I'd already gone over this in my head a hundred times: if the world kept tearing itself apart over tailed beasts, then someone had to put the brakes on. And like it or not, that someone was me.
"The tailed beast rebalancing plan… if we don't do this, the wars will never stop."
That's what I told Mito—though inside, all I could think was:
Great. I reincarnated into feudal hell, and now I'm basically inventing nuclear policy.
Anyone who's lived long enough knows how unstable a Jinchūriki can be. Every village in the future would treat them like walking warheads. Secure containment, emotional babysitting, constant surveillance—the whole package. Even Naruto, who literally glowed with plot armor by fifteen, still had people whispering about the Nine Tails.
Mito's expression hardened. Nobility training, years of etiquette—she carried majesty like a second chakra network.
"Have you decided, Raizen?"
Her voice was steady. Mine… probably wasn't. But I nodded anyway.
And then—yeah, I'm blaming instinct for this—I reached up and brushed her cheek.
Her skin was warm against my palm. That iron composure cracked for the briefest moment. Uzumaki Mito—future matriarch of sealing arts—actually flushed, eyes trembling like she didn't know whether to pull back or lean in.
Then I panicked like the adult-infant hybrid I was and coughed.
"Ahem. Right. So. About the tailed beasts…"
Like nothing happened. Perfect deflection. Very ninja.
She recovered fast, smoothing her kimono and regaining that noble air.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Help me seal them."
She inhaled, slow and deep, before nodding once.
"Very well."
"Good. Since I've already captured the Three Tails and Seven Tails, we can start—"
"No. Not yet."
She shook her head, red hair swaying like flame.
"To seal a tailed beast, Raizen, you need two things: the beast itself… and a container."
"Container?"
I already knew how bad this was going to be.
She continued, calm but firm.
"A vessel with vitality far beyond the norm. The best option… is a newborn."
Ah. Yeah. That tracked. Babies had ridiculous life-force. Blank slates, overflowing chakra potential. Also zero consent but… welcome to the Warring States.
"Right. Babies. Easy to get. Hard to get the right kind."
Senju infants were notoriously sturdy—something in their genetics—but stuffing all tailed beasts into Senju children would detonate Konoha's political balance like a paper bomb in a latrine. So we needed orphans, outsiders. Kids disposable enough for the village, but alive enough for the seal.
Morality? Optional. Survival? Mandatory.
"We'll handle the vessels later," I said. "For now… let's seal the Three Tails and Seven Tails as-is."
She nodded.
We left the Amamiya compound together, descending into the hidden base beneath Konoha—torchlight, damp stone, and the sharp scent of sealing ink filling the cavern. Rows of masked ANBU and sealing-nin straightened at attention.
"Lord Hokage!"
"How's preparation?"
"Completed!"
Good. The nine stone altars I designed stood in the center like giant tombs waiting for tenants. Temporary containment—no Jinchūriki needed.
"Everyone, stand back."
They obeyed instantly.
I stepped forward, bit the end of my thumb, and slammed my hands to the ground.
"Kuchiyose—Summoning Technique!"
A thunderous burst of smoke erupted. When the winds cleared, a mountain-sized turtle with three massive tails glared down at me.
"You human filth—!"
"Too loud."
A pulse from my Rinnegan dropped the beast like a puppet whose strings snapped. Three Tails writhed, tried to muster chakra, then collapsed fully under the pressure.
Before the echo faded, space twisted beside me.
"Kamui."
Seven Tails materialized in a swirl of distorted air—smaller, insect-like wings buzzing with venomous fury.
"You again?! Why do you capture us?!"
I didn't bother answering. My Rinnegan flared, and the question died in its throat. One of its eyes spiraled into my pattern.
"Sealing division—begin!" Mito commanded.
"Yes!"
Seal masters formed a circle, patterns of ink glowing under their feet as the formula spread toward the beasts like a living script.
The tailed beasts roared, but under my chakra they could do nothing except glare—two gods forced to kneel under the weight of a single human.
Amamiya Raizen.
Trash-born shinobi.
Reincarnator.
And maybe—just maybe—the only idiot insane enough to rewrite the laws of war.