Chapter 83: The Limits of a Clan

Senju Shōma's unease gave Hikaru a glimpse of something rare—possibility.

He had never denied his own ambition.

Whether it was the system's ultimate task or his own nature, Hikaru had always intended to climb higher, step by step. That would never change.

What Shōma feared wasn't Hikaru himself—it was Hikaru's growth.

Fear that his strength would continue to rise.

Fear that the decision made years ago would one day provoke backlash.

Fear that power would give Hikaru choices the Senju could no longer control.

Strength was a dangerous thing.

Not only could it protect the one who wielded it—it could intimidate everyone else, even if that person did nothing at all.

"For you to worry like this," Hikaru thought quietly, "it only proves how weak you've become, Elder."

The Senju were a legendary clan.

Even in decline, they still possessed foundations, remnants of influence, and lingering strength. But how strong were they really?

That, Hikaru hadn't been certain of—until now.

He still remembered Uesugi Gen, the man who had once taught him. By the system's standards, Gen had been a genuine jōnin.

A high-level combatant of any village.

And yet… he had been reduced to serving as Hikaru's introductory instructor.

At the time, Hikaru had thought: The Senju are terrifying.

That assessment wasn't entirely wrong.

A starving camel was still larger than a horse.

The Senju were a camel on the brink of collapse—once mighty, still respected by a few loyal followers, with several capable individuals remaining within the clan.

But today, Hikaru finally understood something important:

He had touched the ceiling.

Uesugi Gen—someone Hikaru once assumed was merely an "ordinary" clan member—was likely already among the strongest the Senju could field.

"So this is the limit," Hikaru thought.

Shōma's greatest concern was undoubtedly Lizardmaru.

But Hikaru also knew his own exposed strength played a role.

During his report, he hadn't concealed his direct confrontation with Sasori prior to summoning Lizardmaru. He couldn't—Kakashi and the surviving ANBU would report it anyway.

That same information had passed through Yamanaka Inoichi's inspection, and Hikaru hadn't bothered to lie about it there either—aside from omitting Sage Mode.

The higher-ups already knew too much.

Who could say whether that information might one day circle back to Shōma's hands?

Better not to fabricate stories at all.

It was precisely this combination—a summoning beast approaching shadow-level and a shinobi whose own combat ability was steadily rising—that unsettled Shōma.

Because everyone understood one simple truth:

Summoning beasts had flaws.

A ninja's body was fragile. If an ambush succeeded, there would be no chance to summon anything at all.

Personal strength was the only true foundation.

And that realization made Hikaru see the Senju's present state with brutal clarity.

"Weakness has its advantages," he thought calmly.

"If I play this right… I can one day take over the entire Senju clan."

Discovering the clan's bottom line filled him with quiet satisfaction.

Once you understood the limits—whether of a person or a family—you could probe them, test them, challenge them in measured ways, until control came naturally.

"Strength comes first," Hikaru reminded himself.

"Then influence. Then the right to speak. None of them can be missing."

His path was still long.

But compared to the question of whether to side with the Third or the Fourth Hokage, his direction had never been clearer.

When Hikaru returned to his room, he frowned.

It had been cleaned again.

This wasn't the first time. The last incident had left no traces either—but the feeling lingered.

He extended his perception, sweeping every corner, every crevice, every insect in the space.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"Did the clan arrange someone to clean for me?"

He couldn't tell.

In the end, Hikaru decided not to overthink it.

For an ANBU operative, maintaining alertness even while sleeping was second nature. A little extra vigilance was more than enough.

The following days passed quietly.

Hikaru stayed home, free from missions.

His routine was steady—training in the mornings, meeting old classmates in the afternoons whenever they were off-duty.

Maintaining those relationships had always been deliberate.

Once he decided to remain in Konoha, he'd made sure not to sever his past. And so far, he'd done well.

He considered contacting Minato Namikaze.

Whether to provide updates or continue learning the Flying Thunder God Technique, the timing felt right.

Unfortunately, Minato seemed unusually busy.

Busy with what, Hikaru didn't know.

"ANBU restructuring?"

The thought gave him a headache.

After taking such a risk to eliminate Namuki, Hikaru had no intention of becoming someone else's stepping stone.

So he quietly contacted former teammates to gather information.

The news eased his mind.

Namuki's death had stirred ambition, yes—but the higher-ups hadn't made any moves yet. The matter was temporarily shelved.

That was good.

Missing this opportunity while on leave would have been disastrous.

Another piece of information surprised him:

Kakashi was also on leave.

"That explains why I keep running into him," Hikaru mused.

He didn't ask Kakashi directly.

Not out of distrust—but because Hikaru's thoughts ran deep, his plans layered. Kakashi was still his teammate. Knowing too much could only create complications later.

Still, Minato's busyness didn't last forever.

One night, while Hikaru was quietly living the life of an ordinary shinobi, a message finally arrived.

"Looks like the Fourth Hokage is free at last."

His eyes landed on a note that had appeared beside the sealing techniques book Minato had given him earlier.

A smile tugged at his lips.

Minato was available.

Which meant teaching could resume.

And it meant Hikaru could finally have a proper conversation with him.

"And that's not the only good news."

Hikaru raised one hand.

Chakra surged through his body, rippling outward.

Blue chakra gathered—then, within it, a faint golden vortex formed in his palm.

As the spiral condensed, something tangible began to take shape.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Like a fruit nearing ripeness.

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