Shikaku Nara drew a long breath, forcing down the anxiety churning in his chest, and clawed back a measure of a strategist's calm.
In his view, Cocolia had already pointed out a clearer, better road for the shinobi world—one that could lead to true peace and strength.
Since the destination was set, there was no need to rush headlong into it, gambling everything on reckless acceleration.
Trust the wisdom of those who would come after. Let them complete this great undertaking when the timing was riper and the foundation steadier—that, Shikaku believed, was the more prudent, more responsible choice.
If they forced the pace while power was still insufficient and hearts still divided—if they crashed head-on into old forces rooted for centuries—then the likely result wouldn't be rebirth through struggle, but mutual destruction.
Worse: chaos and collapse a hundred times more catastrophic than the current cycle of shinobi wars, endless attrition, and mutual sabotage.
That price was something the entire shinobi world could not afford.
Tsunade, listening to his careful and thorough analysis, felt quietly satisfied.
She had been to other worlds. She had seen, with her own eyes and her own skin, societies and power systems utterly unlike this fractured, predatory shinobi era.
And Shikaku—born and raised here, his worldview locked inside the shinobi framework, a beneficiary of the existing order—had still managed, through sheer intelligence, to step outside his own class and era. He had recognized and endorsed the true road toward a brighter future.
That kind of insight—rare, precious, and ahead of its time—meant something to her.
It gave her hope.
It showed her that Konoha… and even the whole shinobi world… still had a future worth fighting for.
But Tsunade also knew, deep down, that Shikaku was still shackled by his age and the limits of the information he possessed.
He saw the necessity of change—
—but not how urgent it had become.
He was weighing internal risks and tradeoffs, blind to the blade hanging over every head, the countdown ticking louder by the day.
"Shikaku," Tsunade said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm—yet absolute. "We don't have much time."
Shikaku froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes.
"Time…? Tsunade-sama, what do you mean…?"
Tsunade didn't hesitate.
She laid the shinobi world's truth bare.
"Orochimaru's research made a breakthrough. Chakra isn't native to this world. It came from beyond the sky—from a terrifying clan known as the Ōtsutsuki."
Shikaku's pupils snapped tight.
Tsunade looked him straight in the eyes.
"And worse—based on Orochimaru's projections, in twenty years… an Ōtsutsuki will descend upon us and harvest the entire shinobi world. Everything we've accumulated for a thousand years—chakra, life, civilization—will be taken in one sweep."
Her words hit like an iron hammer, blow after blow.
Shikaku felt as if he could see it: the vast shadow blotting out the sun, shinobi crushed like insects beneath power so absolute it didn't even need to try.
"Look at the shinobi world right now, Shikaku!"
"Split into pieces. Backstabbing and scheming. The Five Great Nations grinding each other down. Villages fighting nonstop, sabotaging each other, burning themselves to ash through internal consumption!"
"In this state—how do you plan to meet a reaper from the stars?"
"We'll be erased like dead leaves in a storm. We won't even make a splash!"
"Trust the wisdom of those who come after?" Tsunade's gaze sharpened, bright as a blade. "If we aren't aggressive now, we won't have people who come after. Twenty years is the finish line."
Shikaku was struck dumb.
His face drained white.
The information was too monstrous, too impossible, too far outside everything he understood.
His lips moved. His eyes held shock, disbelief… and the instinctive suspicion of a smart man.
Was this real?
Or was it a tactic—an unprovable doomsday prophecy invented to justify Tsunade's reforms?
He needed proof. Something that would crush every shred of wishful thinking.
Tsunade met his doubtful stare without explanation, without argument.
She simply stood.
Step by step, she walked out from behind the Hokage's chair and stopped in the center of the office's open floor.
Sunlight through the window cast a long shadow behind her.
"Look carefully, Shikaku."
Her voice lowered.
And then—
"Explosive Blood. Second Stage."
Something snapped.
An oppressive presence burst from Tsunade as if it had substance, flooding the entire Hokage's office in a single wave.
The air thickened. Congealed. Turned heavy.
Shikaku felt an overwhelming force slam onto his chest. Breathing became difficult. His heart pounded wildly, as if trying to break free.
His body wanted to recoil, to retreat—
—but the instinct for danger forced his eyes to stay locked on the figure at the center of the room.
Tsunade's height surged, from around 1.65 meters to nearly 1.8.
The skin on the left side of her forehead split open—
and a spiral gray-white horn erupted outward, jagged and menacing, pointing at the ceiling.
This time, every piece of her clothing—shoes included—had been formed from the Word-Spirit Tights. They adjusted and expanded with her body, perfectly fitting her now taller, more explosively curved frame, outlining a breathtaking silhouette with eerie precision.
No tearing. No constriction. No awkwardness like last time.
Transformed Tsunade looked down at Shikaku.
Under her pressure, he was almost unable to breathe—frozen in place, eyes wide.
She raised a slender finger and tapped the horn lightly.
"Feel that, Shikaku? This is only the tip of the Ōtsutsuki bloodline's iceberg."
"The Sage of Six Paths was an Ōtsutsuki's child. He shared chakra with the world, but what each person inherited was only a tiny splinter."
"I'm only drawing out this tiny splinter to its fullest—and it already looks like this."
"As for a true, complete Ōtsutsuki…"
Her gaze shifted to the sky beyond the window, as if it could pierce clouds and see the abyss of space.
"They aren't like me—just one horn."
"How terrifying they are… no one can really measure."
"With our current strength, in front of them… we may not even qualify as 'struggling.'"
The demonstration lasted only seconds.
But the life-tier suppression—predator over prey—left Shikaku's hair standing on end, his heart racing, cold sweat flooding down his spine.
This wasn't "a strong jutsu."
This was the crushing dominance of something standing at the top of the food chain.
Tsunade didn't linger.
With a thought, the oppressive tide receded.
Her tall form shrank. The horn slid back beneath her skin.
In a blink, she was Tsunade again—around 1.6 meters tall.
The Word-Spirit Tights contracted and adjusted with her, fitting perfectly, as if the transformation had been a hallucination.
Shikaku shuddered, as if he'd just clawed his way up from the depths of an ocean. He gulped air in ragged breaths, his back drenched through, his clothes sticking to his skin with icy dampness.
His fingers, gripping the desk edge, trembled.
That brief, brutally real terror had carved itself into his bones.
Now he understood.
Why Tsunade was so urgent.
Why she was willing to gamble everything on radical change.
"Not urgent?"
If they weren't urgent, the whole shinobi world would be harvested like a field of crops.
Shikaku drew a long breath, as if trying to squeeze the fear out of his lungs. He wiped cold sweat from his forehead, and his expression twisted into something complicated—aftershock, bitterness, resignation.
"Tsunade-sama… I understand."
Then, half hoarse, he added:
"…There isn't anything even bigger you haven't told me, right?"
Tsunade looked at him and suddenly smiled—mysterious, knowing.
Tell you I can travel to other worlds and borrow their systems and knowledge?
Or tell you that even if we fail, a monster named Eisen can rewind time and reset the whole board?
If she said that, with the way the Nara think, they'd probably lie down on the spot and decide everything was optional.
Shikaku's question was likely just the numb reflex of a man battered by too many shocks. He probably didn't expect another earth-shattering revelation.
He steadied his breathing. Straightened his shoulders. His face turned grave again.
His eyes moved between Tsunade and Cocolia as he asked the question that mattered most—now, immediately, in reality:
"Then, Tsunade-sama… Cocolia-sama."
"How does Konoha develop from here?"
"How do we gather enough strength in such a short time?"
He knew it.
The traditional shinobi-village growth model was brittle as paper in the face of what was coming.
Tsunade didn't answer at once. She looked to Cocolia, a silent question in her eyes.
"The key might be what you mentioned earlier," Tsunade said. "Letting civilians use chakra—actually unleashing the strength of the whole shinobi world."
"Shikaku, our greatest potential isn't the clans sitting at the top."
"It's the silent majority."
"Only by waking them up do we have any hope."
Shikaku's gaze followed hers to Cocolia.
Cocolia met their focused, searching looks and spoke calmly:
"Chakra is a universal energy, a condensation of information. In theory, it can do anything."
Then her tone shifted, tinged with regret.
"The reason you're unlikely to defeat the Ōtsutsuki—why your odds are so small—is because chakra has been specialized."
She looked at Tsunade and Shikaku.
"The Sage of Six Paths had a beautiful dream: connect hearts, end conflict."
"When he shared chakra, he also altered its core orientation—toward connecting human minds."
"That created the possibility of communication and the foundation of Ninshū."
"But the price was enormous."
"Chakra's universality was severely weakened. Its performance in battle, in healing, and in countless other domains became far poorer than its original, pure state."
"And after generation upon generation of inheritance, splitting, and dilution…"
Cocolia's eyes stayed steady.
"Most individual shinobi chakra has become specialized into only a fragment—only one facet."
"Uchiha eyes. Senju vitality. Clan secret arts…"
"All of it is like branches snapped off a great tree."
"Without the trunk, no matter how lush the branches are, they can't stand against a true world-tree."
She paused, as if recalling something, and a strange, almost fated emotion flickered across her face.
"But perhaps… this is destiny."
She held her index finger and thumb close together, showing the tiniest gap, and smiled modestly.
"In terms of connecting hearts…"
"I happen to have… a little bit of experience."
It was humility—nothing more.
The Cocolia standing here had, at one time, fused with the remains of "Mirror" and collapsed under the burden of a rank too high, her existence extinguished.
It was Eisen who pulled her back from nothingness, rebuilt her form, and restored her.
Strictly speaking, she and that being known as Cocolia, the Genesis Titan were not the same individual.
She had never personally wielded that power that could shake galaxies.
But the very nature of the Path of the Human Heart was to weave and maintain connections between people.
And so the Titan's experience—its view over the stars, its sensation of manipulating that Path—had been transmitted through connection itself, flowing into this restored Cocolia without end.
Thus, beneath her calm surface, she carried the horizon and memory of an Aeon.
In the shinobi world, she discovered there was no Path system—no Imaginary energy, no cosmic doctrine.
Yet chakra had been specialized toward connecting hearts.
And what she was best at… was the heart.
So, in her eyes—eyes that had once brushed the border of godhood—this world looked different.
Everyone was wrapped in invisible threads.
Tsunade's threads were thick and golden, innumerable, tying her to shinobi and civilians across Konoha and beyond—her prestige, her responsibility.
Kakashi's threads were few—cold, detached—yet one deep purple line was unnaturally resilient, stretching into an unknown distance, bound to a past too heavy to name.
Shikaku's threads were rational silver-gray, woven into a precise web connecting jōnin, departments, clans, and the Hokage—each line carrying calculation and balance.
Even civilians had faint, almost transparent threads: family, neighbors, shops, the small things that held life together.
These threads did not exist to ordinary senses.
They existed only within Cocolia's "eye of the heart," a projection of chakra's connection made visible.
Using that insight, she had already forced a link with Tsunade.
Through it, she drew from Tsunade's oceanic chakra a source chakra seed.
That seed took root inside her. In less than a day, her chakra capacity expanded to one "ka."
The speed was absurd—but it wasn't baseless.
Shinobi-world bodies were far stronger than ordinary humans—denser, more efficient, more resilient.
But in the Star Rail cosmos—especially in Belobog's harsh apocalypse—life's upper limits were even more extreme.
Even without pushing her physique to its peak, Cocolia's baseline physical strength could still crush the shinobi world's top tiers.
That robustness let her accumulate at an impossible rate once she had the chakra seed.
And more importantly—
she could sever her connection to chakra entirely at will.
So whether it was Tsunade with her heightened senses, Kakashi with his Sharingan, or Shikaku with his keen observation—
none of them could detect even the slightest chakra fluctuation from Cocolia.
She could stand there like an ordinary woman.
This success gave her a first, deep understanding of chakra's nature.
Then she spoke, and dropped a concept that could overturn the shinobi world's entire order:
"Based on connection, I have a proposal."
"We build a Chakra Bank."
"A… chakra bank?" Tsunade and Shikaku said at the same time, caught by the unfamiliar term.
"Yes," Cocolia replied evenly.
"The principle is simple. When shinobi refine chakra daily, a portion inevitably leaks away once it exceeds what the body can stably contain."
"It's a massive waste."
"And it's one reason the environment is saturated with chakra interference."
"The Bank's function is to use the links I can establish to collect that excess chakra before it dissipates—and store it safely."
"When the depositor needs it—for example, if a shinobi in a high-risk battle is facing chakra depletion—the Bank can return the chakra they previously stored precisely to them."
Shinobi chakra had a "stable capacity" and a "theoretical maximum."
Stable capacity could rise with training, but eventually hit a ceiling set by talent.
Yet "stable ceiling" was not the absolute physical limit.
If one continued refining chakra past stability, the excess would begin to leak out. The more chakra you held, the faster it leaked—until refining and leakage reached equilibrium.
That equilibrium was the theoretical maximum.
Cocolia paused briefly, then continued:
"And in peacetime, when most shinobi do not need to output enormous amounts of chakra…"
Her gaze seemed to pass through the walls, toward countless farmers and shopkeepers.
"This system will accumulate a significant pool of idle chakra."
"We can allocate a portion of it to civilians who cannot refine chakra."
"Wait," Shikaku cut in instantly, sharp as ever. "Civilians can receive and use chakra?"
"They can," Cocolia answered.
"Every person in this world naturally possesses a chakra seed. Even a civilian who has never refined chakra still has threads emanating from that seed."
"Shinobi know how to water the seed and make it grow."
"Civilians' seeds remain nearly dormant."
"I can bypass their limits. Through connection, I can guide external chakra into that seed and grant them functional access."
"Then civilians can operate chakra-driven agricultural machines, irrigation systems, even basic transport devices."
"Productivity will leap."
"Life will change qualitatively."
"And…" Cocolia's voice deepened.
"When the Chakra Bank truly exists—when it gathers thousands upon thousands of individuals, not just shinobi but also civilians whose seeds are awakened and contribute even small shares—then we gain a path toward chakra's true nature."
"Just as combining two chakra natures can create bloodline limits—Ice Release, Lava Release."
"And combining three can create even greater bloodline eliminations—like Dust Release."
She stopped and spoke each word carefully:
"What happens if we fuse chakra collected from this vast network—chakra that includes every nature, every subtle variation between lives—into a final composite?"
"I believe the resulting chakra would surpass any known bloodline limit or elimination."
"It may even approach the power of chakra's 'trunk'—the main body of the tree."
Tsunade's heart jolted.
Orochimaru's theory flashed through her mind: chakra is everything—information, flesh, bloodline, all merely different facets.
If this fused "trunk-like" chakra could be transferred into her body…
then with Orochimaru's framework, perhaps she could truly reach even higher stages of Explosive Blood.
Shikaku caught the flare in Tsunade's eyes with frightening precision.
But as Konoha's brain, he crushed fantasy and stared at the real thorns.
"Cocolia-sama, I'm not an expert in your 'human-heart connection' principle, so I can't dissect the theory."
"But as a decision-maker, I care about methods and risks."
"I have two practical questions."
He raised one finger.
"First: practicality."
"For a depositor, what is the concrete operational process for transferring excess chakra to the Bank, storing it, and retrieving it later? Is it difficult? Does it require hand signs, special instruments, strong mental force?"
"That determines whether this can scale."
Then he raised a second finger. His expression turned heavy as stone.
"Second: security."
"By your design, countless people's chakra will pool into an unprecedented energy reservoir."
"That power could erase Konoha—maybe far more—from the map."
"How will you store it stably?"
"How will you prevent loss of control, theft, or abuse?"
Tsunade, prompted by the question, also looked to Cocolia, waiting.
Cocolia met both their eyes, calm as still water.
"Shikaku-san's questions go straight to the core."
"As for transfer methods—the key is not complex jutsu or machinery."
"It's chakra's essential function…"
She paused.
"…Connecting human hearts."
Tsunade and Shikaku both froze.
"Emotion and conviction greatly amplify links," Cocolia continued. "Trust. Bonds. Shared goals."
"Even hatred."
"All can serve as amplifiers."
"So we need only a suitable symbol as an anchor to establish the initial connection."
"After that, an individual only needs a strong intent—deposit chakra or withdraw chakra—to complete the operation."
"No hand signs. No instruments. No special mental requirements."
Shikaku understood immediately.
It was something like the Will of Fire—an anchor concept.
Cocolia's gaze shifted to Tsunade.
"My original idea was to use the colossal tree you created with Wood Release as the symbol."
She gestured toward the shadow outside the window.
"As long as people recognize concepts like Tsunade's strength, Konoha's symbol, the might of Wood Release—then the tree can act as a bridge, routing chakra to you as the core node."
"But…"
Cocolia sighed faintly.
"Those concepts are weak and unstable."
"The transmission efficiency is low."
"And the applicability is too narrow."
"It may cover Konoha."
"But what about civilians across the Land of Fire who have never seen Wood Release—who barely know Konoha exists, who don't know who Tsunade is?"
"They lack recognition. The link cannot form."
Shikaku nodded heavily.
He had never felt this so clearly: people lived inside sealed information cocoons.
Even he had only just learned, minutes ago, that the shinobi world could be described as a three-class structure.
How could ordinary civilians ever share a stable "consensus" at scale?
"So we need something the entire shinobi world can agree on?" Shikaku's voice turned bitter.
He had already rejected "Will of Fire" himself—it was too Konoha-centric, and perhaps even narrower than simply "Tsunade is powerful."
"Even if we poured resources into propaganda and guidance, creating a solid consensus across hundreds of millions of people…"
"Different lives, different status, different experiences—"
"The difficulty is…"
He could already see the endless, hopeless struggle.
Even the Sage of Six Paths had failed to do it.
Cocolia nodded first, fully acknowledging the difficulty.
Then she looked at Tsunade again, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
"The answer is actually right in front of us."
"Tsunade carries consensus powerful enough to affect everyone in the shinobi world."
"And not just one."
Shikaku blinked, confused.
Cocolia's perspective, born from high-rank perception, saw faint traces of energy around Tsunade—energies that were not chakra, and whose nature seemed to sit above this world's rules entirely.
Cocolia could not control them.
But she could identify their effects.
One thread made people want to call Tsunade "Mom."
One stirred raw malice, the urge to bully her and watch her squirm.
One triggered an overpowering protective instinct—wanting to shield her.
And there was another—
Cocolia chose not to name it.
Some face-saving lines still mattered.
Cocolia spoke carefully:
"Tsunade has multiple strands of high-dimensional influence around her."
"If conditions are met, they can instantly construct a link."
"No prior consensus needed."
"And the stability and strength of such a link far exceed anything built by ordinary belief."
"The conditions include: calling Tsunade 'Mom,' feeling protective toward her, feeling the urge to bully her, or…"
Each time she listed one, Tsunade's expression shifted—confusion to shock to embarrassment to anger.
Cocolia stopped short of saying the last one.
"Put simply," Cocolia concluded, "if someone calls Tsunade 'Mom' once, we can establish a stable chakra transmission channel instantly."
"Upstream and downstream bandwidth—preliminary estimate—around one ka per second."
Tsunade clicked her tongue, clearly irritated.
"It's the side effects of those group items the Group Owner mentioned—Word-Spirit Tights and the subgroup interface!"
"Word-Spirit Tights? Group items? Side effects?"
Shikaku was completely lost—those terms meant nothing to him.
His gaze bounced between Tsunade's reddened face and Cocolia's "oh, that makes sense" expression, his mind full of question marks.
Tsunade drew a deep breath, forced down the heat in her cheeks, and stared hard at the desk as she explained quickly:
"Shikaku, the reason my power skyrocketed in such a short time is because I obtained those items."
"Think of them as… artifacts far beyond shinobi common sense—tools even the Ōtsutsuki might use. Things with absurd power."
She paused, then added:
"For example, the Word-Spirit Tights. Through 'words,' they can forcibly control another person's speech and actions."
"Stronger than any known genjutsu."
Shikaku's pupils shrank.
Even that single item, described plainly, carried terrifying implications that could overturn the shinobi world.
If these items had "side effects," that was almost reassuring—nothing this broken could be free.
He forced himself calm and looked back to Cocolia.
The point was: these side effects had become the key to the consensus problem.
A disaster turning into a tool.
Shikaku did not press for details.
He understood instinctively: these items were Tsunade's deepest trump cards.
A Nara's survival instinct was secrecy.
Cocolia, on the other hand, looked faintly excited.
"So that's it!"
"Tsunade, you should use as many different group items as possible."
"Each one might produce a new side effect—another condition we can use to establish links."
"And repeated usage can intensify side effects—expanding chakra bandwidth per link."
"Hold it!"
Tsunade cut her off immediately, flustered.
"Routing the chakra of the entire shinobi world into me? Are you insane?! I'd explode instantly! That's suicide!"
Cocolia smiled at Tsunade's rare panic and replied with calm certainty:
"Don't worry."
"Based on our theory, the moment enough diverse chakra properties combine to reconstruct true universality, your own storage and tolerance will undergo a qualitative leap."
"At the final stage, you can become the ultimate container."
"You won't explode."
Then she turned practical again.
"However—before we reach that threshold, the risk is real."
"We need a temporary storage reservoir as a buffer."
She pointed again toward the colossal tree outside.
"That's why I've planned this."
"In the early phase, all chakra transmitted 'to you' will be redirected into the Wood Release tree."
"It will serve as the initial vault."
"Until it reaches a critical load, safety is manageable."
"Also, the tree itself is so durable that even jōnin can't meaningfully damage it."
"It automatically counterattacks, absorbs chakra—and if pushed, it can even uproot itself and flee."
"Security isn't a concern."
Shikaku's tightly furrowed brows finally eased, as if a massive weight had lifted.
He didn't understand "high-dimensional energy" or "universality" on a deep level.
But Cocolia's logic chain was clean, and the engineering-style solutions were real.
That was enough.
"I can't claim to fully understand the deeper principles," Shikaku said sincerely, "but your plan answers my core concerns about feasibility and security."
"Then what do we do next? What are the concrete steps?"
Cocolia responded smoothly, clearly prepared.
"Phase one: controlled testing."
"We select a loyal, reliable group of shinobi."
"They establish strong links to Tsunade first—the first nodes of the network."
"Through them, we validate on a small scale: link stability, transfer and storage efficiency, return mechanisms, and—most importantly—load monitoring on the tree reservoir."
"Once the small network is stable and no major hazards appear, we move to phase two: expansion."
"We extend to all Konoha shinobi."
"This phase measures maximum load, optimizes transmission protocol, and begins small-scale universality-fusion experiments."
"That is the key step toward the final objective."
"And once the shinobi network is stable and fusion shows initial results—phase three: expansion into the civilians of the Land of Fire."
At this, Cocolia spread her hands and gave a faint, wry smile.
"All of this presumes I can successfully adapt the Path of the Human Heart to chakra and create a stable network framework."
"The two systems' underlying rules differ."
"It will take time to research and adjust."
"This is the primary technical bottleneck I'm facing right now."
Shikaku listened carefully, automatically filtering out unfamiliar terms like "Path," focusing on the operational roadmap.
"I see," he said, genuine admiration in his voice.
"A clear, pragmatic, highly feasible plan."
"Pilot in a controllable group first, let results speak, expand gradually, minimize resistance and risk."
"That is the most stable and efficient method."
Then he set aside the technical details and returned to a pressing reality.
"Tsunade-sama—should we lift Konoha's full lockdown now?"
He paused, his eyes growing deep.
"The moment we do, the news that you can use Wood Release—and at a level comparable to the First Hokage—will spread across the shinobi world."
"All powers will react."
"There will be probing. Pressure. Alliances against us."
"And possibly… war."
He looked straight at Tsunade.
"Are you ready?"
Tsunade curled her mouth into a wild, fearless grin. She slapped the armrest hard and spoke with absolute confidence:
"So what?!"
"You think I'm afraid of them?"
"Let them doubt. Let them test."
She made a decisive sweep of her hand, voice like a commandment.
"Shikaku! Lift all restrictions immediately!"
"Restore all external communication and travel!"
"I want the entire shinobi world to see what the new Konoha looks like—what kind of power we now hold!"
Shikaku stared at her—at the Hokage-to-be blazing with certainty.
Worry flashed in his eyes—
but so did resolve, and the sparks of a strategist whose blood had been ignited.
"…Understood."
He bowed.
"I will carry it out."
Join here to read ahead.
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Transmigrated as Sukuna 61
Checking In in Demon Slayer 65
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
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Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 26
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