[NTU] [ARC-24] Chapter : 326

In the Uchiha training grounds, Fugaku stood with arms crossed, his expression calm as he watched his younger son struggling through the final drills, his body soaked in sweat.

"That’s enough for today, Sasuke."

His voice was firm, but not harsh.

"You’ve reached your physical limit. Pushing any further will only strain your body unnecessarily."

This was a time of peace, not war—there was no need to push a child to his breaking point. Besides, Fugaku understood his sons well. Sasuke, while talented, still lagged behind Itachi.

Sasuke, gasping for breath, clenched his fists.
He hated that look in his father’s eyes—the quiet concern. It stung more than disappointment.

"I can keep going, Father," he insisted, voice tight with frustration.

"That’s enough," Fugaku said, a bit more sternly now.
"You’ll injure yourself at this rate."

He frowned, not angry, but firm in his decision. Still, he couldn’t entirely ignore the desperation in Sasuke’s eyes. After a pause, his tone softened slightly.

"You’re still young. There’s time to catch up—to your brother, and even to Naruto."

Fugaku rarely spoke so directly of feelings. The fact that he did meant he understood Sasuke’s hidden fears all too well.

"...But..."

Sasuke opened his mouth, the protest half-formed on his lips.

Did he really have time to catch up?
Naruto’s progress wasn’t just keeping pace—it was outpacing him. And as for Itachi... could anyone catch up to someone like him?

"Father..." he began hesitantly.
"About the Hokage—can I ask him to train me?"

But Fugaku's eyes narrowed slightly, the answer already written in his gaze.

"There’s no chance."

He pulled a towel from behind him and handed it to Sasuke, who took it in silence, sweat still dripping from his jaw. Fugaku continued, his voice measured.

"Before you graduated, I approached the Hokage. I asked if he’d consider taking you as a disciple."
He paused. "Unfortunately... he refused."

It wasn’t just Sasuke who sought guidance. Dozens of parents from this year’s graduating class had approached the Hokage with the same request—for their children to be trained by the strongest shinobi in the village.

"But why?" Sasuke asked, eyebrows furrowed.
"Isn’t it tradition? The Hokage usually trains a team, passes on the Will of Fire..."

Fugaku nodded slowly.
"That’s how it used to be. The role of Hokage is often passed down through a line of students or their students. But Toshiro..."
He sighed. "He rejected them all."

Sasuke blinked, stunned.

"All of them?"

"Yes," Fugaku confirmed, placing a heavy hand on his son’s head. For a moment, regret flickered in his usually unreadable eyes.

"Toshiro never intended to take on students. In truth, he doesn’t even care much for the Hokage title. He took the position because it was necessary, not because he desired it. Once this era of peace is stable, he plans to step down."

As Fugaku spoke, Sasuke absorbed each word, the weight of it all settling on his shoulders.
So even that door was closed.

His father believed in him—that much was clear. But could Sasuke live up to those expectations? Could he rise high enough on his own?

His thoughts drifted back to that man with the glasses.
Kabuto's words echoed again, whispering temptation.

He didn’t know what path to take.

—

Meanwhile, deep in a damp, dimly lit underground base in the Land of Fields, Toshiro walked calmly through a long corridor, the air heavy with moisture.

"Orochimaru... your taste in hideouts really is becoming more and more snake-like."

He muttered the words under his breath, unimpressed with the dark and humid atmosphere.

"Anyway, how’s your research going? I sent you those materials years ago."

This wasn’t Konoha—it was one of Orochimaru’s secret laboratories, far removed from the watchful eyes of the village.

From the shadows, a voice hissed softly.

"Hehehe... The materials the Hokage provided were... astounding."

Orochimaru emerged slowly, his golden, reptilian eyes gleaming with barely restrained excitement. Toshiro noted it immediately—real excitement—something rarely seen in the cold, calculating Sannin.

"Honestly, if you hadn’t handed me those samples yourself, I’d have thought Konoha had somehow mastered the First Hokage’s secrets..."

Years ago, after establishing a shaky truce, Toshiro had entrusted Orochimaru with a White Zetsu specimen for research. While Toshiro lacked the aptitude for advanced biological experimentation, he knew Orochimaru was different—a genius obsessed with discovery.

"I’m still curious," Orochimaru added, licking his lips thoughtfully,
"Who exactly created that creature? To make an artificial lifeform using Hashirama's cells... it’s not something ordinary people—or conventional science—can accomplish."

His voice was low, intrigued, almost reverent.

Toshiro said nothing, merely watching.

The secrets of power ran deep in the shinobi world.
And some paths—once taken—could never be undone.

"You should be quite familiar with this white specimen," Toshiro said calmly.

"Familiar with it?" Orochimaru frowned, his mind already racing.

Toshiro had no reason to lie. If he was pointing this out, it had to mean something. A memory stirred.

"...Could it be... Zetsu?"

As his thoughts aligned, Orochimaru recalled the only comparable entity—Akatsuki’s enigmatic Zetsu. The connection became clear.

"So Akatsuki still harbors secrets I haven’t uncovered..."

Remembering Zetsu's unsettling presence, Orochimaru’s expression darkened. He narrowed his eyes, thoughts drifting toward the criminal organization he once associated with.

But Toshiro moved on.

"By the way, remember our previous conversation—about using First Hokage cells to regenerate lost limbs for injured shinobi? How’s the research coming along?"

That was the real reason Toshiro had come today: to check on Orochimaru's progress.

"The First Hokage’s cells are far too volatile," Orochimaru replied, shaking his head slightly. "Ordinary shinobi can’t withstand the cellular erosion."

"I might be able to dilute the properties, retain basic limb function... but doing so would render those limbs unsuitable for combat."

Even then, success would be rare. And the functionality of such artificial limbs would be significantly compromised. Combat readiness would be out of the question.

"I see..."

Toshiro nodded, unsurprised.

"A shame—but proceed with the trials. Allocate part of the research budget for experimental development. At the very least, let them regain the ability to live normal lives."

In the world of Boruto, this kind of prosthetic technology never reached mainstream use. Clearly, the difficulty was immense. But Toshiro wasn’t impatient. As long as they continued refining the work, progress was inevitable.

"Kukuku..." Orochimaru let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

"I never imagined the Hokage would concern himself with such... broken tools. You Uchihas truly are full of surprises."

Still, if Toshiro was footing the bill, Orochimaru had no real complaints. He was just amused that the "cursed" Uchiha clan would concern themselves with disabled shinobi.

"Enough small talk."

Toshiro’s tone turned serious.

"You know I didn’t come here just for updates."

Orochimaru smirked and produced a large scroll, clearly displeased.

"This is the result of years of research—on both Hashirama’s cells and the body of White Zetsu. And you're just going to take it so easily?"

Toshiro took the scroll without so much as a glance at Orochimaru’s sarcasm.

"As if I haven’t paid enough for it."

Money, resources, experimental subjects—Toshiro had provided them all. If the results weren’t satisfactory, Orochimaru might find future funding a little harder to come by.

Meanwhile, in the Wind Country...

Inside the Kazekage’s office, Rasa sat behind his desk, expression sharp as a subordinate handed him a sealed letter.

"Is this from Konoha?"

"Yes, Lord Kazekage. Delivered through the Hokage’s special envoy."

"Did Yashamaru send any additional reports?"

Rasa had to admit—the envoy system Konoha had proposed was efficient. Communication between villages had improved dramatically.

Now, if the Hokage needed to speak with him, he simply had to pass a message to Yashamaru, stationed near Konoha.

"Yes. There’s also information about Sasori."

"Sasori?"

The name sent a cold ripple through Rasa.

"According to the report, he's entered the Land of Birds. He may cross into Wind territory soon."

The information had come from Maki, passed on to Yashamaru. It was urgent enough to warrant immediate transmission.

"Sasori..."
Rasa’s eyes narrowed, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

The traitor who had murdered the Third Kazekage, his mentor was now wandering so brazenly near the Sand’s domain?

It was an open insult.

"Tch..."

"Deliver this letter to Elder Chiyo."

After reading through the contents, Rasa decided to pass the Hokage’s request to her. Konoha wanted to commission a batch of prosthetic limbs—perfect work for puppet artisans. And it would keep Chiyo busy, distracted.

"Mobilize a team of elite Anbu."

As his orders were carried out, he spoke into the silence of his office.

"Yes!"
A voice responded from the shadows—quiet, loyal, and lethal.

The Land of Birds bordered the Land of Wind. If Sasori dared to come this close, Rasa would not wait behind his desk.

This was personal.
Sasori was not just a criminal—he was Chiyo’s grandson and the killer of a Kazekage.

Capturing him would solidify Rasa’s power.
And finally—bring closure to a long-standing wound in the Sand Village.