"Stay… safe," Hiroshi murmured, barely able to form the words before darkness overtook him.
As he fell, the last thing he heard was the familiar rush of wind and the quiet sound of a teleportation jutsu. In a flash, the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, appeared beside him, catching his unconscious form before he hit the ground.
Minato had arrived just in time to see the aftermath. The Nine-Tails' attack had been averted, and it's eyes… it's free! He looked Hyuga boy with curiosity,
'How was he able to broke Genjutsu of Sharingan? …and that tail beast bomb.'
The Fourth Hokage glanced up at the Nine-Tails, his resolve hardening. "Well done, kid," he whispered. "You've given us a chance…."
…
Present,
Minato frowned thoughtfully, even if his too tired and cant think anything straight, his mind turning over the details. "The masked man…" he muttered in serious tone. "That's the real question, isn't it? Who was he? His abilities were… unsettling. And for some reason, he seemed …familiar."
Kushina glanced at him, her expression softening. "You think he's someone you've met before?"
"Or he just need nap" Kurama growled.
Ignoring demon fox Minato nodded slowly toward Kushina, his eyes distant. "It's possible. The way he fought, the way he moved—it wasn't just skill. It felt personal like he knew exactly how to counter me."
"Maybe he's someone from the village," Kushina suggested, though she didn't sound convinced.
Kurama growled, interrupting their thoughts. "Whoever he is, he's dangerous. And he's a coward. Using Genjutsu to control me? Pitiful. The next time I see him, I'll tear him apart myself."
Kushina chuckled softly. "Easy there, Kurama. You're supposed to be on 'our' side now."
"Gerrrrrrrr!" Kurama grumbled in annoyance.
Kushina smirked. "You've got it pretty good, don't you? A cozy seal, three meals a day, and two amazing people to keep you company."
"And an endless supply of your nonsense," Kurama said, though there was no real malice in his tone. "You and your idiot husband never stop talking."
Minato grinned. "Admit it, Kurama. You'd miss us if we weren't around."
Kurama didn't say anything and Kushina laughed, shaking her head. "Take that as a yes."
…
Dubai UAE,
The grand double doors of The Orchid Royale swung open, and Chef Victor a Michelin 5 star chef strode in like he fucking owned the place.
"Right, where's the bloody parking?" he shouted,
A stocky security guard approached him.
"Ah, welcome, Chef. I am here to escort you. Big honor, very big honor." The man said in Arabian accent.
"Don't butter me up, mate. I've got butter for that. Just point me to the god damn parking, yeah?"
"This way, sir. Very secure. Only for you."
As they reached the underground parking lot, Victor stopped short of his car. Something wasn't right. He turned to confront the guard, but the man was faster.
"Apologies …nothing personal." The words came out just as a precise strike to the back of Chef neck knocking him out unconscious!?
The guard caught him before he hit the ground, skillfully dragged him into the back of a catering van, and—without missing a beat—stripped out of his uniform, revealing a flawless Chef's disguise underneath.
"Now, let's cook," the guard said in a flawless British accent, getting in character.
Few minutes later, the 'Chef' entered the bustling hotel kitchen like a general on the battlefield.
The sous-chefs stood at attention, their knives frozen mid-chop.
He strutted to the center station and grabbed a slab of prime Wagyu beef. With the precision of a surgeon, he began slicing, searing, and seasoning.
One junior chef whispered to another, " Such precision! You are a true artist, Chef!"
"Ah, it's all in the wrist. A chef's blade is an extension of his soul and ….Compliments don't cook meals! FOCUS!"
Within minutes, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of perfectly cooked meat. The team stared in awe as he plated a dish.
He tossed his tongs onto the counter with a flourish. "And that, my friends, is how you turn a cow into art."
The head chef approached, clapping. "Bravo! That's the finest steak I've ever seen. Who'll be serving it?"
"I'll serve it myself." The 'chef' said, 'after all, thats why I'm here' he thought.
After reaching room 318, he adjusted the plate in his hand. He knocked twice, and when no one answered, he quietly turned the knob and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit with the smell of cigars and whiskey. He saw half-open bathroom door.
The chef set the plate on a nearby table, his free hand subtly reaching hidden pocket for his tactical military knife. As he approached the bathroom door, a familiar voice came from behind him.
"You still use that knife?"
he spun around, his knife poised to strike, but stopped short when he saw her—a woman with flowing blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a red, solderless velvet dress that highlight her figure perfectly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, lowering his knife slightly but keeping his guard up.
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, smirking as she leaned against the doorframe. "I had a bad feeling about this mission, so I thought I'd tag along."
"You should leave," Alex said, his tone firm. "This mission is dangerous, and I don't have time to babysit."
"Babysit?" she raised an eyebrow . "That's rich coming from you, honey."
he sighed, "Look, I mean it. Get out of here."
Before she could respond, the bathroom door creaked open. The chef moved with lightning speed, slashing the throat of the man who stepped out—a burly figure with tattoos covering his neck–which is now sliced open,
Blood sprayed across the pristine white tiles as the man collapsed to the ground.
"You're still as messy as ever," the woman remarked, unfazed by the violence.
he ignored her, crouching beside the body and sliced into the man's arm and extracted an implant embedded just beneath the skin.
Holding it up to the light, he smirked. "Jackpot." He took out small device and start scanning implant,
"But efficient as ever," she said folding her arms.
"His Russian, and ….It has trace of Radiation and abnormal amount of that??!
"I'm serious. Leave. This mission is getting more dangerous by every second..."
...
Hiroshi blinked, the vivid memory fading as he returned to the present. His hand tightened around the dagger, a cold smile spreading across his face. 'Some things never change,' he thought, flipping the blade in his hand before letting it vanish once more.
'how long I was unconscious,' he asked.
'You were unconscious for six hours, it's morning already' Nova replied. 'also your mother is outside, she fell asleep at the door.'
Life as Hiroshi Hyuga might be different, he will need time to get use to new family, but he couldn't deny the thrill of wielding the skills and knowledge from his past life in this new world.
…
When Hiroshi was adjusting to his new life hundreds of miles away in forest of hidden mist.
"That …didn't exactly go as planned," Obito muttered with irritation.
Zetsu's grin widened. "You have to admit, Minato was pretty impressive. I mean, teleporting all over the place like that? He made you look—"
"Shut up," Obito snapped, "I underestimated Minato. That was a mistake I won't make again."
"And the Hyuga kid," Zetsu added, his tone turning curious. "You've got to wonder what kind of Gentle Fist technique packs enough punch to send the Nine-Tails stumbling."
Obito didn't respond immediately. His single Sharingan gleamed faintly in the dim light. "It doesn't matter. I'll deal with him if he ever becomes a problem."
They continued walking in silenca e for a moment before Zetsu's grin returned. "You know, if you ever want to test out Genjutsu on me, I promise I won't break free and ruin your plans."
Obito sighed heavily, "Why do I even keep you around?"
The pair reached a large, rusted door at the end of the corridor, its surface covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. It looked too old, as though it hadn't been opened in decades.
"It doesn't matter," Obito muttered, his voice dark. "The Nine-Tails was only the first step. If I can't destroy Konoha from the outside…"
Zetsu wrinkled his non-existent nose, waving a hand in front of his face. "Ugh, what is that smell—huh?"
The sight before them was disturbing. The walls were lined with hundreds of jars, each containing a single Sharingan eye suspended in an unknown preserving liquid.
Zetsu let out a low whistle. "Well, isn't this cozy?" he glanced around uneasily. "You know, normal people collect coins or stamps, not eyeballs…