Later on, the First Raikage, A, gained support for his idea and was granted control of the lands surrounding the Cloud and Thunder Gorge. Thus, Kumogakure was founded.
For a clan to survive and thrive in such harsh terrain over generations—and pass down their family name—they had to possess some exceptional physical attributes.
In the shinobi world, physical prowess is an outward expression of Yang Release.
Keiji speculated that his yang-natured chakra may have originated from the Yagetsu Clan.
The stronger one's physical gifts, the more life force they carried—and, by extension, the greater their healing factor.
Though not on par with the Senju or Uzumaki in terms of vitality, it was still impressive.
Once the moment felt right and he was sure no one was watching, Keiji stretched lazily and casually walked off, pretending he needed the restroom.
After shutting the door, Keiji pulled out a tiny slip of paper.
It was ordinary—no larger than two fingernails—and written in tiny, neat black ink:
"Yagetsu Keiji, no matter what happens, you are one of us. The gates of Kumogakure will always be open to you."
Keiji's brow lifted slightly.
The message was written in plain language—unusual for ninja communication, which typically relied on encrypted ciphers.
But considering he hadn't even graduated from the academy yet, the village must have known he wouldn't understand anything too cryptic.
He flipped the paper over.
An address. Just a simple storefront.
"A Kumogakure spy outpost…"
Keiji shredded the slip into tiny pieces and let them fall into the toilet bowl.
As the paper touched water, the ink dissolved until nothing was left.
Expressionless, Keiji pressed the flush button. The swirling current carried the fragments into the pipes below.
It was likely that Kumo regretted letting an Uchiha slip through their fingers.
But now that he was living in Konoha, they had no choice but to resort to discreet methods like this.
Konoha now wasn't the same as it had been during the time when Kumogakure had dared to kidnap the Hyuga Princess—that had been during its weakest era.
Back then, the White Fang had committed suicide, the Fourth Hokage had perished, the Sannin had left the village, and Konoha was still recovering from the chaos of the Nine-Tails' attack.
Kumo, by contrast, had been on the rise, emboldened to the point of coercing Konoha into sacrificing the Hyuga clan head.
If Hiashi hadn't had a twin brother, it would've been him who died.
The address on that paper was Kumo's version of "sincerity."
Keiji could turn it in at any time, report the spy outpost, and earn a reward.
Or, he could use it as leverage to extract favors from Kumo—or even defect.
Still, returning to Kumogakure was his absolute last resort.
Doing so would mean becoming their prized specimen—stripped of freedom, constantly monitored.
Keiji wasn't naïve. They'd almost certainly experiment on him.
That didn't necessarily mean dissection—but repeated extraction of his blood and cells, again and again, fattening him up between sessions like livestock.
And there was always the chance they'd turn him into nothing more than a breeding tool.
If it came to that, Keiji's body would be used up within just a few years.
He liked women, yes.
But not like that. Not like cattle.
And Kumo would never allow him to grow strong enough to break free. They'd keep him weak, a mere stud, and invest all their effort into brainwashing and nurturing his offspring for their own purposes.
In Konoha, even with the looming threat of the Uchiha Massacre, at least he had the freedom to train and grow stronger.
In this world, everything came with a price.
To gain something meant giving something up.
Life was a constant stream of choices.
Both staying in Konoha and leaving for Kumo had their risks and rewards—but for now, Konoha offered more safety and time to grow.
"Keiji, are you home?"
Just as he was pondering how to squeeze a few advantages out of Kumo's offer, a familiar voice came from outside.
It was Mikoto.
Keiji knew it was a check-in from the Root Division.
He closed his character book and splashed some water on his face in the kitchen, tidying up his appearance.
Breathing into his hand to check for odor, he slipped on his wooden sandals and walked to open the door.
Within Konoha, the Uchiha Clan had its own isolated district, inhabited solely by Uchiha.
Keiji had been assigned a rather dilapidated old house—spacious, but aged.
"Lady Mikoto," Keiji greeted politely, as though intimidated.
She was a jonin, after all, and he was merely a student.
Even though Keiji had lived two lives, he couldn't afford to act too composed for his age.
Sometimes, feigning weakness was the best disguise.
"Keiji, there's no need to be so formal with me," Mikoto said with a gentle smile.
Did she really come off that scary? She couldn't help but chuckle at Keiji's overly reserved demeanor.
Keiji lowered his head, dark bangs falling to obscure his expression.
"Like I said last time, just call me onee-san."
"Alright then… Mikoto-nee."
She nodded approvingly and gestured to the woman behind her, dressed like a medical ninja.
Her curvy figure contrasted with the soft sorrowfulness in her expression.
A voluptuous body that almost felt out of place…
"This is Yakushi Nono, the head of the medical unit."
"Hello, I'm Yakushi Nono," she said with a smile.
"I'm here to check your eyes for any complications."
"Thank you, Lady Nono."
Keiji led them both inside.
Soon, Mikoto and Nono were seated at the low table atop the tatami mat.
Keiji stepped into the kitchen. Standing on tiptoe, he fetched a worn paper bag of tea from the shelf, boiled water, and brewed two cups.
Watching his thin frame dart about the kitchen, Nono felt a quiet pang of sympathy.
Perhaps it was all the dehumanizing training at Root, or the bloodshed she'd endured, but lately she found herself drawn to these innocent children
like uncut gemstones, each a different hue.
"Please, have some tea."
He placed the cups on the table and sat across from them.
"Thank you."
The tea was cheap and low-grade, but Mikoto sipped it politely.
Nono picked up her cup and looked at Keiji.
Sympathy aside, duty came first.
Behind her rounded frames, her emerald eyes tracked every subtle twitch of Keiji's face as she began asking seemingly unrelated questions.
Keiji answered each one calmly.
Her questions were veiled—designed to probe whether Keiji was a spy. She even used some minor genjutsu techniques to amplify the psychological pressure.
Mikoto remained silent, her gaze fixated on the surface of her tea.
The ceiling above was covered in aged wooden panels, some already decaying. A lone moth hovered near the fluorescent bulb.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the black spider creeping forward—until it lunged and clamped its cruel mandibles into the moth.
Startled, Mikoto looked more closely.
Fine webs had already blanketed the space.
"So slow," she muttered.
She turned back to find Nono finishing her questions and preparing her instruments to inspect Keiji's eyes.