(Mito's POV)
"So, any questions?"
I took a slow, measured sip of my tea, allowing the silence to stretch and thicken like honey in winter.
Any questions? The sheer, breathtaking audacity of the query was enough to make the steam from my jasmine tea waver with my suppressed amusement.
Oh, god. She descended upon my peace like a miniature comet, trailing a constellation of apocalyptic prophecies, casually upturning the very foundations of my understanding of reality, and then having the unmitigated gall to ask if I had any questions?
It was so profoundly irritating that if she weren't Tajima's daughter, and if she didn't possess a certain sharp-featured, imperious charm that even I could not deny, I might have been tempted to forego diplomacy entirely.
Just a little. A flicker of chakra to the tenketsu points, perhaps. A temporary, yet deeply satisfying, paralysis.
But alas, nobility has its burdens, and one of them is that we do not punt irritatingly prescient children into the koi pond.
As the saying goes, the parent eats the sour plum, but the child's face makes the expression. Or in this case, the child delivers the world-shattering news, and the parent—specifically, one Tajima Uchiha—will undoubtedly be receiving a strongly worded, exquisitely calligraphed scroll from me at his earliest convenience. Hmph.
Who, in all the heavens and earth, after unloading a verbal avalanche of such magnitude—the utter annihilation of my homeland, the devastation of my village and my husband's biggest dream, the entire world plunged into a waking nightmare—has the sheer theatrical flair to pause, as if concluding a mildly interesting lecture on flower arrangement, and ask for questions?
It was a level of sheer, unadulterated gall that I had not encountered since… well, since Hashirama.
A fond, exasperated sigh threatened to escape my lips. Dear, ridiculous Hashirama. The man could accidentally invent a new nature transformation because he tripped over a root and sneezed at the same time.
He once tried to broker peace with the Land of Lightning by challenging the Raikage to a drinking contest and then, upon winning, gifted them a forest of suspiciously phallic-shaped trees.
He made the outrageous seem mundane. Compared to his unique brand of chaos, a little girl claiming to see the future felt almost… orderly.
My gaze, which had been idly tracing the pattern of sunlight on the tatami mats, returned to Azula. She was watching me, those dark, keen Uchiha eyes missing nothing.
She was preternaturally still, a porcelain doll waiting for its owner's reaction. And she was telling the truth. Or, at the very least, she believed she was.
The subtle, almost imperceptible flow of chakra through the paper seal she'd activated moments earlier confirmed that much.
So, I began the silent, internal inquisition, the first and most fundamental question: Is it even possible to see the future?
The answer surfaced from the depths of my clan's vast archives of forbidden knowledge and bizarre occurrences. Yes.
It was not a common parlour trick, but it was a documented phenomenon. The figure of the Priestess of the Land of Demons materialized in my mind's eye, a woman swathed in robes woven from mystery and power.
Our clan, the Uzumaki and their lineage, were two sides of the same esoteric coin. Where we mastered the art of binding and containing power through intricate, physical formulae—fūinjutsu as architecture—they specialized in the intangible, in prophecies and spiritual foresight.
Their 'Demon Sealing' and 'Future Telling' was a terrifying, revered ability.
There were scrolls in our library, sealed behind layers of protective jutsu, that spoke of priestesses who foresaw the exact manner and hour of their own deaths, meeting their fate with an eerie, placid acceptance. The records were clear, and the Uzumaki do not keep records on trifles.
Then, of course, there was also the great Sage Toad of Mount Myōboku, a being so ancient his wisdom was said to be woven into the very fabric of time, and he was a known prophet.
His predictions were cryptic, often infuriatingly so, but they were heeded by every Toad Sage who ever lived. And on the more immediate, visceral end of the spectrum, there were the Uchiha themselves.
Our histories spoke of Mangekyō Sharingan abilities so potent they warped reality itself—one that could rewind a body's state by precious seconds, snatching victory from the jaws of certain death, and another rumored to grant fleeting, devastating glimpses of events yet to pass.
Time, it seemed, was not the immutable river most believed it to be. For the truly powerful, it had eddies and currents that could be navigated.
The second question followed the first with the inevitability of a moonrise: Did Azula truly see the future?
Logic, cold and unyielding, screamed that it was impossible. She was a child. A prodigy, undoubtedly—the chilling precision of her words attested to that—but a child nonetheless.
The Sharingan had not yet awakened in her eyes; that crimson 'curse' and blessing of her lineage was still dormant. She lacked the known, traditional tools for such a feat.
But then… I looked at her again. Not as a clan matriarch assessing a visitor, but as a sensor, as one of the greatest living masters of chakra manipulation. Her Yin chakra.
It was… immense. A bottomless, dark, still ocean locked behind the dam of her physical form. It wasn't volatile or raging; it was profound, and terrifyingly potent. It was the kind of chakra reserve one associated with tailed beasts or sages, not a little girl. If her body could ever grow strong enough to fully harness it, she would be a force of nature.
A new hypothesis, but plausible, began to form. Since the Mangekyō's abilities are merely one expression of extreme Yin release, a specific, curated application of profound spiritual energy, what if Azula, this vessel of unimaginable Yin potential, had stumbled upon another application entirely?
An uncontrolled, subconscious surge that allowed her consciousness to slip through a crack in the fabric of time itself?
It sounded insane. And then I remembered Hashirama, my beloved, magnificent fool of a husband, telling me how he'd achieved Sage Mode.
He hadn't trained for it. He hadn't been to the three Holy Lands that are said to teach one the Sage Mode.
He'd told me, with utter sincerity, that he was "just sitting one day, feeling really happy that no one was trying to kill me, and I was looking at a really pretty leaf, and then… I could feel the trees breathing."
He'd connected with all of nature's energy because he'd been in a particularly good mood. Compared to that, Azula's unconscious foray into chronomancy seemed almost academically rigorous.
My mind, having raced down these labyrinthine paths, returned to the devastating core of her message. The Uzumaki were gone, Konoha in ruins. The world, trapped in a silent, horrific illusion.
They were the unraveling of everything my husband and I had built, the desecration of my ancestral home, the end of hope itself. The weight of it was a physical pressure in my chest.
I set my teacup down with a soft, definitive click. The sound was a period at the end of my internal paragraph of panic. Elegance is not the absence of fear; it is the decision to act with grace despite it.
"Surely," I began, my voice as smooth and calm as the surface of an undisturbed pond, "it is not merely the conviction in your own mind that persuades you. A vision of such… magnitude… requires corroboration. You would not risk coming to me, a virtual stranger but for the kindness I show your clan, without a piece of irrefutable evidence. Something that would convince even the most skeptical of minds."
I truly hoped she had none. I hoped it was a child's vivid nightmare, a fantasy born of that overwhelming Yin energy.
The future she painted was so exhaustingly bleak. I have spent my entire life building, protecting, and nurturing. The thought of having to spend my remaining years simply fighting a desperate, rearguard action against inevitability was a profound weariness.
But the faint, knowing smirk that touched her lips told me my hope was in vain. She did not look like a child then. She looked ancient.
"In fact," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless carried perfectly in the quiet room. Her finger lifted, not pointing at me, but through me. It was an unnervingly precise gesture. "One of the most compelling reasons is sitting right inside of you."
And within the seal, deep within the prison of my own body, the Nine-Tails stirred. Not a lazy, dormant shift, but a sudden, violent lurch of awareness—a surge of pure, undiluted malice and surprise that resonated through my very bones.
The child knew. She knew about him. His existence was one of the open secrets of Konoha, not forbidden, nonetheless, but only known to a handful.
Even Tsunade, my granddaughter, does not know. Tajima? Would he truly be so reckless as to entrust such a volatile secret to his daughter? And then I looked into those sharp, knowing eyes, and I had my answer.
A sigh escaped my lips.
One does not reach my age—a lady never reveals her exact years, but let us simply say I remember when the trees in the Forest of Death were mere acorns with ambition—without learning to trust the subtler currents of intuition.
"You will excuse me for a moment, my dear," I said, my voice a gentle, melodic counterpoint to the sudden tension in the room. "An old woman's thoughts are like a tangled skein of yarn; they require a moment of quiet to be properly sorted. I find the best place for such quiet is within."
Her only response was a slow, graceful nod. Politeness itself. How very un-Uchiha-like. It was, frankly, disconcerting.
The decision was made.
She had said there was one entity who could confirm or deny the girl's outrageous claims, and he currently resided in the luxurious, chain-adorned pavilion I had curated for him within the sanctum of my own mind.
The beauty of a mindscape, of course, is its delightful elasticity regarding time. One could spend hours in deep contemplation within, and to the outside world, it would be but the span of a single, drawn breath. A most convenient trick for one who is constantly interrupted.
I closed my eyes, the world of sensory input—the scent of tatami, the faint whisper of the wind against the shoji screens—falling away. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, I crossed the threshold into myself.
The familiar landscape of my consciousness materialized around me: a vast, serene garden under a perpetual twilight sky.
Prismatic lotus blossoms floated on mirror-still ponds, and ancient, gnarled trees, heavy with glowing, seal-inscribed fruit, stood in silent vigil. It was a place of immense peace and immense power, a reflection of my soul. And, much like my soul, it had a rather large, rather orange problem sulking in the center of it all.
Kyubi, the Nine-Tails, was not lounging in his usual state of indolent, seething resentment. He was not dramatically draped over the largest rock, muttering about the indignity of his accommodations.
No, today, the great beast was pacing. A low, continuous growl rumbled from his chest, a sound that vibrated through the very fabric of my mental world, causing the lotus blossoms to tremble on the water. His nine tails lashed like irritated serpents, their movements sharp and agitated.
This was new. And in my long experience, 'new' behavior from the Nine-Tails was invariably a prelude to "catastrophic."
"My, my," I began, my tone light and chiding, as one would use with a misbehaving but cherished pet. "What has ruffled your magnificent fur today, Kyubi? You seem positively… vexed. Could it be that you miss the comforting embrace of your interior decor?"
I gestured elegantly with one hand. In response, the Adamantine Sealing Chains—the manifestation of my will and the Uzumaki clan's formidable power—sprang from the air around him.
They did not constrict him violently, but rather slid into place with a soft, musical chime, a gentle but inescapable reminder of the established order of things.
"Why do you seem so agitated today?" I pressed, gliding closer over the placid water. "Or has a millennium of existence finally granted you an appreciation for minimalist design? I could always add a few more chains. Perhaps a tasteful vase?"
He let out a snort that could have extinguished a bonfire. Truly, his personality was the most baffling thing about him. For a creature of pure, unimaginable chakra, he had the emotional maturity of a particularly touchy Uchiha.
The posturing, the broodiness, the sheer theatricality of his disdain! He was a perpetual tsundere, a being who defined himself by his opposition to everything, especially kindness. Getting a straight answer from him was like trying to bottle moonlight.
"Hmph. 'Little brat,'" he rumbled, his voice like grinding continents. "I tell you, do not even think of trusting that Uchiha wench. Do not be fooled by a pretty face and polite words. They are a plague. A cancer of the soul! Every last one of them is evil, the source of betrayal and ambition!"
I arched a single, elegant eyebrow. "Your flattery towards my guest is noted, though your delivery lacks a certain… finesse."
I took another step forward, the chains around him shimmering in the dim light. "Be serious, Kyubi. Do not insult my intelligence by attempting to distract me with your well-worn prejudices."
"What did that girl say to you that has you pacing like a nervous kitten? What notion did she plant in your mind that has you, the great and immortal Nine-Tails, so restless? Or," I added, a sly note entering my voice, "are you truly so afraid of a single little girl?"
The one tactic that never failed. Provoke the pride of a god. His massive head reared back, and a truly spectacular shower of sparks erupted from his nostrils.
"AFRAID?" he boomed, the sound echoing through the mental realm. "I fear NOTHING! Especially not some mewling, red-eyed child! It is her words that are the poison! The concept! If the world being plunged into an infinite illusion is indeed what I believe she suggests… then it is a calamity unlike any your pitiful, fleeting mind could ever conceive!"
He seemed to realize he'd said too much and clamped his jaws shut with an audible snap that echoed like a thunderclap.
I stood perfectly still, his words settling over me like a sudden frost, my amusement evaporating.
This was no longer a matter of humoring a strange child or managing my tenant's temper. The Nine-Tails, for all his bluster, was an ancient being. He had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of legends. His perspective was measured in centuries, not years.
And in all that time, what could possibly constitute a 'calamity' to him?
The scrolls of my clan, and indeed those of the Senju, spoke of the Tailed Beasts in hushed, reverent tones. Their origins were a mystery, lost to the fog of time.
Some scholars, the more fanciful ones, claimed they were contemporaries of the Sage of Six Paths himself, living fragments of a primordial power. What was certain was their age—well over a thousand years—and their most defining characteristic: immortality.
Not merely long life. True immortality. They could not die. If a host bearing a Tailed Beast was killed, if the beast itself was somehow dispersed, it would simply… reconstitute.
It might take months. It might take decades. But it would always return. This fundamental truth was the bedrock of their arrogance.
They viewed all other life, even the greatest of Kage, with a species of profound contempt. What did it matter if a human defeated them?
That human would age, wither, and turn to dust, forgotten by history, while the Tailed Beast would endure, eternal and unchanging. The worst they could experience was a temporary inconvenience, a brief nap before waking to a new era.
For Kyubi, the pinnacle of this arrogant existence, to label something a 'calamity'… it meant a threat that transcended death. A fate worse than the mere recycling of his chakra.
I took a slow, deep breath, centering myself. The serene garden of my mind felt suddenly fragile, a soap bubble against a thorn.
"I see," I said, my voice regaining its steady, resolute calm. "Very well. Your… concern… is acknowledged. I will bring the girl here. You will speak with her directly." I paused, letting the chains around him tighten almost imperceptibly, a whisper of promised constraint.
"And you will be on your best behavior, Kyubi. You will answer her questions with civility and truth. If you so much as think about growling at her, if you attempt to overwhelm her mind with even a fraction of your malice, I shall be forced to be exceptionally rude. I believe you recall the 'chastisement protocol' we devised after the incident with the Third Hokage's birthday cake?"
The great fox visibly shuddered. Some memories are universal, even for immortal demons.
He let out another, much quieter huff of indignation. "Do not threaten me, woman. I have graciously agreed to entertain your foolishness. Do not mistake my magnanimity for weakness."
"Of course not," I replied smoothly. "I mistake it for your overwhelming sense of decorum. Now, do try to make a good impression. We are, after all, having a lady over."
With that, I withdrew my consciousness, the serene garden dissolving back into the familiar surroundings of my sitting room. As expected, the transition was seamless.
In the world of reality, scarcely two seconds had passed. The steam still curled from my tea, and the young Uchiha girl was still watching me with that unnervingly patient expression.
I offered her a small, gracious smile. "My apologies for the pause. My… internal landlord… is a stickler for appointments. Very well, child. I will grant your audience. I shall take you to him."
I leaned forward slightly, my expression shifting to one of gentle warning. "But I feel I must offer a final caution. His manners are… uniquely his own. He is, to put it mildly, a terrible conversationalist. Consider yourself forewarned."
I watched her closely. There was no fear, not a flicker of apprehension, only a calm readiness. That, more than anything he had said, solidified my belief.
The percentage of my certainty about what she knows of the future ticked up from eighty to ninety-five.
Another internal sigh, this one tinged with weary resignation. Why must it always be so? Why can an old woman not be left to her tea, her scrolls, the new fun manga, and the quiet satisfaction of watching her village thrive in peace? Must the specter of some new, unimaginable trouble always loom on the horizon?
But then I looked at her—a girl who spoke of world-ending illusions with the calm of a seasoned general—and I felt the steel in my spine straighten.
This was Hashirama's dream. This fragile, beautiful, often irritating peace was what he bled for, what he built with his own two hands. And I, Mito Uzumaki, was its first and oldest guardian. My comfort, my peace, was a currency I had long ago agreed to spend without reservation for its sake.
"Very well," I said aloud, my voice once again the epitome of noble composure. "Let us not keep the grumpiest being in existence waiting. He does so hate to be kept."
I placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't flinch, didn't resist.
We stood together in the twilight garden of my mind. The girl's eyes swept over the impossible landscape—the glowing trees, the floating lotuses, the chains of gold light—and I saw not shock, but a flicker of recognition, of nostalgia. As if she were visiting a beloved museum she had not seen in many years.
Then her gaze fell upon the colossal form of the Nine-Tails, chained and seething. She looked up, and up, and up, taking in his immense, terrifying glory. And she smiled. A small, wistful, utterly fearless, and even a little excited smile.
She took a single step forward, her voice clear and steady in the vast mental space.
"Yo, Kurama," she said, and I noted the use of the unfamiliar name. "It seems you are a little bit bigger than in my memory."
The great beast's single open eye widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
I don't know, although someone say it's lazy writing her talking about the future, but I just feel this is a correct strategy because by this, she can gain anything if Mito who was willing to do everything for Konoha, but then again hope you can understand, the MC's intelligence depends on the author and well, I feel confident in my creativity but concerning taking risk, I'm not good at math, hehe.
I'm about to leave to the university in a week, once done, I will have more free time to truly concentrate on this and don't forget to vote or join my Patreon.
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