Far from the hospital, behind the shoji doors of a solemn Hyūga estate chamber, Hiashi sat at a low table covered in scrolls and correspondence. His eyes, sharp yet weary, scanned the latest document left by the clan's elder sealmaster. The report was brief and cold.
"Subject: Hinata Hyūga. Seal activation successful. Chakra flow fully suppressed. Genetic viability compromised. Bloodline tampering suspected. Recommended status: sealed asset. No potential for progeny. No further clan investment advised."
Hiashi held the scroll in his hands longer than necessary. He read it again. And again. The characters did not change.
He remembered the ceremony. The way Hinata had trembled as the seal was applied. He had stood there, stoic, fulfilling his duty. Protecting the secrets of their clan. And yet...
"She is only a child," he murmured aloud.
But the words did not bring him peace. They never had. Not since the day of the sealing, when he had looked into her terrified eyes and felt something inside him grow cold. As if he had buried her himself.
A knock.
"Enter," he said.
A retainer bowed low. "My lord, the elder council requests confirmation of your assent to the reallocation of Hinata-sama's living quarters. She is no longer to remain in the main family wing."
Hiashi said nothing.
The retainer hesitated, then bowed again and left.
Hiashi stood slowly and walked to a small alcove. There, behind protective glass, was a preserved scroll of his late wife's calligraphy—a lullaby she used to sing to Hinata as a baby.
The characters blurred.
A single tear fell.
He did not understand why.
<<<< o >>>>
Back at the hospital, the quiet atmosphere of Hinata's room shifted again.
Takama remained at her side, polishing the guard of his sword in silent thought, when the door creaked open once more.
Danzo Shimura was gone, but now a new visitor arrived—a high-ranking shinobi from the Fire Daimyō's court, delivering a scroll sealed with both wax and chakra. It was addressed to Takama Gin personally.
The samurai received it without a word, scanning its contents.
His eyes narrowed.
"So, even across borders, word travels quickly," he muttered.
Kuro lifted her head, ears flicking.
The letter was from a noble family in the Land of Iron—one of the branches long loyal to Takama's house. The scroll formally confirmed two things: the confirmation of Takama's survival, and the alarming disappearance of his son, who had not returned from a recent diplomatic mission.
"Of course," Takama whispered. "They weren't just after me."
He folded the scroll and tucked it inside his robes, his expression turning grim. He stood and looked out the window, gaze heavy with purpose.
"If they harmed my son... I will carve truth from shadows."
Kuro growled low—not a warning, but an agreement.
Takama nodded once. "But first, I will speak to the Hokage. And then, if needed... to Shimura again."
<<<< o >>>>
Elsewhere in the hospital, Team 7 arrived.
Naruto burst into the waiting hall first, holding a bag of oranges. "Where is she? Where's Hinata? I brought snacks!"
Sakura followed, more composed, with a small bouquet. "Naruto, don't yell in a hospital."
Kakashi trailed behind with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his book. "Keep your voices down."
Kiba met them outside Hinata's door. "She can't speak yet. She's still recovering. But she squeezed my hand. She knows we're here."
Naruto's eyes lit up. "So she's fighting! I knew she would!"
They entered in silence. Kuro stood between them and the bed at first but, recognizing Naruto, gave a slow wag of her tail and stepped aside.
Naruto placed the oranges gently by her pillow.
"You were awesome out there," he whispered. "Even Neji couldn't believe it. Get well soon, okay? We still have to eat ramen together."
Behind him, Sakura placed the flowers. Kakashi gave a soft nod.
None of them stayed long. The room felt sacred, and they left with quiet hearts.
<<<< o >>>>
On the rooftops above, the wind moved gently, stirring the leaves of a nearby tree. But no figure stood there now.
Michel was gone.
His soul, once flickering like the silver threads he had spun, had been fully offered—first to awaken Hinata, and finally to mend the shattered spirit of Takama. There was no echo left of him in the physical world, no trace of his presence, save in the memories buried deep within Hinata's spirit and the strength now carried in the steps of the old samurai.
And yet, in the soft rustle of the leaves, it was as if something lingered—something unseen, but never truly absent.