Kiyohara turned off the faucet. He toweled off quickly and changed into fresh ninja gear.
He opened the courtyard gate.
Sure enough, Kurenai was standing there, looking expectant. Leaning against the doorframe next to her was Genma, chewing on his signature senbon.
"Kurenai, Genma? Why are you here?"
"We heard you're taking the exam today," Kurenai said, blinking her crimson eyes innocently. "We happened to be free, so we came to see how much skill you've been hiding."
"Exactly," Genma shifted the needle to the other side of his mouth. "Minato-sensei praised you to the heavens. We want to see if the hype is real."
"Let's go then. Don't want to be late."
The three walked toward the exam venue. The streets were busy with ninja and civilians, the bustle of village life a stark contrast to the silence of the forest.
As they walked, Kiyohara conversed with the Missing-nin internally.
"About the Last Words Letter..." Kiyohara projected his thought. "You said when you were alive, you received messages from other timelines too?"
"Correct," the spirit replied.
"The first time was twenty years ago. I was escorting research data for Orochimaru when I was ambushed. I barely escaped. Then, it appeared in my mind."
"The future self I encountered was a Jashinist—a follower of the Evil God."
Kiyohara raised an eyebrow. 'Jashin Kiyohara? That's dark.'
"His dying wish was simple: Experience deep pain once. So I stabbed myself in the thigh. Wish granted. Unfortunately, he didn't have any special jutsu. I only inherited a boost to my Spiritual Energy."
"As expected," Kiyohara nodded mentally. "So, does that mean I could receive a letter from a version of myself with a Bloodline Limit?"
This was the million-ryō question.
If the urn anchored all possibilities of "Kiyohara," then theoretically, a version born into the Senju, Uchiha, or Hyūga clans could exist in the multiverse.
"Theoretically... yes," the Missing-nin admitted. "But I never figured out the pattern. The urns appeared randomly. After the Jashinist, I waited a month for the next one. Then nothing for years because I couldn't fulfill the wish."
"So only one urn exists at a time," Kiyohara deduced. "It's not an omnipotent wish machine. It's a gacha game."
"Essentially. And the inheritance is random. Maybe you get chakra, maybe experience, maybe jutsu. I got the Jashinist's pain tolerance, but not his immortality ritual."
"I see."
Kiyohara digested this.
It wasn't a guaranteed path to godhood. It was a loot box.
Currently, the Rogue Ninja's legacy—combat experience, Wind Release, and pragmatism—was enough to carry him to Chunin. But to survive the endgame (Madara, Obito, Kaguya), he would need better rolls.
"What happens to you after I complete your wish?" Kiyohara asked the crucial question.
"I sink into the urn," the spirit said quietly. "My consciousness fades. The urn dissolves. I become fuel for your soul."
"I see."
Kiyohara looked up at the Hokage Rock.
The Missing-nin died too early to understand the full mechanics. Kiyohara would have to figure it out himself.
'I can't die early,' Kiyohara resolved. 'I need to live until Boruto. I want to see the alien invasion and the cyborgs. I don't want to become the "Old Man" for my alternate selves.'
"I'll retreat now," the Missing-nin said. "I'll reduce consumption."
He faded into the mental urn, cutting the link.
The Arena.
"That's the venue ahead," Kurenai pointed to a circular building. "There are quite a few people."
"Is that so?"
Kiyohara nodded.
It was wartime. The procedures were streamlined. No written test. No Forest of Death. Just straight combat sparring to prove you wouldn't die in the field.
"Nostalgic," Genma muttered, spitting out his senbon. "My uncle is proctoring today. If he sees me chewing on this, he'll lecture me for hours."
They entered the waiting area.
Over a dozen Genin were gathered. The tension was thick.
Everyone was a competitor. Spots were limited. Friendly atmosphere? Impossible.
"We'll head to the stands," Kurenai whispered.
"Go ahead," Kiyohara smiled. "But remember the entrance fee."
"Entrance fee?"
"Get me snacks," Kiyohara listed them off on his fingers. "Three bags of potato chips. Two bottles of Red Bean Soup. And three sticks of Dango."
Kurenai's eyes widened.
"You shameless... are you stocking up for an apocalypse?!"
"Combat burns calories," Kiyohara shrugged. "I'm a growing boy."
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