Root's Third Base, Armory Division.
A dim room with only a single ventilation duct and one door. A tall, four-tier iron rack devoured more than eighty percent of the space. It was packed with white masks etched in bizarre patterns, standard-issue cloaks, fitted bodysuits, kunai, shuriken, and all kinds of weapons and gear.
On the top shelf along the inner side of the rack sat rows of sealing scrolls. On the back of each, a single crimson character was written: Explode.
To the right of the rack, in front of a rectangular rosewood table, Konome and Aburame Ryūma stood quietly. A black-haired woman sat behind the desk, expression empty, head lowered as she filled out forms.
"Height."
"One thirty-five."
A ballpoint pen scratched out a blur of cursive strokes.
"Weight."
Konome pressed her lips together. She did not like the number, not literally, not in what it implied.
"Two fifty."
Click.
The pen stopped.
The woman slowly lifted her head. Heavy dark circles framed her eyes, making her look like a sleepless panda. She studied Konome's childish face for a moment, her gaze lingering on the black cloth that covered her eyes, then lowered her head and resumed writing.
Weight: 250 kg.
After writing it, the panda-eyed woman hesitated, then added a decimal point between the five and the zero.
Only then did she nod in satisfaction.
"Codename."
"Yato."
Scratch, scratch.
Question and answer. The form filled quickly.
Aburame Ryūma waited behind Konome like a cold wax statue.
The pen clicked as it retracted.
The panda-eyed woman folded the completed form, stamped it, then turned to pick out appropriate clothing for Konome.
"Can I wear my own clothes?"
"When you're on a mission, the cloak and mask are mandatory. Otherwise, wear whatever you want."
She bent to rummage. Soon she yanked out a set of clothing from the bottom of the rack and handed it to Konome, then took a mask down from the shelf.
"There aren't many masks that fit your face. No choices. As for tools, everyone has a limited allotment. You need to file requests to receive more. I suggest you take this chance to request extra."
"No need. Thank you."
Konome did not fuss. She accepted the mask and uniform.
The mask resembled the upper half of an owl's head. Around the eye sockets, red and black lines formed strange patterns.
Not ugly. Not pretty either.
Common, standard issue.
From the emotional light above Danzo's head, Konome could tell his main reason for recruiting her was to target Hiruzen Sarutobi.
If her relationship with Root became public, it would likely interfere with Danzo's later plans.
Danzo understood that even better than she did. He would not send her on ordinary missions. Chances were these items would rarely be used. As for ninja tools, unless it was something on the level of the Sage of Six Paths' remnants, most of it would not help her much anymore.
"One more thing."
The panda-eyed woman pulled out a dark green handbook and a wooden black disk from under the desk.
The disk's surface was carved with dense curse markings. At the center was a hollow square.
"The handbook contains Root regulations, maps, and the method to解除 the base's sealing barrier. Memorize it after you go back, so you don't break taboos. Put your chakra into this disk and it will generate a symbol unique to you. It's used to confirm identity."
Konome carefully stored the handbook, then accepted the disk and studied the deeply carved script.
A six-year ninja academy did not only teach the Transformation, Clone, and Substitution Techniques.
Will of Fire, chakra theory, trap setting, ninjutsu structure, hand seals, throwing, taijutsu, genjutsu analysis, infiltration and reconnaissance, and more. The curriculum covered everything.
Back in the academy, "Konome" had even mobilized her little "fan club" to borrow higher-grade textbooks. Some of them included basic knowledge of fūinjutsu and curse seals.
Fūinjutsu and curse seals sounded lofty, but they were not as mysterious as people made them.
"Fūinjutsu" represented a broad category of techniques.
Just as Shadow Clone, Water Clone, and Lightning Clone all fell under "clone techniques," any technique that produced a "sealing" effect could be called fūinjutsu. If she developed a technique that controlled ropes to bind an enemy, that would be a perfectly standard sealing technique.
Even something like Rabbit Hair Needle, which could lock the flow of chakra in an enemy's tenketsu, could technically be categorized under fūinjutsu.
A "curse seal," on the other hand, was a semi-automatic technique. It was an alternative way of releasing ninjutsu.
If you took the chakra circulation route and the hand seals used to cast a technique and translated them into abstract written form, that written form became "spell script."
Using the rope example again, if you analyzed the rope-control technique and translated it into text, you would get a "sealing script." If you then drew that script onto a material that could conduct chakra, you would no longer need to focus intensely or form seals. With chakra input alone, the corresponding technique would activate, turning it into a curse-seal style "Rope-Binding Seal."
A "sealed scroll" containing forbidden techniques was simply the combination of these pieces.
Its principle was to use a curse-seal method to write the spell script of a sealing technique onto chakra-conductive paper.
That kind of paper was not unfamiliar. It belonged to the same category as the test paper used to determine chakra nature.
The manufacture of "ninja tools" followed a similar logic. The difference was that tools often required rare chakra metals, making them far more expensive.
Beyond those materials, human skin was also an excellent chakra conductor. Curse-seal specialists who wanted a little more combat power would sometimes draw seals directly on their own bodies.
There had even been a time in the shinobi world when most shinobi wore strange curse markings on their faces and bodies, treating them as symbols of strength. Later, as scripts grew more complex and human skin simply did not offer enough surface area, that practice faded out.
In short, fūinjutsu and curse seals were two completely different concepts. They were simply used together so often that their overlap became extensive.
By reading the meaning of the script on the disk, Konome confirmed that the curse seal carved into it was not a sealing array, nor any bizarre secret art. Just as the panda-eyed woman said, it was a simple curse seal that generated a representative pattern based on chakra fluctuations.
A faint violet chakra glow gathered around Konome's hands.
Buzz.
The disk trembled. One curse marking after another began to emit a violet sheen.
Behind Konome, Aburame Ryūma's icy expression finally shifted. Tiny black insects crawled out from his eyelids, releasing pheromones filled with hunger toward that pale violet light.
Yang?
He pushed his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose, forced down the agitated kikaichū inside him, and stepped back three paces. He retreated into the shadow by the door, like a creature that could only survive in the dark.
Buzz.
The markings around the disk lit in rings, gathering at the hollow square in the center, forming a unique emblem.
All three of them looked over, curiosity tugging.
The symbol was an unclosed circle formed by two overlapping wing silhouettes, mirrored against one another. The left wing held a spiral pattern, the right a radiating pattern. Two arcs, one forward and one reversed, interlocked into a crescent and an eclipse ring that never fully closed. At the gap hovered three small diamond points.
The emblem was static, yet those three points looked alive, flowing like water.
"This is your chakra fluctuation imprint. The sensory barrier around the village records everyone's chakra, and in the end it all gets converted into patterns like this."
The panda-eyed woman took the disk from Konome and admired the beautiful, mysterious imprint for a moment. Then she pulled out a blank sheet of white paper and rapidly formed seals.
The rotating violet pattern froze, then stained itself onto the paper and fixed in place.
"From now on, this is your mark.
Codename, mask, and chakra mark. All three are unique. Together they confirm your identity far more accurately than appearance, which can be changed at will."
She handed the paper to Konome, returned the disk beneath the desk, and then, as if her job had ended, sat back down. Motionless. Wooden. Empty.
Konome looked at the puppet-like panda-eyed woman, then at the insect man hiding in the corner, and decided there were not many normal human beings in Root.
"Let's go."
Arms full of items, she spoke to Aburame Ryūma.
"Mm."
To her surprise, Ryūma responded. Still terse, but at least he was no longer completely uncommunicative.
Konome blinked, then glanced at the emotional glow above his head. A hollow void, mixed with the faintest trace of goodwill.
If everyone's affection for her was measured out of a hundred, Ryūma's had moved from a dead zero to perhaps five.
She did not know where that goodwill came from, but she knew she needed an information channel. Root was still a black box to her.
As Danzo's right-hand man, one of only two elite jōnin in Root, Aburame Ryūma was an excellent source.
"How should I address you?"
"…Ryūma."
They spoke as they walked, one in front, one behind, leaving the armory.
Behind them, the dark room swallowed sound. The woman slowly lowered her head. Black hair slipped down both sides of her cheeks. She slumped in her chair as if falling asleep.
Tap. Tap.
A solitary pair of footsteps echoed down the identical corridors.
Aburame Ryūma moved ahead, black hood shading his forehead. He made no sound at all. Konome hugged her clothes and mask to her chest, her expression heavy.
The woman in the armory seemed insignificant, yet her chakra response was terrifyingly strong. Stronger than Konome and Aburame Ryūma combined.
Stranger still, she did not feel dangerous at all. Her muscle strength was ordinary.
"Ryūma, what's that姐姐's name?"
"…I don't know."
Ryūma hesitated, then as if recalling something, added calmly, "Do not disturb her. That is Danzo-sama's order."
Konome's gaze flickered.
Konoha officially had only one Hokage, but in reality, Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo jointly controlled the village.
One in the light, one in the dark. Together they kept every clan and faction in check.
The ANBU and Root were their direct forces. Root had fewer shinobi than ANBU, but with secret techniques, resources, and certain taboo human experiments, the water here might be deeper than she imagined.
"Ryūma, how long have you been in Root?"
"A long time."
"How long is 'a long time'?"
"…I forgot."
Ryūma's body paused. In this cold, dim underground base, time itself felt meaningless. He could no longer remember the year he joined Root.
Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor.
No matter how he tried to recall, Aburame Ryūma could not remember when he joined Root, or even why.
He only remembered, in that endless darkness, someone smiling and reaching a hand toward him.
He could not see that person's face. He did not know who it was.
Only that warm smile.
They walked for a long time, passing room after room wrapped in sealing barriers. They also crossed paths with Root shinobi who offered greetings to Ryūma and Konome in passing.
No one else spoke.
"We're here."
Ryūma stopped abruptly. Konome, who had been quietly observing him, lifted her head.
Ahead, two iron-gray doors were shut tight. A red warning mark sat beside them. Above, large characters were written.
Experimental Division.
Experimental Division?
The place for human experiments. Which meant Hashirama cells could be here.
Konome kept her expression calm, but she memorized the route instantly, carving it into her mind.
"Chihaya Tōru is inside, waiting for you."
Aburame Ryūma reached out and pulled the Experimental Division doors open. A harsh white light seeped through the crack, cutting into the corridor's gloom.
Konome flinched from the brightness. Ryūma, having delivered her, turned and left without a word, leaving only a black silhouette behind.
"If you ever remember when you joined Root, tell me."
With one foot inside the Experimental Division, Konome turned back and said it.
"…Mm."
The familiar answer was cold to the bone.
Konome shook her head and stepped inside.
Outside of Root, she was the kind of person who spoke little. Cold, even. But in Root, surrounded by ice blocks, she almost looked warm by comparison.
Sometimes people are only afraid because they have something to compare against.
Clack.
The metal doors shut.
The sharp sting of disinfectant rode in on the cold air.
By feel alone, it was at least two degrees colder than outside.
After so long in dimness, the bright lights made Konome's Byakugan blur for a moment. Once her eyes adjusted, the familiar transparent world unfolded again.
Past the outer anti-peeping barrier, her Byakugan finally had room to work.
Aside from a few rooms deep inside that still resisted her vision, most walls and wooden doors became semi-transparent outlines.
The Experimental Division was even broader than the conference chamber. Countless square compartments divided it into blocks. From Konome's three-hundred-sixty-degree view, it looked like a giant beehive.
Inside the hive, long rows of fluorescent lights blazed overhead. Medical staff in green one-piece surgical suits, masks, and gloves pushed gurneys covered with white sheets in and out.
No screams of test subjects.
No bloody mutations.
Just cold cleanliness, precise and sterile.
If not for the iron rings locking the people on the beds by their limbs, Konome might have thought this was an ordinary hospital.
"This is the new test subject?"
A nurse in white stepped out of the hive, pushing a cart of instruments. She pointed at the silver-haired girl by the door, her voice threaded with excitement.