"Starting today, you'll be learning from her."
In a dimly lit underground laboratory beneath the Uchiha district, Uchiha Kai stood beside a timid girl named Iori, presenting her to Hyuga Aya.
Iori's large, anxious eyes flickered toward Aya, unsure of what to expect.
Kai was known for being decisive. Once he made up his mind, he acted without delay. After assessing Iori's current progress, he had brought her directly to Aya—no hesitation.
Aya, as usual, looked exhausted. Kai understood that her responsibilities had piled up lately, and she could use help. At the same time, he needed to accelerate their research.
"Still just a child?" Aya asked, raising an eyebrow. Her voice wasn't surprised—only mildly amused.
"But if you start training them young, I suppose it's a good investment. She's from the orphanage?"
"Yes," Kai answered calmly. "The most promising one. In a way... she's my sister now."
Aya smirked. "I see. So your parents have taken a liking to her?"
"More or less. But that's not why I brought her here." Kai's tone remained cold. "She doesn't need to join the Anbu or Root. She doesn't need to steal secrets, or carry out assassinations. She just needs to be... normal."
Normal?
Aya's smile turned slightly bitter. If running experiments on the human body counted as normal, then perhaps the definition had shifted drastically.
She didn't argue. She'd already seen what Root meant firsthand. The ninja Kai killed recently had a cursed seal on his tongue—an unmistakable sign of Root indoctrination, designed to prevent any secrets from being spoken even under torture. It wasn't standard Anbu protocol.
Root was crueler than Anbu. Their loyalty was absolute, their individuality discarded. Orphans were often funneled into it—trained not as people, but as tools. Once you joined Root, your life essentially ended.
Kai was offering Iori an alternative.
Aya didn't comment further. She simply gestured to a nearby Uchiha guard and instructed him to show Iori around and explain the basics of lab protocol—what to say, what not to say.
Once Iori was gone, Kai followed Aya deeper into the lab to undergo his next round of testing.
The procedure didn't torture him the way it once had, but the lingering effects still showed. His skin had paled. His chakra reserves had fluctuated. But he was recovering faster with each injection.
Aya, already familiar with their fusion tests, handed Kai the latest results.
"Your body has begun to adapt to the implanted cells. It's not just mutation—it's closer to evolution. Your recessive genes are becoming more active."
Kai nodded, expression unreadable.
He glanced at his own hand, now lighter than before. "Still... the skin tone is a bit much."
"At least you're not growing another face out of your shoulder like Orochimaru," Aya teased. "Plenty of girls would envy that porcelain skin of yours."
Kai rolled his eyes. It was true: the whitening hadn't passed into grotesque territory. But he didn't like the direction. It made him feel... unnatural.
The only consolation was that the transformation had plateaued. No additional body modifications. No monstrous side effects.
"Also," Aya added, "your chakra capacity is expanding. Rapidly."
"I noticed." Kai sighed. "My reserves feel deeper. The Mangekyō drains less chakra than before. Still... progress is slow."
The fusion of White Zetsu cells with his own Uchiha DNA remained unstable. Results fluctuated wildly—some subjects fused with over 80% success, others failed catastrophically. The fusion rate was inconsistent and dangerous.
Aya had tried everything to stabilize the integration, but White Zetsu's cellular structure remained unpredictable, even for her.
Still, Kai had seen one benefit: his Mangekyō Sharingan burned through chakra at a noticeably slower rate. Pupil power—something only Mangekyō users understood—no longer drained as rapidly when he activated his dōjutsu.
That alone made the experiment worth it.
"It's not perfect," Kai muttered, "but it proves the cells are working. Even if just barely."
"As long as there's progress, it's a success." Aya's voice was firm. "Uchiha Osamu's body yielded plenty of usable samples. While I prepare the next batch, I'll teach your 'sister' how to handle them safely."
"Good. You handle the prep." Kai crossed his arms. "When's my next injection?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tch... was considering paying someone a visit." Kai's voice darkened slightly. "But I'll delay it. I want to see how this round settles first."
Aya didn't press him. She knew Kai too well. There was always something beneath his words—a plan, a target, a mission.
Konoha Cemetery.
The village was quiet that day. A gentle breeze rustled the trees as Hatake Kakashi knelt at a familiar grave—the name inscribed was Rin Nohara.
He silently removed the old, withered flowers and placed new ones.
"Sorry," he said softly, "It's been a while."
His voice was calm but weary.
"It's not that I forgot you. Just... work's been complicated lately. Sensei gave me a tough mission—internal village stuff. Messy politics."
Kakashi chuckled bitterly. "You wouldn't have liked it."
"I've been doing better though. kai helped me. A lot. He reminded me of something I lost—something you and Obito tried to teach me."
He looked down.
"Losing you both... it broke me. Turned me into a ghost. I wasn't really living anymore. Just moving."
He paused for a moment.
"Ridiculous, huh? I thought I was being strong, but I was just running away."
"Kai showed me something. An illusion—no, a truth. One I didn't want to see. I realized that if I stayed the same, if I kept pretending not to care... you wouldn't want to see me again, not even in the Pure Land."
"I'm sorry, Rin. I can't join you and Obito yet. I still have people here—people I don't want to lose."
"When the time comes, I'll come to you with stories—about friendship, pain, and how I finally lived the way you would've wanted."
He stood slowly.
"Oh—there's one more thing. It's still classified, but I think it's okay to tell you."
"Sensei's child is about to be born." Kakashi smiled softly.
"I think... it's October. The war's almost over. The future is beginning. And maybe... just maybe, their generation won't repeat our mistakes."
Unbeknownst to him, in the forest behind the cemetery, a figure in a dark cloak and swirl-patterned mask watched silently. The mask's lone eye gleamed crimson—a Mangekyō Sharingan, filled with quiet rage and sorrow.
The wind carried no sound. Kakashi never turned.
But the man in the mask remained there for a long time.
Watching.