"What the hell."
The words slipped out of Kakashi's mouth before he could even process them. In front of him stood the very tailed beast he had once killed.
The sight of Kyojiro's back—covered in ragged clothing—interlapped with another image in his mind. Rin. His teammate. Someone entrusted to him. Someone he was supposed to protect… someone he failed.
For a moment, Kakashi didn't know whether to move. His legs twitched, every muscle in his body begging him to grab Kyojiro and run from the area as fast as he could.
But Kakashi wasn't a fool. Even beneath the fear tightening his lungs, he understood clearly that it was Kyojiro who had summoned the beast.
Isobu… is that its name?
Meanwhile, Kyojiro calmly raised his hand. His expression was resolute.
"Isobu… I have come to talk."
His voice carried through the air like a command.
The Three-Tails, however, was anything but pleased. Its massive mouth opened, and a deep cry of rage tore out—a roar so powerful the earth itself trembled. Leaves fell from the trees. The forest quaked as if acknowledging something ancient and furious towering above it.
"How dare you know that name."
The beast's voice boomed, bold and impossibly deep—more a thunderous growl than anything remotely human.
Kyojiro didn't flinch. His posture straightened, his presence becoming almost protective as he stood in front of Kakashi.
"Isobu. Like I said, I have come to talk." His tone grew heavier by the second. "About your father—the father of all tailed beasts… the Sage of the Six Paths."
.
.
.
Back in Prison — One Year Ago
Kyojiro pressed his palm against the smooth wall, fingers tracing the tiny cracks in the otherwise perfect block of stone.
Despite the realization he had come to months ago, darkness still clouded his heart.
Sure—he knew the truth about himself. He understood what he needed to do.
Yet the cold frailty of his reality made itself known every passing second.
His suffering was eternal. And by his calculations, with him gone from the story, the world would continue as canon:
Minato would die.
The child of fate would be born… shunned by his own village… only to save it later.
The Fourth Shinobi War would come.
Only after all that would there be even the slightest possibility for Kyojiro to be free again.
His mouth twisted into a grimace. This is so unfair… there's so much I need to do. So much I want to do.
The more he reflected on his life, the more hollow it felt.
All my life, I kept chasing this illusion of strength… and for what? At the end of the day, I'm stuck here, alone… in this cell. My existence changed nothing.
His hand traced the cracks again, sinking deeper into the quiet misery of captivity.
In the dullness of his confinement, he clung to the one thing that brought him warmth—something that had always carried him through the darkest nights.
The memories of Kyojuro Rengoku.
Images surged through his mind. A childhood shaped by a distant father. A mother—gentle, radiant—who instilled courage and unshakeable values into her son's soul.
Kyojiro's mind drifted forward—to Rengoku's teenage years. To a father who had sunken into despair and isolation, crushed under grief and failure.
And somehow… Kyojiro felt sympathetic toward the man.
He saw how Rengoku smiled anyway. How he bore the weight of expectations. How he carried the hopes of his family alone.
He saw Rengoku training endlessly. Laughing heartily at Shinobu's dry humor. Enduring Giyu's silent but genuine concern. Living every day trying to save people, trying to make the world even a little better.
Through those memories—memories foreign yet familiar—Kyojiro realized something.
Rengoku cherished them all.
Mitsuri. Gyomei. Every Hashira. Every comrade.
Despite his strength, despite his battles, despite the tragedies…
Rengoku cherished them all.
And it was for them that he fought.
To build a better world.
To create real change.
To live as he wished to live—
Saving the weak.
Helping the forgotten.
Becoming a light in the darkness.
And through those memories, Kyojiro understood:
Rengoku… even in death, your memories—your life—still shines.
He remembered the exact day the anguish of prison loosened its grip.
Not disappeared… but was drowned out by something far stronger.
A desire to act.
Kyojiro no longer wished to ignore suffering.
Nor was he willing to keep living a life as hollow as the one he'd been enduring.
No… this world, this broken world I've watched for more than eighteen years—this world needs to change.
His mind sharpened.
By the time Naruto brings his change, too many lives will already be lost.
He remembered looking up—through the abyss of his despair—imagining the ceiling breaking apart, imagining sunlight finally reaching him.
I will bring change.
And change… comes with power.
.
.
.
Back to the Present
Isobu snarled at the human standing before him.
"You… I don't know how you learned any of this, but don't play games with me, human. I am far stronger than you."
The Three-Tails was no innocent creature.
Centuries had taught it the full extent of human deceit.
And mere fragments of its past were nowhere near enough to sway it.
Kyojiro knew that.
He never planned to stop at a few words.
No—he intended to recount everything.
While both Kakashi and Isobu stood frozen in disbelief, Kyojiro continued—speaking as if he had personally witnessed every moment of the Sage's life.
He spoke of the Ten-Tails' separation.
The birth of the tailed beasts.
Their childhood.
Their final moments with the Sage before he passed.
His voice carried sincerity—raw, profound—like he was truly empathizing with the lonely creature before him.
Isobu couldn't help but widen his eyes.
The beast—a walking calamity of chakra, capable of leveling villages—stepped back.
Not out of fear.
Not out of caution.
But from the sheer knowledge displayed before him.
Finally, Isobu lowered his massive head, his voice quieting.
"Human… what is it you wished to talk about?"
....
Wanna read more chapters, Come check out my patreon-
patreon.com/Immortal806