Yamada's Hesitation

"I found it in your luggage," Boruto said. "When the Anbu searched, I told them to look out for any personal belongings. This was hidden in your pillowcase."

Yamada reached out. His fingertips hovered above the forehead protector for a second before he gently touched it. His movements were so light, as if he were caressing something fragile.

"What are you trying to say?" His voice was a little hoarse.

"I'm saying that you didn't spend thirty-one years pursuing this for some kind of 'evolution,' or to break down the barrier between humans and gods." Boruto looked him straight in the eye. "You wanted to find an answer. Why Hikari died, why that power chose her, why you couldn't save her."

Yamada's fingers stiffened.

"Am I right?"

Silence spread between them. The basement had no windows. Only an oil lamp burned in the corner, stretching their shadows long and twisting them across the walls.

"Yes," Yamada finally said, his voice so faint it was almost inaudible. "You're right."

"Then did you find it?"

Yamada lifted his head. Something flickered in his Byakugan—not the glow of Chakra, but something more primal, more human.

"No," he said. "I found a lot of data, a lot of theories, a lot of secrets about the Ōtsutsuki Clan. But I didn't find an answer. Hikari's death was random, a product of probability, the result of countless variables colliding. There was no cause, no purpose, no meaning at all."

He spoke with a terrifying calm. It wasn't acceptance, but an emptiness left after every emotion had been exhausted.

"But now," Boruto continued, "you have a new answer."

Yamada looked at him. For the first time, genuine confusion appeared in his eyes.

"The core has stabilized, and the divine consciousness has returned to its place," Boruto said.