Deep within the moon, in a realm that existed between reality and illusion.
Kaguya expressionlessly withdrew her gaze.
To be honest, she had not understood a single thing the insignificant mortal who had stirred that faint reaction within her had been talking about.
All those discussions about purpose, mission, connection, and peace failed to create even the slightest meaningful ripple within her ancient, solitary consciousness.
They were like the buzzing of insects.
Impossible to understand.
And unnecessary to understand.
Yet...
Whether she understood him or not, that mortal insect had somehow given her an extraordinarily rare and inexplicable sense of approval.
How strange.
She closed both her flawless Byakugan and the Rinne Sharingan upon her forehead once more.
Then she buried that insignificant and incomprehensible feeling of fondness, along with all of that incomprehensible chatter, deep within the recesses of her consciousness.
...
Elsewhere on the moon, within another mysterious and unknowable space.
Dressed in ancient robes, Ōtsutsuki Hamura slowly withdrew his gaze, a faint smile resting on his lips.
"Higashino Shinichi, is it?"
Hamura murmured softly.
"Brother... after a thousand years have passed, it seems that upon this land where we once placed such great hopes, only to be disappointed again and again, someone has finally appeared who can understand your original ideal."
"He is still immature."
"And the road before him remains unclear."
"But that aspiration within his heart is already a rare glimmer of light upon a land that has been soaked in hatred for far too long."
"It's just..."
"I wonder whether he can truly continue walking this path in the end."
"And whether he can forge a road that even we ourselves failed to—"
Before he could finish speaking, Hamura suddenly frowned.
A hint of helplessness crossed his face as he let out a quiet sigh.
Raising his eyes, his gaze seemed to pierce through layer upon layer of space, looking toward Hamura's Temple on the lunar surface.
There, the conflict between the two branches of his descendants had grown increasingly severe.
The divide had nearly reached the point of irreconcilability.
...
On the lunar surface.
Hamura's Temple.
The atmosphere that had briefly calmed because of the Great Tenseigan's disturbance had once again become tense.
In fact, it was even more volatile than before.
"Nobunaga! I think you've truly lost your mind!"
"Were you really dazzled by a few pretty speeches?"
"You can't seriously believe that kid's nonsense, can you?!"
The face of Ōtsutsuki Shingen, which bore some resemblance to Nobunaga's but was far harsher and more sinister, was filled with unconcealed ridicule and contempt.
"Listen to the way he talks—peace this, returning to one's true nature that."
"Did you somehow miss the fact that during this very war, this so-called Higashino Shinichi has stained his hands with the blood of countless shinobi from Sunagakure and Kumogakure?"
"A butcher drenched in blood standing there preaching peace and salvation?"
"How hypocritical!"
"How laughable!"
"I've said it before!"
"You, Nobunaga—and every single stubborn fool of the Main Family—are wrong!"
"The shinobi world created by the Sage of Six Paths has existed for a thousand years."
"And what has it proven besides its complete failure?"
"What exists now except endless hatred, endless killing, and an endless cycle of tragedy?"
"It should have been purified and remade long ago according to the ideals of our Branch Family!"
In truth, the conflict between the Main Family and Branch Family of the lunar Ōtsutsuki Clan stretched back many generations.
In the past, however, they had managed to maintain a fragile balance and uphold their shared mission.
Everything changed more than a decade ago.
When the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path mysteriously disappeared, they were forced to repeatedly use the Great Tenseigan to search the shinobi world.
And during those searches, they witnessed firsthand the brutal slaughter and boundless hatred of the Second Shinobi World War.
From that point onward, the ideological divide between the two factions began to widen and intensify at an alarming pace.
As the Third Shinobi World War raged on, they watched the flames of conflict spread ever wider across the world below and witnessed slaughter grow increasingly brutal.
The ideological divide between the two factions became even more pronounced.
The Main Family favored continued observation and the fulfillment of their ancient duty as guardians and guides.
The Branch Family, meanwhile, grew ever more convinced that the world created by the Sage of Six Paths had failed completely and must be purified.
The conflict between them had already reached a dangerously critical point.
Facing Shingen's fierce accusations, Main Family Patriarch Ōtsutsuki Nobunaga remained calm and spoke slowly.
"He may have blood on his hands."
"He may stand within the very heart of war itself."
"That cannot be denied."
"But the direction of his thoughts—the alternative possibility he is attempting to point toward—may be precisely the proof that this world is not as hopeless as you claim."
"If someone is still willing, amid bloodshed and fire, to think, to search, and to attempt to open a different path..."
"That path may be immature."
"It may be filled with uncertainties."
"But he has at least proposed a possibility."
"Before every avenue toward peace has been exhausted, what right do we have to sentence an entire world to death?"
"At the very least, we should grant him—and grant that world—"
"Another chance?!"
Shingen cut him off with a mocking laugh, cold light flashing in his eyes.
"We've already given this world a thousand years!"
"And what has it achieved?"
"This world is beyond saving!"
"We should carry out the true will of Ancestor Hamura and completely purify this world filled with error and—"
"Enough, Shingen!"
With a sharp sweep of his sleeve, Nobunaga interrupted him.
"I am the clan head."
"You'll regret this."
Shingen's face darkened completely.
After giving Nobunaga a long, cold stare, he spoke in an icy voice.
Then—
Bang!
Without another word, he violently flung his sleeve and turned away.
The members of the Branch Family behind him, their faces equally filled with resentment and radical determination, followed at once.
The temple doors slammed shut behind them, leaving only a deafening echo reverberating throughout the vast hall.
...
Meanwhile.
In the Pure Land.
"Returning to our original nature and mission..."
Seated cross-legged in ancient white robes, holding his staff, Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo slowly withdrew his gaze from Konoha.
Within those eyes that seemed to contain endless ages, an extraordinarily complicated emotion flickered.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, forming an expression that could have been bitterness, self-mockery, or perhaps even relief.
A thousand years.
For a thousand years, he had watched the ideals of Ninshū, which he had founded and placed so much hope in, gradually become distorted.
He had watched chakra transform from a bridge connecting hearts into a tool used to divide people, create hatred, and refine the art of killing.
He had watched wars repeat endlessly.
He had watched peace appear only briefly before vanishing again.
He had watched the profession of the shinobi become trapped within an endless cycle of blood and fire.
Countless times, he had sighed within the depths of the Pure Land.
Countless times, he had attempted to leave behind guidance and warnings.
Yet those efforts were often swallowed like stones sinking into the sea, consumed by the tides of history and deeply rooted hatred.
Can he truly do it?
Or is he merely another fleeting illusion, destined to vanish like countless ideals before him?
Carrying that complicated curiosity—and a faint instinctive desire to examine the possibilities of the future—the Sage of Six Paths unconsciously activated his prophetic vision.
He wanted to see where the destiny of this young man, who spoke of returning to the original purpose and seemed to resonate with his own ideals from a thousand years ago, would ultimately lead.
And then—
In an instant!
What appeared before the Sage of Six Paths was a torrent of fragmented visions.
Broken images.
Intersecting lights and shadows.
Countless voices.
Chaotic scenes.
Yet hidden within them was a vast power unlike anything he had ever witnessed before.
A force so immense that even his soul trembled.
"For Shinichi! For a new world!"
"Break these shackles! Shatter this destiny! We will become masters of our own future!"
"Keep moving! For ourselves! For our descendants!"
"Let the flames rise! Burn away all injustice and decay!"
"Forward! Only forward!"
The visions grew increasingly chaotic.
Increasingly violent.
Increasingly surreal.
As the Sage of Six Paths attempted to grasp more information from the turbulent river of prophecy—
He saw it.
Fire.
A single fire.
A fire born from countless pure and blazing hopes.
Countless angers.
Countless ideals.
Countless dreams.
A fire forged from unwavering determination itself.
It erupted from the very heart of the prophetic vision and soared into the heavens.
Its radiance was impossibly pure.
Its will impossibly fierce.
Within it existed a decisive force that seemed capable of remaking heaven and earth.
And that fire—
Burned the very sight through which the Sage of Six Paths was connected to the River of Fate.
"Mm..."
The Sage of Six Paths recoiled as though scorched.
Instinctively, he closed his eyes.
Two thin streams of blood slowly trickled from the corners of his eyes.
The prophetic vision shattered instantly.
Disintegrating into nothingness.
Only boundless silence remained.
Along with the lingering burning sensation in his eyes—
And the storm raging within his heart.
Slowly, the Sage of Six Paths raised a hand.
His fingertips brushed the blood at the corner of his eye.
Within it, he could still sense a will unlike anything he had ever known.
Violent.
Vibrant.
Overflowing with life.
The will of change itself.
This boy called Higashino Shinichi...
What he had ignited—
Or perhaps what he would one day ignite—
Was it the flame of the original ideal, returning at last after a thousand years?
Or was it something else?
A flame of transformation so profound that even fate itself could not foresee its outcome—
A flame destined to burn away the entirety of the old world.
The flame of revolution.