Chapter 148: A Familiar Feeling
If Aizen Sousuke really came from another world, and this Seireitei was a perfect copy of that world, then to Tsunade it was a cruel, fatal joke.
She had woken up from nightmares countless times, always reliving the same scene, Dan dying in her arms, blood flooding her vision, drowning everything else.
She understood Jiraiya's feelings for her all too well. She also understood that at over fifty, whatever they called youth no longer belonged to them.
Perhaps for Jiraiya, seeing a young Tsunade meant clinging to his own vanished youth.
For Tsunade, however, every time she looked into a mirror and saw that unchanged young face, she was brought back, almost instantly, to the age she had been when that man died.
They might no longer have been in the first wild blaze of love, but their hearts had been scarred by feelings so intense they had never fully healed.
The woman well past fifty had frozen herself at her most beautiful moment through the Yin Seal.
At the same time, she had sealed away all her emotions in that era.
She turned a blind eye to Orochimaru's descent. She pretended not to notice Jiraiya's relentless pursuit. She simply continued to enjoy everything that came with her unchanging youth, and refused to think too hard about the price.
After all, it was her own jutsu, her own technique. Even if her emotions toward it were mixed and indescribably complex, for Tsunade it was simply part of her path through life.
Everything about her had already been altered by the Yin Seal. There was nothing left to complain about.
But now, as she stared at the familiar handwriting and layers of corrections on the manuscript, Tsunade's pupils trembled.
Her name, her most precious friend, her most cherished ideal, her life's work, all laid out together as if someone had deliberately arranged a sacrificial altar, inviting her to look.
It felt like a forbidden taboo, waiting for some ignorant child to pry open the lid.
"..."
First the hot spring. There is no escaping this anyway. I need to calm down.
As Hokage, Tsunade forced herself to inhale deeply and let the air out in a long breath. Her gaze slid away from the dense writing, away from the names, and she pushed down the chaos rioting in her heart.
She could not look at any of this objectively right now. She had just fully activated the Hundred Healings Technique, exhausting herself almost to collapse.
As Aizen had said, even if she did not care about the state of her own body, she at least needed to show enough consideration for others to change and rest.
In the private section of the captain's office, a bath had been built, a small hot spring set into polished stone.
Tsunade stripped off her burned, tattered clothes, folded them without thinking, and almost unconsciously placed the thick manuscript at the edge of the pool. She set her clean garments to one side, then, unable to resist, picked the stack of papers back up and took them with her as she stepped into the steaming water.
The moment her body sank into the warmth, she felt it.
Just as Aizen had described, even this modest sized spring had a terrifyingly powerful healing effect. She did not know the precise theory behind it, but she could clearly sense her body greedily drawing in the active chakra dissolved in the water, her cells and every system of her body being restored and strengthened bit by bit.
After estimating she had soaked long enough, Tsunade set a small floating stand adrift on the water and balanced the documents on top of it. She settled back in the spring, the steam curling around her face, and finally began to read in earnest.
There was no mistaking it.
The writing style, the stroke order, the way the brush hesitated in certain places, the way corrections were folded into the lines, these were all unmistakably her own habits.
Yet the theories she saw described, the data, the models, all of it was completely unfamiliar.
The document was supposedly more than ten years old, yet what it contained far outstripped anything Tsunade had ever imagined. Many of the recorded concepts and theoretical foundations were things she had never heard of in any era.
In this other world's record, the new generation of the Hundred Healings Technique had already reached version 7.4. Previous iterations had systematically adjusted and improved multiple aspects, including chakra consumption, sustainability, self replication speed, defensive performance, and the body's capacity for evolution.
By the time it reached version 7.4, the document openly discussed using the technique as a foundation for developing a method of immortality.
The opening sections discussed chakra's essence and the properties of the human body. The author argued that the human body itself was a vast generator and emitter of chakra. If humans were treated as a type of flesh and blood tailed beast, then perhaps one could imprint chakra formulas into human tissue and have it reproduce itself infinitely.
Using Wood Release and Yin Yang Release as observational and theoretical foundations, the paper built a preliminary framework.
Tsunade quickly lost track of the deeper derivations. Terms like large scale Black Zetsu human experimentation, database expansion, and chakra network architecture flickered past her eyes.
From her current level of understanding, she could barely grasp the outer shell.
The Hundred Healings Technique in this document no longer felt like a medical technique. It felt like some other monstrous thing wearing its skin.
Compared to this, Sage Mode almost seemed gentle. At least Sage Mode did not openly talk about immortality in clinical terms.
What truly gripped Tsunade's attention were the models of immortality outlined later.
In that other world, Tsunade had apparently written a comparative model of different immortality pathways, noting that her own method was only one among many, and that in front of the "confirmed" methods it was still immature and incomplete.
The paper went on to outline the final state of the human body after full transformation.
Translucent pale flesh, a body more like living wood than meat, with grotesque adaptability and resistance to chakra.
The legendary Sage Body, the paper implied, was barely at that level.
Soaking in the hot spring, Tsunade felt herself drifting. It was as if she were dissolving along with her thoughts, blending into the water.
She jolted upright and clambered out of the pool, suddenly irritated with her own lack of composure.
She dried herself briskly, but no matter what her hands were doing, her mind kept circling back to the horrifying technologies described in the pages, and the names scrawled at the bottom.
Dan.
Orochimaru.
In that world, had she found happiness?
In that time line, she must have been a proud, confident woman, at ease in her power, living in Konoha, backed by her lover, backed by comrades who had not yet turned away.
Unlike this world's Tsunade, who stood amidst the ruins of everything.
In that world, Orochimaru had apparently never defected. Everyone lived and worked together in Seireitei.
Did that story not sound enviable?
Tsunade thought so, at least.
Other than her childhood, she had never experienced such uncomplicated happiness.
Even reading these dry, dense lines, she could feel how simple and complete the other Tsunade's life had been. No need to shoulder too many impossible decisions, no need to stare down the corpses of loved ones alone. Just living here, studying what she loved, surrounded by people she trusted.
Tsunade sighed. She tossed the towel aside and reached for the clean clothes in the captain's room.
Unsurprisingly, they fit as if they had always belonged to her.
Sure enough, not a single seam felt wrong. As if they had been tailored for her down to the last thread.
She slid into the comfortable black underlayer and pulled the pure white haori over her shoulders. The bold, dark character for "four" on her back gleamed clearly in the mirror.
A young woman looked back at her.
The angular Yin Seal on her forehead. The same youthful face. The same beauty.
Only now she could see a sorrow that refused to be smoothed away between her brows.
For the first time in a long while, Tsunade felt something like gratitude toward Aizen.
This, too, is a possible ending.
She had long believed that the fate of a ninja was a fixed line, the same pattern repeating until it broke them, the inevitable conclusion that awaited them all. No matter how she struggled to survive, nothing seemed to change.
Even when Naruto's clumsy encouragement had helped her stand up and take on the role of Hokage, there had still been doubt, always whispering in the back of her mind.
But this proved that nothing was truly set in stone.
In another world, she could still live happily.
Tsunade smiled faintly at the woman in the white haori in the mirror, then turned and walked to the bookshelves to begin pulling out more documents.
By all reason, as Hokage she should already have summoned the ninjas back and gone straight to confront Aizen.
Yet after seeing these files, her priorities shifted.
There was no need to rush.
Before facing Aizen again, she wanted to dig deeper into this other Tsunade's life, into the traces left in this captain's office that was both hers and not hers.
She did not realize that, elsewhere, countless other ninjas were just as spellbound by this strange, beautiful world.
To them, it felt like some shimmering treasure chest, where every door opened onto something new, bizarre, and indescribably alluring.
As if guided by instinct, many found marks that belonged to them, or to their parents. Names, habits, tiny anchor points of their lives.
Stories, files, and relics began to circulate among the crowd. After soaking in the hot springs, almost no one headed straight to the Sixth Division Captain's office to face Aizen.
Instead, they wandered through Seireitei, chasing after fragmented impressions and half formed hunches.
Slowly, it became clear that this was not just any palace.
This was a real place in another world.
Somewhere their parents had once lived and worked. Somewhere their younger selves had once fought and trained.
Not only Tsunade, but almost every ninja present was drawn under the spell of this magnificent, unreal city, immersed in a world that felt both painfully true and impossibly distant.
"...Kakashi, take a look at this."
"What is it?"
"Does this belong to Uncle Sakumo?"
"..."
Inside Seireitei, Kakashi and Guy had also begun to find things they could not ignore.
After treating their injuries, they had followed their instincts to the Eleventh Division's barracks.
The moment Kakashi stepped into the Captain's room, a strange feeling washed over him.
The space was simple and tidy, even more so than most of the barracks they had passed. A few magazines. Some scrolls of calligraphy and paintings. A small model of a sword sheath sitting on the windowsill.
That was all.
But the moment Kakashi's eyes fell on that unassuming decoration, his pupils shrank.
The lines were too familiar. That stripped down, almost overly simple style belonged to only one person in his memories.
His father, the White Fang of Konoha, Sakumo Hatake.
The man whose blindingly fast blade and thrusts had once terrorized entire battlefields.
Dissatisfied with just staring, Kakashi began to move through the room.
The deeper he looked, the worse the feeling grew.
The reading material stacked on the table matched Sakumo's taste. In one corner, a decorative item identical to one that had once sat in their old home. In another, a small, clumsy craft project that he remembered his father fumbling over in rare, quiet hours.
It was as if invisible hands had reached into his past and dragged every detail into this world.
Guided by some inescapable pull, Kakashi found himself sliding open a drawer.
Inside lay a scroll, rolled tight and sealed with a locking formula.
His fingers moved almost of their own accord, forming the hand signs needed to release it.
A puff of smoke bloomed as the seal unraveled. When it cleared, a thin booklet rested in his palm.
Notes on Hatake style sword techniques
The neat, firm handwriting in the author's name field made his vision blur.
Sakumo Hatake.
Kakashi knew flatly, soberly, that his father had committed suicide. That fact was the bedrock of this world, carved into its common sense.
Yet seeing this, feeling the weight of the pages in his hand, he could not stop the small tremor that ran down his spine.
Aizen Sousuke had not lied.
That was exactly what made everything so suffocating.
Because he had not lied, something felt missing inside all of them, even as something else settled into place.
As if all the suffering and despair they had endured had been stripped of meaning.
As if, for all this time, there had been a version of their lives where things had gone differently, and they had simply never known.
Maybe, in that other world, their lives had really been like this.
Living in a place like this courtyard.
Spending their days under constant pressure, yet managing to enjoy the little things.
Simply surviving, and eventually becoming the protagonists of their own stories.
This is the gift you gave my other self, Father.
Though he probably does not appreciate it much.
Kakashi thought of his counterpart in that world, that man's overwhelming power, his frightening decisiveness, his complete lack of experience with the sword.
No wonder Sakumo had sealed the notes away.
A lifetime of research into swordsmanship, and his son did not like swords at all.
Looking at the techniques only got in the boy's way.
So he had sealed them, thinking that maybe, someday, his son might need them.
That was probably the kind of thought a father would have.
Even if he had already left this world.
"Uncle Sakumo is really amazing to leave you such a gift," Guy said thickly.
He wiped at the corners of his eyes with one hand, then turned to Kakashi with a wide, tearful grin and a blazing thumbs up.
"But my father is amazing too. Youth is immortal. He might not be a captain, but he is a member of Seireitei. Most importantly, youth really did leave its mark in another world. That is what youth is all about."
"...Yeah."
Kakashi's mind flicked back to another room they had opened, the floor crowded with training equipment.
The giant "youth" character plastered across the wall.
The rows of violently green bodysuits.
You did not need a high IQ to guess what kind of person had lived there, or what his identity had been.
For an instant, Kakashi had truly hallucinated.
He had seen a middle aged man in that same green, standing in the corner of the room, laughing wildly and giving a thumbs up, shouting about youth.
"Let's not think about that for now," Kakashi muttered, rubbing his forehead. "In any case, I do not think Aizen Sousuke has any reason to lie to us anymore."
He looked over at Guy and laid out his conclusion.
"If this is an illusion, his power is too overwhelming. We have no way to resist. If it is real, then he is even more terrifying. Either way, opposing him is meaningless. And it feels like he expects something from us."
"That is true," Guy nodded solemnly. "So Kakashi, what are you going to do next?"
"I think we start by checking the barracks for more division members. Even if some details are disguised, there will be enough to prove what he said. We need information. So we keep searching."
"No problem. Lady Tsunade has not sent any orders yet. We can search all day. That is part of youth."
"Please do not put it that way..."
Kakashi and Guy quickly reached a rough agreement and set off again, combing through Seireitei room by room.
The other ninjas were not much different, scattering through the white city.
Some searched quietly for their own traces.
Others were drawn by intuition into halls and gardens they had never seen, yet felt they had always known.
In the Sixth Division Captain's office, only one person showed the slightest displeasure with how events were unfolding.
"..."
Why have they not come yet?
Sitting behind the desk, Aizen flipped a page of the book in his hands, Tales of Cosmic Courage, and glanced calmly at the clock hanging on the wall.
Somewhere deep inside, he admitted something felt just a little off.
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