A red light blinked above the operating room door.
A tense, thrilling transplant surgery was underway at full heat.
Konome Taketori stood at the operating table, using scissors to carefully part the skin along Danzō's arm, bit by bit. Watching the old man, dazed under anesthesia, she couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Fate really was strange.
This arm was something she'd brought back from Raikōzan. Now, she was the one personally grafting it onto Danzō's body. Even the three-tomoe Sharingan embedded in it had been evolved using a technique she herself developed.
If she hadn't participated in the battle at Raikōzan, Aburame Ryōma and the others would have died there. Orochimaru would have abandoned that eerie sphere, reverse-summoned away with the arm, and Uchiha Obito would have returned with a whole jar of Sharingan, storing them behind the water wall of his hidden base.
Afterward, Danzō would have struck a new deal with Orochimaru and acquired this arm again.
Her existence had changed many outcomes, yet somehow it hadn't changed this one reality at all.
It was as if destiny had been nailed in place.
As if this arm was always meant to belong to Danzō.
Click.
Click.
She finished cutting the skin open completely, revealing the vivid red flesh beneath. A faint violet sheen surfaced on her palm as a chakra scalpel formed. With surgical precision, she severed the nerve plexus in one clean sequence.
Then, with a surgical blade laced in Wind Release, she carefully avoided the artery while cutting through bone, fascia, and tendon.
Hiss…
Veins and capillaries ruptured. Dark red blood flowed from the severed edge. Konome Taketori gripped Danzō's deep brown wrist, rotated it left and right, and slowly, the arm began to separate from the deltoid.
Bone.
Muscle fiber.
Neurons.
Everything was cut neat and clean, the cross-section smooth and beautiful.
Only two arteries remained intact, taut and suspended in midair, keeping the arm connected to the body like the last two threads of a rope.
Danzō lay there like a corpse, narrow eyes half-lidded, allowing her to carve him however she pleased. Even a shinobi of Kage level, drugged and pinned to an operating table, looked faintly fragile.
"Here."
Chihaya Tōru had already split open the stump of the Sharingan arm, exposing bone and nerves. Orochimaru's handiwork was excellent, the nerves preserved almost perfectly, saving them a great deal of work.
Konome Taketori's chakra scalpel flashed as she cut Danzō's arteries. Water Release chakra immediately controlled the blood that was about to spurt, not letting a single drop escape.
Next, she used forceps to pinch the arteries of the Sharingan arm, and the green radiance of Yang Release flooded the operating room like dawn.
Medical Ninjutsu: Palm Sage Technique!
In less than five seconds, the two vessels were fully connected.
Half crimson.
Half pale.
The sealed seam was so flawless it didn't even leave a scar. It looked as if it had always been that way.
Chihaya Tōru, who had been quietly preparing plasma, paused and put it back.
This was exactly why he insisted Konome Taketori be the lead surgeon.
Her medical ninjutsu and five chakra natures complemented each other too perfectly. This level of technique was something only she could achieve.
Wind Release cut through even the hardest bone with ease.
Water Release controlled blood so it never spilled.
Fire Release sterilized with heat.
Lightning Release could be used for emergency stimulation and to rouse neurons back to life.
Even Earth Release, seemingly the least useful in surgery, could produce a plaster cast to stabilize fractured bone.
Combined with the chakra scalpel, which required no sterilization at all, Konome Taketori alone was basically an elite medical team.
One person.
All the tools.
All the functions.
If Hashirama cells didn't devour chakra, she could have completed this entire operation cleanly by herself.
Her chakra control was refined to the edge of perfection, and her perception was pushed to its limit. The surgery held no difficulty at all.
At least, not for her.
And with the Byakugan's microscopic 360-degree vision perfectly paired with medical ninjutsu, plus dynamic eyesight sharp enough to strike tenketsu points in the middle of high-speed shinobi combat, and the skeletal control of the Shikotsumyaku granting impossibly precise muscle manipulation, a limb transplant that would be nightmarish for ordinary surgeons…
Was child's play to her.
The doctor she'd chopped up and stitched back together a few days ago had been harder to heal than this.
Now all that remained was to connect Danzō's blood vessels and nerves to the Sharingan arm one by one, then let Chihaya Tōru close the skin.
With the terrifying vitality of Hashirama cells, the wound would heal naturally. It might even regenerate fast enough that before Chihaya Tōru finished suturing, the flesh would already be sealing itself, ready for the stitches to be removed.
That was how simple it should be.
And yet.
As Konome Taketori pinched nerves and aligned them carefully, her 360-degree field of view was already fixed on the space behind her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heart beat harder. Her chakra core flashed a blinding light.
At the operating room entrance, Aburame Ryōma stood still, both hands holding the wooden cane. On that face that looked like an eternal iceberg, a black kikaichū crawled slowly upward, stimulated by chakra.
What was he doing?
Konome Taketori's gaze sharpened. Her fingers paused mid-connection, just for an instant.
"What is it?"
Chihaya Tōru was deep in surgical focus. He noticed the abnormality immediately.
In a limb transplant, the most important part was nerve connection. This determined whether the transplanted arm could be used normally. If it was misaligned or damaged, the aftermath would be a nightmare.
"No. Nothing."
Konome Taketori shook her head dismissively and continued, but her attention kept drifting toward Aburame Ryōma behind her.
He seemed drawn by their voices. One hand gripped the cane while the other lifted to adjust his sunglasses, failing to hide the tension in his chest.
And the cold, unmistakable killing intent.
He was going to kill Danzō.
The thought hit Konome Taketori like a jolt.
Her first instinct was that this was Danzō's test.
Ryōma had been at Danzō's side for decades, nearly inseparable. If he wanted to betray him, he could have done so long ago. A so-called assassination now felt like bait, a trap meant to lure her into making a move.
If she cooperated, or even pretended not to notice, it could trigger Danzō and Root to surround and slaughter her.
But then she remembered.
Back when Ryōma warned her to be careful of Danzō, the sincerity above his head had been real.
And now, the tension and killing intent above his head were also real.
They couldn't be faked.
Kurama's good-and-evil sensing had never been wrong.
If this were a test designed to probe her, his head would show corresponding malicious intent, the kind of emotional pattern that came with deception.
But there was none.
Watching Ryōma's throat bob as he swallowed, watching the kikaichū hatch faster within his body, Konome Taketori felt the killing intent sharpen into something solid.
Something desperate.
Even if it meant dying together, he intended to kill Danzō here and now.
Kurama's perception screamed the same message into her nerves.
What should she do?
Stop him?
Konome Taketori hesitated. Even her hands slowed.
Right now, Danzō's body was completely numbed. He couldn't move. His right arm had already been severed. He couldn't even form the hand seals for the simplest Transformation Technique.
The surgery wasn't complete. Hashirama cells hadn't integrated. The Sharingan arm wasn't fully connected.
He couldn't use Izanagi.
He couldn't use anything.
This was the weakest Danzō had ever been in his life.
If he completed the transplant, once Izanagi entered the equation, the difficulty of killing him would multiply severalfold.
Finding another chance like this would be nearly impossible.
And most importantly, Konome Taketori herself wouldn't truly be in danger.
If Ryōma succeeded and killed Danzō, the two strongest people in Root would be standing side by side. Without Danzō, the others would struggle to threaten them.
Even if Ryōma failed, the one who moved was Danzō's most trusted man. Konome Taketori was fully focused on surgery. Not noticing his movement was a perfectly believable excuse.
No matter how you calculated it…
She won.
Click. Click.
The metal tips of the forceps tapped lightly, crisp and regular, like gears turning inside a clock.
In the unnaturally quiet operating room, Konome Taketori and Aburame Ryōma's breathing began to shift unconsciously.
Chihaya Tōru was still staring at her hands in a daze.
The operation was going too smoothly. As the assistant, he had almost nothing to do. He could only wait for her to finish connecting the nerves so he could step in to suture.
As for the tightening atmosphere in the room…
Forgive the old medical nin who had no combat ability. The fighting skills he'd learned in school had long been returned to his teachers after years of disuse. With age, even his instinct for danger had dulled.
Bzzzz.
Kikaichū poured from Aburame Ryōma's limbs and organs, wings vibrating rapidly.
Breath…
Danzō lay on the operating table, still half-lidded, chest rising and falling steadily, completely submerged in anesthesia.
That brown-black arm, the arm that symbolized bonds and alliance, had been fully separated from his flesh.
Even the last remaining blood vessels had already been cut by Konome Taketori.
Behind Ryōma's sunglasses, his eyes grew darker and darker.
His breathing slowed.
His chakra surged.
Yet outwardly, he remained calm.
So calm that even his breathing became nearly silent.
A quiet so deep it felt like the moment before a storm breaks.
The operating room sank further into hush, brewing the coming thunder.
Click.
The forceps tapped again.
Just as Konome Taketori prepared to slow the surgery and create the perfect opening for Ryōma, a sudden electric ripple ran up her spine.
She had survived too many near-death battles.
Her sixth sense was screaming.
Something was wrong.
The tension in the room was too thick to hide, but Konome Taketori suddenly felt as if she had missed something critical.
Danzō was paranoid to the bone.
How could he possibly allow her to operate on him with no defense?
He had even insisted on anesthesia.
Wasn't he handing her a blade and baring his throat?
As the temptation of killing Danzō sharpened, Konome Taketori's mind cooled instead.
This "heaven-sent chance" looked more and more staged, as if every piece had been arranged.
Outside, Root's guards looked airtight.
But after Raikōzan, everyone knew that if she wanted to move, with Samehada in her hands, those people were nothing more than walking batteries.
They couldn't stop her.
Inside the room, Chihaya Tōru was useless in a fight.
And Aburame Ryōma's insect techniques were at their worst against Lightning Release armor.
So why did Danzō's security measures look so complete… yet so completely unprepared for her?
That was the biggest problem.
Danzō might not guard against Chihaya Tōru or Aburame Ryōma.
But he would never fail to guard against her.
A security plan with no countermeasure specifically aimed at her was the biggest bug of all.
Which meant something was missing.
Something she hadn't seen.
What was it?
Izanagi?
He was paralyzed and missing an arm. He shouldn't be able to form seals. Unless…
Unless it was a technique that required only Mangekyō-level dōjutsu power, like a prewritten seal.
A Transcription Seal.
With Uchiha Madara's precedent in mind, Konome Taketori's thoughts flashed cold and sharp.
Could Danzō have sealed an Izanagi trigger inside that Kotoamatsukami eye?
But using Shisui's Kotoamatsukami just to test her would be a terrifyingly expensive price.
Possible.
But not likely.
Then was the danger… the Reverse Four Symbols Seal?
That was dangerous, yes.
But with Lightning Release, she could flee instantly. And more importantly, this body was only a Shadow Clone. Being sealed wouldn't matter.
Even if Samehada were sealed, her main body could return later and undo the sealing.
Besides, would Danzō really go through all this effort just to drag her into mutual destruction?
No. That made even less sense.
As she wrestled with possibilities, her hands nearly stopped.
Behind her…
Aburame Ryōma, who had been standing guard at the door, was now covered in insects.
Chakra rapidly hatched the eggs inside him. A black flood of kikaichū crawled out from beneath his shoes, climbing toward the operating table.
He finally stopped hesitating.
Ever since returning from Raikōzan, he had been drowning in pain every second.
Thinking of Root, spiraling further into madness under Danzō's command.
Thinking of how far Danzō had fallen.
His torment deepened until it choked him.
If he hadn't forgotten his mission back then…
If he had stopped Danzō earlier…
The Senju and Uchiha wouldn't have been wiped out.
Shisui and Itachi would still be carrying out missions for Konoha.
Orochimaru wouldn't have turned against Hiruzen Sarutobi.
The Three Sannin wouldn't have left the village.
Even Konome Taketori, standing here now, should have been in the Academy, playing and laughing with children her age.
She wouldn't be here, doing this nonsense human experimentation.
It was all his fault.
He forgot the task Danzō had given him.
And that forgetfulness had triggered a chain of disasters.
The past couldn't be undone.
So now he would atone.
Now he would end Danzō's fate with his own hands.
Black kikaichū crawled over Aburame Ryōma's clothes. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.
A hero in darkness had become a maggot hiding underground.
And now this redeemed insect was going to devour its own sun.
You and I…
We're both the same kind of ugly.
Clang!
The cane slipped from his hands and hit the floor.
Aburame Ryōma thrust both palms forward!
The tide of insects on the ground had already reached Danzō's side. Under their master's will, they no longer hid their murderous intent.
Buzz!
Countless kikaichū vibrated their wings, condensing into a terrifying black mass.
Then they surged toward the anesthetized Danzō on the operating table, fangs bared, ready to chew him into nothing.
Secret Technique: Insect Sphere!
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