Chapter 299: The White Fang's Yard
Five-Tails Kokuō and the Nine-Tails shared a common origin. All nine of the Tailed Beasts did—fragments of the Ten-Tails, divided by the Sage of Six Paths in the ancient days before shinobi villages existed. Because of this shared essence, the beasts possessed a form of telepathy. They could communicate across vast distances, mind to mind, chakra to chakra, in a language that no human could hear.
Of course, communication required willingness. And the Nine-Tails, arrogant beyond measure, considered itself above such things. It disdained its siblings. It looked down upon the lesser beasts—the One-Tail most of all. Shukaku and Kurama were ancient enemies, their hatred for each other rivaling their hatred for humanity. The other relationships among the nine were little better. They were all tempestuous, territorial, and prone to violence at the slightest provocation. Put any two of them in a room together, and the result would be mayhem.
The only exception was Isobu, the Three-Tails, who seemed perfectly content to ignore his siblings and play alone in the water for centuries at a time. The rest of them were, as Kokuō had once put it, "fried chicken"—constantly snapping at each other, constantly fighting for dominance.
Tonight, the Nine-Tails had sensed the Five-Tails' presence in Konoha. That was part of why it had attacked the seal so aggressively. It had felt its sibling nearby and, in a moment of desperate calculation, had reached out. The two beasts had briefly cooperated through their telepathic link, the Nine-Tails using the Five-Tails' resonance to amplify its assault on the weakening cage. The combined effort had produced the massive chakra leak that had shaken the village.
But the Nine-Tails had never imagined that the Five-Tails already had a master.
In the dark room, Kokuō sat on the table beside Ragnar's bed. Her miniature form was compact and sleek, her five tails swaying slowly behind her like drifting snow. She had just returned from her reconnaissance, her telepathic senses still buzzing with the after-effects of the Nine-Tails' rage.
Ragnar had not yet formalized the Jinchūriki contract. Kokuō remained outside his body, bound to him by a pact similar to a summoning agreement. He could access her chakra—a near-limitless reservoir of power—but he did not carry her inside his flesh. This arrangement had advantages: no risk of the beast taking control, no internal struggle for dominance. But it also meant he could not access the special enhancements that a true Jinchūriki received. The accelerated healing. The enhanced stamina. The physical resilience that came from sharing one's body with a living engine of chakra.
He did not need them. His half-immortal body was already developing along its own path. The Source—that mysterious fusion of Haki and natural energy—was slowly transforming his cells, pushing him toward something beyond ordinary human limits. He would not rely on a Tailed Beast for power. He would build his own.
"What happened?" he asked.
Kokuō's ears twitched. "The Nine-Tails took advantage of its Jinchūriki's weakness to attack the seal. And it reached out to me. Tried to get me to help."
"Help?"
"It wanted me to strike from the outside while it pushed from within. Together, we might have shattered the seal entirely." Kokuō's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "The arrogant fool actually bowed its head and asked for assistance. I never thought I'd see the day."
Ragnar's expression remained unchanged. "So why didn't you help? You share the same origin. Aren't you siblings?"
Kokuō shook her head firmly. "That idiot Nine-Tails has always been arrogant and cruel. It looks down on all of us. And even if we succeeded in breaking the seal—what then? The Nine-Tails would rampage. Konoha would burn. I just found my freedom. I just found..." She paused, glancing at Ragnar with an expression that was difficult to read. "I just found a human worth staying with. I don't want to go back to a dark cage. And I don't want to see this place destroyed."
"You think I'm not bad?" Ragnar's lips curved slightly. It was almost a smile.
"Compared to most humans? You're tolerable. You don't try to control me. You don't treat me like a weapon. You just... let me be." Kokuō's tails curled. "That's rare. Most people who bond with Tailed Beasts only want our power. They don't see us. You see me."
Ragnar said nothing. But the faint curve of his mouth remained.
"Is there any other news?"
"The sealing ceremony has been set. Three days from now. The transfer must happen before the current Jinchūriki's body fails completely. If the host dies with the Tailed Beast still inside, the seal breaks. The Nine-Tails will be free. And if that happens..." Kokuō's voice dropped. "It will destroy everything. It hates this village more than anything in the world. It will kill every man, woman, and child it can find."
"Three days."
Ragnar filed the date away. His mind was already working, calculating scenarios, preparing contingencies. Kushina's safety was non-negotiable. The sealing had to succeed. If anything went wrong—if the Nine-Tails slipped its leash even for a moment—he would be ready.
In the original timeline, the transfer had proceeded without major incident. Kushina had become the Jinchūriki, and the Nine-Tails had been successfully contained. But this world was not the original timeline. Ragnar's presence had already changed countless details. If something went wrong because of the ripples he had caused...
He would not allow it.
The Next Morning
Konoha was different today.
The streets that had been so vibrant and celebratory just days before now carried a heavy, oppressive weight. People walked with their heads down. Conversations were hushed. The usual bustle of the morning market was subdued, the merchants' calls less enthusiastic, the customers' haggling less spirited. Everyone had felt the Nine-Tails' chakra last night. Everyone knew, on some primal level, that something terrible had nearly happened.
Ragnar moved through the streets with his hood drawn, his presence unnoticed. He observed the heightened security—ANBU operatives stationed at every major intersection, patrols sweeping the perimeter more frequently, even the vendors and travelers at the gates being subjected to thorough inspections. The village was on high alert. The sealing ceremony was only two days away now, and the Hokage was taking no chances.
After his morning training—a session that had pushed his body to its limits and then beyond—Ragnar set out for his destination. Tsunade, true to her word, had begun searching the Senju family archives for information on the Shikkotsu Forest. The location of the slug sage's domain was not common knowledge, even among the Senju who held the contract. If the records proved insufficient, Tsunade had an alternative plan: reverse summoning. A dangerous technique that would transport the summoner to the summoning realm, rather than the other way around. Jiraiya had reached Mount Myōboku that way, though by accident rather than design. Orochimaru had found Ryūchi Cave through dogged research and the clues left by the Jūgo clan.
Ragnar hoped the archives would be enough. If not, he would risk the reverse summoning himself. The Shikkotsu Forest held secrets he needed—knowledge about Sage Mode, about the fusion of natural energy with chakra, about the path that led to true power.
But that was for later. Today, he had a different purpose.
The Hatake Residence
Hatake Sakumo's home was located on a quiet street in Konoha's central district. It was a modest house by the standards of a man of his fame—no grand compound, no sprawling gardens, no guards at the gate. The White Fang had never been one for ostentation. His legend was written in blood and steel, not in architecture.
Ragnar found the house without difficulty and let himself through the open gate. He had taken only a few steps into the front yard when a familiar voice called out.
"Ye Chen? What are you doing here?"
Ragnar turned. Maito Dai was standing in the yard, his green jumpsuit as vibrant as ever, a cup of tea in his hand. His thick eyebrows were raised in surprise, but his expression quickly shifted to delight.
"Dai." Ragnar nodded. He had not expected to find the Blue Beast here. The two men were friends, certainly, but this was the first time Ragnar had seen evidence that Dai and Sakumo were close. What other secret connections exist in this village that I don't know about?
In the center of the courtyard, two small children were playing in the dirt. One was little Maito Gai, his bowl cut already perfectly formed, his tiny green jumpsuit already stained with mud. The other was a silver-haired boy—Hatake Kakashi, barely three years old, his expression already carrying the faint traces of the stoic prodigy he would become.
The two toddlers were, inexplicably, playing together. Gai was enthusiastically attempting to teach Kakashi how to do a handstand. Kakashi was watching with an expression that suggested he found the entire exercise beneath his dignity but was too polite to say so.
On a stone bench nearby, Hatake Sakumo sat with a teapot and two cups. He looked up as Ragnar entered, and his stern face broke into a warm, genuine smile—one of the rare expressions that transformed the White Fang from a legendary killer into something gentler. Something almost fatherly.
"Ye Chen. You came."
Sakumo rose to his feet. He had known of Ragnar's return—the Hokage had informed him, and the village's rumor mill, despite the best efforts of ANBU, had begun to whisper. He had intended to seek out his young friend, to see with his own eyes that the boy had returned safely from the hell that was the Land of Rain. But Ragnar had come to him first. The gesture meant more than Sakumo could easily express.
"Captain Hatake." Ragnar inclined his head respectfully. "I came to discuss some questions. Ninjutsu. Lightning Release."
Sakumo's smile widened. "Always working. Some things never change." He gestured toward the stone bench. "Sit. Tea?"
Ragnar accepted. The tea was warm and fragrant, the morning sunlight gentle on his face. In the yard, little Gai had successfully achieved a handstand and was shouting with triumph. Little Kakashi watched with an expression that was equal parts disdain and secret fascination.
"Kakashi," Sakumo called, his voice carrying the easy authority of a father. "Come here. Greet your brother Ye Chen."
The silver-haired toddler looked up. His eyes—dark, serious, already carrying the shadow of the tragedies that awaited him—studied Ragnar for a long moment. Then, with the solemn gravity of a child who had been raised on stories of heroes, he toddled over and stood before Ragnar.
"...Brother Ye Chen," he said, his voice small but steady.
Ragnar looked down at the boy who would one day become the Copy Ninja. The boy who would lose everything—his father, his teammates, his teacher, his students—and still stand. Still fight. Still protect the village that had taken so much from him.
He reached out and placed a hand on Kakashi's silver head.
"Kakashi," he said. "It's good to meet you."
The boy's eyes widened slightly. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned into the touch.
(End of Chapter)
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