Kabuto was too mature for his age, considering Nono's situation far too much from a young age.
Everything he had meticulously built, his voluntary devotion, his endurance, the dark path for which he had sold his soul...
It turned out that from the very beginning, it was all built upon deception and a cruel conspiracy!
'I am a complete and utter fool!'
'Not only had I failed to protect the Director, I had instead become an accomplice pushing her into a deeper hell!'
The small Menma stood quietly on the water's surface not far away, his jet-black eyes watching the collapsing Kabuto without any urge or comfort.
That preternatural calmness, beyond his years, instead became an intangible pressure at this moment.
"Kabuto, I said I would help you." It wasn't until Kabuto's roars and sobs gradually subsided into low, despairing sniffles that Menma spoke again. His voice remained clear and calm, yet carried a penetrating force.
Kabuto jerked his head up, raising his tear-blurred glasses to stare fixedly at Menma. His eyes churned with the hope of a dying man grasping at his last straw: "You… Why would you-"
Menma's words carried heavy weight: "I joined an organization. Currently, I'm undercover in Konoha."
"During this time, I learned of Danzo's plan. So I begged Shura-sama to spare her life and had her secretly relocated to the Land of Stars."
His jet-black eyes looked directly into Kabuto's crumbling ones: "But if you cannot join the organization and pledge loyalty to Shura-sama-"
The following words were left unsaid, hanging like a cold blade overhead, abruptly stopping.
The implication, however, was clear.
Nono's life and death would no longer be guaranteed.
Silence.
Upon the starry water, only a deathly stillness remained.
Kabuto's heavy panting was infinitely amplified in the absolute quiet.
He looked at the five-year-old child before him, at the bottomless calm in those jet-black eyes.
The massive impact of the information and the disparity in identity made it almost impossible for him to think.
'An organization?'
'Menma was an undercover agent in Konoha for Shura's mysterious organization?'
'Why would Shura take a liking to a child like Menma?'
'Did he also possess something special?'
But all doubts, all weighing of options, all fear became insignificant in the face of those empty brown eyes and the image of Nono gently gazing at the 'substitute' in the photo.
Nono is still alive!
This is his only light!
And the switch to this light was held in the hands of Shura.
Overwhelming hatred pointed towards Danzo, who had used him as a pawn, and towards Konoha!
And now, there seemed to be only one path left in front of him.
Without the slightest hesitation.
The collapse and reconstruction within his heart happened in an instant.
Kabuto abruptly raised his hand, using his sleeve to fiercely wipe away the tears and mess on his face.
He straightened his body. Although still trembling slightly, the spy's disguise and the timidity of 'Kumamoto Kabuto' deep in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a cold desperation born from being pushed to the brink, an all-or-nothing resolve.
He looked directly into Menma's jet-black eyes, his voice hoarse yet exceptionally clear, each word seeming to be squeezed from the depths of his soul:
"I'll join."
He paused, adding, with a tone that held a final, almost humble plea.
"But… let me see her. Let me... reunite with the Director."
He needed confirmation. Confirmation that the Director still 'existed', confirmation that that light was not just another illusory bait.
Menma watched him quietly, his small face showing no change in expression.
After a moment, he slowly gave a single nod.
"Your request, I will convey it to Shura-sama."
As the words fell, Menma's small figure began to blur and turn transparent, like a reflection in water disturbed by a thrown stone.
The vast, boundless starry water surface and the brilliant Milky Way around them also began to rapidly dissipate and peel away like a fading painting.
The sensation of the cold stone floor abruptly returned beneath his feet.
The pungent smell of soup, the moldy scent of the stone walls, the lingering anger of the guard, the worried gazes of his companions,
The sounds and smells of the real world flooded back into his senses like a tide.
Kabuto remained crouched on the floor, the piece of pottery covered in soup still clutched in his hand.
He shuddered violently, as if just pulled from deep water, gasping for breath. Fine beads of cold sweat covered his forehead, and the clothes on his back were soaked through with sweat, clinging to his skin with a cold, clammy stickiness.
"Kabuto! Are you okay?" Hazuki's concerned voice sounded in his ear, filled with deep worry.
She and Shunji had already cleaned most of the mess, and a new bucket of soup sat nearby.
Natsume stood a few steps away, her gaze heavy upon him, filled with scrutiny and suspicion.
'Everything just now... was a Genjutsu!'
The time experienced in the illusory world seemed like only an instant in reality.
The sharp pain from the cold edge of the pottery piece against his fingertips felt utterly real.
The heavy thud of the iron door deep within the prison block sounded utterly real.
But even more real were the few photos clearly branded into his mind, Menma's jet-black, calm eyes, and the words, "I will convey it to Shura-sama."
Kabuto slowly, deeply, drew a breath.
The murky and cold air of the prison block filled his lungs, bringing a stinging pain, but also a strange, cold clarity.
He raised his head, laboriously, bit by bit, reassembling the expression of 'Kumamoto Kabuto', one of panic, self-blame, and clumsiness, on his face.
Only this time, deep within his eyes behind the glasses, something had shattered completely, replaced by something even colder, even harder.
"I-I'm fine, Hazuki." His voice still carried a trace of barely perceptible hoarseness, but he tried hard to restore its usual gentleness.
"Just then… I felt a bit dizzy, maybe too nervous." As he spoke, he slowly stood up, his movements somewhat stiff, as if readjusting to this shell of a body.
He crouched down again, picked up a clean rag, and began silently, vigorously wiping away the last remnants of the stain on the floor.
His movements were mechanical, yet carried an almost obsessive focus.
The salty, astringent, sticky smell of miso soup stubbornly drilled into his nostrils, mixing with the cold of the stone walls and the scent of despair.
This nauseating smell now felt like a brand, clearly marking the boundary between reality and that starry water surface.
It also marked the watershed of his life.
The Root's spy named Yakushi Kabuto was dead. What survived was a 'Kumamoto Kabuto' taking his first step into an unknown darkness upon the ruins.
He wiped the stain on the floor, as if also wiping away everything from the past.
Nono's empty eyes and the gentle smile from the photo flashed alternately in his mind, ultimately merging into a single, piercingly cold force that supported his continued forward movement.
He waited, waiting for that response.