"I heard the Fourth Hokage kept something dangerous locked away." Mizuki leaned against the academy's weathered gate, moonlight catching his kunai knife. "Something powerful enough to make even *you* worthy of being a ninja, Naruto."
The words hung in the chilly air, sharp as shuriken. Naruto's palms dampened against the forbidden scroll's rough sealskin binding, its weight digging into his ribs beneath his orange jumpsuit. This wasn't just training; this felt like betrayal coiled in parchment. Mizuki had promised him respect—a shortcut past the sneers and isolation. Yet the jonin's smile didn't reach his eyes as he gestured toward the forest's shadowed treeline. "Hurry now. Before anyone notices."
Trees blurred into dark streaks as Naruto sprinted, branches whipping at his cheeks. He stumbled into a clearing where Mizuki waited, arms crossed. Before Naruto could speak, a fist slammed into his gut, knocking him breathless to the mossy ground. The scroll tumbled free. Above him, Mizuki's laughter turned cold. "Foolish boy. Did you truly believe a monster like you could be trusted?" Naruto scrambled backward, dirt grinding into his scraped palms. Mizuki's boot pinned the scroll. "You're nothing but a cage for the Nine-Tails."
Pain exploded behind Naruto's eyes—not from the blow, but from the flood of memories crashing through his skull. Ancient battles roared in his veins: crimson moons over fractured mountains, the tang of blood and ozone, the weight of a sword forged for slaughter. *Kokoshibu*. The name tore through him like a kunai. He remembered centuries of carnage, the demon slayer's rage burning beneath the Nine-Tails' chakra. Mizuki froze mid-taunt, confusion twisting his face. Naruto's vision narrowed to pinpricks of amber light. The world tilted. Something feral uncoiled within his ribs.
A phantom scent filled the clearing—wisteria poison and scorched earth—as Tanjiro's final, sunlit blade flashed behind Naruto's eyelids. He felt the sting of arrogance cracking like porcelain, the thunderous realization that his immortal pride had blinded him to mortal courage. The memory seared deeper than any wound: his own head tumbling through ash, the survivors' ragged cheers echoing his failure. *Weakness*. The word hissed through his thoughts, mingling with Kurama's growl. Mizuki's mocking words became distant echoes against the roar of centuries. Naruto's fingers dug into damp moss, knuckles whitening.
Mizuki raised his kunai again, blade glinting cold. "Pathetic," he spat. "Crying won't save you—" His voice cut off abruptly. Naruto's head snapped up. Not tears, but crimson chakra licked like flames around his pupils, pupils elongating into vertical slits. A low, guttural sound vibrated from Naruto's throat—half-human growl, half-demon's snarl. Mizuki stumbled back a step, the kunai trembling in his grip. The air thickened with ozone and ancient malice. Beneath Naruto's torn jumpsuit, seal-marked skin pulsed with dark light.
Iruka's shout shattered the tension. "Naruto!" The teacher burst through the trees, forehead protector gleaming under moonlight. His eyes widened at Mizuki's predatory stance, the forbidden scroll pinned underfoot, and Naruto's crouched form radiating primal fury. Mizuki's lip curled. "Too late, Iruka. The beast knows what it is now." Naruto's gaze never left Mizuki. Kokoshibu's memories coiled like serpents—whispers of blood arts, techniques buried beneath Kurama's cage. His hand twitched toward a jutsu sign. *This time*, the demon lord's echo promised, *no arrogance. Only annihilation*.
Across centuries, another echo answered—gentle, relentless. Naruto gasped as scents of sun-warmed bamboo and polished wood flooded his senses. Not battlefields, but a quiet courtyard. Sunlight dappling Tatami mats. Calloused hands guiding Naruto's—*Kokushibo's*—smaller fingers around a wooden sword hilt. "Balance here, Michikatsu," Yoriichi's voice resonated, warm as summer rain. Naruto felt Kokoshibu's earlier self—Michikatsu—blink, unburdened by ambition, laughing as his brother corrected his stance. The memory burned bright: shared laughter over sticky rice cakes, the weight of Yoriichi's hand on his shoulder—a trust pure and absolute before Muzan's poison seeped into their world. Mizuki blurred before Naruto's watering eyes, replaced by Yoriichi's earnest smile. The Nine-Tails' chakra stuttered, momentarily adrift in the sudden flood of brotherhood forgotten. *Not rage. Not yet.*
Behind Mizuki, Iruka surged forward, kunai drawn. "Step away from him!" Mizuki sneered, twisting toward Iruka's charge—a fatal distraction. Naruto lunged. Not with Kurama's rage, but with Michikatsu's disciplined precision. His fist slammed Mizuki's jawbone with a sickening crack, bone-deep and clean. Mizuki reeled, kunai clattering onto moss. Instinct whispered Kokoshibu's techniques—*Breath of the Moon*—but Naruto's muscles remembered Yoriichi's drills: economy of motion, flawless placement. The air hissed past his knuckles. Mizuki crumpled, gagging blood, disbelief etched into his slack features. Naruto stood panting, crimson chakra receding like a tide obeying lunar pull. He stared at his fist, trembling not with Kurama's fury, but with the ghost of his brother's pride. *That blow… Yoriichi taught me that.*
Iruka skidded to a halt, kicking Mizuki's kunai aside. His eyes flickered between Naruto's glowing pupils and the unconscious traitor. "Naruto…?" The teacher's voice cracked. Naruto met Iruka's gaze, centuries of Kokoshibu's loneliness crashing against Uzumaki's isolation. The scent of wisteria faded; Kurama's growl became a distant murmur. "Sensei," Naruto rasped, voice raw with Michikatsu's longing for family, "he said… he said I'm the Nine-Tails' cage." Moss lay shredded where his fingers had clawed roots moments ago. "But Mizuki's wrong." Kokoshibu's memories whispered of Yoriichi's unwavering faith—*You're more than a weapon, Michikatsu*—melding with Iruka's trembling nod. "We're more than cages."
Darkness pulsed beneath Naruto's torn jumpsuit—Kokoshibu's dormant power coiling against Kurama's chakra. He bent, retrieving the Scroll of Seals. Its sealskin felt colder now, heavy with forbidden knowledge and Mizuki's deceit. Iruka reached out, hesitant. Naruto clutched the scroll tighter. Kokoshibu's thirst for power warred with Yoriichi's hand guiding his blade against Mizuki's jaw. *Balance*. Naruto's gaze slid toward the village rooftops glittering beyond the trees. The Nine-Tails snarled within its bars; Kokoshibu's blade-arm remembered six katana. But Michikatsu's ghost lingered too—a boy who'd laughed with his brother. Naruto breathed deep, ozone and bamboo mingling. The world tilted again—not toward annihilation, but toward a precipice no demon lord or jinchuriki had ever faced. One step forward—forked paths branching into shadow.
Moonlight sliced through the canopy, painting stripes across Naruto's bloodied knuckles. Mizuki groaned softly, pinned under Iruka's knee. The jonin's gaze—slack-jawed, disbelieving—flicked between Naruto's vertical pupils and the scroll. Kokoshibu's arrogance surged: *Pathetic*. Naruto's mouth twisted. He raised his free hand palm-up. Crimson chakra sparked—a flickering ember yearning to ignite Kurama's inferno. Images flashed: mountains cleaved by crescent blades, villages drowned in blood-moon light. Power throbbed in his veins. His lips parted. "Moon Breathing…" The ancient syllables scraped his throat, resonant, terrible. "…First Form—"
Silence. Only the rustle of leaves. Naruto froze mid-incantation. No blade manifested. No lunar crescents shredded the night. Just his empty palm trembling in the cold air. Kokoshibu's memories screamed—*Six swords forged from flesh and fury!*—yet Naruto held only bruised knuckles and torn orange fabric. Mizuki's weak chuckle cut through the stillness. "Fool…" Iruka tightened his grip, silencing him, but confusion etched his brow as he watched Naruto's glowing eyes dart from his hand to the unremarkable moss beneath his feet. The phantom weight of Kokoshibu's blades evaporated like mist. Naruto's arm dropped limply to his side.
A snort escaped Naruto's lips—sharp, disbelieving. Then another. It built low in his gut, a bubbling pressure against centuries of demonic grandeur. He clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. Laughter spilled out—hoarse, incredulous. "Heh… heh heh…" Mizuki's sneer faded into bewilderment. Iruka stared. Naruto doubled over, clutching his ribs, tears stinging his scratched cheeks. The absurdity crashed over him—shouting forgotten katana forms at a traitorous ninja while wearing a bright orange jumpsuit in a Konoha forest! Kokoshibu's prideful ghost recoiled, but Michikatsu's forgotten lightness surged. Naruto wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Six swords? Fancy sword swings?" His voice cracked between giggles and Kurama's fading growl. "Tch! What was I thinking?" The laughter felt alien, purging. Centuries of slaughter met Uzumaki's ridiculous grin. Above, the moon shone—just a moon. Not a weapon.
The Scroll of Seals pressed heavily against Naruto's chest once more. Its surface hummed subtly beneath his fingers—not just Mizuki's touch, but a deeper cadence that echoed Kokoshibu's ancient pulse. Naruto stiffened. His vision flickered—not memories this time, but a visceral echo: ink-stained parchment under calloused hands mapping forbidden seals, moon-bleached cliffs where demonic energy bled into earth veins. *This scroll…it knows*. Kurama stirred restlessly within its cage, the chakra reacting to the resonance. Naruto's breath hitched. The mossy scent vanished. Instead, cold stone dust flooded his nostrils, mingling with the ink-and-ozone tang radiating from the scroll. Iruka's concerned murmur—"Naruto?"—washed over him unheard. The scroll wasn't just a tool; it was a key vibrating toward a lock Naruto hadn't known he carried.
Iruka hauled Mizuki upright, binding his wrists with quick, practiced motions. His gaze never left Naruto. The teacher's jaw clenched—not fear, but fierce resolve. He stepped closer, careful to avoid Naruto's flickering crimson aura. "Listen to me," Iruka's voice was low, urgent gravel scraping against Naruto's whirling thoughts. "Whatever Mizuki said, whatever… *that* is—" he gestured slightly toward Naruto's eyes, "—you're Uzumaki Naruto. My student." Kokoshibu heard dismissal; Michikatsu heard unwavering belief. Naruto inhaled sharply. The scent of Iruka's worn flak jacket—sweat, pine resin, chalk dust—cut through the phantom stone dust. Real. Immediate. Kurama snarled, a sound dampened by Michikatsu's brief memory of Yoriichi's firm grip. Naruto's trembling fingers tightened on the scroll. The moonlight felt colder now, clarifying the choice: cling to ancient echoes or face this forest, this scroll, this moment.
Beyond the trees, Konoha's Hokage monument loomed—its carved faces stark against the star-flecked sky. Naruto's gaze traced the Fourth's impassive stone profile. The scroll's humming grew louder against his ribs, syncing with the Nine-Tails' churning chakra and Kokoshibu's murmurs of forgotten power. Naruto straightened. Not laughing now. Not trembling. Mizuki's betrayal was a pebble; the scroll's secrets were mountains. He met Iruka's worried eyes squarely. "Sensei," Naruto's voice held neither rage nor fear—only the unnerving stillness before a storm breaks. "We need to see the Hokage. Now." His hand rested protectively over the scroll, fingers tracing a seal-mark he hadn't consciously noticed before. It pulsed faintly beneath his touch, whispering promises older than Kurama's cage. The forest held its breath.
As they walked—Iruka restraining Mizuki's limp form, Naruto keeping pace—the path blurred. Suddenly, Naruto wasn't walking on moss but crushed marble. Moonlight shifted, staining the world crimson. Before him stood Muzan Kibutsuji, tall and terrible, the air thick with cloying sweetness masking decay. Kokoshibu—no, *Michikatsu*—knelt, breath ragged with desperation. His brother's dying gasp echoed in his ears. *Power*. The word wasn't Muzan's voice alone; it slithered from Naruto's own throat in shared memory. Muzan's nails, sharp as scalpels, pierced Michikatsu's neck. Pain exploded—a thousand needles shredding humanity. Naruto* gasped audibly, stumbling. He clutched his throat, phantom ichor coating his tongue. Beside him, Mizuki sneered weakly. "Hallucinating already, beast?" Iruka tightened his grip, silencing him, eyes locked on Naruto's flaring amber pupils.
The vision deepened. Michikatsu's transformation carved into Naruto's nerves: bones elongating, flesh warping beneath silk kimono as six katana erupted from his back in wet, tearing crescendos. Each blade's birth echoed Kurama's claws scraping against Naruto's ribs. Muzan's voice coiled like smoke: "Serve well, Kokoshibu." Naruto tasted ash—not forest loam, but the ashes of Michikatsu's mortal life. Pride curdled into hunger; loyalty shriveled into subjugation. He felt the demon lord's first obedient bow—the sickening thrill of newfound strength warring with the hollow ache where Yoriichi's pride once resided. Muzan's command—"Show me carnage"—rang with Mizuki's earlier taunt: *Show me you're worthy*. Naruto flinched as phantom blood sprayed across his vision, thick and copper-scented. His steps faltered, boots scuffing gravel that sounded like snapping bones.
Konoha's gates materialized ahead, torchlight pooling warmly on worn wood. Naruto blinked hard, Kokoshibu's memories receding like a receding tide—leaving his skin clammy, his jumpsuit clinging with sweat not wholly his own. Yet beneath the horror, something else resonated: Muzan's meticulous dissection of demonic arts, Kokoshibu's obsessive refinement of the Breath of Moon. Techniques. Secrets. *Power*. Naruto's gaze dropped to the scroll humming against his sternum. Its sealskin binding felt unnervingly familiar—like the grip of a sword hilt long shattered. He glanced at Mizuki, then at Iruka's steadying hand on his shoulder. Kokoshibu's path had begun with kneeling before darkness. Naruto's jaw tightened. He wouldn't kneel. But he wouldn't ignore the scroll's siren song either. The Third Hokage awaited answers. Naruto walked faster—toward truths only a reincarnated demon slayer could unlock.
The Hokage Tower's heavy oak door loomed before them, carved with Konoha's symbol—a leaf Naruto had longed to represent. Iruka shoved it open, half-dragging Mizuki's limp form into the dimly lit chamber where the Third Hokage sat flanked by ANBU, his pipe smoke curling like ghosts in the lantern light. Before Naruto could step over the threshold, the stone floor dissolved beneath his sandals. Cold, stagnant water surged around his ankles, the stench of rot and damp concrete clogging his throat. Torchlight flickered off grime-slicked walls—endless tunnels stretching into suffocating darkness. This wasn't the Hokage's office.
Naruto stood knee-deep in sewage, the water's chill seeping through his jumpsuit. Ahead, silhouetted against the dim glow of a distant, barred cage, stood Kokoshibu. Not a memory—*solid*. His six unnerving eyes, golden and slitted, fixed on Naruto with ancient disdain. Moon-pale skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones, the demon slayer's layered kimono pristine despite the filth, untouched by the dripping condensation. Behind him, beyond iron bars thick as ancient trees, Kurama's massive form shifted in shadowy confinement. The Nine-Tails' single crimson eye snapped open, bathing Kokoshibu in hellish light as a low growl vibrated through the pipes. The air crackled with ozone and the fox's raw, sulfurous breath.
Kokoshibu's voice echoed, hollow and resonant, like steel dragged across stone. "You cling to *this*?" His gaze flickered toward the spectral image of Iruka's hand still hovering near Naruto's shoulder—a ghostly echo from the world above. "A teacher's pity? A village's scorn?" Kurama's chains rattled violently, the beast's fury a physical pressure against Naruto's ribs. Kokoshibu raised a clawed hand, palm upturned. Above it, six phantom blades materialized—ethereal, jagged, humming with barely restrained violence. "We were divinity made flesh. Mountains bowed. Moons bled." The blades dissolved into mist as Kokoshibu's eyes narrowed. "And you... beg for acceptance wearing *orange*."
Naruto's fists clenched in the frigid water. Kokoshibu's contempt scraped against his soul like rusted steel, but the memory of Yoriichi's smile—warmth extinguished by Kokoshibu's own betrayal—rose sharp and undeniable. "And we also pushed away our own brother," Naruto retorted, his voice echoing strangely in the sewer's dripping gloom, "in our foolish pursuit of power." Kokoshibu's golden eyes flickered, the ghost of Michikatsu's regret surfacing beneath millennia of arrogance. Naruto pressed on, the words tasting of ash and wasted centuries. "Ran straight into the waiting arms of Muzan like *idiots*." Kurama's growl deepened, a resonant counterpoint to Kokoshibu's sudden, brittle silence. The phantom blades shimmered violently, then dissolved entirely.
Above them, Kurama's colossal eye narrowed—not at Kokoshibu, but at Naruto. The Nine-Tails' sulfurous breath hissed through barred teeth. *"Pathetic,"* the fox rumbled, the vibration shaking droplets from rusted pipes. *"You lecture a corpse about regret while begging humans for scraps."* Kokoshibu's lip curled, his form wavering like mist disturbed. Naruto met Kurama's crimson gaze squarely. "I'm not begging," he shot back, knuckles whitening around the Scroll of Seals still pressed to his chest. Its ink-stained surface pulsed faintly beneath his fingers—a tangible anchor to the Hokage's office waiting beyond this vision. "And he's not just a corpse. He's *me*. A mistake I won't repeat." Kokoshibu flinched, a ripple of disintegration tearing through his moon-pale kimono.
The sewer's grime-slicked walls began to dissolve. Kokoshibu's form frayed at the edges, his six eyes dimming from molten gold to fading embers. As he vanished, his final whisper hung suspended in the reeking air: *"Yoriichi…"* Naruto staggered, the sewage vanishing beneath his sandals. He stood once more on solid stone—the polished floor of the Hokage's office. Torchlight replaced the dripping gloom, illuminating Hiruzen Sarutobi's lined face, his pipe forgotten mid-puff. Beside Naruto, Iruka's grip tightened on Mizuki's arm, the traitor's head lolling. ANBU masks remained motionless, but tension thrummed like plucked wire. Naruto's gaze dropped to the Scroll of Seals clutched in his fist. Its humming had ceased. For now.
Then—*light*. Pure, unfiltered sunlight spilled through the high windows, impossibly bright, bleaching the shadows beneath the Hokage's desk and washing over Naruto's torn jumpsuit. It carried warmth on its rays—sun-warmed wood, sun-dried grass—utterly alien to Konoha's predawn chill. Within that radiance stood Yoriichi Tsugikuni. His gentle smile fractured Kokoshibu's lingering arrogance like tempered glass. Flame-patterned haori sleeves stirred in a breeze that didn't touch the Hokage's papers. His crimson hair, tied high in its iconic ponytail, seemed woven from sunlight itself. Naruto gasped; the scent of polished wood and summer sweat flooded his senses—Yoriichi's forge, Michikatsu's childhood. Kurama's chakra recoiled deep within Naruto's gut, a subdued growl echoing in the sudden silence. Yoriichi didn't speak. He simply looked at Naruto—not at the Nine-Tails' cage, not at Kokoshibu's ghost—but at the boy trembling beneath centuries of warring legacies.
Yoriichi raised a hand, calloused palm open. No sword, no threat. Naruto's breath hitched. The gesture mirrored a thousand forgotten moments: Michikatsu stumbling during sparring, Yoriichi reaching to steady him. Behind Naruto, Mizuki groaned softly. Iruka shifted, confused by Naruto's transfixed stare into empty sunlight. The Hokage leaned forward, his aged eyes narrowing—not at Yoriichi, whom he couldn't see, but at Naruto's trembling lips, the tears tracking clean lines through dirt on his cheeks. Yoriichi's smile deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His lips parted. The words weren't heard; they resonated directly in Naruto's marrow, bypassing ears and skull: *"Strength isn't blades or beasts, Michikatsu. It's choosing who you protect."* The sunlight intensified, wrapping Naruto like an embrace. Kurama's snarl faded into uneasy silence. Kokoshibu's phantom blades dissolved into motes of golden dust.
The light winked out. Yoriichi vanished. The Hokage's office snapped back into sharp focus—lantern glow, pipe smoke, the metallic scent of ANBU armor. Naruto swayed, the Scroll of Seals slipping slightly in his sweat-slicked grip. The Third Hokage exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke curling toward the ceiling. "Naruto," Hiruzen began, his voice graveled with weariness yet edged with command, "why do you hold the Scroll of Forbidden Seals?" Mizuki lifted his head, venom in his gaze. Iruka tensed. Naruto straightened, Yoriichi's warmth still singing in his veins. He met the Hokage's eyes—not as a jinchuriki pleading, not as Kokoshibu demanding—but as Naruto, forged anew. "Because," he said, the words clear and unwavering, "someone lied about what I am. And it's time I learned the truth." Kurama stirred, a low pulse against Naruto's ribs. Not rage. Curiosity. The scroll's seals pulsed once—soft, syncopated—against Naruto's palm.
As Naruto lifted the scroll higher, a tremor ran through the ancient sealskin. Not Kurama's chakra. Something colder, sharper. The ink lines flared—not Konoha's familiar script, but jagged, angular symbols bleeding crimson light. Naruto gasped. The scroll grew impossibly heavy. It wasn't parchment; it felt like stone, vibrating with a deep, bone-shaking hum. Suddenly, *it tore*. Not along seams, but ripped from within by an invisible force. Obsidian mist poured out—thick, cold, smelling of ozone and grave soil. It coalesced mid-air, twisting, writhing, pulling substance from shadow. Metal groaned—a sound like grinding teeth. From the dissipating ink-smog, it emerged: Kokoshibu's blade. The obsidian hilt was smooth as river stone, ending in a twisted guard shaped like monstrous, clawed fingers. Above it, the blade itself wasn't steel, but solidified darkness except for six jagged spines erupting along its length—each spike shimmering with trapped moonlight. And where the blade met hilt, embedded in the metal, two unnerving eyes snapped open—vertical pupils burning with Kokoshibu's molten gold fury.
Silence choked the room. Hiruzen's pipe clattered onto the polished wood floor. ANBU hands flew to kunai pouches, blades glinting under lantern light. Mizuki whimpered, scrambling backwards against Iruka's grip. The sword hovered before Naruto, humming with predatory stillness. Its golden eyes locked onto him. Kokoshibu's presence roared back—pride, hunger, millennia of slaughtered moons. Naruto's hand trembled. Kurama snarled, chakra flaring crimson around Naruto's pupils in reflex. The blade's spines pulsed faintly, resonating with the Nine-Tails' growl. It wasn't just a weapon; it was Kokoshibu's soul made manifest, drawn forth by the scroll's forbidden knowledge and Naruto's fractured legacy. Yoriichi's sunlight warmth seemed a distant dream against this consuming darkness. Naruto reached out, fingers brushing the obsidian hilt. Cold sharper than winter shot up his arm. Images flooded him: a crescent blade cleaving mountains, villages screaming under a blood-red moon. Power—raw, terrifying, intoxicating—thrummed through the sword and into his veins.
Naruto's fingers clenched around the hilt. The sword didn't resist. It settled into his grip like a missing limb returned, the obsidian humming against his palm. Kokoshibu's satisfaction vibrated through the metal—a conqueror reclaiming his throne. But Naruto breathed deep, clinging to the scent of Iruka's chalk-dust flak jacket nearby, to the echo of Yoriichi's words: *Choosing who you protect*. He raised the blade. Not to threaten the Hokage. Not to strike Mizuki. He held it horizontally before him, the six moonlight spines gleaming wickedly, its golden eyes watching him with ancient disdain. Kurama's chakra flared amber around his free hand gripping the scroll. Naruto met the sword's gaze, his own eyes blazing with defiant blue light beneath the crimson haze. "Listen, you oversized kitchen knife," Naruto growled, his voice echoing strangely—part Uzumaki rasp, part Kokoshibu's resonance. "This isn't the world of demons anymore . And I'm *not* kneeling to Muzan or Mizuki or *you*." The sword pulsed, a ripple of cold fury shaking its obsidian length. Naruto grinned, sharp and fierce. "We're gonna do things *my* way."
The blade's eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Gold irises contracted, pupils thinning to slits. Confusion radiated from the weapon—palpable and unsettling, like ice cracking beneath Naruto's fingers. Kokoshibu's centuries-old arrogance faltered; the sword vibrated faintly, spines flickering as if short-circuiting. The Nine-Tails' chakra surged instinctively around Naruto's legs, crimson tendrils licking the air like protective flames. Hiruzen Sarutobi's sharp intake of breath cut through the silence. Naruto didn't look away from the blade's bewildered stare. He leaned closer, his whisper carrying the ghost of Michikatsu's forgotten laughter. "Yeah… Didn't think a kid in orange could confuse the great Kokoshibu, huh?" The sword's eyes blinked rapidly—three times in quick succession—as if trying to refocus. Its humming stuttered into dissonance: Kokoshibu's hunger colliding with Uzumaki's stubborn refusal.
Deeper confusion emanated from the blade. Its gaze drifted past Naruto—past the trembling Mizuki, past the taut ANBU—toward Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Third Hokage's lined face reflected purest disbelief, pipe smoke forgotten, his knuckles white on the armrests. The sword's golden eyes lingered on Hiruzen's forehead protector—Konoha's leaf symbol stark against aged steel—a symbol of an era Kokoshibu never knew. Kurama's growl rumbled deep inside Naruto's gut, echoing the weapon's disorientation: *This place… these weaklings… why does it feel… wrong?* The blade's spines dimmed, moonlight leaching from their jagged edges. Its confusion wasn't just intellectual; it was sensory dissonance—the absence of Muzan's cloying presence, the strangeness of lantern-lit stone walls instead of moonlit battlefields. Naruto felt it through the grip: the sword was lost, adrift in time and purpose. He tightened his hold. "Still think humans are pathetic?" Naruto murmured. The blade blinked again, silent.
Then Naruto moved. Swift, decisive, nothing like Kokoshibu's predatory grace. He slammed the sword's point into the polished stone floor with a dull *thunk*. Obsidian scraped marble as he twisted the blade, forcing it upright like a lodestone planted in reality. "We stay," Naruto declared, locking eyes with the weapon, Kurama's chakra blazing crimson around him. "And you? You learn." The sword's golden eyes flared wide, pupils trembling. Confusion hardened into shock—then something deeper: the first, fragile fracture in Kokoshibu's millennia of certainty. Naruto grinned. Around them, Konoha waited.