Kiyohara and Kurenai walked side-by-side through the bustling rear-guard town.
"Are you going to sell all that?" Kurenai asked softly, glancing at the bulging sealing scroll on Kiyohara's back.
The lollipop in her mouth had shrunk to a sliver, the sugar easing the tension in her shoulders.
"Mm. Exchange it for repair funds," Kiyohara replied concisely.
He navigated the alleys and entered the familiar smithy.
He unrolled the scroll, formed a hand seal, and poof—a pile of Mist Jonin armor, weapons, and tools materialized on the counter.
The shop owner inspected the haul.
"Standard Mist Jonin mesh. Damaged, but the steel is good. Melting and recasting... 150,000 Ryo."
It was a good price. The bulk of the value came from Ao's high-grade gear.
Kiyohara nodded, satisfied. Then, he drew his own Chakra Conduction Tachi.
"Maintain the edge," Kiyohara ordered. "And drill a hole in the pommel. Add a heavy steel hanging ring."
'If I can manipulate shuriken with wire, I can manipulate a sword,' Kiyohara reasoned. 'A tethered blade turns a close-range weapon into a mid-range unpredictable threat.'
"A ring? Simple enough," the owner quoted a nominal fee.
"Take it out of the 150k," Kiyohara said. "With the rest of the money, give me two Fūma Shuriken."
Fūma Shuriken (Demon Wind Shuriken) were massive, four-bladed folding weapons. They were expensive, but their area-of-effect suppression on a chaotic battlefield was unmatched.
Kurenai watched him operate.
Looting. Haggling. Optimizing gear.
'He is so incredibly pragmatic,' she thought. 'He acts more like a veteran mercenary than a Konoha shinobi.'
"You really are... well-prepared," she noted.
"Only those who survive get to talk about ideals," Kiyohara replied, sealing the massive Fūma Shuriken into an empty scroll.
As they walked back to camp, Kiyohara's mind raced.
The war was escalating. The Mist invasion was looming.
In the original timeline, Madara orchestrated a convoluted plot to have the Mist kidnap Rin, seal the Three-Tails inside her, and force Kakashi to kill her right in front of Obito.
'Madara's goal is simple,' Kiyohara analyzed. 'He needs Obito to awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan. To do that, Obito must experience the ultimate loss of love.'
Kiyohara frowned.
'Does Rin have to die for that to happen?'
He thought about the psychology of the "Ruined King" trope.
What if Obito didn't lose Rin to death... but lost her to someone else?
NTR as a Mangekyō catalyst?
It was a morbid, cynical thought. But Madara was a cynic. If Obito believed Rin had completely moved on, that the "love" he cherished was an illusion belonging to another man... wouldn't that shatter his reality just as effectively as her death?
'It's better to make Obito turn dark sooner rather than later,' Kiyohara mused coldly. 'If I can trigger his awakening without Rin dying, I keep a valuable Medical Ninja teammate and avoid Madara's crosshairs.'
For the next twenty days, Kiyohara settled into a routine.
* Missions: Low-risk patrols.
* Social: Visit Rin's tent. Practice Medical Ninjutsu. Cultivate their bond.
* Training: Isolate himself in the forest and grind the Sword Master's Legacy.
Deep in the woods, Kiyohara swung his Tachi.
His progress was terrifying. The muscle memory of the Future Self guided his limbs.
He focused on stamina.
'A normal Jonin has about 1.0 Kakashi-Units of Chakra,' Kiyohara calculated. 'That's enough for four Raikiri uses. I'm currently at 1.5. I need to optimize my output.'
He channeled Lightning Release into the blade, keeping the voltage low but sustained, rather than a single explosive burst.
Chichichichi!
He moved through the trees. Leaves and branches were sliced cleanly in half by the vibrating, electrified edge.
"Next... Konoha-Style: Willow."
He refined Yin Release chakra, blending genjutsu with his physical swings.
Dozens of phantom swords bloomed in the air around him. His physical body became elusive, drifting like a ghost.
An hour later, sweating and satisfied, he sheathed the blade.
'Ten more days until the next Last Words Letter,' he thought. 'Just need to survive until then.'
He returned to the outpost.
The atmosphere had changed. The casual hum of the camp was gone, replaced by a rigid, terrified silence.
Genin, Chunin, and Jonin were gathered in the central clearing.
Kiyohara arrived late. He looked over the crowd.
In the center stood a man with deathly pale skin, long black hair, and golden, slit-pupil eyes. Purple markings trailed down his nose. He wore magatama earrings.
Orochimaru of the Sannin.
"What took you so long, Kiyohara?"
Rin waved him over from the edge of the crowd. They had grown much closer over the last three weeks of evening study sessions.
Kiyohara walked over, his eyes locked on the Sannin.
The war was about to get a lot bloodier.
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