Secret Technique Inheritance

Why, exactly?

Standing before the memorial stone, Shiraishi Yoshijo couldn't help but wonder. He had only intended to go for a walk, yet somehow, his feet had led him here.

Shiraishi Yoshijo sighed softly, his eyes scanning the memorial stone until they quickly landed on a few familiar names.

"I'm starting at the Ninja Academy tomorrow. If you were all still alive, you'd probably be happy, right? Everything at home is fine, just a bit empty. Uncle Eizawa has become a drunkard over the past two years; sometimes I don't see him for days. I wouldn't even know if he drank himself to death somewhere out there."

After rambling on for a long while, Shiraishi Yoshijo fell silent.

How did things end up like this?

When he first realized he had reincarnated into the world of Naruto, Shiraishi Yoshijo thought he would soon be punching the Third Hokage, kicking Obito, and even trading spit face-to-face with Uchiha Madara.

"Do you also wish to dance?"

"No, no, no, I just want to dig up your ancestral grave."

The script had been all laid out, but he never could have imagined that he was born far too early.

It is currently the 15th year of Konoha, and Shiraishi Yoshijo is six years old.

Hiruzen Sarutobi has only been the Third Hokage for two years, and as for Uchiha Obito... well, his father probably hasn't even been born yet.

As for Uchiha Madara, he is certainly still alive, though it is unclear if he has awakened the Rinnegan.

But those are minor details; the most important thing is that Shiraishi Yoshijo discovered his background is highly problematic.

The Shide Clan?

Can someone tell me what kind of ghost clan this is? Shiraishi Yoshijo racked his brain, but he couldn't recall such a ninja clan existing in Konoha.

When he was first born, he secretly speculated whether his clan was related to the Akimichi Clan. After all, in his memories, the only clan associated with butterflies was the Akimichi.

But as time passed, he realized he had overthought it. The Akimichi Clan's connection to butterflies is their Butterfly Choji Mode secret technique, whereas his clan...

Well, they are just a bunch of people who play with butterflies, much like the Aburame Clan who play with bugs. As for the difference? Perhaps it's that butterflies are prettier?

However, even in the original story, the Aburame Clan managed to secure a spot among the Konoha 12, while his clan...

Heh, a clan that doesn't even get to be extras is likely just a legendary cannon fodder clan.

Shiraishi Yoshijo's theory was quickly confirmed. Less than a year after he was born, the grandfather who loved to poke him with his beard died on a mission, leaving behind nothing but a name on the memorial stone.

Following his grandfather's death, the Shide Clan spiraled into a state of total collapse.

Clan members began to disappear in droves, and then came the First Shinobi World War. Only a handful of the entire clan survived the battlefield, and fortunately, his parents were among them.

He had thought the Shide Clan had weathered the worst of the disasters and would have smooth sailing from then on.

Instead, his parents didn't die on the battlefield, but during a routine mission. The only one who survived was his uncle, Shiraishi Eizawa.

It was said that he had deserted his post, abandoning his parents to flee back alone.

Although Shiraishi Yoshijo didn't believe this version of events, Shiraishi Eizawa's attitude toward him and the way he looked at him had changed significantly.

In short, the relationship between the two of them now is difficult to put into words.

After standing before the memorial stone for another half hour, Shiraishi Yoshijo turned and headed home.

Standing in the empty courtyard, Shiraishi Yoshijo began practicing his shurikenjutsu. His aim was quite accurate; after all, he had been practicing since he was three.

As for chakra cultivation, Shiraishi Eizawa only taught him last year. However, after a year of training, Shiraishi Yoshijo was certain he was no genius; the amount of chakra in his body was pitifully small.

As for taijutsu, Shiraishi Yoshijo decided he couldn't endure that kind of hardship, so he would just let it be.

He was in the middle of throwing shuriken when the gate creaked, and a reeking, alcohol-soaked Shiraishi Eizawa returned.

Looking up at the midday sun, Shiraishi Yoshijo asked in confusion, "Something up?"

Shiraishi Eizawa usually returned either in the dead of night or at the crack of dawn; this was the first time in two years he had seen him at noon.

And looking at his eyes, he actually seemed quite sober?

"Yeah, there's something I want to ask your opinion on."

As he spoke, Shiraishi Eizawa walked over to the steps and sat down.

Shiraishi Yoshijo stared at him without a word. The two exchanged a look, followed by an awkward silence.

In the end, it was Shiraishi Eizawa who broke the silence: "You're going to the Ninja Academy tomorrow?"

Shiraishi Yoshijo gave a grunt and retorted, "You actually care about something like that?"

Another bout of uncomfortable silence followed.

Shiraishi Eizawa felt a headache coming on—not from the alcohol, but a genuine, throbbing pain.

Ever since he returned from that mission, he had been stripped of his ninja status. Whether he was a ninja or not didn't matter much to him anymore.

The real issue was the child before him, the future of the clan.

But as their relationship had rapidly deteriorated, some things were ultimately hard to return to the way they once were.

After a moment of thought, Shiraishi Eizawa decided to keep it brief: "Someone approached me today, hoping you would join the Anbu training program. The things they teach at the Ninja Academy are too simple; you can learn much more in the Anbu."

Anbu training program?

Shiraishi Yoshijo's mouth twitched, and he said expressionlessly, "May I ask who the person that approached you was?"

"Shimura Danzō."

"Who?"

"Shimura Danzō."

When this name was spoken once more from the mouth of Shiraishi Eizawa, Shiraishi Yoshijo clutched his forehead powerlessly, a thousand curses running through his mind.

Rather than saying Danzō had his eye on him, it would be more accurate to say he had his eye on the secret techniques of the Shide Clan.

He felt as if his gallbladder had just shattered.

Shiraishi Yoshijo gritted his teeth and spat out four words: "Did you agree?"

Seeing the bitter, deep-seated hatred on Shiraishi Yoshijo's face, Shiraishi Eizawa narrowed his eyes: "Not yet. Did Danzō do something to you?"

Shiraishi Yoshijo let out a breath of relief and said, word by word: "I am absolutely not going to any Anbu training class. I am going to the Ninja Academy."

After saying this, he turned and left, fearing that some other piece of bad news might tumble out of his uncle's mouth.

Shiraishi Yoshijo returned to his room in a huff, leaving Shiraishi Eizawa alone in the courtyard, lost in thought.

Time ticked by, and Shiraishi Eizawa sat motionless on the steps, remaining there until dusk.

When Shiraishi Yoshijo finally came out to prepare dinner, he stood up and asked: "Do you want to learn the clan's secret techniques?"

"If you're willing to teach, I'll learn. If not, then forget it."

This was Shiraishi Yoshijo's honest opinion; he had always felt the secret techniques of the Shide Clan were useless.

No matter how pretty the butterflies were, someone could just spit a mouthful of fire and incinerate a whole swarm. Besides, for a grown man to play with butterflies was effeminate and downright embarrassing.

He remembered a guy in the clan named Shiraishi Mori, a burly, fierce-looking man. Every time he saw him playing with butterflies, Shiraishi Yoshijo felt the aesthetic was incredibly bizarre.

"Follow me."

Shiraishi Eizawa led him to the ancestral grounds of the Shide Clan, stood in the center of the main hall, and began to weave hand seals so quickly that it made Shiraishi Yoshijo's head spin.

"Open!"

Following Shiraishi Eizawa's low shout, a hole slowly appeared in the ground.

Below were stairs leading down, and gusts of cold wind surged up from the opening, making the place feel exceptionally eerie.

After the two entered the opening, lamps began to light up one by one. The unease in Shiraishi Yoshijo's heart gradually dissipated with the light, and he began to observe his surroundings.

Once the stairs ended, there was a corridor, and five wooden doors on either side were particularly eye-catching.

Shiraishi Yoshijo tried pushing one of the wooden doors open. As soon as it opened, a foul odor rushed into his nose, making him cough repeatedly.

Inside the room, there were only a few bookshelves and a set of tables and chairs.

Shiraishi Eizawa's voice drifted in from outside the door: "This used to be the place where ninjutsu scrolls and training insights were stored. Everything inside was packed away by your father."

Shiraishi Yoshijo pushed open another door to find the same setup, so he couldn't be bothered to look at the remaining ones.

The contents must have been collected by his father; there was no other way, as with the decline of the clan, keeping these things here was no longer safe.

After walking out of the corridor, they reached a hall with a pentagonal altar in the center.

For some reason, the moment he saw this altar, the hair on Shiraishi Yoshijo's arms stood up, and he felt a sense of heart-pounding dread.

"Stand on it."

Shiraishi Eizawa's voice rang out from behind him, calm yet carrying an unquestionable tone.

"Huh?"

In that instant, many grim images flashed through Shiraishi Yoshijo's mind. He swallowed hard, his speech stuttering: "This isn't a good idea. You're my uncle, I'm your nephew. Even if our relationship isn't great, it hasn't completely broken down yet. We're the only two left in the clan..."

Shiraishi Eizawa stared at him with a half-smile, and Shiraishi Yoshijo turned to run.

Shiraishi Eizawa stood where he was, not moving an inch, until Shiraishi Yoshijo was about to bolt out of the hall, at which point he slowly wove a hand seal.

"Body Flicker Technique!"

He blocked the path just before Shiraishi Yoshijo could escape the hall.

"What are you running for? Don't you want to learn the clan's secret technique inheritance?"

Shiraishi Yoshijo shook his head like a rattle: "Not at all. I think it's too early. Can't we wait until I'm a bit older?"

"That's not what you said just now."

Shiraishi Eizawa hoisted him up like a chick, placed him onto the altar without haste, and ignored Shiraishi Yoshijo's pitiful and nervous expression. He pressed his hands together and slammed them onto the ground, causing a clattering sound of chains to echo from beneath the altar.

A cross?

Shiraishi Yoshijo's eyes went wide. What kind of hellish secret technique inheritance was this? Was it really not a sacrifice?

Shiraishi Eizawa tied him to the cross, a complex look on his face as he watched the struggling Shiraishi Yoshijo: "Don't be nervous. The inheritance of our clan's secret technique is a bit painful, which is why we have to tie you up."

Standing beneath the altar, Shiraishi Eizawa stroked his chin, lost in thought. In the past, the inheritance for clan members only began at age ten, and it required five Jonin to set up a barrier to ensure nothing went wrong.

But now, there were only two people left in the clan, and Shiraishi Yoshijo was a bit too young, with too little chakra in his body.

There was a risk, but unfortunately, he didn't have more time to wait.

The strange behavior Shiraishi Yoshijo had shown today upon hearing the name Danzō had given him a sense of crisis; there was simply no other way.

"Ninja Art, Summoning Technique!"

Amidst a puff of smoke, five butterflies flew out and began fluttering up and down around Shiraishi Eizawa.

"Lord Yoshijo has reached this age already; I never expected him to have grown so much."

One of the blue and white butterflies suddenly spoke, giving Shiraishi Yoshijo quite a fright.

Although he knew that summoning beasts in the world of Naruto could speak, there was still a difference between knowing it and seeing it with his own eyes.

Besides, why did the voice of this butterfly feel so familiar?

Before Shiraishi Yoshijo could figure it out, a red butterfly spoke, and its voice was so familiar that it couldn't be mistaken—it was his mother's voice.

"Lord Yoshijo hasn't even turned ten yet; isn't it a bit too early?"

Shiraishi Yoshijo's mother had been dead for two years, and her name was already carved onto the Memorial Stone. What on earth was going on with this red butterfly, and why did its voice sound exactly like his mother's?

Shiraishi Yoshijo cast a questioning gaze toward his uncle, hoping for an explanation.

Shiraishi Eizawa ignored him entirely, pulling a small box from his robes and opening it to reveal a wriggling larva inside.

He leaped onto the altar and commanded, "Set up the barrier for me; I am going to perform the inheritance for him."

The five butterflies began to fly in circles around the altar, and a translucent blue barrier gradually enveloped it.

Shiraishi Eizawa stripped off Shiraishi Yoshijo's shirt and held the box out, allowing the larva to crawl toward the edge.

Just as the larva was about to crawl out of the box, Shiraishi Eizawa pressed the box against Shiraishi Yoshijo's chest and whispered, "Endure it!"

At this point, if Shiraishi Yoshijo still didn't understand what this so-called inheritance was, he might as well just go hit his head against a wall and die.

It was clearly a matter of letting that insect enter his body and then raising it within himself.

How was this any different from the Aburame clan?

A wave of intense pain suddenly struck as the larva began to gnaw at his chest; Shiraishi Yoshijo gritted his teeth, cold sweat breaking out all over his body from the agony.

The larva bit a bloody hole into Shiraishi Yoshijo's chest and slowly crawled inside.

"Secret Technique, Twin Life Technique!"

Shiraishi Eizawa suddenly formed hand seals and slammed his palm against his chest.

An even more violent wave of pain hit, and Shiraishi Yoshijo could no longer hold back.

"Ah~~, Shiraishi Eizawa, I—"

Rolling his eyes back, Shiraishi Yoshijo passed out from the sheer pain.