The snow crunched softly under the feet of the samurai as the gates of the Gin estate opened once again. Takama was returning home.
His silhouette appeared down the snow-covered path, wrapped in the white mist of winter. At his side walked a man with silver hair and round glasses: Kabuto Yakushi.
Hinata, who was in the inner courtyard with Kuro and some young apprentices, felt the shift in the air before she saw her father. She stood at once. When she spotted him, she ran forward without thinking.
Takama opened his arms and received her with strength, lifting her briefly off the ground before resting his forehead against hers.
"I'm home, my daughter."
After the reunion, Takama led her to a private hall. Resting on a black silk cloth was the sword: a reversed-edged sakabatō, simple yet elegant, with inscriptions along the hilt.
"As promised," Takama said. "Not to kill, but to protect."
Hinata reached out and held it. She felt a subtle vibration in her palm. It was no ordinary sword. Something in it resonated with her.
"It's well-balanced," she said, unblinking. "It's alive."
Takama nodded. "It's the first step. Masamune wants to meet you in the spring. Only then will he forge your true blade."
At that moment, Kabuto bowed politely. Hinata recognized him at once.
"You… were at the Chūnin Exams. Orochimaru's servant."
Kabuto smiled without hiding it. "You remember me. I like that."
Takama intervened with a serious tone.
"I brought him under an agreement. Orochimaru will study your case. I don't trust him, but he has resources no one else does. He may find a way to repair the seal's damage. Or grant you a legacy."
She remembered that name. The actions of that... monster... gave her chills. The stories Michel had shared spoke of unspeakable things: human experimentation, ritual sacrifices, cold-blooded assassinations, manipulation, and lifelong servitude. Just hearing it made her hands tremble.
Hinata frowned and clenched her fists. "I don't want his help."
"I know," Takama replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But I want you to live. To have a full life. This… is something I owe you as a father."
She felt it in his soul—fierce, unwavering desire to help. She felt his desperation, not born of weakness but of frustration, of lacking the power to shatter the cursed seal himself. That pain, hidden behind his composure, reached her more than any argument ever could.
Hinata took a deep breath. Finally, she nodded.
"Then I accept… but only because you ask for it."
<<<< o >>>>
They moved to a more private room, one prepared with cushions, low light, and steaming tea. There, Kabuto began his examination of Hinata.
Kabuto examined her for two hours. He observed how she moved, how she spoke. He took detailed notes, silent and methodical.
'Her posture is perfect. Her voice, measured. And yet…' he opened a scroll filled with diagrams, 'she's blind. Clearly. But she doesn't act like it.'
He approached and gently touched her forehead.
'She has no chakra. Or rather… it doesn't flow through the primary channels. They're atrophied. The seal did this. But the minor channels are active. That's quite irregular.'
He also noted her regeneration.
'The minor wound she had this morning… is gone. How does she heal this fast, without chakra? Her strength also exceeds the norm… One theory: she may have an unexplored bloodline. Something older than her clan's famous eyes.'
Kabuto packed up his tools and smiled, satisfied.
"I'll keep observing. In a few days I'm going to go and share my findings with my master."
She never spoke during the entire examination. Yet even in silence, she watched Kabuto's soul. She could sense his strange, unflinching loyalty to his master. How could someone so monstrous inspire such devotion? It disturbed her.
Finally, she spoke.
"Why did you betray the village?"
Kabuto looked up, adjusting his glasses with a faint smirk. "The village betrayed me first. But perhaps I shouldn't say that to you. After all, you left it too."
Hinata's voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "It's not the same. I couldn't be a ninja anymore. My... fa... no... My clan discarded me."
Kabuto studied her in silence for a moment longer. "How blind they must have been, to cast aside someone like you. I know your reputation—'the fallen princess,' wasn't it? But let me tell you something. Orochimaru offered me, as he offered others, a way back into the game."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a low murmur. "In your case, someone offered him something he deemed worthy of his time. But for others, it's not so easy. The price is servitude. Because life discarded and powerless is, at times, worse than death. Wouldn't you agree?"
Kabuto's words struck Hinata harder than she expected. She could see it now—in the stories Michel had left for her—how Orochimaru found young, moldable souls in moments of despair. And he always offered the one thing they could never find elsewhere: hope. A path forward. A way to survive. A chance to grasp what they most desired.
<<<< o >>>>
Kabuto walked through the inner courtyard of the Gin estate, hands tucked into his sleeves, his gaze drifting across the snow-covered stones and tiled rooftops. The recent meeting with the young Hinata had left a deeper impression on him than he cared to admit.
Her movement. Her speech. Even her accent no longer matched what one would expect from someone who had only spent a few months in the Land of Iron. The grace with which she carried herself was closer to that of a court-trained kunoichi. Her etiquette training was evident—perhaps even superior to many shinobi diplomats he had encountered across the nations.
And then, there were the samurai. Kabuto had noticed it. The subtle, reverent way some of them looked at her. The way a few wore small tokens marked with her forehead symbol—etched into blue fabric tied around their arms or belts. Symbols of loyalty. Of reverence.
He paused by a stone lantern dusted with snow, exhaling slowly.
"They've only known her for weeks," he thought. "This kind of devotion isn't normal."
He tucked the observation into his mental notes—one more curious element to report to his master.
<<<< o >>>>
Later that evening, in one of the estate's smaller drawing rooms, Takama sat with Michel beside a brazier. The fire crackled, casting long shadows over their faces.
"What do you think of the serpent's servant?" Takama asked quietly.
Michel looked into the flames. "Clever. Controlled. Dangerous. He's loyal, not because of love—because of debt. Those are the ones who stay leashed the longest."
Takama gave a weary nod. "If he even hints at betrayal, I'll deal with him myself."
Michel raised an eyebrow. "No doubt. But remember, Hinata sees more than we do. Her soul is her vision now. She won't be easily fooled."
<<<< o >>>>
Later, near the servants' quarters, whispers flowed like wind through the corridor. A few younger retainers whispered about a rumor passed down from messengers arriving from the south.
"Did you hear? They say the lord Daimyō's lost son returned."
"Tenshō Gin? I thought he'd died or gone rogue."
"No. They say he's changed. Seeking reconciliation. But something in his eyes was... wrong."
Hinata, walking quietly nearby with Kuro, caught only fragments. She paused, sensing a wrongness ripple through her spine. A tension in the snow beneath her feet.
Kuro's ears flicked, but the girl said nothing. She simply walked on, one hand brushing the hilt of her new blade.
<<<< o >>>>
Later still, under the faint glow of the moon, Hinata stood alone in the training courtyard. Snow fell gently, catching in her dark hair and melting on her cheeks.
She drew her new sakabatō, holding it with reverence.
Slowly, she began to move—practicing cuts, stances, breathing. It was not just exercise. It was a prayer. Meditation. An act of renewal.
She thought of Kabuto, of Orochimaru, of the pain still etched into her soul. She thought of Takama's desperation. Of Michel's warnings. Of a country that might fall into shadow.
Her blade flowed through the air, silent but sure. Each movement is refined. Each breath is controlled.
"I won't be a pawn," she whispered.
And though no one else was there, the air around her shifted in quiet acknowledgement.
<<<< o >>>>
Along a hidden trail between the mountains a carriage moved. It bore no banners. No name. But its wheels were made of aged, expensive wood, and the pulling horse wore fittings from the Land of Water.
Inside the carriage sat two figures: a young man with noble bearing and sharp eyes, and an older man with bandaged arms and a vacant yet piercing gaze.
"Are we close, Kaede?" the young man asked.
"Yes, Lord Tenshō. The samurai lord we seek is housed in the southeastern fortress. He values discretion… like you."
Tenshō Gin smiled without mirth.
"My father still believes he rules alone. Soon he'll see that the throne needs new blood."
Kaede, the medical ninja from Takigakure, nodded silently.
"The herbs we introduced will begin acting in his system with the tea during the festival. The progress will be slow. Undetectable."
Tenshō gazed out the small window, watching the snow cover the cherry trees without bloom.
"Let the gods sleep, Kaede. Because when they awaken… the Land of Iron will have a new lord."