The morning sun cast its light over the Firefly Office Building.
Change a single word, and this structure could share its name with the future headquarters of a great nation's military. Alas, that word cannot be changed.
At the corridor outside one of the offices, a ninja was cautiously tending to a bird in a cage, replacing its cooled boiled water with fresh and swapping out old scraps for fresh meat.
Don't let the bird's small size fool you—it might look like a sparrow, but it was some kind of owl, undoubtedly a raptor. This made perfect sense; otherwise, a messenger bird getting taken out mid-flight by a random passing hawk would be far too absurd.
The bird's importance wasn't the only reason for the ninja's care. There was another factor at play.
He had been on duty all night, and soon, another ninja arrived to relieve him.
"This is…?"
The newcomer was clearly a rookie, his eyes widening at his first glimpse of the bird.
"It's Senju Tobirama's messenger bird," the first ninja explained. "In emergencies, it's used to contact the Senju clan."
"Something this important…" The rookie hesitated, then corrected himself. "I mean, Senju Tobirama's bird is just hanging here in broad daylight for everyone to see?"
"What else are we supposed to do? Gotta let everyone know what it is."
"Why are you whispering?"
The rookie had already picked up on a certain atmosphere, mimicking his senior's hushed tone from the start.
"Oh, Lord Genma's in a foul mood," the senior replied. "Seems like some ninjutsu development isn't going smoothly… Best not to disturb him."
"Got it. Crystal clear."
When the boss is in a bad mood, subordinates instinctively keep their heads down and their presence minimal. This wasn't just a shinobi world truth—it was a universal law, one that held even in the underworld.
Inside the office, separated by a single wall, Hane Genma sat in a chair, his face clouded with frustration.
Everything was going wrong—not the kind of "all beginnings are hard" wrong, either. In fact, the beginning had been deceptively easy.
Genma's attempt to develop puppet techniques had succeeded… and failed. Or rather, it was so far from true success that it could only be called a failure.
Creating chakra threads wasn't difficult. Using the "simulated experience method," one could train by first feeling chakra flow through a thin thread. With enough practice, the thread could be removed entirely, leaving only chakra. As long as the chakra was refined enough, forming chakra threads was no great challenge.
The real difficulty lay in creating enough chakra threads and using them to manipulate a puppet's joints with extreme precision. Only then could the puppet perform the desired movements, evolving from a mere performance prop into a weapon capable of executing lethal commands. Just thinking about the complexity was enough to give anyone a headache.
Crafting a puppet from human parts or other materials wasn't hard either. But creating a precise, durable, and deadly puppet required medical knowledge, woodworking, and blacksmithing skills. No matter how talented Genma was, he couldn't possibly invest his "skill points" into those areas.
Most critically, Genma couldn't replicate a bloodline limit through a dead body or its heart. This failure stripped away much of the purpose behind developing puppet techniques.
One had to admit that the "Scorpion of the Red Sand" earned his genius title for a reason. His mastery of puppetry was unparalleled. How had he managed to preserve the Third Kazekage's Magnet Release?
Was Magnet Release not a chakra-mixing bloodline limit, but rather an organ-based one, like the Sharingan? Did a ninja wield Magnet Release not because of unique chakra, but because of a unique body?
Whether it was due to objective limitations or Genma's own shortcomings, he simply couldn't replicate a bloodline limit in a puppet.
As a result, the three Hagoromo clan corpses he'd collected were reduced to mere organ donors. Their hearts were extracted and given to those in need—Kiryu, Takanotsume, and Fuma Chi. As expected, the high-quality hearts granted each of them two or three chakra nature transformations.
For them, this was a significant gain. But compared to a bloodline limit, it was negligible. Even Jigo Yurei couldn't replicate a bloodline limit.
This only proved how lackluster the Hagoromo clan was—utterly incapable of making meaningful contributions to Genma's cause. No wonder the Senju clan emerged as the victors of the Warring States period while the Hagoromo faded into history's shadows.
Look at the aid Senju Tobirama provided Genma, then look at these three dead Hagoromo. The comparison spoke for itself.
After much deliberation, Genma decided to abandon puppet techniques. From his initial enthusiasm to his eventual disillusionment, the entire process had taken mere days.
The inability to replicate bloodline limits was one disappointment. Another was his realization of puppetry's inherent flaws.
The technique demanded immense effort to learn, not to mention the time needed to craft precise puppets. After all that, the combat effectiveness was mediocre at best—a textbook case of high effort, low reward.
This fighting style suited artistic types with a flair for theatrics, not someone like Genma, who craved raw, unadorned power and had no patience for flair.
Hadn't he already started reducing his reliance on complex techniques in battle? The last thing he needed was to prance around a battlefield with a puppet striking poses.
In short, learning puppetry required too much time and energy. Wouldn't Genma be better off investing that effort elsewhere?
So, he organized his rough ideas on puppet techniques, stuffed the notes into the archive room, and called it a day. At least the past few days hadn't been a total waste.
He hoped puppetry would one day shine in the hands of someone destined for it.
No matter. No need to sulk. One project succeeded, the next failed—his research success rate was still a solid fifty percent. Genma took a deep breath, steadied his mood, and prepared to seek out Uchiha Nanami to ask her something.
He wanted to know if Nanami had mastered Earth Release techniques or was proficient in earth chakra manipulation. If she was, he planned to learn from her.
With no other immediate paths to boost his strength, Genma figured he'd return to the tried-and-true grind of chakra nature training.
White Zetsu was his greatest hope for growth, but not his only one. When it was time for honest, grounded effort, Genma had no complaints.
Meanwhile, across from the Firefly Office Building stood the Readiness Building, where ninjas received daily missions, duty assignments, and rested or prepared for action.
Uchiha Nanami's office was located here. Under normal circumstances, she'd be stationed in this building, ready to handle any urgent crises in Kawagen Province.
Her combat prowess often served as a stabilizing force within the Firefly organization.
Having stayed up late the previous night, Nanami's "work hours" started a bit later today. As she pushed open her office door, she spotted her summoning beast, Little Seven, crouched in a corner.
Little Seven looked like an ordinary fox, not one of those storied summons with a sacred retreat to call home. It was a bit of a wanderer, often appearing and disappearing unpredictably, something Nanami had long grown accustomed to.
Initially, she paid no mind to what Little Seven was doing. Canines ignoring their masters to do their own thing—what was so strange about that?
But as Nanami moved to sit, she noticed something familiar being batted back and forth between Little Seven's paws…
It was a creature resembling a miniature pangolin. Nanami swiftly approached, shooed Little Seven aside, and felt around the creature's neck. She quickly retrieved a tightly rolled scroll.
Once the message was delivered, the "pangolin," looking thoroughly aggrieved after being toyed with by the "dog," vanished in a puff of white smoke.
Nanami didn't spare it a second thought. She unfurled the scroll, and as she read its contents, her body froze.
In the blink of an eye, the scroll ignited without flame.
The burning sensation at her fingertips snapped Nanami back to reality. She slowly sat down, her eyes staring blankly ahead, as if her gaze pierced through walls and buildings, fixed on some distant point.
Her expression shifted subtly, cycling through emotions.
At that moment, Genma knocked and entered. He was about to ask about Earth Release when he noticed Nanami's strange demeanor. Sharp as ever in these matters, he immediately sensed something had happened—something he wasn't privy to.
And it was likely unrelated to the organization, tied instead to Nanami's origins: the Uchiha clan.
"What's going on?" he asked directly.
Nanami opened her mouth, hesitated, but after a brief internal struggle, decided to be honest with Genma.
"I just received a secret message from the Uchiha," she said. "Something's happened within the clan…"
The matter seemed complex, so Nanami reorganized her thoughts to explain it as clearly and concisely as possible.
"There's a very unique ninja in our clan. Her Sharingan is extraordinary, potentially capable of altering the clan's fate. Because of this, the clan fears and covets her power, going so far as to keep her secretly imprisoned."
"For some reason, her existence and abilities have been leaked. It seems an external force has infiltrated the Uchiha, trying to seize her power."
A Sharingan like that? Isn't your Mangekyo Sharingan already overpowered enough? Genma found it baffling.
For one, he wasn't familiar with the Uchiha of this era. For another, he was the type who, after finishing a story, didn't bother with side content or spin-offs. His reaction was understandable.
But one thing was clear from this brief exchange: anyone bold enough to target the Uchiha's power was no small fry.
Wait—could it be Black Zetsu or White Zetsu?
Genma's mind jumped to the possibility, but he quickly dismissed it. Black Zetsu and White Zetsu rarely got their hands dirty directly. They preferred lurking in the shadows, manipulating gullible ninjas to do their bidding for free.
More importantly, if Black Zetsu and White Zetsu were involved, they wouldn't be detected so easily. History proved that even the Uchiha's peerless ocular prowess, second only to the Hyuga's Byakugan, couldn't uncover their schemes.
They'd even tampered with the Uchiha's ancestral stone tablet. What more was there to say?
If Black Zetsu and White Zetsu weren't involved, then this wasn't overly complicated. It was just another case of someone eyeing the Uchiha's "red eyes" with envy—a cliché as old as time, the classic "treasure belongs to the worthy" tale.
"I don't care much about powerful ocular techniques or their potential," Nanami said. "I just feel sorry for her. She's bound by blood to the clan, yet they fear her, use her."
Genma sensed Nanami was sugarcoating the Uchiha's actions. The imprisoned ninja's plight was likely far worse than mere confinement.
Was this why Nanami had criticized Uchiha Madara so harshly, as if he'd failed to live up to expectations?
Even in an era of immense external pressure, a ninja clan could harbor countless internal divisions. Expecting a large, elite clan like the Uchiha to unite in perfect harmony was naively idealistic.
By extension, if the Firefly organization grew larger… Genma didn't dare think too far down that road.
Because if he did, he'd end up creating something like the "Anbu."
Damn you, Senju Tobirama, with your endless clever tricks.
"So, Nanami, what's your plan?"
Despite her hesitation, Genma had already seen through her intentions.
Nanami paced in a circle, then steeled her resolve.
"I want to rescue her," she said. "I know this has nothing to do with the organization's interests, and I don't want to drag the group into trouble over my personal matters. So, Genma, I'd like to request a leave of absence. Let me step away from the organization temporarily. Once this is resolved, I'll return immediately."
Tricky situation, isn't it? Things are never as simple as opening your mouth and solving everything.
More importantly, if Nanami returned to the Uchiha, she'd be fully exposed to White Zetsu's watchful eyes.
After a moment's thought, Genma knew what he had to do.
"The organization can't help with this, of course," he said. "But… I can assist you in a personal capacity. This has nothing to do with the organization. Success or failure, gains or losses—it's just you and me."
Genma didn't want to lose a valuable ally like Nanami. What else could he do?
He sighed inwardly…
Once a year, a visit to the House of Crimson Eyes. Hopefully, there'd be something new to discover.