hiruzen gave the final push of energy, the transition completed. The body on the slab came to life with a jolt.

Its chest rose with a deep, steady breath, and its eyes blinked open. The clone pushed itself upright, the medical gown shifting with the movement as it stretched its arms and flexed its neck. There was an unsettling casualness to its motions, like a man simply shaking off sleep.

"Huh," the clone murmured, its voice carrying the same cadence as the original Hiruzen. "Thought this would feel stranger. But no—just like using a standard clone."

It tugged the sheet higher, modesty apparently still intact, before swinging its legs over the edge of the slab. Standing, it adjusted its hospital pants and took a moment to stretch further. The muscles beneath the skin tightened as it tested itself, before releasing a pulse of chakra. The ripple surged outward, pressing against the walls, a wave of energy that made Hiroto's fingertips buzz. No one in the room faltered—they were all too seasoned for that—but Hiroto's eyes darted to the clay pot containing the Kyubi's chakra as it flickered, the power inside briefly responding to the surge.

The clone glanced at the pot and smirked, faintly amused. "Ah, my battery. Perhaps I should secure it a little better."

"Looking strong, sensei," Jiraiya quipped, grinning as he straightened.

"Thank you," the original and the clone said at once, their voices perfectly synchronized. It was eerie, the unison sending a ripple of discomfort through the room.

The original Hiruzen turned toward them, his expression calm but purposeful. "Now," he said, voice firm and steady, "for the second part…"

"The second part?" Ibiki asked.

Hiruzen smirked, an expression Hiroto didn't particularly like on his father—it always meant trouble. "Ah, Ibiki, I can't exactly waltz through the Elemental Nations looking like myself, now can I? The Tsuchikage might drop dead from shock. Not that it would be entirely unwelcome."

"A relooking, sensei?" Jiraiya echoed, his grin widening. "That's a new one. Tired of looking like an old, dried sock ?"

Hiruzen's eyes sparkled with that unmistakable gleam, and Hiroto braced himself like a man preparing for a storm. Here it comes. That look was the prelude to every long-winded history lecture the old man had ever delivered. They called him "The Professor," but Hiroto knew the truth—it wasn't because he knew all the techniques in the world. It was because he could bore the life out of you with a detailed recounting of the Battle of Whatever-Farm-Two-Hundred-Years-Ago, where three peasants and a drunk samurai squabbled over a turnip. Who cared? Certainly not anyone alive today. But Hiruzen? He cared too much.

Hiruzen clasped his hands behind his back, his posture straightening as he began. "This technique I'm about to use isn't one of my own design. It's far older than Konoha itself, originating during the Warring Clans Era. It was developed by the Dōkokushi Clan, a minor yet infamous group that once inhabited the northern regions of what is now the Land of Lightning. They lived near Mount Kasen, an area rich in unique minerals that allowed them to refine their chakra in extraordinary ways. The Dōkokushi were known for a technique they called 'Flesh Forging.' This ability allowed them to reshape their bodies at will—appearance, musculature, even chakra signature—all with precision. It wasn't mere disguise but a complete transformation, adaptable enough to infiltrate even the most fortified used this ability to devastating effect, infiltrating rival clans and destabilizing entire regions. However, such a talent naturally made them a target. They were destroyed by the Shoryū Clan, another faction with unparalleled detection capabilities. A proto-dojutsu that I suspect would later reemerge as the Byakugan — probably a common ancestor, though mutations…Well, that's not the subject here. The Shoryū, in turn, were obliterated decades later by the Aburame, who sought to eliminate any potential rivals in the northern regions. By then, the Dōkokushi were a fading memory—save for their techniques. Fragments of their knowledge survived. When the Dōkokushi fled northward to escape annihilation, they carried their secrets with them. Some of these secrets found their way to the Senju Clan, but none of them took time to study the secret technique. The Uzumaki, allies of the Senju, preserved these records in their archives, where I…".

Fuck, thought Hiroto. Here we go. The Professor was at it again.

Thanks for reading ! I've just launched a new story—Highschool DxD x PJO x Multicross (including Naruto): The Grand Azathoth Hotel! It already has ten chapters and is available on my profile.