"This is cruel," the female ninja said, after a failed attempt, her Light Pattern also appeared damaged, "We just... watched?"
"We are also being watched," Boruto said, pointing to the sky, pointing to the Void, pointing to all the possibilities that have not yet been born, "Every witness is two-way. We witness their ending, and they witness our... continuation."
In the third month, something unexpected happened.
Question Protocol began to... mutate. It was not a mutation designed by Boruto, but a spontaneous creation by the user. Some purifiers began to transform the problem into... an art form: In Land of Snow, a Node carved countless "whys" with ice sculptures. Each ice sculpture melted at sunrise, and the answers disappeared with the flowing water; in Land of Tea, a Node cultivates a special tea, and the drinker will face his most feared... nothingness in hallucinations; in the ruins of Otogakure, a group of Node created "Problem Music", not a sound, but a... dissonance of the Chakra frequency, forcing the audience to think in discomfort.
"This is beyond protocol," Chiyo reported worriedly, "Some art forms are... contagious. Not through Light Pattern, but through ordinary sensory contact. An ordinary person listening to Problem Music might... break down."
"Maybe... awakening," Sarada said. Her eyes are rarely open now, but her presence in the network is stronger - she is learning a kind of... perception that does not require vision, "We need to observe, not control."
Boruto agreed. He established an... observation layer, not a ruling, just a record. Let all mutations be preserved and all creations be seen. This is another lesson he learned from the old man: The Void is not an enemy, because it provides... possibility. And possibility means out of control, means accident, means... beauty.
In the fourth month, the first "Problem Poet" appeared.
Not Chiyo - she was still the keeper of the archives, the keeper of the records. This new poet was a... child, from Amegakure, no Chakra, no Light Pattern, not even an education. But he would stand in the rain and shout to the sky...
Not words, just sounds. Not meanings, just... rhythm. But everyone who hears it will feel some kind of... touch. Like being asked something, like being expected something, like being... invited.
Boruto Go and listen for yourself.
It was a gray afternoon, and the rain was like an eternal mourning. The child stood on the highest point of the ruins, about seven or eight years old, with ragged clothes and a hoarse voice. His cry had no melody, no lyrics, just... ups and downs. Like breathing, like a heartbeat, like some older... language.
"What is he talking about?" Boruto asked the resident next to him.
"I don't know," the old man shook his head, "Ever since that... fluctuation three months ago, he has been like this. He doesn't eat or drink, just stands and shouts. We thought he was crazy, but..." the old man paused, "But after listening for a long time, you will feel... calm. It is not the calm of answers, but... the calm of being understood."
Boruto Close your eyes, don't use Light Pattern, don't use the Internet, just... listen. In the child's cry, he heard... the question. Not the philosophical question of "why exists", not the practical question of "how to survive", but the more primitive... "I am here, where are you?"
It is... a call. Not a call for answers, but a call for... companionship. An acknowledgment of the presence of another, a... celebration of shared solitude.
Boruto walked towards the child, in the rain, in the ruins, in a meaningless place. He squatted down and let his eyes be level with the child's eyes - those eyes were ordinary brown, not as gorgeous as Sharingan, not as sharp as Byakugan, but with some kind of... abyss. Like the reflection of the Void itself, like a summary of all the roads not taken.
"I'm here," Boruto said, not an answer, just... a response.
The child's shouting stopped. He looked at Boruto for a long time, as long as the rain seemed... waiting. Then, he smiled. There were no teeth in that smile, no innocence, only a kind of... ancient recognition.
"I know," he said, his voice hoarse but clear, "I've been... waiting for you."
"Wait for me?"
"Wait for someone... who also asks questions. Not someone who knows the answer, just... someone who asks."
The child stretched out his hand, palm upward. Boruto looked at that hand - it was thin, dirty, and full of scars, but in the rain, it showed something... sacred. Like an altar, like an invitation, like... a contract.
Boruto held that hand. At the moment of contact, he felt Light Spot violently trembling - not division, not reproduction, but some kind of more radical... transformation. It flowed out of Boruto's palm and flowed into the child's body, but it was not occupying, not controlling, just... lodging.
The child trembled, then straightened up. His eyes did not change color, but something... the texture changed. Like the ice on the lake, like seeds breaking through the ground, like... the problem found a new... carrier.
"Now," the child said, with a new... weight in his voice, "I can really start... asking."
He started walking, not towards Boruto, not towards anyone, just... towards the rain, towards the ruins, towards the edge of the world. Boruto did not follow, just... watched. He knew that a new Node had been born - not the Node of the Internet, but the Node of problems, the Node of... poetry.
"What is he?" Sarada asked, her perception captured the child's... strangeness.
"It's the answer," Boruto said, feeling a certain relief and a certain... loss, "And a new question. The gift left by the old man is finally... fully opened. Not to me, not to the Purifier, but to... everyone. To everyone who is willing... to ask."
In the fifth month, the network changed.
It is no longer a radiating structure with Boruto as the center, no longer a linear connection between Node and Node, but something more... organic. Like a neural network, like a tree root system, like... Rhythm of Poetry. Information no longer flows, but... Resonance. It is not from A to B, but is presented at all points at the same time.
"What is this...?" Okita asked from Land of Iron, whose "Kurosawa" knife can now... sing, emitting the same frequency as the network Resonance, "I can't feel... the boundary anymore."
"This is a network of questions," Boruto explained, "Not a network of answers. We don't share knowledge, we share... uncertainty. We don't connect with strength, we connect... with vulnerability."
"It's... dangerous," Okita said, but there was no fear in his voice, just a certain... excitement, "And also... freedom."