Hinata witnessed the final moments of the battle between Sasuke and Itachi. The way Sasuke used his lightning breathing to redirect part of his Kirin from below was nothing short of brilliant. He had learned, grown—just like her. And because of that, she hated what she had to do next.
With Sasuke unconscious, she guided him deeper into Yumegakure, to a specific Silver Node—one where healing and regeneration didn't occur. It was a calculated move. Itachi wanted Sasuke to awaken his Mangekyō Sharingan, and for that, Sasuke needed to see his brother not as an enemy, but as someone he deeply loved. To achieve this, Hinata and Michel had agreed to stage a small play, one in which Sasuke would be the unwilling audience. Michel took on the role of "Obito" for a short time, recounting Itachi's tragic tale.
The story told of the darkness within Konoha: Danzō, Sarutobi, and the elders who weaponized Itachi to destroy his clan and prevent a potential war. A selective truth, sculpted for effect. Michel had the insight to say exactly what Sasuke needed to hear.
Hinata couldn't watch. Though she knew Michel could see Sasuke's soul, knew the words to sway him, she couldn't bring herself to be present. It was a part of herself she disliked: the manipulator.
Hours passed. Eventually, Michel emerged from the deep cave, still in disguise. She didn't need to see his expression—his aura spoke volumes. He was finished, but not proud of it. Without a word, he vanished.
She remained. Long enough to hear the scream from within the cave. It froze her heart and broke her composure.
When Sasuke finally stepped into the light, his Mangekyō Sharingan flared—and he saw her. Her tear-streaked face. His eyes softened.
"I'm sorry, Sasuke," she whispered, lowering her gaze.
He approached and sat beside her. "Not as sorry as I am… But now I know what comes next."
Hinata wanted to speak, but no words came. Sasuke continued, his voice laced with fury: "Konoha. They forced my brother to sacrifice everything. They'll pay for what they've done."
His anger radiated like the sun. It burned.
"I have a confession…" she began, her voice trembling. "And I know it may burn away any trust you have left…"
He tensed beside her, but didn't move away.
Slowly, she placed her hand over his chest. He allowed it.
Channeling her bloodline, the power of Yumegakure, she linked his spiritual and physical selves. In that moment, Sasuke's body in the real world began to match the growth his soul had undergone here.
He felt it—the immense shift. And saw clearly where he was. Yumegakure.
He recoiled, stepping back.
"What's happening? Where am I?"
She wiped her tears with her sleeve and met his gaze. His Mangekyō Sharingan swirled ominously.
"The most important thing I can tell you… is that your brother is alive. And you can still save him."
Shock. Disbelief. But no lie—his Sharingan confirmed it.
"How? I saw him die… I killed him."
"Your fight began in the real world… but ended here. That was my first lie."
His soul stirred in a maelstrom of emotions.
"Explain."
"Yes, your brother lives. But he's suffering from a disease—one even he couldn't understand. I arranged for Tsunade, the Fifth Hokage, to treat him."
She could see his emotions, too many to count, but suspicion and betrayal were apparent. "Then why the deception? Was that masked man telling the truth?"
Hinata clenched her fists. "I hated lying to you. I value you, Sasuke. And yes, what he said was true… from a certain point of view. The elders of Konoha… they were, they are, monsters. But Tsunade isn't one of them. She's trying to help your brother. We did this because Itachi wouldn't accept another future. He wanted to die. This was the only way to change that. He wanted you to awaken your Mangekyō. If I told you the truth earlier…"
He interrupted her, bitter but composed. "No… It's done. What matters now is… you're right."
He reached out his hand, his sharingan deactivated and he gave her a small, tired smile.
"So how about you take me to see that idiot brother of mine?"
His quick change of position surprised her, and she couldn't help but take his hand.
<<<< o >>>>
From the elevated spires of the lunar sanctuary, Hinata watched as Hiashi spoke with Haru. The elder treated her father and sister with the deference one might offer royalty, as if recognizing in them the remnants of a nobility long buried. The conversation was tense, weighted with the knowledge that the army approaching from beyond the cratered horizon now wielded the stolen power of Hamura himself.
Haru, once a scholar and now an unwilling commander, was not the original patriarch of his faction. That line had ended in betrayal, in ash and blood. What remained now was a crumbling city, its white-stone towers marked by battle, and a people growing weary beneath an artificial sun. The looming battle, hours away, would shape the moon's destiny—and perhaps unravel the world Michel had sought to protect by reaching into the past.
Hinata stood still. She exhaled. And then, she opened her Mind's Eye.
Reality shifted.
The World of Intent flooded into her perception. Her senses extended past her body, sweeping outward across the city and into the dark canyons beyond. There, she saw it: an endless sea of puppets—humanoid constructs, precise and merciless—marching forward. They moved with unnatural unity, their forms guided by spiritual threadwork too refined for mortals. At their heart, a radiant core glowed—an artificial sun forged from the Tenseigan's power. Focused like a lens, it was ready to scorch anything in its path.
Hinata turned to Hanabi and saw the same realization in her eyes. Yet Hinata saw more.
She reached deeper.
She denied the lunar gravity, the gentle push of the Tenseigan that anchored all living things here. Her blood stirred in answer, potent, new and transcendental. The rules of this world no longer applied. Her hair floated freely around her face. The earth no longer claimed her. Using her spiritual threads she connected them to the earth for just an instant to propel herself towards her goal to quickly head towards the army, beyond the city walls.
Threads of spiritual energy coiled around her limbs—extensions of will and intuition. She moved with effortless grace, as strange silver lines appeared and disappeared in her wake. The enemy reacted. From the valley below, goden beams of condensed Tenseigan chakra arced toward her like falling stars. But her threads danced with her thoughts, redirecting her path, weaving evasion into art.
Closer now.
At the edge of the army, a single puppet rose to meet her. It mirrored one of the two living men among the mass. An old warrior. His eyes, though artificial, held a wisdom shaped by pain and purpose. He spoke, his voice echoing like stone in caverns:
"Who are you? You are not of the blood."
"My name is Hinata Gin," she declared, her voice strengthened by chakra, reaching every soul in the valley. "I have come to speak with my ancestor, Hamura Ōtsutsuki. And perhaps, before this war defiles his legacy further, you might consider doing the same."
The puppet's face contorted in fury. "How dare you speak his name! You blaspheme the honored dead! For such arrogance, you must die!"
A golden light began to rise from below. Thousands of constructs prepared their weapons. Others condensed their energy into golden orbs, preparing them to be launched. The air trembled.
Hinata raised her hand.
"Puppets... I've seen this before."
Her threads surged. They slipped between dimensions, bypassing matter and form.
She felt her soul creak with the effort... but even so her blood responded, Yumegakure helped to ease the pain and her own will made an act that for all the spectators was impossible... no more.
Her threads found the Tenseigan's invisible pulse—its command lines, its energy lattice—and cut them.
The golden glow vanished.
What remained were two men: the elder and a younger follower. Their faces wore awe and fear in equal measure. She descended slowly.
"This war ends now," Hinata said softly. "I seek the Temple of Hamura. And I believe you'll want to come with me to that meeting."