Chapter 160: Invitation From The Organization
Kabuto Yakushi was too mature, considering Nono Yakushi far too much at such a young age.
Everything he had carefully built, his voluntary dedication, his endurance, the dark path for which he had sacrificed his soul…
It turned out that from the very beginning, it was built on deception and cruel conspiracy!
He was like a complete fool!
Not only did he fail to protect the Director, but he became an accomplice in pushing her into an even deeper hell!
Little Menma quietly stood on the water surface not far away, his ink-black eyes watching Kabuto Yakushi on the verge of collapse, without any urging or any comfort.
That calmness beyond his years instead became an invisible pressure at this moment.
“Kabuto, I said I would help you.” Only until Kabuto’s roars and sobs gradually turned into low, despairing sobs did Menma speak again, his voice still clear and calm, yet carrying a penetrating power.
Kabuto suddenly raised his head, raising his tear-blurred glasses, staring fixedly at Menma, within which surged the hope of a dying man grasping the last straw: “You… why did you…”
Menma’s words carried a heavy weight: “I joined the Organization. Currently, I’m undercover in Konoha.”
“During this time, I learned of Danzō’s plan. So I pleaded with Lord Shura, preserved her life, and secretly transferred her to the Land of Stars.”
His ink-black eyes stared straight into Kabuto’s collapsed eyes: “But if you don’t join the Organization and pledge loyalty to Lord Shura…”
The latter words were not finished, like an ice-cold blade hanging overhead, coming to an abrupt halt.
But the implication was self-evident.
Nono Yakushi’s life and death would no longer be guaranteed.
Silence.
Above the Starry Water Surface, only a deathly stillness remained.
Kabuto’s heavy panting was infinitely amplified in the absolute quiet.
He looked at the five-year-old child before him, at the bottomless calm in his ink-black eyes.
The massive information shock and the contrast in identity left him almost unable to think.
The Organization?
Menma was the undercover agent of Lord Shura’s secret Organization in Konoha?
Why would Lord Shura take notice of Menma, this little child?
Did he have something special too?
But all the doubts, all the weighing, all the fears became insignificant in the face of those hollow brown eyes and the sight of the Director tenderly gazing at the “substitute” in the photograph.
Director Nono was still alive!
This was his only light!
And the switch for this light was in the hands of that “Lord Shura.”
Towering hatred was directed at Danzō, who had used him as a pawn, and at Konoha!
And before him, there seemed to be only one path left.
Without the slightest hesitation.
The collapse and reconstruction of his heart completed in an instant.
Kabuto Yakushi suddenly raised his hand, roughly wiping the tears and disarray from his face with his sleeve.
He straightened his body, though still trembling slightly, but the disguise of the spy deep in his eyes and the cowardice belonging to “Kumamoto Kabuto” had completely vanished, replaced by an ice-cold resolve of one forced to the brink, staking everything on one throw.
He stared straight into Menma’s ink-black eyes, his voice hoarse yet exceptionally clear, every word squeezed out from the depths of his soul:
“I join.”
He paused, then added, with an almost humble, final plea.
“But… let me see her. Let me… reunite with the Director.”
He needed confirmation, confirmation that the Director still “existed,” confirmation that this light was not just another illusory bait.
Menma quietly looked at him, his small face showing no change in expression.
A moment later, he slowly nodded.
“Your request, I will relay to Lord Shura.”
As the words fell, Menma’s small figure began to blur and turn transparent, like a reflection in water disturbed by a thrown stone.
The vast, boundless Starry Water Surface around them, the brilliant starry river, also began to rapidly dissipate and peel away like a fading scroll.
The cold sensation of the stone ground suddenly returned underfoot.
The pungent miso soup scent, the musty smell of the stone wall, the guard’s lingering anger, the companion’s concerned gaze.
The sounds and aura of the real world surged back into his senses like a tide.
Kabuto Yakushi still maintained his squatting position on the ground, still clutching that pottery shard soaked in soup.
His whole body shuddered violently, as if just fished out from deep water, gasping for air in big gulps, his forehead covered in fine beads of cold sweat, his back clothing soaked through with cold sweat, clinging tightly to his skin, bringing a chilling sticky sensation.
“Kabuto! Are you okay?” Murahashi Hazuki’s concerned voice rang in his ears, thick with worry.
She and Shita Junhito had already cleaned most of the stains, and a new miso soup bucket was placed nearby.
Natsuhi stood a few steps away, her gaze heavily fixed on him, carrying scrutiny and probing.
Everything just now… was an Illusion Technique!
The time experienced in the Illusion World just now seemed like only an instant had passed in reality.
The stinging pain from the cold edge of the pottery shard under his fingertips felt incredibly real.
The heavy crash of the iron gate deep in the prison sector felt incredibly real.
But more real was the clear imprint in his mind of those few photographs, Menma’s ink-black calm eyes, and that sentence “I will relay to Lord Shura.”
Kabuto Yakushi slowly, deeply inhaled.
The turbid, ice-cold air of the prison sector surged into his lungs, bringing a stinging pain, yet also a strange, ice-cold clarity.
He raised his head, his face gradually reassembling bit by bit the panicked, self-blaming, clumsy expression belonging to “Kumamoto Kabuto.”
But this time, deep behind those lenses, something had thoroughly shattered, replaced by something even colder, even harder.
“I-I’m… fine, Hazuki.” His voice still carried a faint, barely detectable hoarseness, but he had already tried to restore his usual gentleness.
“Just now… I felt a bit dizzy, probably too nervous.” As he spoke, he slowly stood up, his movements somewhat stiff, as if readjusting to this shell.
He squatted down, picked up a clean rag, and began silently, forcefully wiping the last remaining stains on the ground.
His movements mechanical, yet with an almost obsessive focus.
The salty, sticky scent of miso soup stubbornly drilled into his nostrils, mingling with the coldness and despair aura of the stone wall.
This nauseating scent, at this moment, was like a brand, clearly marking the boundary between reality and that Starry Water Surface.
Also marking the watershed of his life.
The Root spy named Kabuto Yakushi was dead; what lived on was a “Kumamoto Kabuto” taking the first step from the ruins toward the unknown darkness.
He wiped the stains on the ground, as if also wiping away everything of the past.
Director Nono’s hollow gaze and the gentle smile in the photograph alternated in his mind, ultimately transforming into a bone-chilling power that supported him to continue forward.
He waited, waiting for that response.
