Ren's brows knit tighter the longer he thought about it.
If the White Snake Sage was telling the truth—if the Sage of Six Paths had left a "ceiling" over the shinobi world that no one could break without permission—then this wasn't just a world of wars.
It was a world with a lock on it.
And somebody still had the key.
That thought made Ren's mood sink.
Around him, Ryūchi Cave's upper-tier snakes lay sprawled like broken ropes, huge bodies trembling on the ground. None of them dared move. None of them even dared breathe too loudly. They weren't injured.
They were just… crushed—by the sheer fact that Ren existed in front of them.
The White Snake Sage watched him with a calm face and a cautious heart.
It didn't care how Ren had gotten here.
It didn't care how he'd learned Sage Mode.
Those details were trivia.
Strength was the only language sacred lands respected.
And Ren spoke it fluently.
After a long pause, Ren finally looked up.
"White Snake Sage," he said, voice flat, "stop circling. What do you actually want?"
The old serpent's pupils tightened. A bitter hatred—old enough to have grown quiet and poisonous—flickered behind its eyes.
"Simple," it said.
"I want to work with you."
Ren didn't react.
The White Snake Sage leaned forward like it was about to reveal some grand secret.
"I want to flip the shinobi world upside down."
The moment it said that—
Space rippled.
The air folded like paper.
Ren felt the world twist once, and the scene changed.
They were no longer in the cave.
They stood in a sealed, silent pocket-space—clean, still, and unnaturally quiet. A place designed for one thing: a conversation no one else could hear.
Ren glanced around once, then looked back at it.
"You wouldn't pull me into a private space for nothing," he said. "Talk."
The White Snake Sage gave a low, ugly laugh, like it was grinding teeth.
"You know Ōtsutsuki Kaguya, don't you?"
"I do."
The answer landed clean.
Too clean.
The White Snake Sage paused, then narrowed its eyes—surprised Ren didn't even hesitate.
Most humans didn't know that name.
Most humans didn't even know they didn't know it.
But it swallowed the doubt. Ren was already an anomaly.
It raised its pipe, drew a long breath, and exhaled smoke like it was bleeding memory.
"In Kaguya's era," it said slowly, "Ryūchi Cave, Mount Myōboku, and Shikkotsu Forest stood equal."
"At that time, we made an agreement—do not interfere in Ōtsutsuki affairs."
Its voice sharpened.
"But the toad broke it."
"Mount Myōboku's old frog meddled."
"It aided Kaguya's sons."
"It taught them."
"It pushed the balance."
A pulse of chakra rolled off the White Snake Sage—cold, heavy, full of buried rage.
"Kaguya was sealed. The Sage of Six Paths took the world."
"And Mount Myōboku?" it hissed. "It got rewarded. It became the 'trusted' sacred land. It got the spotlight."
Ren listened without blinking.
He already understood the shape of the snake's grievance.
Not justice.
Not principle.
Humiliation.
"So that's your reason," Ren said. "You want payback."
"Exactly." The White Snake Sage's eyes gleamed. "I endured. I waited. I swallowed it for centuries."
"Now I want it back."
Ren's tone didn't change.
"And how do you plan to 'get it back'?"
The White Snake Sage leaned closer, excitement rising like hunger.
"I need power."
"I need fuel."
Then it said it—clean and shameless.
"I want human sacrifices."
Ren's eyes went a fraction colder.
"Human sacrifices," he repeated.
The snake nodded like it was discussing weather.
"Ryūchi Cave is suppressed," it said. "If I step into the shinobi world openly, the remnants of Six Paths power will press down on me."
"A leash."
"So I need enough strength to break that leash."
Ren's gaze didn't move.
"And your way to get stronger… is eating people."
"Yes." The White Snake Sage's tongue flicked out. "You're the Fifth Hokage. You can arrange it easily."
It smiled—slow, greedy, confident.
"Start with ten thousand."
Ren stared at it.
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
The White Snake Sage mistook his silence for agreement.
Its eyes brightened, and the greed showed through the old calm.
Then Ren smiled.
Not warmly.
Not playfully.
The kind of smile that makes the room feel colder.
"Ten thousand?" Ren said lightly.
The White Snake Sage froze.
Ren continued, voice casual—almost generous.
"As Hokage, I can give you a hundred thousand."
"Two hundred thousand."
"Three hundred thousand."
The White Snake Sage's breath hitched. Its pupils swelled. It looked like it had just found paradise.
"Really?" it whispered.
Then it laughed, trembling with excitement.
"No—three hundred thousand is too much," it said quickly, pretending to be reasonable while practically drooling. "One hundred thousand is enough!"
It leaned forward, giddy now, already daydreaming.
"With that, I'll—"
Ren cut it off.
The smile disappeared.
So did the "friendly" tone.
What was left was pressure—quiet, clean, and absolute.
The pocket-space creaked.
A faint crackle ran through the air, like reality itself didn't like being near him.
Ren stepped forward.
"You really think," he said softly, "I'd trade human lives for your tantrum?"
The White Snake Sage's expression stiffened.
Ren's eyes sharpened.
"You dressed it up like some ancient betrayal," he continued. "Like you had some noble reason."
"But in the end…"
He looked at it like dirt.
"You dragged me into a secret space to ask me to deliver you people like cattle."
The White Snake Sage's pupils shrank.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered.
Ren's voice dropped—quiet enough to sting.
"Old snake…"
The pressure swelled.
The sealed space trembled harder. Hairline fractures spidered across the air like glass under stress.
"You think you're worthy of cooperating with me?"
The White Snake Sage went still.
And in that stillness, it finally understood the truth—
It hadn't been negotiating.
It had been begging.
And it had just begged the wrong person.
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