Still reeling from the shock, my first move was to challenge the system's decision. Hepsi clearly said I called him, and if I called him, that means I summoned him, right? But the system dug in its heels and refused to mark the quest as complete.
I had to channel the days when I begged for the quest to save Hinata. Locking myself in a barrier, I started pleading. But the system must've seriously leveled up its resistance—three days of begging, and it still wouldn't budge. I'm not giving up, though. Plus, I'm multitasking: while trying to convince the system, I'm training my Henge technique, using Hepsi as the base for my new disguise.
Transforming into Hepsi with Henge was tough. The appearance came easily, just like any other disguise, but mimicking his mannerisms, speech, and that special aura—that's where the real challenge was. It's great training, though. Begging the system while maintaining the Henge and trying to move and talk like Hepsi is hard, but my Control, Will, and Spirit stats are climbing, along with the technique's level.
Even after three days of relentless pleading, the system didn't crack. I had to pull out my trump card: the "Puss in Boots Eyes" technique.
Maybe I shouldn't have pushed the system so hard right after a major glitch. After I used the technique, a blue screen appeared again, but this time it was streaked with red drips that looked suspiciously like tears. I dropped the Hepsi Henge and checked my inventory.
This time was different from the first glitch. For one, ten bottles of moonshine were gone. Why does only my moonshine suffer? My liqueurs never disappear from the inventory—they only get stolen once they leave it.
It finally clicked, and I was floored: Danzo must love my liqueur that much to keep stealing it. I only figured it out thanks to my "Paranoid" achievement. Now I know I'm under Danzo's close watch. The Hokage only has one observer on me, and that guy often slacks off, but Danzo's Root has two at a time, probably working in shifts. I don't really care that I'm under Danzo's microscope—he doesn't interfere with my life, and he even helps a bit. Sure, they steal some of my concoctions and all my liqueur, but that's fine. Everything comes with a price. It's not surprising he doesn't supply me with money or ingredients—if anyone found out, it'd cause a huge uproar. From my chats with the Hokage, it's clear most info about me never reaches him.
Secondly, compensation appeared in my inventory: a couple of recipes, one skill extraction orb, one skill copy orb, some extra soul crystals, a letter, and—most intriguingly—a massive tome.
The letter contained the usual apologies. Ugh, I really wanted to haggle more—such a shame. The tome was titled "Spatiotemporal Magic: Summons, Their Types, and Features". I dove into it and got stuck for a while. After reading about a third, I realized I understood nothing. But there was a bookmark on the summoning section, with the relevant text underlined. Looking at it, I felt like an idiot with negative Intelligence. Fine, I'll figure this book out just to spite the system.
The summoning info was clearer, and it confirmed I wouldn't be getting my quest rewards anytime soon. Summoning works on a few principles: the summoner sends a request to a specific being, a species, or an open call that anyone can answer—the latter being the most dangerous method, according to the book. The request includes the task for the summoned being and the world's coordinates. The second step is creating a channel for the summoned being to travel through. The third is providing energy for the being to stay in the world. My problems started with the second step, and the third isn't even worth mentioning. According to notes in the margins, Hepsi had scoured all the neighboring worlds before dropping by to see me.
The book itself was decent compensation. Once I started grasping its contents, I realized I'd trade 100 levels and a harem for it. It had everything: summoning diagrams and circles for demons, spirits, elementals, and more, plus protective wards for all those rituals. The magic section described spells for building portals, creating or finding spatiotemporal anomalies, and tons on spatial magic—like subspace pockets and even demonic and other domains, with all their variations. A massive trove of incredibly useful info that'll take years, maybe decades, to fully unpack.
My joy over the book was soured by a new problem: I couldn't leave the barrier. When the system glitched, barriers stopped working, and now I'm stuck inside one. The question is, how does time flow now? Is it still the same—one second in the real world no matter how long I spend in the barrier—or has it synced due to the glitch, or something else entirely? I really hope it's the second option, because if it's the first, I'm trapped here forever. The system will be down for two or three days, per the letter. If time has synced, that's not too bad. There'll be a big fuss, but it's better than dying in an empty barrier. For now, I'll focus on my inner world—I haven't been there in a while.
My inner world greeted me with very worried and upset Xenomorph-cockroaches. Turns out, the darkness had consumed everything I'd created. First, the ocean disappeared, then the extra islands, and finally the main island. The destruction only stopped at the entrance to my original inner world. I had to strain myself to restore everything, which took almost three days.
But four days later, the system still hadn't returned. That's when I really started to panic. It's one thing to be eaten by a monster in a barrier, but starving to death here is another. To make matters worse, I picked a sewer barrier with no descent to a second level—no slim chance of escape or even dying in a fight.
I wasn't about to give up, though. I've got enough food and water for a year and a half. If I ration hard—eating once a day, half portions—I can stretch it to six or seven years. If I go into deep meditation, I can extend that even further. I'll hope the system comes back online in that time and I can escape. It's not the first time I've been in a situation like this. Now that I think about it, it's far from the first—and that's concerning.
Two weeks passed, and the system still wasn't responding. I couldn't escape on my own, so I moved to Plan B: survive as long as possible. I spent most of my time in deep meditation, surfacing every two days to circulate chakra through my body to counter the effects of staying still for so long, do a light workout, eat, take care of bodily needs, check the system, and head back to my inner world.
Since I now had an absurd amount of free time—enough to drive me insane—I decided to seriously work on my inner world, especially the parts the darkness had consumed. Restoring the main island and everything on it didn't take long, but the rest was a problem. The ocean vanished within a couple of hours of my absence, the extra islands lasted a bit longer, and the main island could survive about a week without my oversight.
I quickly figured out the reason, though it was both simple and complicated. The more detailed and logical an object was when I created it, the longer it resisted the darkness. That's why the ocean disappeared first—a sea floating in a void is just too weird. A sea or ocean needs a surface to cover.
So, I decided to go big and create an entire planet. The first version lasted about five minutes. I spent a long time banging my head against the labyrinth walls, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong and what I'd missed. Turns out, I missed a ton. For starters, the planet was a perfect sphere, and it was entirely made of stone. After racking my brain, I remembered a planet has a core, mantle, and so on. I had to dig into my school knowledge and do it properly.
Even then, things didn't go smoothly. While I was working on one area, the darkness would eat away at another part of the planet. But I found a solution: I surrounded the planet with a sphere of cosmic vacuum, a hundred times larger than the planet itself. I added a sun and a few moons, though I went a bit off-script here. My planet doesn't orbit the sun—the sun orbits the planet. No, I'm not that dumb; I just made the sun small and placed it relatively close to the planet.
It's a good thing the system can't see all the mistakes I'm making here—I'd hate to think what achievements it'd give me. Just the moons alone, crashing into the planet, each other, and even the sun once, before all collapsing onto the planet together—what a mess. But there was a silver lining: I learned to accelerate time in my inner world. Without that, I'd step away for a minute to handle my needs, come back, and find an Armageddon.
By the fifth year in the barrier, my hope of rescue was pretty much dead. So, I doubled down on my inner world, hoping I could fully move there. To make life there good, I kept perfecting it. At the edge of the darkness in the cosmic void, I scattered countless tiny stars. They acted as constellations in the sky and also signaled when the darkness was stirring by dimming. The cosmic space itself filled up with random debris.
I made a lot of progress on the planet too. My first creation was floating islands, most of which drifted along the equator. It was a nightmare to keep them from colliding—I still shudder thinking about it. Most islands had their own unique ecosystems. The main island stood out, becoming a paradise for my cockroaches.
But I hit a wall with living creatures. Plants were easy to create and could exist without my constant attention, but animals died almost instantly. I gave up on fauna for now—there were too many other issues, like the water cycle, not to mention everything else. The only living inhabitants more complex than single-celled organisms were my cockroaches. They refused to leave the main island or even stray far from their nest, despite my assurances that everything would be fine.
I only made a few small mistakes, like miscalculating when I tried to raise a continent in the ocean alongside the floating islands. That caused volcanoes to erupt across the planet, resulting in not one continent but three, plus a ton of smaller islands. Is that really a reason to distrust me?
In my opinion, the darkness outbreaks and some other weird stuff were far more dangerous. They happened pretty often at first, and each time, something disappeared or changed. A mountain range would vanish, random chasms or caves would appear, a river would change its course, or a lake would turn into a swamp. I tried fighting it at first, but then I gave up. Seven times out of ten, I didn't like the results, but it added some variety. I had to redo a few seas on one of the new continents that turned into acid—that was a nightmare to fix; the altered parts resisted changes fiercely.
Another two and a half years passed in the barrier. My attempts to transfer anything into my inner world completely failed. I tried everything—infusing objects with chakra, then mana, reiryoku, and all of them together—but nothing worked. I even tried stuffing something into the seal on my stomach, nearly giving myself a seppuku in the process.
Messing with the seal didn't yield the desired results either, but it caused plenty of unwanted ones. First, my clumsy hands broke something in the seal, and now the Fox's cage is missing a few bars. Second, I slightly damaged the seal on the cage's gate, which caused a clone of Minato to pop out. He started lecturing me about not releasing the Fox, claiming he's my father, and spouting more propaganda nonsense. I barely listened and told him to get lost—far and for good—throwing in some of the insults the Fox had hurled at me when I tried to do something nice and improve its living conditions.
Back then, I remembered the Fox is some kind of fire entity, and I'd read in fanfics that people often gave it a volcano to live in. So, I decided to do the same, turning all the water on the floor of its chamber into lava. But the Fox didn't appreciate my kindness. Instead of its usual ten-story tirade of insults at every meeting, it jumped straight to a twenty-story one. I had to revert everything, but the Fox kept its insults at the new level, sometimes even raising it by another five stories.
I threw a couple of those choice insults at Minato's clone, along with directions to where he could shove his good intentions. Kushina never showed up—either there was no need, or I broke something else in the seal.
With the Fox getting too active because of the damaged cage, I had to sic my cockroaches on it and stop my risky seal experiments.
Another six months later, I dove into studying the tome I'd gotten as compensation. My inner world now only needed an hour of deep meditation every few days.
In the book, I found what I needed to escape. It described a barrier like this one, explaining that it can't last forever—eventually, its energy runs out. There was even a method to check its reserves. It took me a month and a half to draw the insanely complex and massive construct to measure the barrier's energy. Surprisingly, it didn't explode and showed the barrier would last another 74 years. I definitely won't survive that long.
Thankfully, the book also described how to recharge the barrier, along with a warning not to overfill the reserves beyond their capacity—ideally stopping at 99%.
That's when my genius plan was born: overload the reserves and destroy the barrier. There was a 73% chance I'd be torn to atoms in the process, but a 100% chance I'd starve to death otherwise. I decided to take the risk.
Preparations took another six months. I checked the construct hundreds of times, and when everything was ready, the question arose: where do I get that much energy? The answer came quickly—I just had to go kick the Fox, literally.
I shot out of the sewer grate like a champagne cork, flying five meters into the air. The meeting with the ground was rough, leaving me with a couple of fractures, but I was ecstatic. Lying on the ground, I laughed like a madman. Yeah, after years in my inner world, talking only to my cockroaches, I might've lost it a bit.
— Nah, bro, you're fine!!!
— Totally, couldn't be more normal!!!
— 100%, don't worry!
Oh, the voices in my head say I'm fine—I was worried I'd gone crazy for a second.
After healing myself with a Minor Healing Potion, I headed home. As soon as I got there, I raided the fridge under Sumire's worried gaze. Once I'd satisfied my hunger a bit, I decided this called for a celebration. I'd spent nearly ten years in that barrier—a long time. If I add up all the time I spent in my inner world with time acceleration, it's enough for three life sentences.
Wait, if I calculate everything—my past life, this one, the time in barriers, plus the accelerated time in my inner world—it comes out to about 300 years. I've got a jubilee to celebrate!
— Sumire, crawl over here—I've got a party to throw!
— Bulb?
— I'll tell you later, for now, let's get to the table.
— Bulb!
— Alright, first toast: "You won't get me!!!"
Two bottles of moonshine later:
— Bulb bulb!!!
— Enough, Sumire, we've already toasted to beautiful ladies twelve times.
— Bulb bulb!
— And nine times to having lots of beautiful ladies.
— Bulb!!!
— For an even number, you say? Fine, pour.
Another bottle later:
I can confidently say regeneration is evil. Take a twenty-minute break, and you start sobering up. Look at Sumire—he's already face-first in the salad, or whatever you call his face. Meanwhile, I'm just getting started.
— Don't worry, Sumire, I'll give you a healing potion, and we'll keep going.
— Bul…
— Wait, that's not it—I don't need a paralyzing one. — With that, I tossed the vial out the window.
The vial somehow ricocheted off a branch of one tree, smashed against another, and down fell a paralyzed Gopher from a lower branch.
— Oh, Gopher, what a surprise! Come on in, be our guest!
Twenty minutes later, I finally dragged Gopher inside and sat him at the table.
— Gopher, do you respect me?
— No.
— Then we've got to drink to that!!!
Two more bottles later:
We're having a great time. Even Gopher's getting into it—had to force the first half-liter down him, but now he's chilling and chatting with Sumire about the charms of certain kunoichi. They're understanding each other perfectly.
Another bottle later:
— Demon spawn, do you respect me?
— Of course!
— Then let's stop drinking, okay? I've got a repor… repoot… report to give, there! — Gopher finally managed to form a coherent thought.
— Sure, one for the road, and you're good to go.
An hour later, Gopher crawled out of my place—literally crawled—toward the Hokage Tower. Sumire was already plastered, and the Root agents were hiding too well. I used eight vials of paralyzing concoction, dousing all the nearby trees, but didn't hit anyone. Drinking alone is just alcoholism, so I called it a night and went to bed.
Morning does nothing to improve things. I'll say it again—regeneration is evil. It got rid of the drunkenness perfectly but left the hangover untouched. It's so selective—or maybe I just exceeded some limit. The only silver lining is I'm not the only one suffering. Sumire's in agony too—seeing his tentacles tied in knots actually makes me feel a bit better.
But I didn't get to fully recover. Owl showed up for a visit. The conversation with her was very interesting and productive—at least I managed to cover my tracks. When she asked to buy more of those potions, I told her, mostly honestly, that I didn't have any left. I had one, but it disappeared somewhere. As for brewing more, I said I don't know when I'll manage it again. I explained that I use chakra when brewing—though for secrecy, I called it "some blue energy, sometimes with red flecks"—and the number of flecks varies, so I can't replicate it. I just have to wait for the right conditions.
I'd planned this story a long time ago—I had plenty of time to think in the barrier. I meant to tell it to Sumire in front of a window so any eavesdroppers would hear, but oh well. It's strange I haven't been chained to a wall in some lab, forced to churn out potions nonstop. This story should keep me a bit safer. They don't need to know I can brew Minor Healing Potions on an industrial scale.
Judging by her questions, offers, and the fact that this talk happened early in the morning while Gopher's still recovering from last night, it's clear Owl's been recruited by Root. Doesn't bother me either way.
After we hashed everything out and I promised to let her know as soon as I brew another one, she said goodbye, grabbed the still-recovering Sumire, and left for her place. I decided to restock my moonshine and brew something a bit stronger.
POV Danzo Shimura
I'm staring at the vial on my desk, unable to decide whether to drink it or not. Its effectiveness has been proven and tested—the subject was cured of injuries only an SS-rank medic-nin could heal, and all her old wounds vanished as well. Most importantly, no side effects were observed during the entire monitoring period.
The rational choice would be to hand it over to specialists for replication, but past experience with this boy's concoctions suggests the odds of success are near zero. Not one of the concoctions we've studied has been replicated. Unlike the others, which came in multiple samples, this is a single vial. Giving it up for research risks losing it with no results.
The benefits of using it outweigh the risks. With my health restored, protecting the village will be far easier, and the likelihood of him producing another such concoction is high. He's already made at least two, which means he'll make more eventually—it's just a matter of time.
The decision is made. I drink the concoction and immediately feel old wounds healing, scars fading, and the eye I lost long ago regenerating. Within an hour, I'm fully healed, my body brimming with energy, feeling rejuvenated. But one reaction in my revitalized body is troubling—it won't subside, no matter what medical techniques I use to suppress it.
Half an hour later, I realize I'm losing control. I'll have to address the issue another way. But why didn't the test subject have this reaction? Then I recall that strange purple summoned creature, and it all makes sense.
— Fu, — I call my subordinate.
— Yes, Danzo-sama.
— Fu, send two honeytrap kunoichi here.
— As you command, Danzo-sama.
— No, wait. — Listening to my body, I add, — Make it four, and don't disturb me for a while. Execute.
As a result: Root was left without its leader for two days. Eight honeytrap kunoichi received records of completing an A-rank mission, along with a silence seal and a two-week vacation.
And the head of Root, strolling through the village with a satisfied smile, triggered a sharp spike in paranoia among all observers and spies.