Chapter 159: The Cruel Truth【4k】
Kabuto’s entire body trembled, as if struck by a whip.
He abruptly lifted his head, his gaze frantically scanning Nonō’s face.
Those hollow brown eyes still lacked focus, as if the “thank you” just now was merely the instinct of a walking corpse.
She held the bowl, woodenly retreating into the shadow of the iron gate.
“Kabuto? Why does your face look so awful?” Murahashi Hazuki walked over holding an empty basket, keenly noticing the abnormality in her companion.
She saw Kabuto’s face pale as paper in the dim light, fine beads of cold sweat seeping from his forehead, his eyes behind the lenses flickering intensely, even forgetting to conceal the surging, almost overflowing immense pain within.
This was completely unlike the usual gentle and steady Kumamoto Kabuto, who always wore a faint smile.
“No… it’s nothing.” Kabuto almost gritted his teeth to squeeze out these two words, his voice extremely dry.
He abruptly lowered his head, avoiding Hazuki’s probing gaze, quickening his steps, haphazardly scooping a spoonful of dried vegetables from his hand and pouring it into the bowl of the prisoner at the next cell window.
His movements were both fast and hasty, carrying a kind of out-of-control panic, the edge of the spoon scraping against the wooden bowl, emitting a harsh noise.
He needed to do something, anything, to fill this sudden void and panic that nearly tore him in half.
Kabuto Yakushi forced himself to focus on the food before him, on the next cell, but the trembling in his fingers could not be controlled no matter what.
Director Nonō’s haggard, numb face that had lost its soul, those hollow eyes that shattered his heart, that emotionless “thank you,” flashed, magnified, and roared repeatedly in his mind.
Each flash was like a heavy hammer smashing ruthlessly onto the cornerstone of the beliefs he had built.
Lord Danzō’s promise still rang in his ears, as clear as yesterday.
As long as he completed the mission here, as long as he brought back sufficiently valuable intelligence, the director could gain freedom, they could escape Root’s shadow, and start anew in a place with warm sunlight…
This was the drive that allowed him to endure all the disguises, all the loneliness, all the dangers; it was the only faint light he could grasp when deep in darkness.
But now?
The director was right before him!
In the prison of the Land of Stars! Yet she didn’t recognize him!
An icy, bone-chilling thought clearly and aggressively wrapped around his heart: The director… actually doesn’t care about me at all?
Joining Root, carrying out spy missions outside, gathering intelligence, playing roles—everything he did, what significance did it ultimately bring?!
Even… that promise of “freedom,” was it from the beginning just a carrot dangling forever out of reach before the donkey’s eyes?
The fear and sense of betrayal brought by this thought were far more bone-piercing than the prison sector’s coldness.
He felt like he was standing naked on the edge of a ten-thousand-foot cliff, with bottomless darkness beneath his feet, and the hand pushing him down from behind… its face blurred, yet carrying the aura he once trusted immensely.
The pillar of his beliefs finally emitted a clear cracking sound of being unable to bear the load.
“Clang!”
A sudden crisp sound broke the oppressive silence in the corridor.
The heavy iron bucket full of scalding miso soup in Kabuto’s hands slipped without warning from his violently trembling hands that had completely lost strength control, smashing heavily onto the cold stone floor!
The thick, scalding, salty-fishy scented dark brown soup instantly splashed out, rapidly spreading across the uneven stone surface, soaking Kabuto’s pant legs and shoes, and also splattering onto a nearby guard’s pant leg.
“Ah!” The guard cried out in shock from the burn, jumping back abruptly.
“Hey! Kid! What the hell are you doing!”.
Kabuto stood dazed in place, the scalding touch and stickiness of the soup coming from his pant legs.
He looked at the mess at his feet, still steaming, at the broken soup ladle and the wooden bowl rolled into the corner, at the guard’s furiously approaching face, at Hazuki and Junhito’s shocked and worried gazes as they ran over upon hearing the noise…
The world seemed to be slowed down, sounds distorted and blurred, colors faded, leaving only this filthy mess before him, emanating the aura of failure and collapse.
This mess was exactly like the world collapsing in his heart at this moment.
“Sorry… I… my hand slipped…”
An extremely dry, unfamiliar voice squeezed out from Kabuto Yakushi’s throat, carrying a hypocritical calm that even he found disgusting.
He bent down, his lenses slipping down his nose in the instant he lowered his head, revealing those eyes that could no longer perfectly conceal themselves, now filled with bewilderment and pain.
He squatted down, mechanically reaching to pick up the fragments on the ground, his fingers touching the scalding soup and the sharp edges of the pottery shard, bringing a sharp pain.
This negligible pain oddly brought a brief moment of clarity.
He needed to conceal it, must conceal it!
No matter how his heart collapsed, no matter how the world supporting him turned to dust, at this moment, he must still be “Kumamoto Kabuto”!
He forced himself to lift his head, squeezing onto his face a panicked, self-blaming, clumsy expression belonging to “Kumamoto Kabuto,” looking toward the furious guard and the Jonin Natsuhi approaching quickly.
“Teacher Natsuhi, sorry! I was too careless!” His voice carried just the right amount of trembling and regret.
Natsuhi frowned, her sharp gaze scanning back and forth between Kabuto’s pale face, trembling hands, and the mess on the ground several times.
She said nothing, just nodded to the guard: “We’ll take responsibility for cleaning it up thoroughly. Kabuto, Hazuki, clean this up. Junhito, go to the logistics squad and get another serving of soup.”
Her voice remained steady, with no discernible emotion, but the speed of issuing the order was a bit faster than usual.
“Yes!” Hazuki and Junhito quickly responded, casting a worried glance at Kabuto who was still squatting on the ground, lost in a daze, before swiftly moving into action.
Kabuto squatted on the cold stone ground, clutching a pottery shard stained with soup in his hand, the stinging pain at his fingertips clearly transmitted.
He kept his head down, looking at his own blurred, distorted face reflected in the filthy soup—that face wearing the “Kumamoto Kabuto” mask.
Director Nonō’s hollow, unfamiliar eyes were imprinted on his retinas like a brand, impossible to dispel, each flash bringing a soul-tearing sharp pain.
His heart at this moment was just like this prison sector, filled with the aura of despair, tightly wrapping him, firmly trapping him atop this collapsed ruin.
The beliefs he had carefully constructed, which had always supported him, had completely collapsed under the gaze of those hollow eyes, becoming part of the filthy mess at his feet.
Natsuhi stood a few steps away, her heavy gaze falling on Kabuto’s slightly trembling back.
She did not urge him, just quietly watched, watching this student who was usually the steadiest and most worry-free, now as if all his strength had been drained.
From the depths of the prison sector came the heavy clanging of iron gates opening and closing, long and hollow, like Kabuto Yakushi’s currently chaotic heart.
Kabuto Yakushi squatted on the cold stone ground, his fingertips mechanically picking at the beans stuck in the crevices of the pottery shard.
Director Nonō’s hollow eyes like a dry well burned repeatedly in the depths of his mind, each flash bringing soul-tearing sharp pain.
The bright future promised by Lord Danzō, the deeply rooted pillar of beliefs, collapsed with a crash in that silent “thank you,” the debris burying him deeply.
He was like a shell drained of its soul, merely maintaining the squatting posture through the last inertia of the “Kumamoto Kabuto” role, waiting for the possibly harsher reprimand from Teacher Natsuhi.
At that moment, an indescribable sense of weightlessness, as if from the depths of his soul, suddenly seized him.
The solid cold stone ground beneath his feet vanished, the guard’s angry expression, his teammates’ worried gazes, the messy stains on the ground…
All scenes twisted, shattered, and dissipated like reflections on water after a stone was thrown in.
The cold, despairing prison sector aura was replaced by an indescribably vast and clear emptiness.
Kabuto Yakushi found himself standing on an endless water surface.
The water surface was smooth as a mirror, reflecting the equally endless, profoundly heart-palpitating night sky above.
Countless stars burned, rotated, and flowed on this curtain of night, converging into a brilliant starry river, its clear, pure light illuminating the entire space like a dreamlike realm.
The water underfoot was not solid; stepping on it only caused extremely faint ripples, yet it clearly reflected his current pale, lost figure.
Absolute silence enveloped him, no wind, no sound, only the silent flow of stars and the echo of his heart pounding madly in his chest.
An amplified, deafening heartbeat filled with panic and bewilderment.
Where… is this?
Immense shock temporarily suppressed the sense of inner collapse.
Kabuto abruptly raised his head, his pupils behind the lenses contracting.
This was absolutely not reality!
An illusion technique?
What terrifying illusion technique could instantly drag him from the real prison into such an unimaginable illusion world?
And when was the illusion technique planted?
“Kabuto.”
A clear, calm voice with a strange childish tone suddenly rang out in the silence of the starry water surface, clearly piercing through the deafening heartbeat.
Kabuto’s entire body shook violently, as if struck by an invisible current.
He abruptly looked toward the source of the voice.
On the water surface about ten steps away, a small figure stood quietly.
It was a boy of about five years old.
Black spiky hair, handsome cheeks, wearing a set of black regular clothes, his open-toed ninja boots stepping on the starry-reflecting water surface, with a maturity incongruous with his age.
The boy’s eyes were ink-black like deep pools, now calmly and without ripples gazing at Kabuto Yakushi.
That gaze was profoundly unlike what a five-year-old child should have, as if containing a thousand years of time and endless secrets.
Menma!
Kabuto’s breathing abruptly stopped, his mind blank.
How could he be here?
“You…” Kabuto’s voice was dry like sandpaper friction, carrying incredulous trembling: “You… how could you…”
Countless questions crowded and collided at his throat, ultimately turning into a chaotic blank.
“Still an illusion technique?”
He stared fixedly at that small figure, his body instinctively tensing, entering the most primal state of alert, though he knew that in this eerie space, any alert seemed so pale and laughable.
Menma did not answer his question about the space; those ink-black eyes remained calm and unwavering, as if having long seen through all the struggles and disguises deep in his soul.
“Long time no see.” The small lips parted lightly, the voice clear and steady, each word like an icy stone thrown into Kabuto’s chaotic heart lake, stirring greater waves of shock.
“It’s been almost two years since we last parted. It seems you’ve not been doing well in Konoha Root, nor did you become a medical ninja as you once said.”
Kabuto’s body swayed violently, as if struck by an invisible heavy hammer.
“Why… do you know these things?” Kabuto’s voice was hoarse, carrying the struggle of a dying trapped beast: “Why… is the director in the Land of Stars?”
Kabuto Yakushi knew that the Menma before him must know exactly what had happened!
“Do you want to know the truth?” A faint, almost pitying glimmer seemed to flash in the depths of Menma’s ink-black eyes.
He slowly raised his small right hand.
That movement carried a steadiness and sense of control utterly at odds with his childlike form.
Several light paper pieces silently slid from his tender palm.
The paper pieces spun, slowly drifting above the silent starry water surface, ultimately precisely landing on the water surface at Kabuto’s feet reflecting the brilliant starry river, as if drawn by an invisible force.
The water rippled faintly, yet did not wet the paper in the slightest.
They were several color photographs.
Kabuto’s gaze was nailed to the photos as if attracted by a magnet.
The first photo showed a boy wearing round-framed glasses, with a gentle smile and clear eyes.
Those facial contours, that upward curve of the lips… were seven or eight points similar to him! The boy wore the Konoha Ninja Academy uniform, with what seemed to be a street in Konoha in the background.
The second photo was the same boy, wearing Konoha’s medical ninja outfit, showing a slightly fatigued but still cheerful smile toward the camera.
The third photo was in a dimly lit room, the boy sitting at a desk with books spread open, seriously writing something.
Each photo bore some resemblance to Kabuto Yakushi, constructing the growth trajectory of a boy.
In merely two years, “Kabuto Yakushi” had completely become a different person.
“This… this isn’t me…”
“This isn’t me!!!”
Kabuto Yakushi’s eyes widened round, hollowly staring at the photos on the ground, his face full of shock and incredulous pain.
He staggered back a step, violent ripples spreading across the calm water surface underfoot.
He fixedly stared at the unfamiliar boy’s face in those photos,
An icy, cruel, venomously toxic truth, like the sharpest ice spike, ruthlessly chiseled open his chaotic mind.
Danzō… that man controlling Root…
He not only used the director’s safety as shackles to drive him, but also used such a despicable, vicious means!
He found a substitute!
A boy similar to him, replacing his position in the director’s heart!
The director’s gentle gaze was drawn to that substitute!
“Both you and the director are very naive.” Menma’s voice slowly sounded, clear and pitying: “Naively believing that man Danzō would keep his promise, little knowing he was already planning how to make you kill each other, erase the last shred of kindness deep in the spy, and thoroughly transform you into a tool in his hands.”
This cruel truth nearly suffocated Kabuto Yakushi.
“Urgh—!!!” A suppressed to the extreme, beast-like roar from an injured beast burst from deep in Kabuto Yakushi’s throat.
He abruptly bent down, hands fixedly grabbing his own hair, knuckles whitening from the force, fingernails nearly digging into his scalp.
Immense pain, anger at being toyed with, bone-etching regret, towering hatred…
Countless emotions sufficient to tear a person apart collided and roared like a tsunami within him.
He understood!
He understood everything!
Why the director didn’t recognize him!
Why her eyes were so hollow!
Because in her “memory,” “Kabuto Yakushi” was already someone else!
If according to the plan Menma described, without him knowing these things, if Danzō sent the director to eliminate him…
“It was me… I harmed her… it was me…” Kabuto’s voice was broken and unbearable, filled with self-destructive despair and self-blame.
If he hadn’t presumptuously followed Danzō, perhaps the director wouldn’t have been so passively threatened by Danzō.
Kabuto’s tears surged uncontrollably, mixing with snot, messily streaming down his distorted face, dripping onto the starry-reflecting water surface, smashing into small ripples.
