Naruto simply couldn't stand the smug look on Sasuke's face.
His head heated up, and the words burst out before he could stop them:
"At least it's better than being someone who has everything arranged for him—who doesn't even know which path he should walk, whose thoughts might've been stuffed into his head by someone else!"
The remark struck with terrifying precision at the deepest wound in Sasuke's heart.
Itachi Uchiha.
The brother who had pushed him down a path of hatred according to some so-called "for your own good" script—without ever giving him the full truth.
Sasuke had always felt anger, humiliation, and a deep helplessness because of it.
Now, with Itachi nowhere in sight, all that pent-up frustration had nowhere to go.
Naruto's careless yet razor-sharp jab was the final spark that ignited the powder keg.
"You—BASTARD—NARUTO!!!"
Sasuke's face flushed red.
He forgot all about composure and aloof pride. With a roar, he lunged forward like a cannonball and threw a punch.
"Waaah! Sneak attack! That's dirty!"
"Sasuke, you've got no sportsmanship!"
Caught off guard, Naruto took the hit squarely and yelped—but he immediately fought back without hesitation.
The Pure Land
In the Pure Land, the soul of Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki radiated a gentle, ancient light.
Seated cross-legged, he watched the Heavenly Curtain with mild interest as it replayed the "drama" of his own youth.
What the Heavenly Curtain displayed was far from a perfectly faithful historical record. It resembled more an interpretation—constructed from fragments of truth, heavily dramatized, perhaps even purposefully altered.
As someone who had lived through those events—and stood at their very center—he could easily discern what had been embellished.
Yet unlike Black Zetsu, he felt no anger at being "rewritten," nor did he attempt to interfere.
He was more like a patient observer. A detached scholar.
He waited, curious to see what the unseen orchestrator intended.
Now, at last, the narrative had shifted fully onto him—portraying the ideological rift between himself and Kaguya, dramatizing the budding of his philosophy of "mutual understanding."
A knowing smile curved across his lips.
"I see…"
The Sage of Six Paths murmured softly, his voice echoing through the stillness of the Pure Land.
"So, Weaver of the Heavenly Curtain… is this your method? To systematically present—perhaps even 'promote'—a particular philosophy?"
"First, you use my mother's story to illustrate the origins and hidden dangers of rule through absolute power."
"Then you present my youthful words to introduce the prototype—and the dilemma—of idealistic communication."
"Next, will you show how that ideal met resistance in reality? How it was betrayed, distorted, and ultimately led to conflict and tragedy?"
"To prove the path you consider 'correct'? Or perhaps to utterly deny certain paths?"
The glow around his soul grew calmer—wiser.
Rather than offended, he felt something akin to academic curiosity.
"Very well."
The Sage inclined his head slightly, as though addressing an invisible opponent.
"I shall watch closely. Let us see how you intend to refute my younger self… how you portray my later transformation… and what conclusions you draw from it."
"Do you advocate harsher pragmatism? A rejection of the chakra system entirely? Or perhaps… a possibility even I never conceived?"
A spark of intellect flickered in his eyes.
"By observing how you weave your tale—how you construct conflict, assign fate, and shape dialogue—I may glimpse something of you, the one stirring the shinobi world and seeking to reshape its understanding. A most unusual philosophical debate."
—
(Yin An: …You're seriously overthinking this.)
—
Thus, the Sage of Six Paths adjusted into a more comfortable posture and continued watching.
He was not merely observing a story.
He was studying its storyteller.
A millennium of wisdom allowed him to engage in this cognitive storm sweeping the shinobi world in his own unique way.
For him, this was both reflection—albeit altered—and a rehearsal for future ideological clashes yet to come.
Back in the Heavenly Curtain
The young Hagoromo did not abandon his thinking after being reprimanded by his mother.
Instead, he began stepping beyond the core region beneath the God Tree, frequently interacting with the people under her rule.
He listened patiently to their concerns, learning about their daily lives and hardships.
At first, the villagers approached the gentle "Divine Prince" with reverence and restraint. But soon they realized that Lord Hagoromo genuinely wished to help them—and bore no airs.
Requests began to surface.
The roads between villages turned to impassable mud after rain—could they be leveled?
During droughts, water became scarce—could deeper wells be dug?
Rocky hills blocked precious farmland—could more fields be cleared?
For ordinary people, such projects demanded enormous labor, resources, and risk.
In Hagoromo's hands, they became effortless.
He redirected water to carve irrigation channels.
He shifted earth and stone to pave roads.
He worked tirelessly, watching villages grow more prosperous, seeing more smiles upon their faces.
To him, this was the meaning of action born from understanding.
His heart swelled with fulfillment.
One day, after helping a remote settlement solve its water shortage, the villagers surrounded him in gratitude.
An elderly man sighed sincerely.
"Lord Hagoromo is truly benevolent… But the world is vast. There must be countless corners like ours still in need of help."
"You are but one person, no matter how great your power. How can you possibly aid them all?"
"If only… if only there were more people like you—kind-hearted and powerful—helping others across the world…"
The words struck Hagoromo like thunder.
He had been focused on solving individual problems, one by one, without considering the broader picture.
"Yes…"
He murmured, new light igniting in his eyes.
"You're right."
"My strength alone is limited. But if… if there were others who shared goodwill—and possessed the power to help—spread across the world, cooperating, supporting one another…"
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