"…It seems… I really do have the strength for it."
Natsuhiko sat upright, his expression tinged with something close to disbelief, as though even he hadn't quite grasped the conclusion until this very moment.
Yet the more he thought about it—calmly, carefully—the clearer it became.
Not only was it possible…
If fortune favored him, he might even be able to execute it flawlessly.
All this time, his thinking had been constrained by a fixed assumption. Whenever the Nine-Tails incident came to mind, he instinctively pictured the pairing of the beast and Uchiha Obito, and that image alone had been enough to make him dismiss the possibility of intervening altogether.
On top of that, he had only recently obtained that fragment of Asura's power. He hadn't fully adapted to it yet, nor had he truly understood the extent of his own strength.
But now, as he forced himself to examine everything without bias, he had to admit—
He could deal with Obito.
Even with the Nine-Tails involved… it wasn't beyond him.
"I know everything about Obito," he murmured to himself, his thoughts sharpening. "In front of me, he has no secrets."
At this stage, Obito had yet to reach the level of the Six Paths—or even a semi–Six Paths state. His strength, while formidable, was not as overwhelming as it would become later.
What made him truly dangerous lay elsewhere.
His ocular ability.
And the Yin–Yang Release techniques he had learned from Uchiha Madara—or perhaps from Black Zetsu.
This was not yet the era of overwhelming, godlike power, where Sage Techniques ran rampant, Wood Release dominated battlefields, Susanoo filled the skies, and meteors could be summoned at will.
For now—
Information still mattered.
And Natsuhiko possessed knowledge of Obito that no one else did.
That alone granted him a tremendous advantage.
Of course, advantage did not automatically translate into victory. Especially when Obito's Mangekyō ability was, without question, the most troublesome he had ever encountered.
Under its influence, Obito was virtually untouchable.
With the Sharingan's perception guiding him, he could evade almost any attack before it even fully formed. One could strike again and again—only to find that nothing ever connected.
And yet…
He was not without flaws.
In fact, that weakness had already been uncovered—by none other than Minato himself, in the original story.
Even with the Sharingan, Obito's fundamentals were lacking.
As a student, ,he had been a genuine "dead last." Unlike Naruto, whose struggles stemmed from the Nine-Tails and the village's neglect, Obito's shortcomings were more… inherent.
To put it bluntly—
He simply wasn't that sharp.
A "two" in intelligence on the ninja evaluation scale was no joke.
The reason Madara had chosen him likely had little to do with talent.
It was his purity.
The awakening of the Mangekyō Sharingan had never depended solely on strength. The more extreme the emotion—whether pure good or pure evil—the greater the potential.
Obito had once embodied pure kindness.
And when that purity was twisted—combined with the Uchiha clan's infamous emotional extremes—his fall into darkness had been almost inevitable.
But now?
This was not yet the Obito of the future, honed and tempered by years of experience.
He possessed power—
But lacked the mastery to fully wield it.
Even with the Mangekyō Sharingan, he had been outmatched by Minato in both reaction speed and attack execution.
At the beginning, Minato had struggled, caught off guard by the unknown nature of Obito's ability.
But once he understood it—
The tide had turned completely.
"My reaction speed isn't lacking, and neither is my offensive capability. With the combination of the Flying Thunder God Technique and Wood Release… in close-range combat, I may even hold an advantage over Minato himself.
"And on top of that, I know Obito. I know how to deal with him. If that's the case…"
As the thought unfolded, a faint light flickered in Natsuhiko's eyes. It struck him, almost belatedly, that he had been underestimating himself. At this point in time, his strength was far from insignificant—indeed, it had already reached a level few could rival.
Obito, troublesome as he was, was not insurmountable. Even if he proved difficult to defeat outright, he would retreat when pressed. And if Natsuhiko remembered correctly, Minato had already placed a marking on him.
That alone opened countless possibilities.
Even if Natsuhiko chose to focus on other matters at first, he could always use that mark later—launch a precise, lethal strike when the moment was right, ensuring Obito would not interfere with whatever plans he set in motion.
As for the Nine-Tails…
That was an entirely different matter.
Its destructive power—especially against ordinary shinobi and civilians—was nothing short of catastrophic. It was, in every sense of the word, a living strategic weapon.
But even so, it was not without a counter.
After all, Natsuhiko himself possessed a summon whose size rivaled that of the Nine-Tails.
And Minato had one as well.
If they could lure the Nine-Tails out of the village, its capacity for destruction would be significantly reduced. And with both Gamabunta and Lizardmaru working together to restrain it, the beast would no longer seem so invincible.
"…When you look at it that way," Natsuhiko murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "I really do have the ability to save Minato."
The more he considered it, the more certain he became.
If he chose to act, this would not be beyond him.
After all, he had already stepped into a realm far removed from ordinary shinobi.
Drawing in a slow breath, he rose to his feet.
For the first time, he found himself facing a choice of genuine consequence.
To save him—or not.
That alone was a serious question.
But even more pressing was another:
If he were to save him… how far would he go?
Because deep down, Natsuhiko had never abandoned his ambition. The seat of the Fifth Hokage was something he intended to claim. Only by reaching that position could he fully utilize the system at his disposal and unlock greater possibilities.
And yet, no matter how he turned the matter over in his mind, no clear answer emerged.
If he miscalculated—if he made the wrong move—
He might have to wait ten, even twenty years, before another opportunity to compete for the title of Hokage arose.
That was something he absolutely could not accept.
"Natsuhiko-sama, please have some tea."
Just as he sat there, caught in a rare moment of indecision, Senju Renge's voice broke through his thoughts.
He turned his head to see her approaching, carrying a tray with quiet grace. As always, her posture was impeccable, her expression cool and distant, as though she had fully resigned herself to the role of a servant.
"…Thank you."
Rubbing his brow lightly, Natsuhiko reached out and took the cup.
"And really," he added with a faint sigh, "you don't have to be like this."
"Natsuhiko-sama is the hope of the clan. It is only proper that I maintain this attitude."
Her head remained lowered as she spoke, her tone calm and deliberate, as though this belief were something she had already accepted without question.
Natsuhiko glanced at her, his gaze lingering briefly on her beautiful yet expressionless face, and for a moment, a strange sense of disinterest crept over him.
She was, by all appearances, the kind of woman who would allow him to do as he pleased.
And yet—
For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, that very fact dulled any desire he might have had.
So it's true… people really are strange creatures, he thought wryly, inwardly mocking his own contradictions.
Shaking off the thought, he chose not to dwell on it any further.
Instead, he took a sip of the tea in his hand—and paused.
It was… surprisingly good.
Natsuhiko had never been much of a tea drinker. In his previous life, he had preferred coffee, and in this one, he had mostly settled for plain water. A truly fine tea placed before him would likely go unappreciated.
And yet this—
There was a subtle sweetness to it, perhaps from a touch of honey, blending gently with the tea's natural fragrance. The result was smooth, balanced, and unexpectedly suited to his taste.
Lowering the cup, he tapped the sofa lightly beside him.
"Sit," he said. "No need to keep standing."
"That would not be proper, Natsuhiko-sama," Senju Renge said softly, shaking her head.
Natsuhiko smiled faintly, a trace of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "And disobeying me is proper?" he asked. "Or is it that you've only ever followed someone else's orders… even now, after coming to me?"
His words made her expression falter—just for a moment. It was subtle, but unmistakable. She lowered her head again without answering, yet that silence spoke volumes.
Natsuhiko rose slowly to his feet. With a casual motion, he set the teacup back onto the tray, then reached out and caught her chin in his hand.
With a slight exertion of force, he lifted her head. Any instinctive resistance she might have had was meaningless before him.
He studied her face—its delicate beauty, the way her lips pressed tightly together in restraint—and the faint smile on his own lips never wavered.
This was exactly what he had expected.
There was no disappointment in him, only a quiet certainty. And with that certainty came the need to make his position clear.
He was willing to do things for the Senju clan. He had no intention of leading them into ruin.
But that did not mean he would tolerate everything.
He needed the Senju—and more importantly, he needed them under his control.
Now that he possessed Wood Release, if anyone still thought to restrain him through underhanded means, then he would have no choice but to respond in ways they would not appreciate.
"…So I was right."
The smile on his face deepened, even as the pressure in his grip increased.
Renge made no sound.
Even as her jaw began to redden, even as it seemed on the verge of cracking beneath his strength, she endured in silence.
"Stubborn, are you?"
Natsuhiko released her chin at last, only to let his hand slide downward without pause. In the next instant, his fingers closed around her throat.
He tightened his grip—slowly, deliberately.
Almost immediately, her breathing faltered.
"Think carefully," he said, his voice as calm and gentle as if he were speaking to a friend. "You have one minute. After that… I'll decide whether I'm interested in hearing your answer."
Then he fell silent, watching her.
At twenty seconds, her body had already begun to strain against the lack of air, yet her eyes remained closed, her form unmoving.
At thirty seconds, a faint tremor ran through her frame, but still she did not resist.
At forty seconds, her face flushed a deep, alarming red.
At fifty seconds, her expression had become almost frightening in its intensity—yet she remained motionless, as though clinging to some unspoken resolve.
Even Natsuhiko found himself slightly surprised.
He knew exactly how much strength he was using. Even he wasn't certain he could endure such suffocating pressure without reacting.
A deeper smile crept across his face.
Now he was curious—just how long could she last?
When sixty seconds passed, he still did not release her. Instead, his grip tightened further.
Even so, he kept careful track of her condition.
He had no intention of killing her—not yet.
He wanted answers.
And beyond that… he intended to send a message to whoever stood behind her.
He had no intention of killing her—at least, not yet. And it certainly wasn't out of any idle sentiment like pity for a beautiful woman.
As a proper member of the ANBU, Natsuhiko had killed more than his share of attractive kunoichi. Especially those who traded their bodies for intelligence—spies who thought seduction was a shield. Many of them had died by his hand.
Beauty of this level could stir a fleeting appreciation, perhaps even a momentary attraction, but never enough to cloud his judgment or make him abandon his principles.
At seventy seconds, Senju Renge's vital signs began to weaken noticeably. It was then that her eyes finally opened.
Gone was the distant calm that had defined her before. For the first time, her gaze carried something raw, unmistakably human—emotion laid bare.
Was it unwillingness?
Or was it relief?
Natsuhiko watched quietly, unmoved. When the count reached eighty seconds, and her consciousness hovered on the brink of collapse, he finally released his grip.
Her body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. Her head struck the floor, and the tray beside her tipped over, sending teacups shattering across the room.
Yet the sharp impact seemed to drag her back from the edge. She gasped violently, drawing in air in ragged, desperate breaths, as though she had truly just walked the boundary between life and death.
"Those eyes of yours… not bad," Natsuhiko said softly, his voice gentle as it drifted into her ears. "Quite impressive, really."
He paused, then added in the same mild tone, "But let me give you a friendly reminder—if you think silence is an answer I'll accept, then I won't mind delivering a corpse to Senju Shoma instead."
"The choice is yours. You have twenty seconds."
With that, he said no more. He simply stood there, watching her as she struggled to breathe, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
Time slipped away.
He counted silently.
When only ten seconds remained, she finally lifted her head.
"My orders…" she rasped, her voice hoarse from the strain, "were to take care of Natsuhiko-sama's daily life… and to ensure the continuation of the Wood Release bloodline."
The words came with difficulty, but there was no longer any trace of the earlier detachment in her tone. What remained was something far more fragile—uncertainty, and perhaps even fear.
"I see."
Natsuhiko nodded lightly, then crouched down before her, his gaze steady.
"And who gave you those orders?" he asked. "Senju Shoma?"
"…No."
She shook her head, clenching her teeth before forcing herself to continue.
"Elder Shoma chose me… and he did warn me not to anger you. But the Senju clan… isn't ruled by him alone."
"Mm. That doesn't surprise me."
A faint smile returned to Natsuhiko's face. He reached out, almost absentmindedly, and brushed aside the strands of her disheveled hair, tidying them with an ease that felt oddly at odds with everything that had just occurred.
"I have quite a few subordinates in the ANBU," he said calmly. "I've known for some time that things within the Senju aren't so simple."
He paused, his eyes settling on her once more.
"But that doesn't concern me."
"What matters… is the choice you make from here on."
His voice softened, but the weight behind it did not lessen.
"Think carefully."
"Because your life depends on it."
...
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