Dawn brought with it a gentle mist over the rooftops of the Gin estate. Kabuto was preparing to leave. His silhouette, cloaked in gray, moved swiftly through the residence's corridors, offering only a slight nod to those he passed. He didn't look tired. Not satisfied. Merely methodical. Like a messenger of winter.
Hinata watched him go from the eastern wing's threshold. She didn't stop him. She said nothing. But her chest eased with every step he took away. Still, she felt the weight of Takama's gaze, who saw him off with a mix of firmness and hope.
She understood. That hope, that chance at healing, was stronger than fear. And Takama… he did it for her.
"Thank you," she whispered to the wind. Not to Kabuto—but to her father.
<<<< o >>>>
By noon, the letters arrived.
Two envelopes marked with familiar seals. One from Kurenai, the other from Shino.
Hinata opened them with steady hands. The first was warm, filled with affection and pride in what she had achieved.
"Hinata,
I hope the snow treats you gently. There's so much I want to tell you—but what matters most is that I'm proud. You're walking your own path, and no matter how far you go, know that your strength never stopped shining here. Tsunade-sama has taken up the mantle of Hokage. The village breathes easier now… but there are shadows too. Take care of yourself. And know that I think of you often."
The second, more reserved but heartfelt, came from Shino:
"We are adjusting to the new Hokage. Tsunade of the Sannin. Her power is... unquestionable. But shortly after she took command, two things happened.
Sasuke Uchiha disappeared. It's not clear if he was taken or left willingly. Naruto and Kiba were injured in the pursuit. They're recovering, but they are... shaken.
And there was an attack on the Hyūga compound. Details are scarce, even to me. But something changed. I thought you might want to know."
Hinata stared at the parchment long after she had finished reading. Her heart twisted.
Destiny still moved.
But that event—the attack on her former home… Could it be the price of Takama's pact with Orochimaru? A shift in the story's course? Or an echo of what she had left behind?
<<<< o >>>>
That afternoon, Takama summoned her to the family dojo.
"Hinata, it's time we began your training in the breathing techniques of our clan."
She followed him without hesitation. Once in the polished dojo, he gestured for her to sit across from him. The room was quiet but heavy with intent.
"Do you know what samurai breathing styles are?"
Hinata nodded. "When the older samurai train, their breathing changes. It makes them seem stronger. Sharper."
Takama smiled slightly. "Correct. Samurai and shinobi both use chakra—but in very different ways. Ninja mold chakra using hand signs to perform a wide variety of techniques known as Jutsu."
Hinata nodded again, familiar with the concept. She herself had once tried to perform Jutsu without full hand signs, simplifying them. A difficult art, but not impossible.
"We samurai cannot afford to mold chakra so freely," Takama continued. "But we discovered something else: breathing techniques that awaken our potential. Most samurai never use more than one or two per battle. We use them to enhance our bodies and imbue our movements with elemental traits. The more skilled the practitioner, the deeper the connection with that element. These techniques, when combined with specialized fighting styles, and its distinctive katas, allow us to push past human limits."
Hinata frowned. "But when I fought Goro, I didn't feel anything like that."
Takama chuckled softly. "Goro is a veteran. His technique and versatility are greater than my own. He's faced shinobi and samurai alike. He practices two styles—one based on explosive fire, the other on flowing water. But I doubt he used his breathing techniques with you."
Hinata recalled her match with Goro and nodded in quiet agreement.
"Breathing styles," Takama said, "are the foundation of a samurai's true power. Yet not all possess them. They are family secrets, passed verbally from parent to child."
"Only verbally?" Hinata asked.
"Of course. Written knowledge can be stolen. These techniques affect more than the body—they resonate through the spiritual self. Only an experienced teacher can safely guide someone through the first stages."
She nodded again.
Takama's tone deepened. "Our family developed a secret technique—a fire-aligned breathing method that ignites vitality. It boosts strength, endurance, even regeneration. But once the technique matures into a permanent breathing state… the practitioner can no longer perform the technique again. The body becomes like a living flame—long-lived, strong, resilient."
Hinata's eyes lit with recognition. "Like the Senju… or the Uzumaki."
"Exactly. We sought to replicate those clans' blessings," Takama said. "I never understood why I couldn't continue the technique… until you and Michel helped me understand the dissonance between my spirit and body. My body reached a threshold my soul couldn't match. But now, thanks to Michel, that imbalance is gone."
Hinata absorbed every word in silence.
"As my heir," he said softly, "I want to teach you two techniques. Whether you can use them now or not doesn't matter. What matters is that you know them, so that one day, when your chakra flows again, you can decide for yourself. And hopefully pass then on to my future grandsons or granddaughters"
He raised two fingers.
"The first is the Breath of Fire. Ours. It uses sudden bursts of heat to alter the rhythm of battle. Goro has mastered it. It includes katas that refine it to the extreme. Slow and Fast in one dreadful rhythm. Something similar to what I've seen from your boost, I imagine that together it would be a sight to behold"
He lowered one finger.
"The second is the forbidden technique. The Body Forging Method. It's the one they tried to capture me for. The one that they killed my son for."
Hinata's chest tightened. She could feel both the sorrow and pride in her father's voice.
"It uses fire not to destroy—but to refine the body like a blade in the forge. It's painful. Demanding. It requires complete mastery of our Breath of Fire, especially the explosive variant. It was our answer to reaching beyond the natural threshold… into the realm of the superhuman."
Takama let the silence rest for a moment.
Hinata finally broke it. "So… Are there breathing techniques beyond the classical elements?"
Takama nodded. "Yes. There are more abstract ones—mist, snow, warm air… even one famed breathing style tied not to an element, but to pure force. It allows its user to cut at a distance. These styles don't manifest like elemental ninjutsu, but in the effect they have on the wielder's presence and weapon."
He stood slowly and offered her his hand.
"Shall we begin the lesson?"
<<<< o >>>>
Hours later, Hinata was alone, bathing in a stone tub filled with hot water. Steam filled the room as the sunset painted the skies crimson.
She let the water envelop her, eyes closed, breath steady. The warmth softened her muscles, but not the weight in her chest.
She thought about everything—the letters, the attack on her clan, the lessons with her father.
Could chakra ever flow through her again?
She traced the outline of her collarbone beneath the water and imagined breathing the way Takama had shown her—sharply, deeply, with intention.
"Michel," she whispered quietly, more to herself than to him. "Is this... the right path?"
No voice answered, but the Silver World stirred faintly in her soul.
"Maybe… I need a new path," she whispered. "One that breathes like a samurai… and dreams like a priestess."
<<<< o >>>>
That same night, far from the estate, in a hidden inn perched on a snowy cliffside, Tenshō Gin sipped tea with a hardened samurai, his face lined with years and doubt. The samurai's name was Lord Norikami, known for his strict sense of neutrality.
"I can't swear loyalty so easily," Norikami said.
"I'm not asking for loyalty," Tenshō replied, setting his cup down. "Only that you watch. When my father falls… then you can decide whether to keep serving a ghost."
Norikami raised a brow. "Your words are bold for someone who was once cast out."
Tenshō smiled thinly. "Cast out, or sent out. It makes little difference when the ones left behind are already rotting from within."
A long silence stretched between them as the wind howled outside the wooden walls. The shōgi board on the table showed only a few pieces remaining.
Norikami finally nodded, though the look in his eyes was unreadable. "I'll watch. But if you stumble, I'll act."
"Good," Tenshō replied. "Even traitors deserve a fair witness."
But as he leaned back in his chair, a flicker of satisfaction ghosted across his face.
The game had already begun.